Work Text:
On New Year’s Eve, with thirty minutes until midnight, Luka stands on the deck of the Liberty and scans the sky for Chat Noir.
He doesn’t know for a fact that Chat is going to show up. In fact, Luka knows he’s taking a risk by staying home on the off chance that the superhero will visit. For all he knows, he could end up spending the night by himself.
A freezing wind sweeps across the deck of the houseboat, and Luka adjusts his clothes, tugging his hat over his ears and pulling his scarf up over his mouth. At least he’s dressed for the weather for once.
On both sides of the Seine, crowds have gathered to wait for midnight and watch the fireworks together. Luka knows that there are similar groups scattered across Paris—and that somewhere, Juleka and his mother are gathered with friends as they count down to the new year. He’d been invited to go with them, of course, but he’d declined.
Luka was a little concerned by the knowing looks his mother and sister gave him as they left, though. He really hopes that they don’t know about his visits from Chat Noir.
He glances at the empty sky again, and then he retrieves his phone from his coat pocket and pulls up his last conversation with Adrien. It’s a long shot, but he still thinks that Adrien and Chat might be the same person. Maybe if he texts Adrien a hint…
Luka sighs, repocketing his phone. He’s being stupid. Even if he’s right about Adrien being Chat, Luka doesn’t know how to be subtle. His text would probably end up going something like, Bonne année! So, you’re Chat Noir, right?
A few more minutes pass, and Luka spends them brooding over his relationship with Chat. He wishes that Chat would have just approached him as a civilian, because falling for a superhero has made Luka’s life far messier than it has to be.
Luka is horrible at romance—he’s too awkward, too blunt—and thanks to this arrangement, he can’t exactly ask his family or friends for help with wooing Chat. And of course, standard relationship advice doesn’t help when Luka is dealing with an enigmatic cat superhero. He can’t talk to Chat’s friends to figure out how Chat feels about him, or invite Chat to hang out with Kitty Section so that Luka’s bandmates can tell him if Chat seems to like him.
His only clues are mixed signals, and the fact that Chat keeps kissing him. While that second part should tell Luka where Chat stands, he can’t help but worry that Chat is just being flirtatious. After all, isn’t he supposed to have a thing for Ladybug? Maybe he’s not serious about Luka after all. Maybe he’s up on a rooftop somewhere spending New Year’s Eve with Ladybug.
Despite the layers he’s wearing, Luka feels a chill creep across his skin. It seems as if this is a cycle that Luka’s doomed to repeat: meet someone, fall for them, feel a connection…and then watch as that person pines after someone else, pulling farther and farther away from Luka until they slip through his fingers completely.
It had happened with Marinette, of course, though she hadn’t been the first. Although she’d sometimes accepted Luka’s advances, she was always quietly pining for Adrien. And that’s not her fault, of course—Luka doesn’t blame her for who she loves, or for her great taste in guys—but it still made him feel like he’d done something wrong.
Luka’s mother has always told him that love is like a song: different for every person, and always from the heart. And for a while, Luka’s inner romantic had thought that his mother’s simile, as simple as it was, made sense.
Sometimes love is slow, creeping up on a person over time; and sometimes it’s fast, sudden, a coup de foudre that hits two people out of the blue. It might be loud and passionate, or it might be soft and simple, or it might even switch between the two. The song could repeat itself at times, with a comfortably familiar refrain—or it might be ever-changing, with each verse sounding like an entirely new song. And while some loves grow stronger with time, a steady crescendo, others fade out, growing quieter until the song can’t be heard anymore.
Now, Luka’s pretty sure that’s wrong. If love was a song, he would understand it. And it’s never been that easy. No, love is some sort of game—and Luka plays music, not games. That’s the only explanation for why he’s so bad at this.
Before Luka can torture himself with more thoughts about his failed love life, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He smiles when he sees that it’s a text from Adrien. Hey, Luka! Twenty minutes until 2020. Hope you’re ready to ring in the new year!
I guess I am, Luka responds. Are you stuck at home, or did your father let you out?
I’m at home, Adrien texts, apparently deciding to ignore Luka’s comment about his father. What about you?
Luka squints at his phone screen, bright against the shadows of the deck. If Adrien is Chat—and he almost has to be, really—is this his way of asking Luka if he can come over?
“Say what you mean,” Luka mutters, as he types his response. Maman and Juleka went out. I’m home by myself right now. If I’m lucky, maybe someone will show up to kiss me at midnight, but I’m not counting on it.
