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"I love you."
Ladybug, not looking up from where she fiddled with the tea light candle, laughed. "You've said that already!"
"But I can actually tell it to you now!" He lifted himself onto an elbow and pressed his forehead against hers. The candle, still aflame, licked his cheek. "I love you so much, I don't know what to do with myself."
Ladybug giggled. She stroked his jaw, and the arm Chat Noir propped himself up with almost gave way.
"I love you ," she said.
He sighed, closing his eyes. "That'll never get old."
It wasn't an exaggeration, what he had said before — Ladybug's confession had left him in a state of mental paralysis, unable to do much else other than look up at the sky, and squeeze whichever part of her he was holding to remind himself she was his .
Extravagant dates with rose petals and pink pillows was more his style of confession than hers. Ladybug had brought out one vanilla tea light candle onto their patrol roof, a box of Tom & Sabine macarons to share, and handed him an envelope stamped with a lipstick mark to open while they ate.
"Is this for real?" he had asked once he had read it through. His hands had trembled so hard he had to fold the letter up to stop his claws ripping through it.
Ladybug had finished off her macaron and stood up. She turned to face the moonlight, under which she had flushed beautifully.
"For real," she said, and turned to him. "I couldn't believe it either."
He had jumped up, picked her up, and spun her in his arms. Her laughter overlapping his and his laughter tangling with hers. They had kissed — over, and over, and over, and lain together on the rooftop to catch their breaths with the macaron box and tea light candle sitting comfortably around them.
Now, they lay in the same place. He had gone from resting beside her — stroking her cheek while they looked up at the sky — to playing with her hair, to holding onto her arm, to resting his hand on her belly. He had familiarised himself with the valleys and plains and hills of his lady, finding the warm little spots he could rest his fingers against, discovering where exactly he could feel her heartbeat through the suit.
"If you don't know what to do with yourself," she said, "why not kiss me?"
And kiss her he did. They still hadn't fixed that problem with their noses bumping, and they grinned at the odd smacks made between their unpracticed lips, but none of that mattered. It was his mouth and hers, Chat Noir and Ladybug, and when they met, they did so to love each other. They needed no technique, no perfection for that.
"My Ladyyy …" he whined, and rested his head back on his propped up arm. "I love you so much!"
"I love you, too!"
"You don't understand," he groaned, even though he knew she probably did. Flopping onto his back, he closed his eyes against the night sky. "I feel like I've just had eight cups of coffee. I don't know what to do. I just want to kiss you again, and again, and again. And I don't want to stop touching you."
"You can kiss me as much as you want," she said. "And you don't need to stop touching me, either."
Emphatically, he picked up her hand, and pressed a loud kiss to the back of it.
"Like that!" she laughed. "You can do both."
"You're so perfect. I love you so much."
Face to face with the force of his love, Chat Noir suddenly felt powerless.
He wanted to pull Ladybug into his arms and kiss her for hours. He wanted to undo her hair and bury his face into it and feel it running through his fingers. He wanted to know who she was, to lie under a duvet with her, watch her unmasked face sleep on beside him.
He wanted it now, now, now , but there was only so much the now could hold.
Why couldn't they just do it all then and there, under the sky and the stars where nothing existed other than them and the love burning in between?
"I'm so scared I'll wake up and this'll all be gone," he confessed against her neck. "I'm so scared that this won't last longer than tonight."
Ladybug sat up, then. Not fully, but holding herself up on her elbows, stomach now pushed into his hand.
"I love you," she said, and leaned in. He inhaled the warm, waxy, vanilla from her skin. "I love you now" — her lips touched his cheek — "and I'll love you tomorrow" — his other cheek — "and the day after that" — his chin — "and the day after that." Her hands came up to cup his face. Ladybug kissed him deeply. "And I loved you yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I'm going to love you whether you like it or not."
Chat Noir held her in by the waist. He rubbed it, tracing the curve of it in his palm, a flicker of urgency in him to memorise it.
But what was he memorising for?
Ladybug was here. And she would be tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.
The curve of her waist, the freckles on her nose, the soft dip of her lips — Chat Noir didn't need to memorise anything. Didn't need to take a snapshot of her, or imprint into his brain the sensation of her mouth on his, because she wasn't just a fleeting moment.
She was his . He was hers .
"I love you," he told her.
She smiled. "I love you, too."
Chat Noir kissed her. The tea light candle blew out, and Ladybug kissed him back.