Archive of Our Own

There’s a dash of bright red on her jaw, barely hidden by a strand of her hair. As she watches the white butterfly flutter towards the sky, he reaches out on instinct, a sharp claw gently tracing the scratch. Flinching, she whirls her head around to him, and he drops his hand again.

“Pound it?” he quickly says, raising his fist.

Ladybug shows him a small smile and lets her fist meet his. Hands on her hips, she overlooks all of Paris, a breeze toying with loose hair. There’s an odd magic to her, and not for the first time Chat Noir wishes he could pull her closer and enjoy the feeling of her warmth against him.

A quiet beep wrenches him from his thoughts.

“Seems like my lady has things to do.”

“Yeah …” She takes a step. Flinches so violently Chat Noir involuntarily raises a hand. With a hiss, she tries again, and it’s becoming clear that she is limping.

“Are you …?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

But she’s clearly not, and he just hopes to god it wasn’t his fault. Her right foot seems unable to bear much weight. “You know that I would like nothing more than to carry my lovely lady to the end of the world. So if you –”

“Calm down, kitty. Nothing the superhero suit won’t fix sooner or later.” She tries another step, showing him a smile that is obviously fake. “No biggie, see? I’ll see you around.”

He looks after her as she vanishes between rooftops. Hopes he wasn’t as useless as he feels. But pondering over such things will get him nowhere, especially not when his own Miraculous is beginning to blink. Scratching the back of his head, Chat Noir turns and jumps off the building.

A clattering sound next to him. Adrien bends to pick up the pen, almost jumping when he hits his head in the process. A soft “ow”, a flash of pain, and as he bobs up again, he is met by blue eyes staring at him.

“A-Adrien, I, sorry, I, um.”

He tries to make sense of the words and thinks he gets it. “No problem. There you go.”

Marinette looks at his hand, at the pen between his fingers. A brightly pink one. Just as pink as her cheeks are by now. Patiently, he waits for her to raise her hand. Watching the expression on her face.

There’s a scratch on her jaw.

“Huh,” it escapes him before he can hold himself back.

Her hand freezes midair. “Huh?”

“Um.” Now it’s him who doesn’t find the right words. “Do you have a cat?”

“What?”

“Because …” He taps against his own jaw, and she draws her eyebrows together, reaching for the same spot on her face. The pen hovers between them, forgotten.

“Do I have … Is there … cat hair …?”

“No,” he says slowly. “A scratch.”

“A scratch …” She seems genuinely confused. Not that much of a surprise – it’s an odd place for a scratch, something easily ignorable if not discovered from a close angle, something easily overlooked when taking a quick peek into a mirror, something so specific that a knot forms in his stomach.

“Must have been clumsy again,” she mumbles. Takes the pen from him. Their fingers brush. Adrien feels the urge to draw his hand back immediately. “Thanks. Again.” She doesn’t look him in the eye as she returns to her seat.

It sits on the tip of his tongue, running down his throat like glue. It sits in a place of his mind, unable to be put into words. But it’s just a coincidence, a funny coincidence. He tries to remember the times he got injured while being his alter ego. What happened to those injuries afterwards. Being in his suit makes him immune to almost anything, no bruises or damaged joints left after staying in that form for long enough. But what happens when turning back right after being severely injured, he doesn’t know.

He never dealt with a harmless scratch either.

Yesterday was the last time he saw Ladybug.

She also never dealt with a scratch before, as far as he knows.

But it’s just stupid, because of all people it could be, Marinette would be the last one on his list. Sweet, shy Marinette. There is no way, and he is staring at her over his shoulder, and there is still no way, and her eyes meet his and her cheeks turn red, and for the love of god, there is just no possible way.

“Hey, Adrien.” Alya enters his sight, eyebrows furrowed. “You all right there, sunshine? Your staring could really make a girl nervous.”

He jolts. “Oh. Sorry.” With an apologetic smile, he turns away again.

The whole lesson long, he can’t concentrate. Even though there is nothing to worry about. It’s not like a scratch is that unusual. It would be too easy. The girl he dreamt of constantly – his classmate, being next to him almost every day? Right.

It’s too easy, and too unlikely.

At the end of the lesson, Adrien does his best not to stare at Marinette once again. Nino is already looking at him funnily. And anyway, he should shove his senseless suspicions away and focus on more important things.

A squeak makes him look up. Ladybug is the most graceful person he knows; so when Marinette stumbles over some stairs and lands directly in his arms, he feels an inkling of relief.

“Adrien! Sorry!” She shoots upright, quickly taking her hands off him. “I didn’t …” A flash of pain on her face as she attempts to take a step back, and he quickly gets ahold of her arm to support her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, her next step more careful. Adrien lets go of her. “Just twisted my ankle.”

She isn’t putting much weight onto her right foot.

Her right one.

It rattles. His thoughts are spinning. He tries not to stare and does so anyway. Marinette’s face falls bit by bit, and she tilts her head quizzically. “Are you okay?”

Startled, he gives a quick laugh. “Yes! Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m perfectly fine.” He slides away from her, careful to keep some distance. “You should really have that checked out, you know. How long, um, when did it happen?”

She blinks at him. “Yesterday. I think it will be okay in the next few days. It’s nothing serious.”

“Sure.” He looks at her foot, the right foot, why does it have to be the right one? “That’s, yeah. See you.”

Before she can answer, he’s already bolted out of the classroom. His palms feel clammy. His heart is racing. But there must be an explanation, there must be, because if there is none, he would have to admit to himself that for over two years, he has been in love with one of his friends.

With Marinette.

His head starts to ache.

“Is Marinette Ladybug?”

Plagg seems to freeze for a second. Only a second, and it must have been Adrien’s imagination, because when Plagg replies, he looks as calm as ever. “Marinette? That cute friend of yours? Ha. Fat chance.”

Adrien sits down on his bed, hands clasped and forehead in wrinkles. “That’s the truth, right? You are telling the truth.”

“Well. Sure I am.”

Plagg rolls over the floor, a piece of camembert tucked between his arms. For some seconds, Adrien watches him.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence?” Adrien asks.

“What is?”

