Chapter Text
Marinette nibbled at her lip, mulling the warm sticky wax that firmed up between her fingers.
Her last memories of Grévin Museum weren’t the fondest. She never imagined she’d be back in here—not after last time—and her imagination was known to run wild on occasion.
But she could hardly turn down the opportunity to be committed to wax as herself. Not if she wanted to grab every opportunity to have the eye of the industry upon her once she’d be ready to grab her shot.
Of course, it would have been nice if they could have chosen another time, when they weren't already committing the whole of Paris’s superheroes to wax.
It had come as a bit of a shock when the call to have her—as Marinette—come in. Yes, she had won a contest or two of Gabriel’s, and had designed another album cover for Jagged—and, she supposed, she had been on that ill-fated reality show with him. Plus, the public thought she’d been dating Adrien for a time. But that still didn’t explain why she was being honored with her own wax statue among the elite of Paris—not that she was going to argue. She would have been a fool to let the professional exposure slip away.
Marinette blew out a ragged breath.
Of course, dating Adrien was one accomplishment she didn’t think she would ever achieve. Though Paris had believed they were romantically involved, Adrien had simply been struggling to reach out to his Father the day they had raced away from Paparazzi, hand in hand.
However, Adrien wasn’t off the market just yet. Kagami had grown tired of waiting and moved on—surprisingly to Luka—though neither knew who one another was outside of the Ryuuko's and Viperion's masks. A superhero specific relationship…
Rena and Carapace were endlessly amused by it all, but Chat Noir seemed to be pouting that everyone was in a relationship except for him.
Conveniently forgetting that his own partner wasn’t exactly dating anyone either...
She knew the feeling. It would have been nicer to answer Luka’s confession herself before Kagami’s lack of hesitation beat her to the literal punch. Now, she knew Luka was ‘unofficially’ off the table.
At least Chat Noir had managed to visit frequently in the evenings to fill up some of the lonelier times. She definitely had been spending too much time with him.
After pulling down all but one of her old posters of Adrien, she’d even invited him down into her room, and had been challenging him to go toe to toe with her in Ultimate Mecha Strike IV.
The least she could do was let him come inside so he could keep losing with his dignity intact before the rest of Paris.
Marinette chuckled fondly at the memories, waiting for the clock to chime so that she could release her hand from the mold the museum was making.
She had been dodging the personal casting of her statue, trying to put as much time as she could between her visits to prevent anyone from noticing any similarity between herself and her alter ego.
While this call to be immortalized in wax as her civilian self had been completely unexpected, it was also thoroughly inconvenient. Especially because it also happened to be the same week that the Heroes of Paris were due to be upgraded (with permission this time). The heroes couldn’t allow themselves to be replicated entirely—the whole process was a bit lengthy after all. But they did schedule a sitting with the primary artist and photographer to capture their likeness as best as they could. The museum was updating the whole wing and in a rush to get the whole exhibit reopened to the public as quickly as possible, so there were plans to use stand-in models.
Ladybug herself had at least been well photographed so she asked that they use the footage on file for replicating her outfit.
But Chat Noir had grumbled about the inattention to the details on his costume. For months, she’d heard him complain that Ladybug definitely hadn’t been paying attention enough… not if she hadn’t spotted it.
She was curious enough about the work...to make sure that the quality was up to par—and to make sure that no one would be able to figure her out from her statue. As soon as her timer was up, she stretched and then headed to the main display area to see for herself.
Chat Noir walked in, just as cool as he pleased, leisurely strolling through the half darkened hall as Marinette was examining the detail of the currently displayed work.
She froze, awkwardly half leaning against a statue of Jagged Stone.
He noticed the hero hall first with most of the redone statues on display already. Everyone else had come and gone days ago, but Chat Noir had been the last to come in for his official measuring. Not that she was really sure why… his schedule had been open enough for him to come and visit her, after all...
“Two Ladybugs?” Chat Noir purred, the absolute joy in his voice melting the ice that had quieted the steady thrum of her veins. “No question—.I’m definitely in heaven this time.”