As he hits send, he knows that his reply is too bitter. For one thing, he doesn’t actually know that Adrien is Chat, so Adrien probably doesn’t deserve Luka’s irritation. And for another, it’s not like it’s Chat’s duty to show up and kiss Luka. For all Luka knows, he’s patrolling with Ladybug right now to keep the city safe on New Year’s Eve.
But, well…Luka has expectations. Chat has kissed him for the past three holidays, one of which France doesn’t even celebrate. The least he could do is kiss Luka on the one holiday where there’s actually a kissing tradition.
A few minutes pass, and Adrien doesn’t respond. Luka considers sending a follow-up text to apologize for being so negative, but he doesn’t want to make things worse. Instead, he just slips his phone back into his pocket and stares out at the water, wondering if maybe he should go join his family after all.
He won’t be upset if Chat doesn’t visit. Sure, he’ll be a little disappointed—but he won’t let it ruin his holiday. It’s not the end of the world if Chat doesn’t kiss him a fourth time.
Someone clears their throat behind him. “Salut, Luka.”
Luka whirls around. “Cha—Chat Noir?”
He says it as a question, because he’s not actually sure. The boy in front of him certainly resembles Chat: he has pale hair—probably blonde, though it’s hard to tell in the dim light—and he’s the same height as Chat, the same build. His voice is just as smooth and lilting, like a song without a tune, and his eyes sparkle the same as he stares at Luka.
But he’s also more fidgety than Chat. His movements are smaller, not as bold, as if he’s not sure he should be at the houseboat. And most importantly of all, his outfit is different. He’s still wearing a mask, but it’s a decorative masquerade mask with glitter and an elaborate border. Instead of cat ears, he’s wearing a beanie on his head, and instead of a leather suit, he’s wearing a black coat and scarf.
The boy wrings his hands together. Luka notices that he’s wearing mittens. “Uh—I mean—that—is that who you want?”
Luka folds his arms and regards the boy. “Am I supposed to guess your identity?” he asks. He’d always assumed that if he did figure out Chat’s identity, Chat wouldn’t want Luka to say anything.
The boy drags a mitten-clad hand down his face. “I’m Chat Noir,” he says. “You—you probably shouldn’t guess my identity. Ladybug’s already going to kill me for visiting a civilian so often. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“You’re not transformed,” Luka observes.
Chat rubs the back of his neck. “Right. I figured that since there are so many people near the Liberty right now, I should probably try to blend in.” He shrugs. “There are enough New Year’s Eve masquerade parties that no one questioned the mask. They probably just thought I was on my way to a party.”
“Are you?” Luka asks, even though he’s almost certain the answer is no.
Chat shakes his head and finally takes a few steps closer. “No. I came to see you.” He bites on his lip. “Unless—uh, unless you’re going to a party? Because I don’t want to keep you from, you know, your friends or…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Luka says. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Chat takes another few steps toward Luka, until he’s close enough that Luka could take his hand if he tried. “You seem a little…upset?”
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Luka admits. “You didn’t have to, of course. It was a stupid reason to be upset.”
“I’m sorry!” Chat says. He reaches down and grabs Luka’s hands. “I assumed you’d be out celebrating. It didn’t occur to me until a few minutes ago that you might be here.”
When I texted you? Luka wants to ask. But he knows he can’t ask Chat about his identity so directly.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Luka says, squeezing Chat’s hands. They can’t intertwine their fingers since he’s wearing mittens—and oh, he’s adorable in those mittens—but the weight of Chat’s palms against Luka’s is comforting. “I didn’t interrupt your plans, did I?”
Chat smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I was home alone. I would have visited sooner if I’d known you were here.”
Not for the first time, Luka is frustrated by their arrangement. Thanks to Chat being a superhero with a secret identity, Luka has no way of inviting him over or visiting him when he’s lonely. And there’s a churning in his gut, an urge to demand how long are we going to keep this up?—except he doesn’t want to ruin the night. It’s New Year’s Eve, and Luka doesn’t want to start the new year on a bad note.
Luka leans forward with a smile. “Hoping to celebrate some New Year’s traditions?”
Chat stares at Luka with wide eyes. Then he ducks his head, hiding his mouth behind his scarf. “M-maybe?”
“Well,” Luka says, “I have bad news. Maman is firmly against holiday traditions, so we’ve got a strict no-mistletoe policy here.”
