Chapter Text
Marinette crouches low on the awning, eyes sweeping over the clumps of people below her before moving on to the next street, letting the soft zip of her yo-yo sweep her through the air. Her feet land on a windowsill three inches wide, but her toes grip the ledge with no trouble, and she easily moves her weight around until she’s comfortable. When she looks down at the street below her, her eyes meet with a child’s. She stiffens.
“It’s Ladybug!” the child exclaims, tugging at her mother’s skirt, and it’s not long before other people on the street turn their eyes up to her. They smile, wave, say hello. Marinette stretches her lips into a smile, lifting a hand in a small wave.
She hears the flicker of a camera shutter, and she jumps off the ledge, years of practice and ease making her arm throw out her yo-yo. It catches, firm, on some other place, and Marinette lets her body follow the momentum, waving a last farewell to the girl that had exposed her and not looking back until she’s six streets over and on a rooftop, hidden in the shadow of the building next to it.
This is a mistake, just like always.
But she can’t neglect her job, no matter how useless she feels, no matter how much she can’t seem to get a handle on how to smile, how to wave, how to exist right. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed; it always hits her new when she faces the crowds and has to force herself to perform.
She rubs a tired hand over her face, and she looks up at the bright blue sky, warm in the new summer. She remembers the other summers, the ones with him by her side, and she closes her eyes.
If she dug deep, sifted through the pieces of her mind she more often than not tried to avoid, she could perhaps recall the shape his laugh made in the air. Not the sound - not quite - but the way the air bent around him when he smiled, fond and enchanted.
Her yo-yo buzzes in her hands, and Marinette startles out of her thoughts, looking down at it. It’s transferring a call from her regular phone, and Marinette flips open the yo-yo, staring at the caller ID. She takes in a deep breath, exhaling and managing to put a smile on her face that’s some semblance of real. She answers the call. “Hey, Alya, what’s up?”
“I’m out and about, and I thought you’d like to go out for coffee? I’m close by the bakery,” Alya says, and Marinette takes a moment to look around her, squinting down at the street signs to figure out just where she had run to. She isn’t far from the Louvre - figures, she always somehow ended up in this place when patrolling - but that means she can get back to the bakery in just a few minutes, if she really books it.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Marinette replies, “see you in a bit.”
She lets go of her transformation as soon as she’s inside her bedroom, paying no mind to the wisps of pink, fluttering magic that dance around her as she walks over to her desk and checks her purse to make sure it has her wallet and phone in it before slinging it over her shoulder and pulling open her trapdoor.
“Grab a cookie for me?” Tikki asks, zipping over by Marinette’s shoulder, and Marinette smiles, stroking a finger under the little sprite’s chin.
“Like you even have to ask,” Marinette says, and Tikki smiles before slipping into her bag. The last of the magic from her transformation dissipates around her as she lowers herself down the trapdoor and steps out into the living room. She checks around herself to be sure, though, before she jogs down the stairs into the bakery.
She gives her papa a kiss on the cheek as he’s pulling a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, and she snatches one up with deft fingers, calloused at the tips for never waiting for her sweets to cool down. She wraps the cookie in a napkin and puts it in her purse before turning and looping her arms around her maman’s shoulders, swaying her back and forth where she’s standing behind the cash register.
“I’m going out to coffee with Alya,” she says, and Sabine pats her forearm fondly, not looking up from where she was counting money. “Want anything?”
Sabine pauses in her counting, lowering her hands and turning her head to look at Marinette. “Could you get me one of those Ladybug drinks? Your papa, too. You know how that one’s his favorite.”
“Of course, Maman,” Marinette replies, kissing Sabine’s cheek.
Alya walks into the bakery, the bell above the door chiming sweetly, and Marinette detaches herself from her mother, letting Alya bound up to take her place.
“Hey, Mrs. Sabine,” Alya says, and Sabine envelopes Alya in a tight hug. “I’m stealing away your daughter for a bit.”
Sabine laughs, pulling away and patting Alya’s cheek. “It’s only ‘stealing away’ if my daughter was actually doing anything,” she says, and Marinette groans.