“Those injuries. The same scratch. The same injured ankle. Exactly the same.”

“Humans get hurt all the time.” Plagg rolls on, occupied with nibbling at his cheese. “Fragile creatures, you know the drill.”

“So you do think it’s a coincidence?”

“Only logical explanation, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

Adrien scrolls through the Ladyblog. Looks at pictures featuring her. He somehow wishes he could forget all about it and stop thinking. Just stop thinking. A part of him has wanted to know from the beginning. A part of him was sure her fierceness carries over to her civilian self. He was, unconsciously or not, always on the lookout for someone strong, someone who is stubborn and firm. But Marinette?

She is sweet. Caring. Gentle. Great in her own way. Just not in a way he would fall for.

It must be a coincidence.

Restlessly, he paces his room. Then he decides to transform into Chat Noir and venture out into the early night. Just to clear his head, he tells himself. Not expecting anything, not looking for answers, and while Ladybug is nowhere to be seen, Marinette is. On her balcony, overlooking a part of Paris. From the rooftop he is on, he can only watch her back. Lights glow in the distance, the city around them as alive as ever even as nighttime arrives.

He has suspected some girls before. He has been proven wrong time and time again, and disappointment and relief battled each other whenever it happened. He has gotten used to it, to unchanging feelings.

“Hi there, princess,” he calls when he is close enough to her balcony.

Marinette flinches and turns around, big eyes staring at him. “Chat Noir?”

“Feline glad to see me?” He jumps onto her balcony’s floor, landing soundlessly on all fours. She is putting most weight on her left leg. The scratch is still there, the same spot. Nothing has changed. He almost shivers. “Or, let me use my impressive mind-reading skills – surprised?”

Marinette clears her throat and leans her back against the railing. “That about covers it. Are you patrolling all on your own?”

Chat Noir does his best not to let his smile drop. “Purr little me is all on his own right now. But nothing is going on anyway, so I’ll be fine.” He wiggles his eyebrows, comes closer until she has to tilt her chin up. “Worried about me?”

“Slightly?” A mischievous shimmer in her eyes. The same one Ladybug likes to show. Perhaps. Or not. “But I’m sure you can hold your own.”

Marinette shouldn’t know him. Not all that well, at least. Ladybug does. He can’t think about it. Instead he raises his hand, tapping against the scratch on her jaw, carefully and gently. She flinches away immediately.

“Got yourself hurt?” he asks. Wills his voice to sound free of worry, free of heavy thoughts.

“Yeah.” Absently, she reaches up, covering the tiny wound with her hand. “I played with a cat.”

The lie behind her words make his tongue feel dry and useless. His hand sinks down. “Can be pretty fickle, huh?”

“You should know, kitty.”

Chat Noir swallows hard. It’s not like he never thought Marinette is pretty. But there is nothing more to it. She’s fun to be around, and he appreciates her, and why, just why does is heart almost explode when he is close to Ladybug, but not when it’s Marinette?

He wants to keep lying to himself. Wants to be blind to any hint thrown at him, and maybe he was. He should have seen it a long time ago. Maybe there is still time to turn away, or maybe there isn’t, and he winces when warm fingers touch the back of his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Marinette whispers. “You are unusually quiet.”

No pinch of excitement. No urge to catch her, have her, be hers. Maybe he is wrong after all, and all it would take is for him to see them next to each other, Marinette and Ladybug, destroying any suspicion he has; or something, just anything to make his doubts disappear for good.

He grabs her hand. Steps closer until there is hardly any space left between them. Big blue eyes stare at him, her lips slightly parted.

“Hold still,” he tells her.

“What –”

He grasps her chin. Tilts her head. Lips on her cheek. She smells sweet, and it’s somehow not enough, and his thumb digs into her skin until she gasps in pain. Eventually, she shoves him away with enough force to make him stumble.

A dash of red right under her first scratch. He stares at it.

“Oh no. You’ve been – Chat Noir, have you been …?”

“Akumatized? No.” There’s fear in her eyes, uncertainty, her shaking hand clawing into the railing behind her. “Just, you know – playing with kitties can be dangerous.” His smirk feels cold on his lips, and he leaves her alone, jumping over rooftops. Not stopping. Waiting for some kind of pain, but of course there is none. With the suit, his muscles know no limit. With the suit, all that is holding him back is time. At least he can stop thinking for now, can try to get lost in the feeling of wind grazing his skin.

It’s gone. Both scratches are gone the next evening. The limp has gotten better, and Ladybug hides any pain from him whenever she puts too much weight on her right foot. But the scratches are gone.

And that’s when the last puzzle piece falls into place, shattering the final image like glass.

“You’re acting a bit weird,” she tells him as they stop on a rooftop. Leaning over the railing like Marinette would. Looking at him out of the same blue eyes Marinette would. He feels stupid, so incredibly stupid.

“How so?”

A scratch doesn’t disappear in such few days. Injuries carry over from their civilian selves. He discovered so himself when he had to deal with a sprained ankle too. But even so, she didn’t find out. He’s sure that it wouldn’t need more than a drop of makeup remover to expose the whole truth. He wishes he didn’t know as much.

She sighs. “If there is anything you want to talk about …”

“Not like we can talk about our civilian lives, can we?”

Her expression remains still, brows settling into a frown. “Did something happen?”

The whole irony of their predicament isn’t lost on him. He holds back a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

He comes to a halt next to her. Doesn’t touch her. How many times has he touched Marinette without realizing? How many times did he dream of a warmth Ladybug wouldn’t grant him? He feels like a fool.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

She should be.

“That guy you are in love with,” he says, his voice scratching in his throat. “What makes him so special?”

“Kitty …”

“I’m serious. I want to know.”

“Well.” She draws patterns over the railing, a frown still covering her face. “You know I can’t tell you too much.”

“Don’t get too specific, then.”

She snorts. Something about her expression seems strained. Eventually, she sighs. “He’s kind. Generous. Gentle. He always knows what to do, what to say. He’s just different from other boys, you know?”

He can’t help but wonder who it is. Someone he knows too? He can’t find a single person who would fit the description. Then again, those are generic words. Everyone can be kind, and everyone can be gentle. Everyone can be beautiful, and everyone can be fascinating. Maybe there is nothing special to love. Maybe there is nothing like destiny.