She rolled her eyes as he slipped the baton from his holster to snag a selfie before strolling through the rest of the exhibit. She knew—without a doubt—that she would find a copy of it waiting on her yo-yo the next time she transformed.
She fought off the urge to nibble at her lip. As nice as it was that Chat’s affections hadn’t strayed, there was a reckless part of her that kind of hoped that Marinette meant a little something to him, too. It wasn’t Ladybug who he had been spending nearly every evening with this week…
Marinette steadied her breath, hoping that her partner’s silent rove of the halls would end and he would head upstairs.
But it seemed that this was the only place in all of Paris where Tikki’s luck truly eluded her.
He had nearly missed her frozen form, but his eyes widened and he took a couple of backwards steps to stop beside her.
Of course, his eyes were unfairly sharp even in the dim light.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite princess! Fancy meeting you here.”
It was a struggle to hold still… but it was far more challenging for her not to roll her eyes.
“Mind if I wax poetic for a bit?”
His grin was blinding, she was sure of it, but she didn’t dare look.
“Shake your head if you mind…”
Her shoulders started to ache, but Marinette forced herself to keep still. Daring to blink only as Chat circled around her curiously.
Coming to quick halt before her, Chat Noir blinked guilelessly. “What was that?” He inclined his head ever closer, ears perking jauntily atop his head. “Sorry, I couldn't hear you…”
She felt her heart speed up the moment he escaped her peripheral vision. The clipped sound of his boots on tile echoed just slightly as he snuck behind her, but she could swear the boots would be more quiet than the sound his smirk would make as he surely rooted around in his mind for another pun.
“There must be a little extra wax in my ear...”
He had to be certain by now that she wasn’t the real deal. When he’d dropped in to pass the patrol-free hours, she’d never let his awful puns go without grumbling or groaning. Or, when he was in particularly poor spirits, she would volley back with a poor pun of her own.
It wasn’t entirely because of the gleeful little smile that curved his lips.
His pacing slowed, his breathing grew calmer and more evenly measured. He was sure that he could be a little more himself; not quite Adrien, not quite Chat, but the young man he was becoming who fell somewhere in between.
Marinette hadn’t moved an inch despite his ceaseless provocation, certain if she carried on he would quickly give up and head home.
But there were whole Akuma battles that hadn’t been this tough, though admittedly, the majority of those fights had been against Mr. Pigeon. Chat Noir finally circled back around to the corner of her vision, seeming to consider something, and his shoulders relaxed.
Everything in Marinette tensed as the urge for her to move resurfaced. She struggled not to move, not to blink—not even breathe, though the latter was getting a little easier for her by the second.
“I suppose this does feel rather silly, doesn’t it?” he finally spoke.
With each passing moment, she sympathized more with every Akumatized victim Chat Noir had ever hunted down on her behalf.
Suddenly, he kissed her cheek, claws ever so carefully unmussing her hair. “I’m glad you’ve made your way here as well, my very dear friend.”
He blinked in wide eyed confusion as he slowly drew his face away. “Huh.”
“She was right… it is still warm.”
The curator had descended down the steps. “Ah, Chat Noir. Right on time.”
Somehow, her legs managed to stay steady… only slipping and slumping down to the floor after the clatter of heels and boots on the steps was punctuated with a final snick of the door above closing shut.
Tikki emerged from her hiding place only after it was all clear. “Marinette? Are you alright?”
Wearily, she lifted her hand to where his lips had lingered.
She was right, he had said.
The words spun through her mind on endless loop, as the mental pieces locked into place as sure as the luckiest of Charms...
She was right… it is still warm.
How her own words had haunted her nightmares for the better part of a year, an absurd role play that was meant to bolster her courage—only to tear it right down in the end.
Only now… it was all coming back as key pieces to a puzzle...
Her other hand drifted to the warmth burning into her cheeks, recognizing with startling clarity just who had kissed her cheek.
Just who had been at her side, all along.