“I’ll help out when I get back, Maman, I promise,” Marinette says, and Sabine waves her hand. Before Marinette can leave, she presses a few bills from the cash register into Marinette’s hands - bills that Marinette deftly places back into the register as she gives her mother one last hug goodbye.
“Sleep in today?” Alya asks as they walk out onto the street, fluffing out her hair before surrendering to the heat and pulling it up into a thick, curly ponytail.
“Yeah,” Marinette lies easily. She had woken up at dawn, aching and crying from an all too familiar nightmare, but Alya never needed to know about that. “I didn’t have class today, so I took advantage.”
“I still can’t believe you’re taking classes during the summer,” Alya says, shaking her head. She twists a stray red curl by her ear, making it lay a little prettier against her brown cheek. “That’s, like, the least Marinette thing I could possibly think of.”
“Double majoring is a bitch,” Marinette says with an easy shrug of her shoulders. They push into the forgiving air conditioned coffee shop they always go to, getting in line behind the line of red-cheeked locals looking for something iced and caffeinated to get through the oppressive heat of the day. “And it’s not that bad. It’s only for half the summer, and the two courses I’m taking now aren’t the worst.”
Alya gives her a look. “Aren’t the two classes you’re taking right now both finance classes?”
Marinette winces. “Okay, so maybe they’re a little bit the worst,” she says as they step forward in the line. “But at least I won’t have to spend a full semester taking either of these classes. And I know they’re valuable, because the information applies to starting businesses, so I can do it.”
“How’s the math treating you?”
“I’m hoping and praying that someday I’m rich enough to hire someone to do any and all math for me,” Marinette replies, pressing the palms of her hands together and looking up at the ceiling. Alya laughs.
They order and pay for their drinks - Marinette only ordering for herself, planning on ordering her parents’ drinks before they leave - and they sit down at one of the free tables by the windows. Alya tells her about a story she’s working on as an assistant at the newspaper she’s interning at for the summer, and Marinette nods along, offering active listening noises and raised eyebrows when appropriate.
“Iced chai latte for Alya, and an iced Chat Noir for Marinette?” calls the worker behind the counter, and Marinette gets up from her seat.
“I’ll get them,” Marinette tells Alya, and she walks up to the counter, taking both of their drinks in her hands. She returns to the table, handing Alya her drink and setting her own drink down on the table before sitting down once more.
Alya begins talking again, and Marinette tries her best to listen - she really does - but her eyes get caught on the pale green color of her drink, the beads of condensation dripping down the side of the plastic cup. She takes a sip through the straw, tasting the earthy matcha flavor, mixed with honey and oat milk, and a memory washes over her.
They’d had the drinks named after them sometime during the second year of being superheroes. They’d been so young then, maybe only just entering into lycée, and Marinette had still been so strict about where the lines of their partnership were supposed to be drawn. No names - of course, that never changed - but no patrols, then. No hanging out outside of akuma attacks. They were just two people who saw each other every time the city burned under the new supervillain of the day.
“Did you know we have drinks?” Chat had asked, maybe around their seventeenth time fighting Mr. Pigeon.
“Would it kill you to focus?” Marinette asked, swatting pigeon feathers out of the air. Chat sneezed three times in quick succession before pinching his nose shut and squinting up at where Mr. Pigeon was hovering in a bird cloud about fifty feet above them.
“Come on,” he said, nasally, “this is, like, the fourteenth time with this guy. At this point we have it on lock.”
“Seventeenth,” Marinette reminded.
“Whatever.” A pigeon dive bombed at them, and Chat waved his baton frantically at it, trying to keep it at arms-length without injuring the birds.
“What kind of cat can’t even be around birds?” Marinette teased.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Chat said sarcastically. “And for your information, it’s just pigeons, which is just so convenient.”
“I mean, what are the odds,” Marinette said, shaking her head. “Our most frequent akuma is a pigeon guy, and you’ve got a pigeon feather allergy.”
