Chapter Text
“I am hereby extending an invitation to Ladybug and Chat Noir to join me at a gala in your honor. If you choose to accept, please contact me in person at my office. This city owes you nothing but gratitude and this is a small favor we can do to repay it.”
Ladybug closed her yoyo as the Mayor’s speech came to an end and shoved her head in her fingers, coming dangerously close over the edge of the Eiffel Tower.
“What’s wrong, Bugaboo? This sounds fun!”
She turned her head toward Chat, still leaning her cheek on one hand. “What’s wrong? We have to accept! We’ll look terrible if we don’t!”
“Still not seeing the problem.” He reached his hand out behind her, softly patting her on the back. She dug her eyes in her hands.
“I do not want to deal with this right now,” she said. “I already have so much on my plate.”
“Come on,” he said. “We have to do it either way, we might as well have fun with it. Come on! We’ll get to wear fancy clothes and lie about our identities all night! Maybe I can even teach you to dance.”
He stood up beside her and she craned her neck to look at him, back still hunched over. His hand was extended down to her in an invitation—he meant right now.
“That sounds like a recipe for me falling off the Eiffel Tower.”
“If that happens, I’ll catch you. Come on.”
She rolled her eyes and stayed put. “We should figure out what this means logistically.”
Chat sat down next to her again. “Practical as ever, Milady.”
“We need outfits that will fit over our suits. That’s not a problem for me, but your suit is more... decorated than mine.”
“Why do I feel like you’re using that word as an insult?”
She smiled at him and giggled, but he just smiled back, that crooked grin.
“Can you get a formal outfit to go over your suit?” she asked.
“That’ll be no problem. People like the way I look in suits so much that they give me them for free.”
She rolled her eyes, but he wouldn’t have said yes if he didn’t mean it.
“We both need to learn proper etiquette for situations like this. We can’t afford to offend a politician.”
“Also not a problem. I don’t need a lucky charm to make old, boring people fawn over me.”
“Chaaaat.”
“Okay, okay. I promise that I’ll learn about it so I won’t have any problems.”
“Thank you.” She tried to wrap her head around what else — she was lucky enough to have a few dresses ready, at least one she was sure would work, but she figured she could get something together by whenever the gala was, unless it was tomorrow. Probably safer, because her family had seen the other dresses and they were all one of a kind.
Ladybug was more worried about whether she could keep up with the elite of the city with their unspoken rules and hard-to-read body language.
“It’ll be fine,” Chat promised her. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, if you offend one of the political elites, what will they do? Tell you to stop defending Paris?”
She couldn’t find it in her to smile, or react at all, for that matter.
“We should get to bed for the night. We’ll respond to the mayor in the morning.”
She stood up, and Chat Noir followed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Milady,” he offered with a smile.
“Bug out!” Throwing her yoyo, Ladybug flew off the platform.
Despite what she said to Chat, Marinette didn’t go to bed once she got home. She needed to start putting together a dress for the gala, something formal that would look good with her suit — not an easy task for her.
She didn’t want to stress too much, though — for now she could just decide on fabrics to work with, and whether she’d have a long dress or a short one, and get a few sketches down.
After she’d collected all of her fabrics, though, she heard a knocking on her skylight.
Familiar green eyes were peering through it when she looked up.
“Chat Noir!” she said as she opened the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I need your help,” he said. He was quite literally on his knees, hands clasped together, though he still loomed over her. “Please.” A bag hung down, hanging around his elbow.
At another time, she might have said no, but he genuinely seemed in need of help.
“Get in here,” she said. “And quiet. My parents are sleeping.”
Chat landed gracefully on the floor as she climbed down the ladder.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He glanced over at the fabrics she had spread out but quickly looked back at her face. Oops, she thought. I should have put those away.
“Ladybug and I got invited to this fancy gala,” he explained, his words going fast. “And I have a suit to wear for it but I tried putting it on over my supersuit and it looks weird because it can’t really go into the boots and it gets scruffy because of my wrist cuffs and I can’t tie the bowtie with my bell in the way and—”
He needs a tailor.
“Calm down,” she said. “If you already have the suit, then I can help you. It may take a few days, though.”
He sighed. “Thank you. I promised Ladybug I had a suit and I don’t want to let her down.”
Marinette turned away to smile a little, thankful at her partner for how seriously he was taking it — but whether or not he would brush up on his etiquette was another matter. Not the time right now, she supposed.
