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“I know I joke around a lot, Ladybug,” Chat said softly, and he lifted a hand to her cheek. “But I really care about you. You know that, right? I don't know what I'd do without you.”
Although the gesture was awfully intimate, even for Chat, they'd both just come within an inch of their lives from dying slow, painful deaths in front of each other and possibly losing all of Paris in the process. After that, it only felt right. Marinette leaned into the smooth leather of his glove, warmed by his hand. It struck her, not for the first time, that there was a human boy underneath that suit, flesh and bone and blood and heart, just like her. Knowing this, or perhaps more accurately, understanding this, made the realization that he could have died not twenty seconds ago that much more painful.
“Same to you,” she said, urging herself to swallow the choking sensation crawling its way up her chest and throat. “I mean it.”
After a moment’s pause, Chat leaned forward onto his other hand and pressed his forehead against hers. Marinette’s pulse quickened. They had, of course, had far closer bodily contact than this countless times before, but Marinette couldn’t help but feel that this was different, given how they’d just almost died together and Chat’s thumb was stroking her cheek and he was looking at her like she was his world.
Marinette realized then, with fascinating clarity, that he was hers, too. Or, rather, she hadn’t only just realized it—she had known for some time—but she was embracing it now. All the possible complications that could come out of her feelings for him didn’t seem to matter anymore.
“Listen,” Chat said suddenly, and the conviction in his voice startled her. She raised her eyes to his, and he pulled back slightly so he could see her better. The bright green eyes beneath the mask were resolute, crackling. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and tonight just made me realize I need to stop waiting for the right time to tell you. There won’t be a right time, ever.”
Marinette sucked in her breath without thinking. Something sharp pulled at the pit of her stomach, and she knew what was coming.
Chat had made grand overtures to her many times before; it was part of his routine, and if he let up on the confessions of love for too long, it usually meant he was sick or down. But again, something about this time felt different.
Maybe because I know I love you, too.
And she’d tell him. She had to.
“I really couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. When I thought it was going to happen tonight, and it looked like it was all over—” Chat paused, and his eyes lowered, as did his voice. “I couldn’t wait to go, too. I didn’t want to be in a world without you.”
Marinette felt like he’d just tied a rope around her heart and pulled as hard as he could. Her vision blurred.
“I love you, Bug,” Chat whispered. “And no matter who’s beneath the mask, I’ll always love you. I can’t go another night without telling you that. Not after what just happened.”
Tears spilled over onto Marinette’s mask as she blinked. Chat swiped some away with his thumb. He smiled at her, and the uncertainty in his smile could have killed her.
She cleared her throat and drew in a breath. “First of all, don’t ever say that you want to die again, ever, or I will kill you.”
“Isn’t that counterprod—”
Marinette held a finger up to Chat’s lips. “And second of all—”
Marinette forced herself to stop thinking, exhaled, closed her eyes, and leaned forward until she felt her lips meet his. She felt a millisecond of Chat’s surprise before he allowed his lips to mold against hers. They were warm and soft and he was being so gentle, like he might break her if he were any less careful. Both of his hands were cradling her face, fingers absentmindedly stroking her cheek and strands of her hair. It was exactly like she had imagined all those nights when she had just been too tired to stop her brain from going there.
When they pulled apart for air, Marinette swallowed. “So. In case it wasn’t obvious, I love you, too. And I don’t care who you really are, either, Chat. Because whoever you are, I already know the most important parts of you. I know how amazing you are.” She felt her breath catch and wondered how on earth she could possibly still be nervous, but she was— “But I think, after a night like this, I need to...I need to show you. Who I am, I mean.”
Chat’s eyes widened, and before she could talk herself out of it, before she could run through the dozens of nightmare scenarios her brain had supplied over the last several years for this exact occasion, she stood up, backed away a few steps, and closed her eyes.
“Tikki… spots off.”
Please mean what you said.
Somewhere in the background of her detransformation, Marinette heard Chat say something, and she wondered if he had reached out and tried to stop her—"No, never mind, let’s actually just keep our identities a secret, after all”—but it was too late.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood before Chat Noir in her pajama pants and tank top and hair that was still wet from her shower, utterly unimpressive and completely exposed. She held her arms around herself, took a breath, and forced herself to look up at Chat.
Except Chat was nowhere to be found.
Adrien Agreste stood where Chat Noir had been moments prior, green eyes large with what he had just taken in and mouth hanging open. In the three seconds it took Marinette’s brain to process his presence, she foolishly wondered if Chat had run off somewhere, not wanting to see, and Adrien had walked by and caught her detransforming instead. And then the realization of what had really happened engulfed her in a massive wave.
Oh, my God.
“Marinette?” Adrien’s smile lit up his entire face.