Chat’s nose wrinkles. “That’s a lie,” he says. “She had Krampus. Krampus is a holiday tradition.”
“Krampus is no longer with us,” Luka points out, “since you dumped him in the Seine last week.”
Eyes squeezed shut, Chat buries his face against Luka’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whines. “I wasn’t thinking. And Krampus was terrifying.”
Luka laughs and wraps his arms around Chat. “I’m not mad,” he says. “Maman was furious, but she thinks it was the work of vandals.”
“Now I can never meet your mother,” Chat mumbles against Luka’s coat. “I bet she can smell fear. She’ll know it was me.”
“Is there a reason I’d be formally introducing you to my mother?” Luka asks, hope unfurling in his chest. Please say there is. Say we have something.
“Not unless you’re planning to turn me in.” Chat glances up with big, pleading eyes. In that moment, Luka realizes that he would do many, many things for those eyes. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
Luka laughs, even as disappointment needles his heart. “No. I won’t tell her.” His fingers brush against Chat’s masquerade mask. “I’m good at keeping secrets, you know.”
Chat inhales and opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something. He stares at Luka for a long moment, some mix of emotions warring in his eyes—and then he sighs and shakes his head. “I know,” he says quietly. Then he clears his throat. “So, Anarka Couffaine doesn’t allow a single holiday tradition on this boat? Not even one?”
Luka pokes Chat’s cheek. “Nope,” he says. “Although…” He leans down, closer to Chat, until their lips are almost touching. “There is one tradition she might make an exception for.”
Chat tilts his head back. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“Fireball swinging.”
Chat squints at Luka. Luka can practically hear the record scratch playing in his mind. “What.”
“It’s a Stonehaven Hogmanay tradition.”
Luka watches as Chat tries to process his words. He tries not to laugh, but the confusion on Chat’s face is endearing.
And maybe Luka shouldn’t tease, except he kind of wants Chat to work for this kiss. Luka’s doubts from earlier still haven’t disappeared completely, and he wants to see if Chat is really interested in him or not.
“Hogmanay?” Chat echoes.
“Scottish New Year’s, basically,” Luka says. “We have relatives near Stonehaven, so we’ve visited once or twice to celebrate.”
With a frown, Chat loops his arms around Luka’s neck, preparing for a kiss that he’s not getting anytime soon. “So what is fireball swinging?”
“It’s…people swing fireballs?” Luka says, laughing. “They process down the street, and at the end of the ceremony, they throw the fireballs into the harbor.”
“That sounds kind of pretty,” Chat says.
“It is,” Luka agrees. He stares out at the sidewalk, imagining fiery rings lighting up the streets. Right now, the only light is from the dim stars and street lights overhead. “That said,” he adds, glancing at Chat, “I’m not sure I’d trust you to swing a giant ball of fire around here.”
“Quoi!” Chat says. “But I wield the Miraculous of Destruction!”
Luka laughs. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
“I’d be careful,” Chat grumbles.
“Sure,” Luka says. His hands find their way to Chat’s waist, and it occurs to him that they’re basically in a kissing position. “You know midnight’s not for another few minutes, right?”
Chat smirks, though there’s something vulnerable in his eyes that softens his expression. Luka wonders if maybe it’s the fact that he has human eyes instead of cat sclerae. “I wanted to get here early,” he says. “In your arms, I mean. Just in case someone else tried to beat me to it.”
“Oh?” Luka says. “Is someone else competing for my affection?”
Silently, he asks an even simpler question: is Chat competing for Luka’s affection? Or is he still pursuing Ladybug?
“I—I don’t know,” Chat says. The smirk slips off his face. “I thought maybe Marinette was…well…”
“Visiting the houseboat every holiday to kiss me?” Luka says, raising an eyebrow. “No, I think that’s just you.”
“But don’t you like each other?”
That’s a question Luka has asked himself several times over the past several weeks, and with each one of Chat’s visits, the answer has become increasingly clear. It’s been weeks since Luka wrote a song about Marinette, weeks since he dreamed about kissing her, weeks since her gaze made his palms sweaty. Luka still cares about her, of course—but their song has changed entirely, and the affection he has for her is almost completely platonic now.
Almost. Because occasionally, there’s still a sliver of his brain that wonders what if. What if Marinette asked him out tomorrow? What if she took his hand, or cupped his cheek and kissed him? Luka can’t entirely forget that he used to want her like that, and sometimes, the thought of having her love still makes his heart skip a beat.