His eyes sting.

There has always been something comfortable to loving Ladybug. Having it ripped away from him hurts, and he quickly hides his face from her. Looks away. Watches dots of light litter the horizon.

“Do you think we know each other?” he asks. “In our civilian lives.”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Would you like to know me?”

“Chat …”

“Do you think you’re different? When you’re not Ladybug, are you different?”

No answer. He doesn’t expect one. It hurts, and he stops caring about what would happen if she found out, because maybe then, he wouldn’t be the only one left with a pressing feeling surging through his chest.

“I think I am different,” she eventually whispers. “You say you … That you have feelings for me. I don’t think you would have feelings for that other me.”

It hurts.

He misses Marinette’s softness, and when he has that much, he misses Ladybug’s fierceness. He wishes the answer would present itself before him. Just like that.

Somewhere in the distance, a crash resounds.

Relief washes over Ladybug’s face as they look at each other. “Let’s go, partner,” she says, leaping from the building.

He follows her without a second thought.

Marinette loves Chat Noir. Or loved. There is another boy, anyway. There always was. At least for Ladybug – and maybe Ladybug is that part of her that is unable to forget about the truth.

Adrien doesn’t know if he wants Ladybug to fall for him. Not anymore. He doesn’t know how fair it is to love her. And when he sees Marinette stumble into the classroom in the middle of the lesson – it makes sense now, her absences, her belatedness, and god, he was so blind – something stirs in his stomach.

Adrien refuses to look at her. Because he should have seen it, should have recognized those blue eyes and that dark hair. He feels dumb, so incredibly dumb, and when Marinette steps in front of him in the locker room, people chattering all around them, he only slowly turns to look at her. Red cheeks, wide eyes. An expression so nervous he can’t wrap his head around it.

Ladybug never looks like that.

“Adrien! Hi, um, I just, I-I …”

“How’s your ankle?”

She blinks, her bag pressed against her chest. “Better. Thank you for – that’s nice, that you – you shouldn’t have – well, not shouldn’t, but you didn’t have to, it’s really nice –”

He points at her jaw. “Played with a cat again, huh?”

Her hand flies upwards to cover the two scratches. “Yeah, um. It’s a cute one, but …”

“A bit fickle?”

“I guess.”

He wants to scream it in her face. He wants her to feel as miserable as he does. He wants her to feel pathetic and angry. He doesn’t want to be the only one suffering, and he wonders why Marinette – Ladybug – whoever – why Chat Noir, but not him, why Ladybug, but not her, and he tries so hard to see something in her eyes, to feel something in his chest, but there is nothing and it makes him crazy and he feels like suffocating.

“You don’t seem too well,” she whispers.

In the end, Adrien is a coward. At least one thing Marinette and he have in common: without their masks, they are both unable to face difficulties like their counterparts would. They both give in, and they both back up, and they both rather stay blind to the truth.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“Oh.” She worries her lower lip between her teeth. “So, I guess you, if I asked you to come with us to the park, you know, Nino and Alya and, you know, would you …?”

“I …” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “My father wants me to be home.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, Marinette.”

She smiles. “No, no, I understand. I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

He wants his heart to do a jump. He wants to see her smile and feel something blossom deep inside his chest. But there is nothing, and she turns away, shoulders slumped and a deep breath expanding her lungs.

It doesn’t feel good to hurt her.

At home, he tries to convince himself to delete all those pictures of Ladybug that he has saved. He can’t bring himself to. Plagg is keeping his distance, quickly averting his gaze every time their eyes meet.

“You knew,” Adrien says. It’s not a question.

“Knew? Knew what?”

“Quit it. I’m tired of finding excuses.”

Adrien buries his face in his hands. He tries to think. He tries to make sense of it. He’s in love with her, and he isn’t. Just as she was in love with him, and she wasn’t. That’s ridiculous, that shouldn’t be what love is about. Her true self is a cute shy girl, and his true self? Did she fall for his true self? Who is he – when he is Chat Noir, who is he – when he is Adrien, who is he – who is he?

“I might have known. Maybe.” A little thump, and when Adrien looks through his fingers, he finds Plagg sitting in front of him, his face an image of uncharacteristic worry. “I don’t see the problem, though. What is it going to change?”

“Everything.”

A hum. “Is this about your crush? Because, look. Adrien likes Ladybug, and Marinette likes Chat Noir. You like each other. What’s the big deal?”

Adrien groans. “We like one part of each other. Or liked, rather. In her case, at least.”

“Jeez, kid.” Plagg rolls his eyes, his head, until he is lying on the desk. “Humans are pathetic. All that talk about love. Love is work, kiddo. Love is creation and destruction. Love is happiness and sadness. If you only know one part of it, you don’t know love.”

“How would you know, kwami of destruction?”

“Can’t stand all that sappy talking, but kiddo. Love is very human, and anything that is human is contradictory in its own right.”

That doesn’t help him. Nothing does.

Again, Chat Noir finds Marinette on her balcony. He feels his ears twitch as he watches her.

“Marinette.”

She whirls around to him. “God, Chat! Stop scaring me.” She narrows her eyes. “Or I’ll think you really have been akumatized.”

Chat scratches the spot behind his right ear and jumps down from the roof, not daring to come closer to her. She crosses her arms, watches him out of careful eyes. That must be part of Ladybug, he supposes, being that cautious around potential danger. Or it was part of Marinette all along, and he just never took the time to see it.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says.

“What for?”

“Two nights ago. I must have scared you.”

She looks at him. Takes a breath that raises her shoulders. “A bit,” she admits. “Are you okay?”

“To be purrfectly honest,” his pun makes him sigh, “to be honest, no.”

“Oh.” Uncrossing her arms, she seems to want to take a step towards him and decides otherwise. “Can I help?”

“I don’t think you can.”

She doesn’t seem as tense around Chat as she does around Adrien. She even reminds him of Ladybug sometimes, when she teases him, being wittier than she ever is when talking to Adrien. He comes closer, stops next to her. Leans over the railing and looks down at the vacant street. When he glances at her, a haunted expression twists her features.