“Pigeon feather? I hardly know her,” Chat muttered under his breath, completely unconsciously, which Marinette remembered being a little endeared over. But then she’d thought of a plan, and Chat met her eyes, his expression souring. “Oh, no. You’re not using my allergies as bait unless we go out to try the drinks named after us together.”
Marinette considered her options. “But I can still use your allergies as bait?”
Chat squinted at her. He sneezed twice. “Yes.”
“Deal.”
They’d defeated Mr. Pigeon in five minutes and then walked over to the cafe that was selling Ladybug and Chat Noir-themed drinks three blocks down. They’d gotten in line because it only seemed natural, and then they’d been overwhelmed by the people in the cafe asking for autographs and pictures. Chat was always so good at smiling his way through it all, even back then, and it soothed Marinette to be beside him, knowing she could look to him if she didn’t quite know what to say.
When they’d gotten to the front of the line, the employees of the shop insisted on giving them their drinks for free, and so Chat had dropped the money he’d been prepared to pay - and a little extra, Marinette remembered - into the tip jar. They got their drinks and left the inside of the cafe to try them in peace on the roof.
“An iced Chat Noir,” Chat had said appreciatively, holding up his green drink in the warm summer sun. “You know, of all the things named after me, I’m most proud of this one.”
Marinette snorted. “What else is named after you?” she’d asked, lifting up her own Ladybug drink. It was a raspberry lemonade with chunks of blueberries in it, and she looked down at it a little warily.
“Well, for starters, I’m named after me,” Chat said, and Marinette looked at him.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah,” Chat said with a shrug. He took a sip of his drink, making a face. “You win some, you lose some.”
“It’s not good?” Marinette asked, tasting her own drink. It was far too sweet for her taste, and they looked at each other.
“Trade?” Chat had suggested, and they traded their drinks. Marinette took a sip of the Chat Noir drink, the earthy, mild, and slightly bitter taste making her smile. She looked back up at Chat to see him grinning at her. “Technically, we just kissed.”
“Oh, my God, shut up,” Marinette said, shoving his shoulder, and he laughed.
And they’d drank the drinks named after each other, finding that they both much preferred the drink named after their partner for whatever reason, and that had been the first time they’d really hung out. Chat kept cracking stupid jokes, and Marinette kept trying not to laugh at them, and at some point, Chat had reached over and traced the cartoon face of a cat into the condensation of the Chat Noir drink in Marinette’s hands. And Marinette had traced a ladybug into the condensation of the drink in Chat’s hands, and they’d only parted ways when the ice in both of their plastic cups had long since melted under the sun.
“Marinette, tell me what I just said,” Alya says, and Marinette looks up from where she had been tracing a cat into the condensation of her drink. She wipes her finger on the table, biting her lip.
“Something super interesting and cool?” Marinette offers, and Alya breathes out a laugh.
“You’re terrible. Go order your parents drinks and let’s get you back to the bakery where you can let your mind wander while doing something productive - like kneading bread, or something.”
“Sorry,” Marinette says, but Alya just waves her hand, obviously not too offended.
Marinette orders two Ladybugs to-go which are quickly brought out to her in a little drink carrier, and then she and Alya step out into the heat again.
“I was asking you about Heroes’ Day,” Alya says, already beginning to fan herself as they walk back to the bakery. “Are you planning on going to the parade this year?”
Marinette tilts her face up to the sky, squinting at the wispy white clouds smeared sporadically across the blue. “What day is it on?”
“This Saturday,” Alya replies, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it’s already been three years.” Marinette hums, looking down at the sidewalk in front of her, at the sweating drinks in her hands.
“I’ll probably stay behind,” Marinette says. “Homework, you know.”
---
Marinette is standing on a parade float, and around her confetti cannons burst, low, booming sounds shaking her bones. Butterfly shaped confetti, black and shifting, explodes in front of her, and then she’s looking into the cool gray eyes of Gabriel Agreste.
He smiles at her.
The butterfly confetti booms again, rattling her, and then Gabriel Agreste is gone. Chat Noir is sprawled out on the floor of the float, deep red blood spreading out from his body, staining the white confetti scattered on the floor around him. Another boom of black butterfly confetti.
