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Ladybug stared out into the sky from her position on a beam on the Eiffel Tower, watching the colors of the sky blend together as the sun descended into the horizon. The sunset was always gorgeous—no matter how many evenings she spent out here, watching it, it never became any less beautiful. Her mind, however, could not focus on the pink and orange hues emitting from the Parisian skyline. Instead, her thoughts wandered into places she'd rather ignore.
Rewinding.
During class, an akuma had struck. While she'd been a little irritated to have her physics test interrupted, she couldn't ignore duty when it called—she fumbled for an excuse to leave, found a place to transform, and tried to purify the akuma in a timely manner. She knew, after all, that Ms Mendeleiev was very strict on the procedures of making up tests. Especially when all she could think of was the classic "bathroom emergency" excuse.
She and Chat had managed to take care of the akuma quickly, but as soon as the victim was reverted back to her normal self, all thoughts of finishing her physics test vanished.
All she could focus on was the girl's arm.
The girl's arm, which was half-covered by her sleeve.
The girl's arm, which was littered with thin, but long scars.
Their gaze met for a few seconds, and in that time, her whole world seemed to freeze. Her heart sank beneath her ribcage, eyes widening as much as they were able, body stiffening with shock. Those... those looked fresh, like the marks had been put there very recently. And there were too many of them to be mistaken as a simple cat scratch.
She... she didn't put them there herself, did she?
It was obvious that Ladybug had seen something not meant for her to see, because as soon as the akuma victim snapped out of her horror-induced daze, she stood, fixed her sleeve, and ran off in the opposite direction. Ladybug's ears caught a sob.
People running off after being akumatized was nothing new. Some victims needed comfort and reassurance. Some needed time to themselves. She respected both. But instinct was to chase after that girl, to make sure that she was alright. To let her know that she wasn't alone, that there were other ways to deal with her pain. Other ways that weren't so self-destructive.
Except her Miraculous chose that moment to beep, signaling that she only had one minute left before she transformed back. She stared worriedly after the girl—who couldn't have been much older than herself—for a few precious moments before she was forced to flee before her secret identity was compromised.
She mumbled a goodbye to Chat, not exactly ignoring his victorious fist bump, but also not really bothering to stop and look, either. Then she used her yo-yo to escape.
In the present, Ladybug released a quiet sigh. She didn't even recognize the girl, let alone know her name. But the weight of knowing she was suffering was almost physical in Ladybug's chest, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out how to make it go away. Worry made her heart feel so heavy.
What was she to do? She'd only caught a glimpse of that girl's face for those few moments. Paris was city with a population of over two million people—hunting her down seemed impossible, especially when memory was the only tool she had to help in her search.
Ladybug couldn't just sit here, either. What if that girl truly felt alone in the world? What if she did something she couldn't undo? The thought only doubled the weight of her heart, to the point where it felt like a huge ball of lead that could easily crush her from the inside.
"My Lady?"
Ladybug jumped in surprise upon hearing Chat's voice, whole body going rigid as she turned to face him. It wasn't a patrol night, so she hadn't expected to see him at the moment. She herself didn't even plan to outside right now—but her room felt too small, too constricting as Marinette, and her first instinct was to leave it. Sometimes it was easier to think when she had more space.
But then, it made sense that Chat would be out, too. She knew how much he loved being outside.
"Hi, Chat," she whispered feebly.
"Are... are you crying?"
Was she? Ladybug's hand subconsciously came up to brush her cheek, surprised to find it wet. She hadn't even noticed.
She turned back to the skyline, sniffling and blinking back the remainder of her tears. Released a shuddering breath. "I—I guess so."
Suddenly Chat was sitting down beside her, studying her face intently with a frown. She blinked again, and again, but the burning sensation in her eyes wouldn't fade. It only intensified now that she was aware of the fact that she was crying.
"Is there somebody I need to go beat up, My Lady?" he asked in a deadly serious voice.
For some reason, that made her giggle. A bubble of croaky, hollow laughter climbed up her throat and out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her hand came up to wipe her eyes, pushing down on her tear ducts as if the force was enough to get them to stop.
"That'd be a story," she said hoarsely. Emptily. "'Chat Noir, hero of Paris, arrested for assaulting a citizen.'"
He grinned at her, all crinkled green eyes and ivory teeth and cheeky innocence. "If it would make you feel better, I would do it in a heartbeat." Then, just as suddenly as the grin was there, it was gone, and the solemnity returned. "For real, Ladybug. What's wrong?"
"It's... kind of stupid," she murmured, even though she knew it wasn't. The subject of self-harming was not stupid. The fact that she was mourning over someone she didn't even know seemed so strange, though. Especially because they weren't even dead.
Or... or were they?
Her throat closed up. She hoped to whatever entity was up there that that wasn't the case.