“You don’t seem well either,” he says.

“You know, I …” She stares at her hands, seems to struggle with herself. A moment of uncertainty passes. “I feel pretty useless lately. I can’t help you, I can’t help my friends, and maybe …”

He waits for her to go on. He waits for her to reveal something he didn’t know before, a part of Marinette he never took the effort to discover. Something that would change everything, that would make it all fall into place. She seems to hesitate, an expression of pensiveness apparent on her face.

“No, it’s stupid,” she mumbles. “I’m just boring you out of your mind with this.”

“You aren’t.” He puts a hand on her arm. For a brief moment, she meets his gaze, only to quickly look away again. “Tell me.”

She keeps hesitating. Eyebrows furrowing. Nose scrunched up. Eventually, she closes her eyes.

“There’s a boy in my class,” she whispers. “I think he stopped liking me.”

“Stopped liking you?”

“As a friend!” she quickly adds. “If we even are friends, because sometimes …” A heavy sigh. “Sometimes I think that, no matter how hard I try, there’s no way for me to get closer to him. I’m not even sure he notices me at all.”

Chat tries to think. Goes through all the boys in their class. “Why do you think so?” he asks, ignoring the way his chest constricts.

“He’s …” She sighs again, buries her hands in her hair. “He’s kind, and generous, and he always makes me smile, and I am … Well, I am me.”

Then it can’t be him. Because Adrien is neither kind nor generous. He’s a coward. He’s trying his best and fails every single time. He can’t even make sense of his own feelings. Chat feels fidgety, his legs restless, his claws tapping against the metallic railing.

“If he doesn’t even like you for you,” he says, “is it really worth it?”

She doesn’t look at him. Her shoulders are trembling slightly. “I don’t know. I just keep hoping that someday, he’ll magically notice me. Maybe that’s a bit naïve, huh?”

“But why him? You’ve got enough friends as it is, haven’t you? From what I’ve seen, at least. Why not someone else?”

“Because he is …” She blinks at him, briefly, lips pressed to a thin line. “He is him.”

Something in his chest aches. His restless legs scream at him to prowl around, to watch and lie low, and the words fill his throat in the most painful way.

“Well … I know what it feels like. To not be noticed by the person you wish would notice you the most.”

She turns her head to him. Moonlight in her hair. He longs for a feeling, longs for the urge to reach out to her, touch her. She’s close, but maybe just far enough, and maybe she would duck away underneath his fingers if he were to stretch out his hand, and her eyelashes flutter.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Maybe she really is, or maybe she isn’t, and a bitter smile builds on his lips.

“So why don’t we run away, princess? Just you and me. You do like me still, don’t you?”

“Chat,” she mumbles. “You can’t just run from your problems. And what about Ladybug?”

What about her, he wants to spit. He doesn’t. Running is easy, and closing his eyes was easy too. For a while. A boy both Marinette and Ladybug like, a boy he can’t compare to.

“Maybe,” he mutters, finger reaching out to tap against her chin – and she doesn’t flinch away, “it’s time to let go of her.”

Big blue eyes staring at him. And yet it hurts too much. His hand drops down again. He sighs at himself, at the world, and shrugs.

“I mean it. Maybe I should really let go of her. For good.”

A warm hand over his. Marinette looks at him, carefully and hesitantly. “You’re her partner. I’m sure she cares a lot about you.”

He stares at their hands. Turns his until his fingers can wrap around hers. A small, delicate hand. “Who is he? That boy you are in love with.”

She blinks at him out of wide eyes. “What do you … I’m not …”

“Well. If you don’t want to run away with me, there can only be one reason. You found someone else.”

He should stop. He really should. It’s not fair on Ladybug, nor on Marinette. But nothing about this is fair. Nothing about it makes sense. He just wants something to hold onto, or something to let go of. He just wants – something. He is still holding her hand, and he feels nothing but cold loneliness, and she keeps staring at him, cheeks turning pink.

“I,” she whispers, “he,” she swallows visibly, “why would you want to know?”

“Maybe I could help.”

She laughs, albeit bitterly. “He probably wouldn’t notice me even if you tried to help me. Like I said, it seems as if he doesn’t see me as more than a random girl in his class, let alone –”

For a moment, they both still. Then she breaks her hand away from his grasp and smacks it over her mouth. A boy from their class, then. A kind, generous boy from their class who doesn’t take notice of Marinette. That’s who Ladybug loves. That’s who Marinette loves. His stomach twists, and he forces himself to show a lopsided grin.

“Forget I ever said anything!” she shrieks.

“Aw. But it’s only just getting interesting.” At her horrified expression, he lightly flicks her arm. “So much for just a friend, huh.”

“I told you,” she mumbles underneath her hand. “I guess I’m not even a friend to him.”

“Maybe I can help you out, then.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilts his head. “You said he stopped liking you?”

A nervous laugh. Her hand slips from her face, and her fingers intertwine. “I’m exaggerating, I guess. It’s just – his father is very strict, and there are times he seems a bit, you know, distant. It’s hard to get closer to him, and – it’s just hard.”

“A strict father,” he repeats.

“Yeah. He’s a good person, though. Very busy, and really handsome and dreamy, and …” She jolts. “A good person.”

He becomes tired. Tired of doubting and thinking and wondering, and so the question slips from his lips, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness.

“Is it Adrien Agreste?”

A moment of silence. Wide-eyed, Marinette stares at him. He doesn’t have it in him to smile anymore.

“How,” she breathes. “Why …”

“Lucky guess, huh?”

A shaky breath escapes her. “I …”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

He becomes numb to it, numb to thinking about it. He closes his eyes. Behind the mask, it’s easy to utter words he wouldn’t dare think about as Adrien.

“He didn’t stop liking you. I wouldn’t think too hard about it if I were you.”

“How would you know?” she whispers.

“I know him.” One corner of his mouth raised, he looks at her. “Not all too well, but I know him.”

“You,” she says lowly, stepping closer and grabbing his shoulders, “you can’t tell him. You absolutely cannot. You hear me, Chat Noir?”

“Loud and clear.”

