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"How old are you?"
Ladybug glanced over her shoulder to Chat Noir.
It was a question she hoped he'd ask, one day. Not for any real purpose, though — other than giving her a gateway to mess with him.
Recently, she'd considered the fact he might've been older than her — seventeen or eighteen, at least. He was tall and well-built, and his voice was a bit deeper than some of the boys' in her class. She could imagine him behind the wheel of a car, or holding a bottle of something she wasn't allowed to drink yet. Despite the softness of his cheek, the silly ways he made her laugh, he simply couldn't have been fifteen, too.
She doubted he thought she was fifteen. Even she forgot it, sometimes, when she watched playbacks of herself talking at press conferences. Shoulders rolled back, expression schooled, she spoke into those microphones with a voice that almost sounded foreign to her.
Ladybug replayed his question in her head.
How old are you?
She turned back to the skyline, hiding her grin.
"Nine," she said.
A pregnant silence ensued.
It grew thicker.
Chat Noir, behind her, must have stopped breathing.
Ladybug squeezed her eyes shut and bit her tongue hard enough to chase away any thoughts of laughter.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I don't think I heard what you just said."
"No, no, you heard me right." She had to take in a deep, steadying breath before she could turn to face him. Think about akumas. About Hawk Moth. Don't smile. Don't smile. Don't smile . "I'm nine. My birthday was last month. We had a bouncy castle and everything."
She should quit fashion design and become an actress. This was her true calling. A bouncy castle? She was clearly too good at this.
"Ladybug, you're teasing me. Come on." His words said one thing, but the panic on his face said another. "Come on. You aren't nine. You're like…" He squinted, trying to make his own estimate. The panic returned within a few seconds. "You're not nine ."
She snorted. "Why would I lie about being nine?"
"Ladybug, we have kissed. Twice. Not that I remember either time, but—" He made a few vague, hysterical gestures with his hands. "You can't be nine ."
Oh yeah . She'd forgotten about that. If he was eighteen, that'd be… an issue.
She didn't let that stop her, though. "Maybe the Miraculous makes me seem older." For added effect, she shrugged noncommittally, as if being nine was the most normal thing in the world.
He stared at her for a moment. She wanted to turn her face away again, but he had locked her in with his gaze. She was sure, sure , he would snap out of his scrutiny and laugh, realising, somehow — perhaps from a wayward pimple on her cheek, perhaps from the memory of her talking about logarithms — that she was definitely not a nine-year-old.
But then he sighed, and put his head in his hands. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is fine." Then, he looked up at her, despair weighing down his face. "I'm a really bad role model. You don't look up to me or anything, do you? Please don't. I'm a mess."
Ladybug blinked. " Role model?"
"I've never had a little kid around me before!" He threw his arms up, and began to pace. "Oh, God, I've sworn in front of you before. Don't swear. Don't be like me. It's bad."
The laugh that burst out of her was automatic, but he was too busy pacing and muttering to even acknowledge it. "What if I swore right now?"
He ignored her. "We need healthier patrol snacks. Do you eat carrots? You're going to eat carrots, now. And drink lots of water — no, milk! You're still a kid! You need calcium! No more soft drinks."
"Aw, come on, Coke is nice—"
" Uhh . Oh, God, what else? What else… what else… I can tutor you? Yes. I can tutor you. Bring your homework up every Friday and I'll tutor you."
"Chat Noir, this really isn't necessary—"
"Oh, God, but you're so smart already. You're nine and you're smarter than me. Does that mean I'm stupid?"
"Chat Noir." She swallowed her laughter and came up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hi. I was joking. I'm not nine."
He looked like he was about to cry. "Please don't tell me you're ten. That isn't any better."
"I'm fifteen ."
For a moment, he said nothing, simply looked at her, searching her face for anything to counter what she had said.
He must have found nothing, because his shoulders dropped, his muscles relaxed, and he let out an exhale that made Ladybug wonder just how long he'd been holding her breath.
"Oh, thank goodness," he said. "Though that's still younger than I thought you were."
"You thought I was your age, huh?"
"What?" At that, he looked up. "You are my age. I'm fifteen, too. I thought you were nineteen."
" Nineteen?" she shrieked. "I'm not— how— why — if you thought I was nineteen why would you flirt with me?"
"I mean—! You might've thought I was nineteen!"
"Chat Noir, that's awful. I'm so mad at you. I can't believe you."
"I'm sorry! You're just really smart! I didn't think someone as smart as you could've been my age!"
"You don't flirt with people who are four years older than you, Chat Noir! Not if you're fifteen!"
"Well— wait, how old did you think I was? You asked me if I could drive, back when we were fighting Zombizou." He narrowed his eyes. "My Lady, don't tell me…"
"I don't flirt with you, though!"
"Oh, yes you do. You like older guys."
"I do not! I don't even like you!"
"Why, because I'm fifteen?"
" Ughhhhh ."
Chat Noir grinned.
