Work Text:
1.
The first time she saw Nino after they broke up, he wasn’t Nino. He was Carapace, and she was Rena Rouge, and anything left unsaid between them had to wait. Defeating Hawkmoth was the priority.
That didn’t stop her from catching his eye every time she got the chance during the battle. Didn’t stop Carapace from pulling her in close every time he used his Shell-ter — closer than needed to protect her, close enough that she could make out the leathery mosaic of his suit, close enough to feel his heartbeat. Didn’t stop the unspoken signals sparking across the invisible wires connecting them no matter how close or far they were.
After the battle, she’d told herself. They’d talk after the battle.
But then Hawkmoth was Gabriel Agreste, and Nino only had eyes for Adrien.
Alya didn’t want to resent either of them for that. But she couldn’t help but feel bitter as the chance to reconnect slipped through her fingers.
Just one more thing Hawkmoth had ruined.
(And did she even have the right to feel bitter? She, who was on a train ride back to university the next day, had no right to complain while Adrien’s life fell apart, not when she couldn’t even stick around long enough for his father’s trial. She wondered what Nino thought of that. If he thought of her at all.)
2.
The second time was Mylene and Ivan’s wedding.
When Alya had RSVPed months before, she hadn’t hesitated to decline their offer of a plus one. She wanted to focus on reconnecting with her friends after all, and it wasn’t like she’d had much time to meet people in university anyway.
Alya hadn’t considered that it’d been years. She’d assumed her friends had been trapped in amber, in stasis, waiting for her to return, in slow motion until she returned and life resumed at full speed. After all, her and Marinette still spoke every day — sure, she hadn’t kept in touch with anyone else quite so well, but she’d been invited to the wedding, so surely her friendships would still be intact, right? And even if they weren’t, she always had Marinette.
But Marinette had Adrien. Marinette insisted they just were friends, of course, but Alya knew better. But she hadn’t seen them since Adrien’s identity had been revealed, so she hadn’t considered what that change in dynamic meant. Hadn’t considered that while she’d talked to Marinette every day, Adrien had been there next to her.
Hadn’t considered she’d be their third wheel, the way Marinette had once been for Alya and Nino. And Nino—
Nino had a date.
That, more than anything else — more than the coolly pleasant greetings from her former classmates, more than Marinette and Adrien finishing each other’s sentences, more than the innumerable guests who Alya had never met at all — made her feel truly alone.
You’re the one that left, Alya reminded herself, sitting next to Marinette who sat next to Adrien.
You chose your career, she thought as she looked across the room to Nino and failed to catch his eye. You’re the one that cut the wires and moved out of range.
But there was nothing she could tell herself that dulled the sharp pin pricks in her heart at the sound of Nino’s laughter when his gorgeous date turned out to be funny, too.
She’d made her choice, yes.
But Marinette hadn’t had to choose — she’d gotten into her dream school in Paris. Rose and Juleka, still joined at the hip, hadn’t had to choose either. Mylene hadn’t had to choose, and Mylene was living happily ever after.
And Alya was alone.
Alya had no right to be upset with Nino for moving on when she was the one who’d broken up with him. No right to be jealous of her friends for finding happiness just because she was the odd man out.
She was anyway.
3.
The third time was after she’d moved back to Paris. Marinette, her dear, sweet, overenthusiastic, best friend, had thrown her a party. She’d been chattering about it over the phone for weeks, insisting that she’d invited everyone , and that they were all looking forward to seeing Alya.
Alya didn’t doubt it. Marinette’s unbridled enthusiasm was infectious — even the most apathetic of their classmates would surely be eagerly anticipating Alya’s return after a single conversation with Marinette.
And Marinette, bless her well-meaning heart, had invited Nino.
Thanks to Marinette’s efforts to put her at the center of everything, Alya managed to avoid him for most of the party. This time, Nino was the one trying to catch her eye, and she was the one looking away.
He might not have brought a date, but he’d moved on. She’d done her best to move on as well. What was the point of connecting?
Nino, apparently, saw things differently.
“Hey, Alya,” he’d said as he approached her towards the end of the night, tugging at the collar of his crisp, white button-down. Alya thought he looked ridiculous, like a little boy trying to dress like a businessman. She definitely didn’t notice the way the tailored cut of the shirt emphasized how broad his shoulders suddenly were and her heartbeat definitely didn’t speed up in his proximity. Absolutely not. He looked silly, and she’d tell that to anyone who asked.
But Nino hadn’t asked, so all she said was, “Hi, Nino.”
“It’s good to see you.” His voice was warm, but his face was unreadable.
“You too,” Alya managed, assuming that would be the end of the interaction.
It wasn’t.
Nino stood there, rubbing the back of his neck — a nervous tic he must’ve picked up from Adrien at some point, because it sure didn’t belong to her Nino.
Or maybe it did belong to this Nino, the one that wore button-down shirts and didn’t have a red cap to tweak nervously. This Nino wasn’t her Nino, after all.
This Nino was someone she didn’t know at all.
Somehow — maybe in combination with the jello shots she’d done with Alix earlier — that realization made things… easier. More painful, maybe, but easier.
“We’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other now that I’m back in town,” Alya added, filling the silence. “Friends?”
She stuck her hand out for him to shake, throwing in a wide grin to seal the deal.
“Friends,” he agreed, clasping her hand.