“That’s the suit?” she asked, pointing to the bag hanging off his arm.
He nodded.
“Put it on. I’ll see what I’m dealing with from there.”
She turned around and began to clean up the red and black fabrics all over her desk while he put on the suit over his supersuit. Though it wasn’t like he was undressing, it still felt invasive to look at him while he did it — and she needed to clear this off, anyway.
“What are you working on?” he asked as she rolled up the bundles.
“Just a little side project,” she answered. Not a lie. She just hoped he wouldn’t put two and two together — not that it was too obvious, but the risk was there.
As she rolled up the last of the fabrics, he said, “Done!”
She turned to him to see that he wore an immaculate, beautiful suit — some of the best handiwork she’d ever seen. The entire image was somewhat marred by the wrinkles the suit must have picked up in the bag, but she couldn’t help but walk over and examine it.
“How did you get your hands on such an expensive suit?” she asked, standing in front of him and grabbing the jacket. Double breasted, lined with a fine wine-colored silk. The needlework was more precise than she’d ever done, but after a moment of examination, she realized it was hand stitched.
“Not allowed to say,” he answered. True enough, but still, she wanted to know.
The white dress shirt beneath the suit jacket was just as nice, if not a bit less stunning. Marinette subconsciously rubbed her hand over what felt like the pure cotton, then turned her attention toward the buttons — they weren’t plastic, but rather shell, or horn, or some other crazy expensive material she’d never had the privilege of using before.
“Uh... are you gonna look at the problem areas?”
She looked up to Chat and realized how close to him she was standing. Backing up and clearing her throat, she nodded.
“What did you say needed work?” she asked.
“The sleeves,” he answered, holding out his hand for her. “And the pants.”
He was right — because of the wrist cuffs on his suit, the arms were a bit too long, the pants running into a similar problem on the boot cuffs. Either he could fold the fabric or bunch it up, neither of which would look very good.
“Okay,” she said. “I—Anything I do to this suit won’t be nearly as well done as the suit is right now. You’re sure that’s okay?”
“I’m pawsitive, princess.” He flashed a crooked grin at her, the same one he’d given Ladybug earlier that night. Marinette rolled her eyes.
“Okay. It won’t be too hard, I’ll just cut the arms and legs a few inches and sew a new hem. I can have that ready by tomorrow...”
“I’m sensing a but.”
“But your outfit will be a bit atrocious if that’s all I change.”
He crossed his hand over his chest, throwing his body back in mock pain. “Princess, you wound me!”
She rolled her eyes and walked behind him, helping him shrug off the jacket. “You have a black and white aesthetic with just a little bit of green, but it’s enough green to make the entire thing look weird.”
“What else should I do?” he asked.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Jacket carefully strung over her arm, she walked circles around him. “First of all, do you have a black dress shirt instead of a white one?”
He nodded, turning his head to look at her even as she made her way back behind him.
“Bring that with you tomorrow. And do you have any waistcoats?”
“A black one,” he answered.
She nodded. “Okay, that won’t really add anything to the look. I’m thinking a green one might be better.” Going over to her closet where all of her fabrics were buried, she started sifting through with one arm, the other delicately protecting the jacket. “Ha! Here it is. I have a roll of green silk.”
Carefully, she draped the jacket over her mannequin. It wouldn’t work well for making his waistcoat since it was bought specifically for her, but it would work well enough for this. Stepping back up to him, she grabbed his right hand, comparing the color of the silk to the color of the paw on the rings.
“Perfect,” she whispered. The colors weren’t exact matches, but she didn’t have money to buy more fabric, and that would only be if she could find it.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“I am going to make you a waistcoat,” she answered.
“You don’t have to do that.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to do anything. Come on, I rarely get to make men’s clothes unless it’s knitting a sweater for my dad, and waistcoats are like four pieces of fabric. Maybe three if I can get it right. Please?”
He sighed. “Okay, but I’m paying you back.”
“If you do that, I’ll find a way to tell Ladybug you did this.”
His eyes went wide with fear. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
Again, he sighed. “Fiiiine.”
Marinette smiled. “Finally, I can give you a sense of style!”
She turned away even though she wanted desperately to see the offended look on his face.
“Take off your dress shirt,” she told him, grabbing a tape measure and a pad of paper.