“My life would be over.”

“I doubt that, but as my lady wishes.”

A second of silence. But denial is easy. Explaining things away has become second nature for both of them, and Marinette emits a loud sigh. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, though.”

Afterwards, when he is at home, lying in bed, he feels like throwing up. Because there she is – Marinette, liking both parts of him, both Adrien and Chat Noir, both coward and superhero, and he still can’t stop thinking about Ladybug. Can’t see behind Marinette’s gentleness. Can’t begin to put both together. And if she is able to see, to love both of them – why can’t Adrien?

Just why can’t he?

“Now, Chat!”

His body reacts too late. Every single muscle feels heavy and aches, and the ball of yarn she tossed at him slips from his hands and lands on the floor. Adrenaline kicks in, and he chases after the yarn on all fours. When he tosses a glance over his shoulder, he sees Ladybug struggle with the akumatized girl, her high-pitched laughter hurting in his ears.

He manages to catch up to the yarn, winding it around a pole as quickly as he can. “Ladybug!” he calls.

A close one. In the end, Ladybug manages to rip the girl’s ribbon apart, the remains fluttering through the air. A white butterfly follows shortly behind. His eyes feel heavy, and he comes closer to her, breathing heavily.

“Pound –”

Hands on his shoulders. Worried eyes wandering over his face. He shudders. That’s Marinette who is studying him, he reminds himself. It has always been Marinette.

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispers. “What’s going on? Are you not feeling well?”

He swallows hard. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just talk to me.” A beep. Ladybug grimaces. “Or not. Not now, at least. Meet me at the usual spot, tonight.”

He hesitates.

“Please?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he mumbles.

“I know you well enough by now, dear kitty.” She steps back, giving him one last look. He thinks about holding her back, about telling her, begging her to show her true face, to make him finally understand what it means – who she is, who she is meant to be. But then it’s too late, and she already disappears between buildings.

He thinks about not turning up. Leaving her in the same lonely coldness he is left in. But his heart still yearns for her, still wants to understand. So when the darkness of the night swallows Paris, he finds himself jumping over rooftops to arrive at their usual meeting spot. Not far away from her home, and not too close either, he begins to realize. He is there first, and tiredness makes his limbs feel heavy.

A nap in the sunlight would be nice, but concealing shadows are his usual home, and Chat lies down, curling himself into a ball. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Just one moment of closing his eyes and not thinking about her, and what it means, and what it is supposed to mean. Just a moment.

When he awakes, his head is lying on something soft.

Fingers running through his hair. Blue eyes softly looking down at him. He blinks, tries to focus on her face. It seems surreal, how lights catch in her hair, how her pink lips form the gentlest of smiles.

“Oh, kitty,” she mutters. “You shouldn’t fall asleep on rooftops. It’s dangerous.”

“’M sorry.” He buries his face next to her knee, inhales her scent.

“Did something happen?”

He curls himself into an even tighter ball.

“Can I help? Kitty, talk to me.”

“What is it about Adrien? Why him?”

Why not Chat Noir? Why can’t she see it? Why can’t she see him?

Her hand freezes. Through the cracks of his sluggish mind, he is starting to piece it together: who he is talking to, and who he isn’t. What he should know, and what he shouldn’t. He keeps his eyes closed; only for that little while before it all involuntarily shatters and slips through his fingers.

“What about him?” Ladybug’s voice is frail, crumbling at the cracks.

He swallows down the lump in his throat. He could turn away, bury it underneath nervous laughter and swirling thoughts. He doesn’t know what the right choice is. There is something cautious about Ladybug’s eyes, a cute little bug readying itself for escape.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “Just tired.”

She deflates visibly, tense shoulders slumping, narrowed eyes relaxing. “Me too.”

“Do you think … If it wasn’t for Adrien, do you think …?”

“Kitty,” she says quietly, a last attempt to hold onto something that is long lost. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Just a little lie out of a conglomeration of so many more. Thousands of puzzle pieces, and it wouldn’t take more than courage to put them together. He turns until he is lying on his back, his head on her lap, and instead of watching the stars, he is watching her.

“If it wasn’t for that other boy you love, would you be able to fall for me?”

Her lips tremble. Something falls, and her eyes water. Her hand moves to his cheek. A caress so gentle he closes his eyes.

“I do love you, Chat Noir.”

His eyes sting. He grabs her wrist and presses a kiss against it. Closing his eyes from a reality he can’t face. It’s her, he knows it is. It’s her, and suddenly he wants all of her. Wants to ram his claws into her, drag her into depths he is drowning in, wants the game of circling and waiting to end.

“Chat.” She cups his cheek, forces him to turn his head until he opens his eyes. Her brows are furrowed, her look stern. “Who else knows?”

“Nobody.” He cackles. It hurts. “Princess. Would you really think I’d tell anyone else?”

“Of course not. But … How did you find out?”

“You played with kitties too often for your own good.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“The scratches on your jaw. I guess you forgot about them.”

“Oh … The scratches …”

He closes his eyes and turns to his side again, head sliding to her knees. “I could tell you. Who I am.”

He doesn’t see her expression. He doesn’t need to. “Kitty. That wouldn’t be a smart decision. There is a reason we kept our true selves a secret, and you know as much.”

True selves, he thinks. True selves, he snorts internally.

“Yeah. I know.”

“We’ll have to talk about this. In earnest. We’ll have to … I don’t even know what to tell you right now, but … I have to think about this, and then …”

“I’m not sleeping well,” he confesses.

She pauses. Her hand returns to the back of his head. “I had a hunch.”

There is warmth to her, there is warmth in the way she touches his cat ear, rubbing fur between her fingers. She stays silent, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. He sleeps dreamlessly this time. Peacefully and quietly.

It’s her voice that wakes him up before the sun can come up.

“You wanted to find out,” she mumbles. Eyes still closed, he listens to her voice. “You scratched me to find out.”

His ears twitch. She scratches the spot between them.

“Guess I wasn’t careful enough, huh?”

Blearily, Chat turns to blink at her. Tiredness covers her face. “Or maybe it was meant to be.”

Lighthearted words that leave a heavy smile on her lips, that leave a heavy feeling in his chest.