Gabriel Agreste is there, in front of her. He’s wearing the butterfly miraculous, and he slips Chat’s bloodstained ring onto his finger. He takes a step forward.
Marinette jolts awake to her alarm, breathing heavily. A new spin on her regular nightmare, wonderfully festive for Heroes’ Day.
She sighs, rubbing the heels of her hands against her tired eyes, and sits up, turning off the annoying alarm on her phone. Outside, dawn is just breaking, and she stretches before letting her arms flop down onto her lap.
“I know it probably isn’t possible that he got him,” Marinette says softly, knowing Tikki is awake and listening, like she always is when Marinette wakes up from a nightmare. “The properties of Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancouer were both searched thoroughly, and there was no sign of him.”
“That is true,” Tikki says, flying over to gently pat Marinette’s hand.
“But still,” she says, bottom lip trembling, and Tikki nods.
“We’ll see him again,” Tikki says, and Marinette takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes and nodding once before climbing out of bed.
She washes her face and smoothes down her hair, staring a little hopelessly at her bangs sticking up at odd angles before she pulls out her curling iron. She pulls the rest of her hair up into a half-hearted ponytail, puts on makeup for the sake of the day and for the sake of the dark circles under her eyes, and then changes into comfortable clothes. She checks the clock on her computer. 7:56.
Taking her phone off the charger, she worries at her bottom lip with her teeth before making the call. It’s probably fine. He’s probably awake anyway.
“Hello?” Adrien’s voice, a little tired, a little confused, answers after two and a half rings.
“Hey, it’s me,” Marinette says, sitting down in her desk chair and fiddling with her pencil. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Oh, Marinette,” Adrien says, and she doesn’t think she imagines the relief that floods through his voice. She smiles, just a little. He never checks his caller ID. “No, no, you didn’t. I was already- well, I got an early start.”
Marinette hums. “Did you sleep?”
There’s a pause. “It’s already eight?” Adrien asks.
“What time did you think it was?” Marinette waits for an answer, and when she doesn’t get one, she looks up at the ceiling, nodding her head slowly and tapping her finger on her desk. “I’m guessing that means you didn’t sleep.”
“I’m guessing you’re probably right,” Adrien replies with a small laugh.
“Maybe you should do that,” Marinette offers.
“Maybe I should.”
She can see his face in her mind - that tight-lipped, overly polite smile with the furrowed eyebrows and the painfully squinted eyes. She glances over at Tikki, who offers her an encouraging thumbs up.
“So what’s the plan for today? What are you up to?” she asks instead of pressing the issue, and Adrien lets out a breath that’s one part relieved and one part searching for an answer.
“Well, I was just planning on getting some more paperwork done, you know, and checking up on the progress of my coworkers. And then I was going to sit down and do some online lessons, you know, the free ones I told you about? And after that, or maybe during one of the lectures, I was going to fill in a couple pages of my sketchbook. I have a dinner with a new photographer I’m hoping will join the company, and then after that I wanted to drop by the company building to put the paperwork away and maybe check up on the finances to see if we’re doing alright.” Adrien pauses. Marinette waits. “Oh, and I was thinking about practicing my needlework.”
“Adrien, you know it’s a Saturday, right?” Marinette asks. “Typically people rest on Saturdays.”
“...I could save needlework for tomorrow?”
“You could definitely do that,” Marinette says. “And you could drop by my parents’ bakery for a treat around lunchtime, if you’d like.”
“Lunchtime?” Adrien asks. “Won’t the bakery be closed for… Won’t the bakery be closed?”
“No, I promised my parents I would man the counter for the day,” Marinette says, despite the fact that she didn’t do that. “I mean, we’ll definitely be open around lunchtime for you specifically,” she amends because she never really likes to lie, especially about things that didn’t really matter so much.
Adrien laughs. “Okay, Marinette. I’ll see you then.”
They hang up, and Marinette leans back in her chair, staring up at her ceiling and twisting back and forth, toes curling into her carpet. “Do you think he’s okay?” Marinette asks.