And if Alya shook it a little longer than necessary — well, she’d been drinking. Her reaction time was slowed. That was all.
4.
“He’s not dating anyone, you know,” Marinette mentioned in a too-casual voice, leaning into Alya with her chin resting on her fist, eyebrows raised.
They’d gone out to lunch, the four of them, at a new café. Adrien and Nino had gone to buy dessert for the table at Marinette’s insistence — something Alya had at first found out of character for Marinette, who’d insisted on multiple occasions that Adrien couldn’t be trusted to select good pastries (apparently she’d once caught him eating prepackaged croissants).
She should’ve known Marinette had sent the boys off strategically.
Alya had mostly avoided such outings on the grounds that they were way too close to double dates. Sure, Marinette always insisted her and Adrien weren’t dating, but Alya had invited Marinette and Adrien to join her and Nino on too many dates in collège to not see through Marinette’s intentions. She’d stick to brief interactions with Nino in much larger groups, thanks.
But she’d really wanted to try this café.
“I’m not interested, Marinette,” Alya reminded her. “That was a long time ago.”
“Suuure, if you say so,” Marinette drawled. “And Adrien and I are just friends.”
Alya rolled her eyes. “You and Adrien are the only ones who think that.”
“Exactly!” Marinette snapped her fingers and then slammed her hands on the table.
“Wait, hold on… are you admitting you're not?” Alya’s eyebrows shot up with interest.
“Are you admitting you’re still hung up on Nino?” Marinette challenged.
Alya huffed. “That’s different. You and Adrien are Ladybug and Chat Noir. You’re inevitable, no matter how many times you try to deny it or how long it takes you to get there. Nino and I are just two people who dated as teenagers.”
“What? You’re not just any two people — you’re Rena Rouge and Carapace!” Marinette hissed, clearly wanting to shout but kept in check by her deeply ingrained secret identity instincts, even now. “You saw through Carapace’s disguise in seconds because you knew him so well. Your love is more powerful than quantum masking!”
“Knew him. Past tense.”
Marinette looked like she wanted to say something else, but then the boys were back with their desserts, and Alya wasted no time in diverting Marinette’s attention to Adrien’s pastry choices.
Nino smiled at her. She looked away.
She didn’t see his face fall.
5.
The next time she saw Nino was at Marinette and Adrien’s housewarming party.
Alya was pretty sure housewarming parties were meant for living in a new place, not inviting your not-a-girlfriend to move into the spare room of your apartment, but Adrien had seemed so genuinely excited that no one had the heart to tell him that — it felt like kicking a puppy.
Alya was happy for them. Really. She was.
So was Nino, apparently.
“I’m glad he finally convinced her to move in,” he’d mentioned, sidling up to Alya like they chatted regularly.
(She was almost buzzed enough to admit that she wished they did.)
“You know, it’s funny.” She hoped she sounded as casual and relaxed as Nino did (impossible, really, but that had never stopped Alya before), “I always thought it’d be you and Adrien rooming together.”
Nino gave her a strange look. “That’s what you thought?”
“I mean, didn’t you? You can’t tell me you never had fantasies about living with your best bro,” Alya teased.
“Adrien’s not the person I wanted to live with when we were teenagers,” Nino said, looking away.
“Oh,” was all she could say.
And then, as if he hadn’t already done enough, Nino pulled out a very familiar, very red ball cap, and put it over his head, tweaking the brim.
(Where had he even pulled it from? The depths of her teenage daydreams?)
“I guess reality didn’t meet expectations for either of us,” he said with an inscrutable look, and walked away.
Well, she thought, there goes any illusion that I’m over him.
6.
In the end, she blamed the red hat for her predicament. She’d been doing just fine, thank you, telling herself that any romance between her and Nino was in the past.
But now here she was, wearing his old hoodie and laying face down on her couch, scrolling through five-year-old instagram posts.
They’d been so cute together.
But right in the middle of her mopefest, the unthinkable happened: she liked a post.
Alya had never been so glad Nino didn’t have an instagram when they were in collège or lycée. She could simply unlike it, and he’d never know the difference.
She hadn’t considered the picture had been on Adrien’s account. And that Adrien, who usually minded his own business, shared everything with Marinette. Marinette, who had absolutely zero compunctions about letting Nino know what Alya’d been up to.
But someone had clearly told Nino, or else he wouldn’t be here, on her doorstep.
She stared at him across the threshold.
He stared back.
“Hi Nino,” she said, trying to tuck her hair into something presentable. Why had she opened the door without checking it?
“So, at the risk of sounding like a complete moronosaurus and ruining our friendship — or whatever level of acquaintances we are at — Alya, I have to ask,” Nino said, but didn’t ask.
So she did.
“What was with the button down you wore at Marinette’s party?”
Okay, not what she’d meant to ask, but he laughed, so she’d call it a win.
“I was trying to make a good impression,” he admitted.
“On who?”
He gave her the same unreadable look he’d given her at the housewarming party. “On you. Who else?”
“But… why? We already know each other.”
“Sure, but,” he tweaked his cap. “Then you went to university. And became a journalist. You’re Alya Cesaire, journalist and jetsetter, and I’m… still just Nino.”
“Just Nino is all I’ve ever wanted,” she admitted.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to come in?” Alya opened the door wider.
He did.