From time to time, he feels Marinette’s gaze slide to him. Just a second before she quickly peels it away again. Her shoulders seem tense. They never are when she is next to Chat Noir. Adrien tries to talk to Nino sitting across from him as casually as possible. Attempts to forget about the fact that the girl next to him makes him lose sleep night after night. The restaurant isn’t well-visited, their booth separated from most of the other costumers.

They are talking about their unreasonable amount of homework. Whenever Marinette giggles, Adrien feels a shiver run down his spine. Whether it’s pleasurable or not, he can’t tell. And yet, he comes to the conclusion that there is a hint of Ladybug in her. All the gentleness Ladybug so seldomly shows – it’s in all the smiles Marinette gives away without a second thought.

Then Alya suddenly leans forward, a mischievous grin on her lips. “You two wouldn’t mind if we left you alone for half an hour or so, right? Got an errand to run.”

“We do?” Nino asks. A poke into his sides makes him shut up for a second. “Yeah, we totally do.”

“Great. No worries, we’ll pay for our milkshakes.” Alya winks at both of them. “See you later, right? I’ll text you, Marinette.”

“Uh,” Marinette replies.

“Yep, you too!” With that, Alya shoves Nino forward, hissing something into his ear as they approach one of the waiters.

Adrien shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t let Marinette’s nervousness swap over to him. Behind a mask, it would be easy to crack a joke, to stop taking himself so seriously. He wonders where that confidence stems from. Chat Noir should be him, just like Ladybug should be her.

He clears his throat. “So, Alya …”

In an instant, Marinette’s head shoots up. She scoots a bit away from him. “So, Alya?”

“She’s a good friend, huh?”

“She is. She really is.”

As Chat Noir, it’s a fun little game. It’s easy, and it’s exciting. A bit saddening, sometimes. But as Adrien, his inhibitions seem almost impossible to conquer. Especially if she stares at him as if being scared out of her mind.

Even so – Marinette’s words haunt his thoughts, her questions and doubts, and he tries his best to make his voice sound even. “And you know that you are – um, you see, we are – uh …”

Why is it so hard? It wouldn’t be if he was Chat Noir. Or maybe it would as long as she stared at him that fearfully.

“I like you,” he chokes out.

She keeps staring at him, cheeks turning bright red.

“I mean,” he laughs shakily, feels his fingers twitch – this is Ladybug sitting right next to him, he reminds himself – “who doesn’t? You’re pretty amazing, Marinette.”

Her nervousness turns to disbelief, and she hides her unsure smile behind her hands. It’s the same slight bashfulness he knows from Ladybug. The same tendency to glow under praise. Something in his chest trembles, and he can’t peel his eyes away from her.

“And you’re really brave. You know that, right?”

“I,” she hides her face in her hands, “I’m not. Stop.”

“No, you are. You’re amazing, even though I don’t tell you often enough.”

“Adrien,” she mutters, shoulder hunched. Even the tips of her ears are turning red. His fingers are quivering, and his face is turning hot, and he’s still carefully stalking his prey. Discovering weaknesses. Discovering reactions that are fundamentally Marinette. It’s new, and scary, and enthralling.

“And you’re really cute,” he says, the words trembling through his throat, “when you’re blushing.”

Her head shoots up. She blinks. “What?”

His face is becoming even hotter. He feels like hiding away, but he reminds himself that Chat Noir wouldn’t.

“You’re really cute when you’re –”

She smacks a hand over his mouth. Her eyes are glazed over and keep staring at him. Her pink lips are parted ever so slightly.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

It should be sad to see that much disbelief in her eyes. That’s not how Ladybug would look at him. Because when she is Ladybug, there is nothing but strength. When he is Chat Noir, there is nothing but freedom. But it’s too simple, a subtraction that takes away too much, and maybe the most complicated answer is the truest one.

Gently, he takes ahold of her hand and pulls it from his face. He doesn’t let go of her. “Sorry if I seemed distant lately. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

She releases a breath. Then she waves him off, freeing her hand in the process. “Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s not like I was worried – okay, I was, but not in a creepy way, more in a I-care-for-you way, I mean, not too much, that would be creepy too, um.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “You’re blushing again.”

“I – what? I –” With a high-pitched sound, she smacks her hands against her cheeks. Frantically, her eyes dart around, eventually settling on the entrance. “Oh, hey, Alya, there’s Alya!”

When Adrien follows her eyes, he sees Alya wildly gesturing with an expression that screams “Stop looking at me”. In the end, Marinette jumps to her feet with a nervous laugh.

“We should join them again, right?”

“Right.”

He doesn’t notice he is smiling at her until she bashfully smiles back.

“I could carry you home, you know.”

“You wish.”

“Aw. Come on, bugaboo.” Moonlight is shining down on her. Bright blue eyes. He wishes he could see her blush, and the thought alone makes him a bit fidgety. “No need to be shy now.”

She smacks his arm. “Yes. That is something we definitely have to talk about.”

His ears twitch. “On second thought …”

“Sooner or later, at least.”

He sniffs. Steps forward, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She lets him. Her Miraculous already beeped once, and she didn’t run away to hide from him. “I’ll get you home,” he tells her, swiftly bending down to slide his arms behind her knees, picking her up with ease. She gives a sound, then glowers at him. He smirks.

“Did I tell you to carry me?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Marinette never complained. And what can I say? I’m a purrfect gentlecat.”

“You’re icky,” she snorts, a smile on her lips.

Holding Ladybug in his arms like this – it’s surreal. It never was with Marinette. It was just natural, and maybe he never saw the softness hiding behind a dotted mask, and the fierceness hiding behind gentle smiles. It doesn’t take them long to arrive at her balcony, and by then, her Miraculous is beeping again. Standing on her own feet, Ladybug brings a hand to her earrings.

“I’m not sure if I …” She shuffles her feet. “It’s embarrassing.”

He dips his head lower, trying to catch her gaze. “I could turn around. Promise I won’t peek.”

She grimaces at his teasing undertone. “You’re not being funny.”

“Sorry, my lady.” He bows his head. “Your loyal kitty will do as you say.”