“I’m sure he’s glad to have a friend like you,” Tikki replies. Marinette smiles a bitter sort of smile.
---
The parade starts at eleven in the morning, just like always, and it’ll last until well into the night. Heroes’ Day used to be a little ‘thank you’ for Paris’ two little superheroes that always came to save the day, but now it’s a huge event that celebrates each new year without any akuma attacks. It’s still a ‘thank you,’ but it’s a ‘thank you’ that hurts a little bit, without really meaning to.
Marinette does do homework, just like she told Alya she was going to, and she takes breaks every so often to reply to Alya’s texts that have pictures attached of this year’s gaudy floats and over-the-top performances, and she checks the news every fifteen minutes, just in case.
Around lunch time, she puts away her homework and goes down to the bakery, turns on some upbeat music, and flips to a random page in her parents’ recipe book.
“Brownies?” she asks Tikki, looking over at where she was sitting on top of one of the flour containers, swaying lightly to the music.
“Sounds delicious,” Tikki says, and Marinette smiles, looking back at the page. It’s a quick and easy recipe; a little rich and sweet for Marinette, but it’s a crowd favorite. Brownies it is.
The batter takes less than five minutes, and then she’s placing the pan in the oven, twisting the little ladybug timer and moving on to sweep the floors. She’s mid-way through wiping down the counters when she stops and looks over at Tikki.
“Do you think he’s eaten?” she asks, and Tikki looks up from where she was attempting to organize extra slips of parchment paper. She seems to think for a moment.
“Maybe you should make some sandwiches,” she says.
“Good idea.”
She makes little finger sandwiches from some thinly sliced bread her papa had made a couple of days ago - something light, just in case he has eaten, but still potentially substantial if eaten in a large enough quantity - and then puts the plates of sandwiches to wait in the fridge while she checks on the brownies.
The front door chimes open as soon as Marinette deems the brownies fully baked, and she takes the pan out of the oven, nudging the oven door closed with her foot, and peeks out from the kitchen, smiling widely when she sees Adrien. “Hey, come on back.”
She leaves the brownies to cool on one of her oven mitts, and then takes the sandwiches out of the fridge, placing the plates on the center island before reaching for her papa’s secret stash of cheese puffs and a clean bowl. “I haven’t eaten yet, and I wasn’t sure if you had, so there’s a lot there,” she says, shaking some of the cheese puffs into the bowl. “There’s brownies, too, but they’re too hot to cut right now.”
Adrien sits down on one of the stools by the center island, taking off his backpack and placing it by his feet. “Hey, Marinette,” he says, and he smiles at her.
She puts down the big jar of cheese puffs, screwing the lid back on, and she smiles back at him. “Hey, Adrien.”
“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he says, but he takes one of the little sandwiches anyway.
“It’s only a simple lunch,” Marinette says with a shrug, sitting down on the stool across from him. “And besides, I think you should kill me if I ever stop being the perfect host for any of my friends. Like, really. Put an end to my life. At that point I’m not even myself anymore.”
He laughs, and they continue through their little lunch like that, talking easily and familiarly. Marinette never mentions the parade because Adrien never does, and that’s alright. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway.
She notices the bags under his eyes, the dark color almost perfectly covered up by concealer, but she doesn’t say anything about that - hers are probably just as bad, if not worse. His hair is neat, stylishly tousled and yet still perfectly out of his face. In this lighting, his nose, crooked from a break not set right, gives a rakish charm instead of a sad reminder. His clothes are nice, but no nicer than what one would find at a nice department store, his nails are neatly trimmed, and his teeth are white and clean. He looks okay.
They talk about work, and Marinette complains about her homework, and Adrien complains about paperwork. He shows her a couple of sketches from his notebook, and she shows him some pictures of the latest order she completed before shipping it out. Marinette offers to give him some pointers on needlework and embroidery, and then all the little sandwiches are gone and there’s only orange crumbs in the bowl that had previously held cheese puffs. Adrien had said he’d already eaten, so the food being gone had been mostly Marinette’s doing, but it still feels good to see the empty plate.