But he knows that’s not really what he wants anymore. The person he wants is right in front of him, cradled in his arms right now—and yet, somehow, Chat seems even more unobtainable than the girl who’s turned Luka down several times.
“I have no idea how Marinette feels about me,” Luka finally says. “But I’m not really interested in her that way anymore.”
“Oh,” Chat says. He blinks several times. “Uh, good. So I don’t have to fight anyone for that midnight kiss?”
“What midnight kiss?” Luka says, struggling to keep a straight face. “I told you, there’s no mistletoe on this boat. Maman doesn’t approve of traditions like kissing under le gui.”
“Not a problem,” Chat says, his voice sing-song. “I came prepared.”
Luka frowns. “You brought mistletoe with you?”
Of course he did. Did Luka really expect Chat to take chances with these holiday kisses?
Chat laughs. “Technically, I didn’t bring it,” he says. “Look up.”
Slowly, Luka tilts his head back to gaze above them. Some sort of tiny figure is floating between him and Chat in the darkness, dangling a sprig of mistletoe overhead.
“Honestly,” the floating blob says, “I can’t believe you roped me into your ridiculous holiday ritual. No amount of cheese is worth this.”
Realization dawns on Luka. He gazes down at Chat in disbelief, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re using your kwami to hold mistletoe?”
Chat nods. “I’m very committed.”
“And I’m very exasperated,” Chat’s kwami says. “If you want to kiss guitar boy so badly—”
“Plagg!” Chat says.
Luka laughs. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that,” he says. “You got me.”
Grinning, Chat asks, “So, do I get my kiss?”
“Say yes, s’il vous plaît,” Plagg says. “He’ll complain all night if you don’t do that bizarre thing with your mouths.”
“Plagg,” Chat whines.
“I don’t know,” Luka says. “I’m impressed, but we don’t really honor tradition around here. I’m not sure if I should make an exception.”
“Luka,” Chat says, pouting. His hat starts to slip off his hair, and Luka reaches up to tug it back down. “You know how the tradition works. Are you really going to condemn me to a year of loneliness?”
“You know,” Luka says, “that’s a good point. That would be pretty cruel of me.”
“Exactly.” Chat presses closer, until there’s barely any space between his and Luka’s bodies. “And you’re too kind for that, Luka.”
Plagg groans. “Disgusting. I wish I was in my ring right now. Or at home eating cheese. What kind of torture is this?”
Sighing, Chat reaches up and tries to snatch the mistletoe from Plagg’s paws—but Plagg floats just out of reach, narrowly avoiding his hand.
“Plagg,” Chat says, “if you’re going to have such an attitude, just give me the mistletoe.”
“Absolutely not,” Plagg says. “You promised me copious amounts of cheese for this. I’m holding up my end of the deal.”
“You bribed your kwami?” Luka says.
Chat rolls his eyes. “He never helps unless he’s getting something in return.” He glares up at Plagg. “Can you just be quiet for a few minutes?”
“Hm,” Plagg says. “Maybe. It depends on whether or not you’re willing to sweeten the deal.”
Chat groans, and Luka can’t help but laugh. There’s something bizarrely entertaining (and sweet) about watching Chat barter with his kwami to secure some mistletoe.
“What do you want?” Chat asks.
“A dozen extra wheels of cheese,” Plagg says. “Imported.”
“Père is going to think I’m insane,” Chat says. “Did you know Na—his assistant tried to stage an intervention about my consumption of camembert? You’re ruining my life.”
“That’s not my problem,” Plagg says. “Do we have a deal, or not?”
Chat glances between Luka and Plagg a few times, then lets out a frustrated sigh. “Eight wheels,” he says.
“Ten.”
“Fine!” Chat snaps. “Now be quiet until this is done.”
Luka tugs lightly at Chat’s scarf, pulling it down below his chin so that his lips are completely uncovered. “You know, I’m glad you got that sorted out,” Luka says, “but I still haven’t decided if your tradition should be allowed on the Liberty.”
“You know what I think?” Chat says. His eyes glint with determination, and maybe that reaction is a little over-the-top, but Luka kind of appreciates Chat’s dedication to making out with him. “I think your ban on traditions has become a tradition. And if you’re really anti-tradition, you’ll lift the traditional ban on traditions.”