Seconds pass. She shifts her weight from one foot the other, eyes not leaving his, and eventually, she sighs. “No. I guess it’s okay.”

Chat knows what she means. It’s strange, seeing the mask disappear from her face, seeing the suit being replaced by a simple, casual outfit. Seeing Marinette look at him with pink cheeks and a ducked head. They are standing so close to each other that he can hear her exhaling shakily, and he softly tips her chin up until their eyes lock again.

She opens her mouth, ready to say something, when a high-pitched voice interrupts them.

“Hello! My name is Tikki, and I am Marinette’s kwami!”

Chat flinches as a pink ball floats in front of his eyes. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you.”

“Oh. That’s so exciting.” She flies around his head, stops to his right. “I couldn’t wait to meet you, Chat Noir.” She stops to his left. “I almost thought I would never get the chance to do so. Marinette was very careful, you know.” His right again. He is feeling dizzy. “Having Plagg around right now would be helpful. I think. Even though he’s a good-for-nothing. But I guess you already noticed as much!”

“Tikki.” With a smile, Marinette holds her hand out for her kwami to sink onto. “You must be exhausted.”

“A bit. But I’m really excited.” With brightly shimmering eyes, she nibbles at the cookie Marinette hands her. “Though I always thought Marinette would find out first.”

Chat raises his eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

With a squeak, Tikki keeps on nibbling. “No reason. No reason at all. She’s just very clever.”

“Still,” Marinette sighs, sitting down on one of her chairs. Ears twitching, Chat follows suit, making himself comfortable on the floor in front of her. “We’ll have to be extra careful from now on. Nobody but you can know, Chat Noir.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Tikki gulps down the last crumble of her cookie and takes off into the air again. “Else, you’d be risking your family and friends getting hurt.”

“Even that detransformation should be a one-time thing. If somebody happened to see us together …”

“I get it.” He feels his faux tail twitch. “So you really, really don’t want to know what’s behind my mask, huh?”

She sighs again. “I can’t, kitty. I can’t know.”

“Yeah, too dangerous. Otherwise, you’d surely fall for me.”

She stares at him, cheeks pink and a tiny smile on her lips. “I doubt it.”

There it is. A sudden thump. A feeling that blooms in his chest. He feels giddy as he smiles back at her. “Same happened to me. Took me some time, but I fell for you all over again, bugaboo.”

She blushes up to the tips of her ears. “Sure you did.”

“And like I said.” He stands up, steps closer to her. Leans so close their faces are only inches apart. “You’re really cute when you blush.”

She jolts, but refuses to budge, determination shining in her eyes. “You never said that.” Her eyes grow wide. “Adrien did.”

He doesn’t know what to feel. Doesn’t know if this is the right moment, doesn’t know what to do but stare at her and wait. Because despite everything, he wants her to know. Wants her to know so badly it hurts. Wants her to understand, wants her to find answers he is unable to grasp.

“You …” She smacks his arm, abruptly stands up, causing him to stumble backwards. “I told you. It told you not to talk to him, and you did so anyway?”

“What?”

“That’s why he was –” She stabs her finger against his chest, again and again, until he has no choice but to back further away. She follows him, lips trembling with embarrassment. “How much did you tell him? How much did you tell Adrien?”

“I don’t –”

“He was acting so strangely, and now I know why! It was you! You told him to calm me down, to act as if …” She stops when his back hits the wall, staring up at him with her hands clenched to fists. “Just tell me. Just tell me how much he knows, and let me die in shame afterwards.”

It hurts. Maybe that’s just it. A kind of pain she must have felt too; every single time he didn’t notice her, didn’t realize just who she really is. Every time he couldn’t recognize what makes Marinette just Marinette.

“He knows everything,” he therefore says.

“Everything?” she repeats, high-pitched.

“He thinks it’s cute.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around her upper body as her eyes fill with panic.

“Because he likes you too.”

“Stop, Chat. Just stop.”

“It just took him a long time to realize.” He reaches for her face, and she avoids the touch. With a discontented sound, he grabs her shoulder, waiting for her to look at him again. A frightened expression. Hurt, betrayed, and he feels his throat constrict. “A really long time. And maybe he will need some more time still, and all he asks of you is to forgive him. To finally give him a chance.”

“You really think I believe this?” she hisses, eyes glazing over. “You’re just making this up to make yourself look better.”

“Marinette,” he mutters, looks at her pink lips. After all that time, she is still blind to it. Only seeing one tiny piece of it all. But there must be an answer. There must be a way to understand, a way out of this mess. There must be.

He puts a hand on the back of her neck. She shivers. The same frightened eyes still looking at him. He feels his breath trembling through his throat.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice shaky.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Something you shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m not in love with you.”

He doesn’t have him in it to laugh anymore. So he leans forward and kisses her.

It’s Chat she is kissing. It’s Chat she isn’t leaning away from. And it’s Marinette who tastes like pure sugar. He didn’t expect his heart to nearly explode. He didn’t expect goosebumps to rise on his skin, and hands on his shoulders – not shoving him away, but pulling him closer – and there is her courage, with the way her lips press back against his, with how her body is suddenly flush against him.

Their lips part. She is panting, looking at him. He can’t tell if it’s confusion that is coloring her face, or if there is a kind of determination he only knows from Ladybug. The feeling in his chest is foreign. No unbreakable adoration, and no undying love – but the flutter of something soft, something gentle. Something that makes his fingertips tingle with anticipation.

He wants to kiss her again.

“Why …” Marinette’s eyes widen in realization. She quickly steps away, forcing him to let go of her, and she brings both hands to her mouth. “Why did you …”

“Because,” Chat replies, rooted to the spot, heart beating up to his throat, “I want you to fall for all of me, too.”

She shakes her head, and it takes time, and the words hang in the air. It’s easy to turn away, to believe what should be believed. She inhales, hands still covering her mouth. His fingers are twitching. He reaches for her hands, gently pulls them towards him, holds them in front of his lips. Closes his eyes.

There must be a way. There must be more to them than dreaming of distant ideals. Because like Plagg said, anything that is human is contradictory. He kisses her knuckles, right hand, left hand, and looks into her eyes again. Glazed over, endlessly blue.