Adrien cuts the brownies into neat little squares while Marinette grabs ice cream and a couple of bowls for them. They take their brownies à la mode outside the bakery, and they sit on the sidewalk in front of the door with their legs stretched out into the road. It’s another hot day, and they sit in silence, enjoying their ice cream and brownies.
The sounds from the parade drift toward them from a couple streets down, and Marinette looks over at Adrien. He smiles.
“You’re worried about me,” he says, and Marinette raises her eyebrows.
“Should I be?”
He laughs, looking down at his bowl and tracing his spoon through the melted ice cream and brownie chunks. “You know what one of the things I like best about you is, Marinette?” he asks, and Marinette sighs, pretending to think hard.
“My genetic talent for making sweets?” she asks, gesturing to his empty bowl, and he snorts.
“Good guess,” he says, and he rests the handle of the spoon against the edge of his bowl. He turns his face so that he’s looking at her, and she does the same. His smile is easy, unmarred by any heavy emotion. “You never make me feel burdened by your worry.”
Marinette feels her heart break a little bit, but she just frowns comically down at the last corner of brownie in her own bowl. “Funny, I don’t remember putting alcohol in these.”
“I’m being serious,” Adrien says with a laugh, bumping his shoulder with hers, and she laughs, too, stuffing the last bit of brownie in her mouth and standing up.
“I know,” she says, and she offers a hand down to him. He takes it without hesitation, squinting up at her, the sun in his eyes. “Come on, you have to help me do the dishes.”
They go inside, and Marinette does the washing while Adrien does the drying, putting the plates and bowls away in the places Marinette directs him. And after that’s done, Marinette takes the rest of the brownies out of the pan and begins to arrange them onto one of the decorative plates to put on display at the front counter.
“There’s something,” Adrien says, and Marinette pauses, looking up at him. He coughs awkwardly. She raises an eyebrow. “Nevermind.”
“Okay,” Marinette says, and she looks back down at the neat little brownie pyramid she’s attempting to build. The quiet music Marinette had left on drifts between them.
“There’s just something I think I should do,” Adrien says, his words coming out in a rush. Marinette’s hands halt once more, but she doesn’t look up at him, just in case it’ll make him too nervous to continue.
“Like?” she asks.
“Like, well,” Adrien says, taking a deep breath and letting it out, “it’s just. Something big, something that I’m scared to do on my own, but something I know might work out in the long run.”
Marinette finally looks up from the brownies, brushing off her fingertips and crossing her arms. She stares hard at him, and he drums his fingers on the counter, biting at his lip.
“It’s classes,” Adrien says, finally, “official ones, at a university. I’m thinking of applying for the fall semester.”
Relaxing a bit, Marinette returns to the brownie pyramid, but she looks up at Adrien as she speaks. “For a degree?”
“Maybe,” Adrien says. “I’m not- I’m not really sure yet.”
She finishes the pyramid and then places a small cloche over the plate and looks up at Adrien once more. He looks nervous, like he’s afraid she’ll tell him it’s a terrible idea, and she softens. “If you have the time and the ability to take the classes, then I don’t see why you shouldn’t. And I’m sure even if you don’t end up going for a degree, the classes you do take will still be beneficial for you. It’s a good idea, Adrien.”
He blinks. “Yeah, actually, it is a good idea,” he says, as if the thought is just now occurring to him. Marinette bites back a smile, taking the plate of brownies to the front and gesturing for Adrien to follow.
“It is,” Marinette assures, opening up the display case and crouching down to rearrange the plates to allow room for the brownies. Adrien crouches down beside her, helping her make space for the plate. “And if you’re afraid to start because you think you’re starting a little late or that it’ll be too much, it’s alright. I know you’re a hard worker, and you’re never truly alone when deciding to make big changes. There’s always people to turn to; there’s always people willing to help.” She looks over at him and sees that he’s holding the plate of brownies out for her, and she smiles, taking the plate off his hands. Her fingers brush against his, and he looks away, smiling quietly.