"I'm sure that if it's making you upset, it's not stupid," he said, with absolute certainty.
She sniffled again. Drew in another shaky breath. Shot him a watery smile, complete with glimmering cheeks and red-webbed eyes. "Remember the akuma this morning?"
He nodded, although the action was accompanied with a blink of confusion. "Yeah. What about her?"
"I... I think I saw something that I wasn't supposed to," she began, turning her attention back to the sun. It was almost gone now, and all that was left was a streak of pink light decorating the horizon.
"Yeah?" he prompted, voice gentle and soft.
"It was... the victim." She swallowed with difficulty. "Her sleeve was kind of pulled up, just enough for... and I saw... and there was blood, and it was dry and... and there were so many, Chat. And then she ran off, and I just... I can't get it out of my head. She must... I can't even begin to think of how much she must be hurting, to resort to... that."
Chat was quiet, and when she looked up at him, she saw that his expression had gone neutral. The frown lingered on his face.
"I see," he murmured, with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"...I don't even know her name," she rambled on, wiping at her eyes again. The tears wouldn't stop. "I don't know who she is, or anything about her. But I just... I can't help but think that she's out there in the city, all alone. Does she have anyone to talk to? Does she know there are other alternatives?"
She shook her head, as if doing so would erase the image of the akumatized victim's crumbling face, of her bloodstained arm, from her mind. "I don't know. I just... I wish I could find a way to help her, you know? What if she... what if she does something drastic? What if—"
Her voice broke.
"What if she's thinking about... ending it?" she finished.
Once more, silence was the only response she received. Chat's face still bled indifference. It wasn't an expression she saw often, which made her eyebrows knit together with worry.
"Chat?" she pressed anxiously. "Are you ok?"
"...sometimes," he started in a quiet voice, "...it isn't about wanting to die."
This time, when she looked at her partner, her eyes were wide. "Wh-what?"
"Sometimes it's just a release," he continued with a shrug. "It's, like, a way to cope. An outlet. Brings all of the bad things to the surface. When things get to be too much... it takes all of the pain hidden inside and puts it on the outside. It doesn't mean you're suicidal."
Ladybug stared, a frown pulling at her lips. "You... you sound like you're speaking from personal experience."
She waited for the grin to return. Waited for him to crack a joke. Waited for a pun, or even a flirtatious comment. Waited for him to deny it. But nothing came, and it made her chest tighten.
Not him, she pleaded internally. Not Chat... no, he wouldn't... would he?
"Chat..." she whispered eventually. "Tell me that you don't..."
Ladybug instantly caught the way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers curled into fists. His silence spoke volumes.
"Chat," she repeated, feeling more tears break free. "Why?"
"I..." He paused, and then he exhaled, the tension leaving his body as the air left his lungs. "In real life, things just got so bad. My mom, she... she disappeared, and my father... he closed himself off. I didn't have anyone to talk to, and... it helped. But I don't... do it anymore. I stopped. Becoming Chat Noir really helped. He set me free. And—" His eyes widened when he looked back at her face. "My Lady, hey, please, don't cry. It's ok."
"It's really not," she blurted, and before she knew what she was doing, she turned and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "That's so dangerous and unhealthy, Chat! You... you were really hurting, weren't you? Just like her? I—" She swallowed again. "I had no idea. Y-you must have been in so much pain."
"My Lady..." He stopped, melting into her embrace. Finally continued in a lower voice, "It's ok now. I... not for months, I haven't... I have a new release as Chat. He's my escape."
She buried her face in his shoulder, basking in the wave of reassurance that came with those words. "I'm glad," she mumbled. "I'm so glad, Chat, that you have... that you're not..."
They sat like that for a little while, wrapped up in each other's arms. Ladybug squeezed him tightly, not knowing how else to show him that she was thankful he was alright, to hear that he found a new way to cope. Words weren't enough. Images of Chat whirled through her mind—all the cheeky smiles, all the flirting, all the dorky puns, all the times he was confident when she wasn't. He was so brave and strong. Her heart clenched at the thought that the boy underneath the mask—whoever that may be—was so troubled that he thought the only answer was through the kiss of a blade.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured finally, when the tears had dried on her cheeks and she could speak without faltering. "I never would have thought that you... goodness, Chat, I'm sorry about your parents. That no one was there when you needed them."
When he smiled at her, it was soft and sad. "It's alright, My Lady. Things... I think things are better, now."
"If... if you ever find yourself in that position again," she began firmly, "you can tell me. I'll listen. I want to be somebody you can talk to, no matter what. I want to be somebody anyone can talk to."
He squeezed her shoulder. "You're one of a kind, Bugaboo."
There it was. The nickname usually made her roll her eyes, but tonight she was glad to hear it. Her heart felt so much lighter than it had before.