“I’ll make you realize,” he promises.

“Chat –”

“Marinette,” a high-pitched voice whispers next to them. “Your parents. I heard something.”

Marinette winces, and quickly, Chat lets go of her. Gives her one last wink before jumping onto the railing. “See you around, my lady.”

As he jumps over rooftops, he still feels the burn of her touch on his lips, still feels a smile on his face. He has never felt more alive.

In the end, he is Adrien, and she is Marinette. In the end, she must be stumbling along just like he does. In the end, she surely must have laid awake at night with the same doubts as him. All the confusion, and the anger, and the constant questions – he isn’t alone, he never was.

He waits for the opportunity. He steals glances at her, sees her stare at him from time to time. During one of their breaks, it’s Alya who stops in front of his desk though.

“This,” she points from him to the empty seat behind him, “is getting you nowhere.”

He bashfully brings a hand to the back of his neck. “I’m just …”

“You’re just being the same kind of airhead she is. Get a grip, sunshine. Ask her out.”

“Uh …”

“Oh no, don’t play that game with me.” Despite the fierceness in her voice, Alya’s voice is soft. “I’ve been waiting far too long for you to finally notice her like that. Come on. Don’t waste your chance.”

So he doesn’t.

After their last lesson, he follows her into the locker room. Her back is to him as he comes closer. He remembers kissing her, remembers her smell, and there it is again: a faint beat of his heart, a bit different than before.

“Marinette,” he breathes against her ear.

Her reaction is immediate – a squeal, her whole body shooting bolt upright. She whirls around, her back crashing against the lockers with a loud bang. She winces. “Adrien! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Ah. Sorry.” Chat Noir might have playfully pushed a hand onto the locker next to her, leaning forward until their faces would have been only inches apart. Adrien on the other hand clears his throat and scratches his cheek. That’s stupid, somehow, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t be as bold. “Are you … I just wanted to ask, are you, today, are you free?”

She eyes him. Something about her looks becomes scrutinizing. Her cheeks are still pink, but there is a hint of pensiveness to her expression, and he starts feeling nervous underneath her eyes.

“Because, if you are, maybe … You know, we could …”

She raises her hand. Hesitantly, slowly. Eyes darting from left to right, but nobody is here anymore, and he watches the conflicted expression on her face. Her finger settles on his chin. Confused, he stares at her.

“Marinette?”

“Sh,” she makes. Something like determination colors her expression. Then her finger glides slower, underneath his jaw. Gently, her finger strokes his skin, and it’s an odd feeling, tingling and prickling, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, a vibrating sound building in his chest. It takes him some seconds to realize his eyes are becoming heavy, and he starts.

Out of enthralled eyes, Marinette looks at him. “Kitty?” she whispers.

He clears his throat to swallow that weird purring of his. “Treating me like a cat … That’s how you wanted to find out?”

She keeps staring at him. Her face falls. Her face lights up. Her face falls again. She raises her hand, about to lunge out – or not, because she covers her mouth, her eyes watering, and then her shaking hand reaches out for his cheek, fingertips grazing his skin.

“Kitty,” she repeats.

He wants to smile, and his voice trembles. “Disappointed?”

A disbelieving laugh. She points at herself. “Disappointed?”

No. Never. Overwhelmed. Flabbergasted. Fascinated. His heart flutters. If he was Chat Noir, he would kiss her right here and now.

“Oh god,” she mutters. Her hand drops to her side. “I talked to you. About you. I told you about – oh my god.” The tears almost seem to spill over, and with a sound, she turns her back on him. “Please tell me this is all a bad dream.”

Chat Noir would – screw that, Adrien thinks and steps closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You told me how much you like me? Guess you did.”

“You …” She flicks his cheek. With a pained grumble, he backs away. “That was cheating. Don’t act all smug.”

“Aw, my lady seems to be embarrassed.” Because it’s not like his own face is turning awfully hot either.

“Chat – I mean, Adrien – I mean, ugh!” She turns to him again, grabbing his arms to steady herself. Looks up at him out of watery eyes, cheeks so red they seem to glow.

“This will take some getting used to, huh?” he mutters, staring at her cheeks, at her trembling lips.

“This will take work. And caution. Knowing who you are – it’s not something to be taken lightly. I mean, we already talked about this!”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t dying to know my real identity, bugaboo.”

His heart is beating up to his throat. The nickname makes him want to laugh in nervousness, and he feels her fingers tremble against his skin. He reacted with anger, and she reacts with a kind of wonder that floods his body with gentle warmth.

It’s amazing, he thinks. She’s amazing, he thinks.

“This will take work,” she repeats, voice crumbling.

“We’ll manage.” He wants to kiss her so badly it hurts.

“You’re underestimating the impact all of this will have,” she goes on, eyes darting over his face. “It won’t be easy. We will have to be twice as careful from now on. We’ll have to see to it that no one else finds out, because who knows what would happen then, and most of all, we –”

He grabs her face and kisses her. Until he feels dizzy, until she kisses him back, until he feels her fingers dig into his skin and her breath getting caught in her throat. He feels her fight back, taking control, and it’s so entirely Ladybug, so entirely Marinette that he laughs against her lips.

“What?” she mumbles between kisses.

“You are really something else, my lady.”

“Charmer.” She kisses him. “Kitty.” She kisses him again. “Adrien.”

“Plagg!” a voice next to them peeps.

Hastily, they break their kiss. Adrien stares at Tikki hovering next to them. It’s only then that he notices Plagg reaching into the front pocket of his shirt.

“What?” Plagg asks. “I’m just searching for food. I’m hungry.”

“Let them have their moment, will you!” Tikki squeaks. “Oh, Adrien, I’m sorry! Technically, we already know each other, huh? I didn’t want to interrupt you two …”

“Well, you did,” Plagg says matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Because of you!”

“And I thought I am the kwami of destruction.”

“Like I said,” Marinette mumbles, directing a smile at Adrien, “this is going to take a lot of work.”

It did, and it will, and there’s something blooming in his chest, steadily growing and winding itself around his heart, making every beat so much more meaningful.