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Ladybug breathed in the crisp night air contentedly. It wasn’t very often they could do this - her and Chat Noir - just sit on a rooftop and admire the City of Lights. Chat was quiet for once, a carefree smile on his face as he looked out at Paris sprawled out beneath them. In the comfortable silence though, Ladybug’s thoughts couldn’t help drifting to an interview she had with Alya earlier that day.
It had been fun at first: letting Alya question her and giving just enough information to satisfy her and the public all while steering them away from the truth. But as time went on something about the situation started feeling progressively stranger. Now, a year after she got her Miraculous, Ladybug felt like the gap between her hero and civilian self was pathetically huge. And nothing made it as painfully clear as talking to Alya, who knew her in both forms.
Somewhat impulsively, she opened her mouth.
“Hey Chat?”
Keeping his gaze on the lights below, he hummed, “Hm?”
She took a breath - she hadn’t quite put her thoughts into words yet and didn’t know if it would come out right. “Do... you ever feel like you’re playing a part when you suit up? Like you’re an imposter and… you’re scared people will find out?”
He turned his head to rest his luminescent eyes on her. They narrowed slightly and his mouth played with a pensive frown. Turning back to the city, he thought for a minute before responding.
“In some ways. My civilian self is very different from Chat Noir. In day to day life I’m as polite and straight-laced as they come.” He stopped when he heard Ladybug’s small snort of disbelief. Chat grinned at her, “Hey, don’t laugh, it’s true!” She shook her head, fighting a smile of her own. He leaned back and continued, looking up at the inky sky.
“And, well, if you’d asked me that question a year ago I’d have said that the goody two-shoes is the imposter. That Chat Noir is the real me and the rest of the time I’m acting.”
Maybe it was the soft glow from below, or perhaps it was just the fact that it was very late and she was starting to miss her pillow and comforter, but Ladybug thought that something about Chat Noir looked different. Something in the soft, wistful expression was uncharacteristic of him, yet somehow still familiar.
“And now?” She prompted.
“Now I think… I’m neither of them. I think the real me must be somewhere in between. Something I haven’t found yet.”
“Something you haven’t found yet,” She echoed. The nagging sensation of wrongness quieted as she absorbed the thought. “I like that.”