Before she could say anything, he continued in a sincere voice, "Thank you, My Lady. I... it means a lot that you care. I never told anyone about it before."
"Of course I care, you dummy," she said, reaching out to poke him gently on the nose like she so often did after akuma battles. "You're my best friend. And... I'm glad I know, now. I'm glad that you have more freedom. Thank you for opening up to me."
He smiled again, this time wider. Then he stood, holding out a hand so he could help her to feet. She accepted it with a smile of her own.
"I think I have an idea," she said before she could stop herself.
Chat looked at her quizzically. "Oh?"
"I don't... I don't know if it'll work," she went on, tapping her chin contemplatively. "But it's a start."
"Are you going to tell me about it, or are you just going to leave me hanging, My Lady?"
This time, she did roll her eyes. "I want people to know that they're not alone. Maybe I could start with... my school. Maybe talk to a counselor about starting a support group. Let people know there are people to help, even if it's just a hotline or something. It could even... even help with the akumas, maybe. People can have a safe place to talk about their conflicts. There are lots of schools in Paris... maybe I can get it spread, from school to school. And—oh, goodness. Chat, what's that dopey grin for?"
"So you're saying," he said, eyes alight with excitement, "that your plan might even reach my school?"
"Silly kitty." She tapped his nose again. "It might not even work, you know."
"I don't know about that," he argued slyly. "Who knows? We might even go to the same school."
"I doubt that."
"Why's that?"
"Because there are—" Her eyes popped as she suddenly remembered something. "Speaking of school... I should probably get going. I already bombed a physics test because of the akuma. I don't want to make my grade worse by not doing my homework." Her hand was already on her yo-yo as she turned around. "Don't forget what I said, ok? I'm here when you need me. Bye, Chat."
Then she threw out her yo-yo, completely missing the way his eyes widened, mouth falling open, staring after her with a stunned expression.
The next morning, Marinette got up early.
Which, knowing how often Marinette slept in, was a pretty impressive feat for her. She'd pulled on her day clothes, crammed her breakfast down as fast as she was able, grabbed her things, and was out the door before her mama could even blink.
She hadn't been able to sleep much the previous night; her mind was racing with ideas. In the end, she'd stayed up into the early hours of the morning, researching hotlines and designing posters. All of them were tentative, of course, but she wanted to have plenty to pick from when she showed them to the school counselor.
She was sure the excitement coursing through her veins was the only thing that gave her energy. She'd even come up with a plan for after school—she'd transform into her super-heroine self, she'd search out Alya and schedule an interview. As Marinette, her school seemed like the only part of Paris she could reach.
As Ladybug, she could touch every corner of the city. At least, that was her hope. The Ladyblog was successful enough.
Maybe, just maybe, her message would reach that girl from yesterday. Maybe it would be exactly what she needed to hear.
By the time she finished explaining her idea to the school counselor, presented with the posters she'd created and the research she'd found, Alya had arrived. A glance at her phone told her class was due to start in about twenty minutes, but as soon as Alya noticed Marinette was actually here on time, she wanted all the details.
So, for the third time, she shared her plan, and the entire time Alya was nodding enthusiastically, even pulling out her phone to make notes. She said, "You know, since this includes akumas, we could even get Chat Noir and Ladybug on board! I'm sure they'd be happy to help."
The irony made Marinette giggle, but she immediately agreed. Maybe this way would bring less attention on her. "That's such a good idea, Alya!"
"Your idea is amazing," Alya added.
"I think your idea is amazing, too, Marinette," Adrien's voice said suddenly.
Her eyes popped. She whirled around, all coherent thoughts leaving her brain as soon as she saw Adrien's beaming face. How much had he heard?
"O-oh! You're welcome! I—I mean, thank you, Adrien. Thank you."
His smile was warm and kind and she wanted to melt into a pile of goo right then and there.
"You're welcome," he said politely. "So, can I hear more about it? What brought this on? If I can ask."
She blinked, flushing hotly, trying to remember what words were and how to use them properly. But all that came out was a bubble of nervous laughter. Subconsciously, she tugged at one of her pigtails. Mumbled feebly, "Um. I, uh... just wanted... so people d-don't feel alone..."
Luckily, Alya came to her rescue. With well-practiced nonchalance, she threw an arm around Marinette's shoulder, pride written all over her face. "Our girl, here, is setting up a support group for people who are going through rough times. She's already made lots of posters! And—"
"A-actually," Marinette interrupted meekly, with a shy smile, "they're not all complete yet. I just... had so much inspiration last night. I couldn't rest until it was all out."
She looked up at Adrien briefly, but quickly looked away the moment their eyes met. Why was he staring at her so intently? She shifted her weight self-consciously, feeling her cheeks warm up again.
