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“Really, Chaton? This is the hill you want to die on?”
Marinette approached her dating life the same way she did every aspect of her hero work: with careful planning, unfruitful overthinking, and a good dose of insanity.
Adding a third partner to the mix meant even more stress, more nonsense coming out of her mouth, more scenarii to catastrophize about; which is why she had planned every single detail of her conversation with Chat Noir and compiled her findings into a PowerPoint, complete with useful statistics and colour-coded charts. She was prepared to face any concern — any cause for conflict that might arise.
Anything, except that.
“All I’m saying is,” her partner pouted, precariously perched on her desk in full costume, “ I should get to be Luka’s first kiss.”
The young girl blinked, confusion and frustration clogging her brain.
“This is childish,” she mumbled, lowering her pointer and crossing her arms. “I just gave you a thirty-minute-long presentation on ethical non-monogamy, and this is all you have to say on the matter?”
“ Yes ,” he reiterated, mirroring her stance with a pout.
In a way, she should have been grateful: this talk could have killed their relationship right then and there. Yet, despite all her research and rationalisation, she could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy tugging at her heart strings.
“Luka and I have dated in the past,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples. “He will be more comfortable if it’s me.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“What do you mean, ‘nuh-uh ’?”
The cup she stored her pencils in had slid dangerously close to the edge of the desk; she gave her boyfriend a death glare, and he pushed it back against the wall, reluctantly.
“I mean you had your chance, and you blew it,” he retorted, pupils narrowing behind the mask. “It’s only fair that I get to do the honours.”
Marinette opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She had to admit it: it was a pretty convincing argument.
“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes in defeat. “You get to kiss Luka first.”
A huge grin painted Chat’s face, and well. It was very hard to fight against that.
“Provided he says yes to our little arrangement,” she added, brushing the wrinkles off her shirt.
“He will,” he reassured her. “You’re the best, M’Lady, and I’m, well, me.”
She could not help but chuckle as he pretended to kiss his own biceps.
“Should we tell him to drop by right now? The sooner you kiss him, the sooner I get to do so.”
“Sounds like a plan. Hey, can I borrow your chapstick?”
“No way! You have your own!”
“Strawberry is more appropriate for special occasions.”
She placed her hands on each side of the desk, trapping him in place, and gazed into the playful emerald eyes.
“Very well,” she said, moving her lips closer to his. “I guess you get to try the chapstick.”