Luka closes his eyes, trying to make sense of Chat’s winding logic. “Chat,” he says. “Please don’t make me start the new year with a headache.”
“Well, then, don’t think about it too much,” Chat says. “Just agree that I’m right.”
“You’re pretty stubborn,” Luka notes.
“So am I getting a kiss?” Chat asks with a toothy smile.
Luka laughs. “I guess I could give you one,” he says. “But you’ll have to wait another minute or two.”
Soon, the crowds along the river begin to yell out numbers. Luka struggles to understand them at first, but somewhere around thirty, he realizes what they’re saying.
A few moments later, Chat whispers, “Twenty seconds.”
“Twenty seconds until 2020?” Luka says.
If Chat notices that Luka’s echoed Adrien’s text from earlier, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps his arms more tightly around Luka’s neck and tugs him closer. Luka lifts a hand to cup one of Chat’s cheeks, which makes Chat laugh for some reason.
He taps the back of Luka’s neck. “I can’t do much with mittens. No fingers—it’s like having paws.”
“Oh,” Luka says. “Well, they look cute, at least.”
Chat ducks his head, and around them, the last countdown begins.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
Luka takes a deep breath and tilts his head to the side, lining their lips up. “Three,” he murmurs.
“Two,” Chat says.
And then the streets and sidewalks around them erupt in whoops and cheers, signaling midnight. Luka doesn’t waste a second, pulling Chat’s lips against his while his other arm holds Chat’s waist as tightly as possible.
Chat’s hands paw at Luka’s hair, knocking Luka’s hat sideways. Luka responds in kind, yanking Chat’s hat off and running gloved fingers through his hair. Before he can get much farther than that, though, the fireworks start with a loud BOOM overhead.
Chat jumps, his lips breaking away from Luka’s. “S-sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m not a big fan of fireworks. They’re too—”
He yelps as a round of fireworks cracks and booms overhead, then buries his face against Luka’s chest. Luka kisses his forehead—now bare without the hat Luka tossed—and strokes Chat’s hair to soothe him.
“Too loud,” Chat mumbles, nuzzling Luka’s torso. “Usually I’m inside, so fireworks don’t bother me as much, but…”
He flinches as a particularly loud blast goes off, and Luka pats Chat’s back. “How about we go downstairs?” he says. “It should be quieter down there.”
Chat nods. Luka bends over to retrieve his hat, then grabs his hand and leads him below deck. Once they’re downstairs, the thundering of the fireworks is muted, though still audible.
In the light of the kitchen, Luka can suddenly see the features that were muted by the monochrome evening light outside. Chat’s hair is just as blond when he’s not transformed, and his eyes are the same sparkling green, just without the cat shape. They’re earnest, and soft, and bright, and—well, Luka’s pretty sure he’s already fallen for Chat, but if he hadn’t, Chat’s eyes would have done the trick.
Chat tilts his head to the side. “What is it?”
“You’re pretty,” Luka says. He tugs Chat’s hat back onto his head, flattening his messy curls.
“So are you,” Chat says.
Luka raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get another kiss?”
“No,” Chat says. “I just wasn’t sure if you knew how pretty you are.” He reaches down and plucks off one of his mittens, then reaches up to cradle Luka’s cheek. “That said, our kiss did get interrupted, so…”
After a quick glance upward to confirm, Luka says, “Your mistletoe’s gone, you know.”
Chat sighs. “It’s somewhere on this boat. Isn’t that good enough?”
Luka wraps his arms around Chat’s waist once again. “I guess I can make an exception. But, you know, I’ve been wondering…” His nose brushes against Chat’s. “Are your holiday kisses going to be a tradition, too?”
“They could be,” Chat says. “If you want me to come back.”
“There are still a few holidays you haven’t done yet.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Chat smiles up at Luka, his cheeks pink with a blush. “Bonne année, Luka.”
“Bonne année, Chat,” Luka says.
Then he kisses Chat again, with added enthusiasm to make up for the fireworks that interrupted them earlier. And as their lips meet and their hands hold each other close, Luka decides that if he can just spend this coming year with Chat, that might be enough.
And maybe Luka has a chance with him. He just needs a few more holidays, a few more kisses, and maybe he can convince Chat to stop running away.
After about a minute of kissing, Luka leans back and says, “You’re coming back for Valentine’s Day, right?”
Chat’s only answer to that is to capture Luka’s lips in another kiss.