“Uh, I can just tell you my measurements tomorrow.”
“I doubt you’ll have all the ones that I need. Come on, this is easier.”
Sighing, he slowly began to unbutton the dress shirt. It felt oddly intimate to watch him doing it, even though beneath that was his supersuit.
She took the shirt once he had it unbuttoned and put it with the jacket on her mannequin, then joined him where he stood in the middle of the room. He put his arms out, ready for her to take the measurements around his torso.
“Arms down,” she told him. “I go from the top down.”
Immediately, his arms fell.
“Have you done this before?” she asked as she measured around his neck.
The measuring tape shifted and she caught his Adam’s apple bobbing out of the corner of her eye. “No.”
She doubted that, given how well the suit fit him and how ready he was to be measured, but it was a reasonable lie for his identity.
Writing down the measurement in her notebook, she let the silence linger for a moment.
“Relax your shoulders,” she told him. Immediately, his broad back became a few inches wider, the shoulder themselves sloping down at a steeper angle. She took the width of his shoulders — probably not necessary for a waistcoat, but better to be thorough than have to do this again tomorrow, and she was a creature of habit.
“Why are you so tense?” she asked.
“I’ve never done this before.” The lie was quick, but she recognized it for what it was — he had to have been measured when that suit was made, and then he’d probably been mostly nude. Now he was just as dressed as any other time, and he was never afraid of a little contact with Ladybug — or any of the temporary Miraculous holders, for that matter.
“Are you excited to go to this gala?” she asked as she moved on to measuring his sleeve length, turning his palm outward.
“Uh, yeah,” he answered, his voice a bit louder — not loud, just louder. “I think it’ll be good for me and Ladybug. She’s always so tense, and I know she’s gonna freak out about this and how we look to the elite of the city, but hopefully we can have a little bit of fun.”
Marinette began working on autopilot, walking back to her journal to write the measurement down, but when she got there she realized that she’d forgotten to take note of the number.
“Sorry,” she said, coming back to him. “I need to repeat that.”
He just laughed and held out his arm again. “No problem.”
Focusing on the measurement so she wouldn’t forget it, she wrote it down in her notebook before she said anything else.
She measured the length of the shirt, sure she’d have to discard the measurement, but it was useful information to know.
“I hope she’ll let loose a little,” he continued, and Marinette realized he was still thinking about Ladybug. “She probably wouldn’t appreciate me talking about her like this. Sorry, I’ll stop.”
“No,” Marinette said instinctively, holding the measuring tape pressed against his back. “You — I don’t mind.”
Chat let out a breathy chuckle.
“Nah, I’m done. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me talk about Ladybug.”
“Better things to do like take your measurements?”
“Mmm. That’s a fair criticism of what I said.”
Still, he didn’t pick up the subject again.
Next was the measurement of his bicep, a measurement which felt absolutely dumb to do but still, she did it, then was his chest.
Suddenly, she was in front of him again, standing right next to his chest. When did he get so much taller than her? It felt like only yesterday they were just meeting, still the same height.
“How do I measure up compared to the other boys you make waistcoats for?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have the biggest biceps of them all, O Powerful Chat Noir. Thank you for gracing this city with your manliness and sheer muscles.”
He lifted up his muscle and kissed it. “I knew I was special.”
She laughed and lightly hit his chest, too distracted to take his measurements. “Stand still,” she told him between giggles.
By the time she calmed down enough to take the measurement, he’d relaxed again, positioning the measuring tape across his chest for her — further confirming her suspicions that he’d done this before. Several times, probably.
“One last one,” she said, scooting the measuring tape down. “Then I’ll let you go.”
“As if you could get rid of me,” he said. She felt his warm breath on her forehead.
Letting the measuring tape drop, she backed away quickly, not giving any room to make eye contact, writing down the last two measurements quickly.
“Welp, you’re free to go. And I gotta hit the hay, so, bye, see you tomorrow!” She wasn’t sure quite why she was so eager to get him out of there, but she knew she needed to be alone.
Chat scurried up the ladder and out her skylight.
“Thank you, Marinette,” he said, his head poking through the hole and hair falling downward. “This means everything to me.”
He shut the skylight and she stood there for another moment.
Before Tikki could harass her about what just happened, she got ready for bed and laid down.
Best to think about the events of the night after a full night’s sleep.