After placing the brownies in their new place and closing the display case again, she stands up straight. He follows suit, meeting her eyes once more and letting out a small, relieved sort of sigh. “Thanks, Marinette.”
She reaches up and squeezes his shoulder with her hand, giving him an encouraging smile. “If you think it’s worth it, then it’s worth it. Ultimately, you know what the best thing to do for yourself is, and if that thing is to take those classes or work for a degree, then I support you whole-heartedly.”
He sucks in a breath, his eyes holding hers, and then he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “How do you always know just what to say?”
Marinette lets go of him, letting out a laugh and dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Years of practice saying the absolute wrong thing,” she replies, but Adrien just shakes his head, still smiling.
He leaves not long after, and when he’s gone, Marinette leans her chin on her hands, elbows resting on the countertop, and she looks over at Tikki. “He was okay, right?”
“He seemed to really enjoy your company,” Tikki says, and Marinette nods. “I think he really enjoyed the break.”
Marinette bites her lip, and then she sends Nino a text, asking him if he could force Adrien into a movie night with just him and Nino that night, maybe even get him to sleep a full eight hours. Nino’s reply is quick: “already on it, nettie” followed by three thumbs up emojis.
And then she locks up the bakery, wiping down the counters again for good measure, and she’s dropping down onto a parade float with her face on it, the crowd erupting into cheers as she waves a gloved hand and smiles a bright red lipstick smile at the crowds of people around her. It’s been a while since he disappeared, but a few people still turn their faces up at the rooftops, searching for the familiar figure in black, the glint of silver, the bright laugh and flash of green eyes. She resists the urge to do the same.
But in the end, it’s just her, just like always, and she smiles and waves and moves through the floats and claps for the performers and dances along to the music the bands play. She accepts flower crowns and necklaces made by careful children’s hands, and she signs autographs and smiles for selfies and professional photographs.
None of the adults or older teens ask about him - they’ve all learned not to ask because she won’t give a straightforward answer - but some of the younger children do, the ones wearing bells around their necks and cat ears on top of their heads. The parents shush them and pull them close and shake their heads, but Marinette just smiles and says he must be saving the day somewhere else if he’s missing out on the chance to come party like everyone else. She tries very hard not to make the words seem hollow, and she almost thinks she succeeds until she looks up at the father’s face and sees the sadness in his eyes. She quickly moves on.
She doesn’t stay for the whole parade, but she stays for enough of it. Nothing unusual happens, just like always, but she still makes cursory patrols around the city, ending up at the Eiffel Tower, just like always. She sits on the railing way up at the top, and she crosses her ankles, swinging her legs back and forth and humming softly to herself as she watches the sun set.
“Little kitty on the roof, all alone without his lady,” he used to sing when he’d gotten back to their meeting point from patrolling his half of the city before her. It was just a silly little song, one that he’d clearly made up for himself.
It didn’t hurt until he’d been akumatized, and she’d seen that one version of the future - the one where he’d destroyed the whole world because of Gabriel Agreste. She’d seen him then, a lonely figure in white, humming his little song to himself. Who knows how long he’d been like that before she’d been transported to him, how long he’d been really and truly alone.
When it had all been fixed and she’d returned to her own time, she’d found him singing his lonely little song and she’d nearly cried. But instead she just sat down next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He’d smiled down at her, easy as anything.
The next time she found him singing the song, she’d sat down next to him, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins.
“Hello, my lady,” he’d said, charming as ever.
“You’re not… actually alone without me, are you?” she’d asked, and his legs had stopped their swinging. He glanced over at her, and she watched his face move between surprise, to hurt, to quiet contemplation. He was always so expressive - so easy to read.
“No,” he finally said, and she’d breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. “But I’d still be very lonely if I didn’t have you as a friend, even if I wasn’t alone.”
“Me too,” Marinette had said, and she whispers it now, quietly to herself. She stops swinging her legs, heat welling up at the backs of her eyes. She stares at the sunset, hot tears dripping down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes.
“Little lady on the roof,” she sings, the words catching in her throat, “all alone without her kitty…”