"C'mon, give yourself more credit," Alya said easily, grinning wide. "This is so noble of you, you know. And pulling in the akuma victims is such a great idea, too! I'm sure people will appreciate having somewhere to go. Someone to talk to."
Adrien raised an eyebrow. "Akuma victims?"
"Well..." She smiled at him, timid and unsure. "It's just... it's gotta be rough, you know? People don't mean to cause so much destruction when they're akumatized. They should know that what happened wasn't their fault. It's all Hawkmoth. And... and there are so many kids out there in general, all alone, hurting. Sometimes it doesn't even have to deal with akumas." She paused, the conversation with Chat flitting through her mind. A softness touched her expression, and she continued confidently, "I want people to know that they're not alone. I want to be someone people can talk to."
"That's my girl," Alya praised, beaming. "She's great, isn't she, Adrien?"
Adrien's eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling. "Yeah," he breathed out softly. "One of a kind."
She blinked upon hearing those words, so familiar. Kind. Gentle.
Before she could ponder too deeply on it, Alya suddenly squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, I gotta go see what's holding Nino up, ok? Why don't you two walk to class together?"
There was that suggestive tone that told Marinette she was giving her some precious alone time with her crush. If possible, her face felt even hotter, but Alya simply winked at her and made her leave, waving at the two of them.
She stared after her friend, eyes wide. Goodness, what was she supposed to do now? Alya didn't make sense sometimes. She'd save her from drowning in the sea that was Adrien Agreste and the next thing Marinette knew, Alya was throwing her back in the waters.
She swallowed nervously, slowly turning back to face the boy who made her stomach flutter and heart quicken to unnatural levels.
Marinette blinked again when she saw that Adrien was now grinning at her in an achingly familiar way: wide and bold, foretelling a teasing war. On instinct, she said, "What's that dopey grin for?"
"And you said we didn't go to the same school," he said, his grin widening a fraction.
Her mouth fell open in a way that was most likely unattractive. "Wh-what?"
Adrien took a step closer, leaning down so they were almost nose-to-nose. "Could it be that you bombed the physics test yesterday... Bugaboo?"
Her eyes were practically bulging out of her head, and her mind went entirely blank. Only one person called her that. A cat-boy in black leather, who flirted and made awful puns. A cat-boy with tousled blond hair and brilliant green eyes (Adrien also had blond hair and green eyes, her mind informed her), to whom she confided her troubles last night, and in return discovered something truly heartbreaking about him.
"Chat?" she whispered.
Suddenly Adrien was laughing: rich, beautiful, genuine laughter, and—and why was he raising his arms? What was—oh, dear, he was going to hug her. Adrien Agreste was going to—he was going to—
Adrien Agreste was now hugging her, with so much force that her feet were no longer touching the ground.
"I found you," he murmured softly, breathlessly, for her ears alone. "I can't believe I finally found you."
Her mind was still processing this newfound discovery, image after image of Chat popping up in her brain, mentally comparing him to the model holding her. But then a memory hit her, so hard that it almost hurt.
Adrien was Chat.
Adrien was Chat.
Chat who had revealed to her last night that he used to... that he...
It made so much sense, knowing what she knew now. His mom disappearing. His dad isolating himself, and Adrien, too. She couldn't imagine how painfully lonely that must have been. In this moment, she didn't see Adrien, the supermodel, son of famous fashion designer Gabriel Agreste.
She saw Chat, a boy who hid so much more than she could have ever known. A boy who felt the only way to relieve his pain was by harming himself. Even though he'd reassured her that he found a new outlet, the broken image still lingered, and it made her heart ache.
"Adrien..." she said, arms finally coming up to return the embrace that was so very similar to the one she'd enclosed Chat in last night. She didn't even bother looking around to see if people were watching. Didn't care. The back of her mind knew that this was so dangerous. It went against everything Master Fu and Tikki had told her. She'd even thought earlier that telling Chat about her plan was risky, but she couldn't say she regretted it. All she could feel was relief. Everything else faded away.
Marinette squeezed him tightly. Whispered in a voice that broke, "I'm so glad..."
He pulled away to face her finally, beaming bright like the light of a midday sun. Then, keeping his voice low: "Me too, My Lady. Me too."
"You remember what I said last night, don't you?" she asked, matching the volume of his tone.
"I do," he answered without hesitation.
Her eyes grew impossibly soft. "Good. I mean it."
That grin stayed on his face for the majority of the day, and every time their eyes met, every time he saw her, it only widened. Marinette couldn't help it—she smiled right back at him.
As long as he had someone to confide in, revealing her secret identity to him didn't seem so bad. She couldn't tell the whole city, of course, but she could still offer ways to help others cope. She could lend an ear.
Nobody deserved to feel alone. She wanted as many people as she could to know that.