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Two thirty-two.
That's what the alarm clock perched on the shoddy nightstand between her and Chat's beds reads in glaring green letters-- forty-five minutes since Chat fell asleep, far too many since Ladybug should have.
Her duvet lies tangled between her legs, her pillows dented from a dozen failed arrangements. Sweat lines her brow, her hairline, coats her fingertips where they clench the coarse sheets. Exhaustion settles heavy on her spine, and yet every time she closes her eyes her mind spirals downward until she's choking on air, unable to speak or breathe or even cry.
On nights like these, Ladybug finds that the anxiety never quite goes away. Instead it crawls under her skin like a snake and sleeps there, one eye opened, waiting to strike.
So Ladybug sits. Waits. Trains her eyes on the blank darkness in front of her to prevent her thoughts from plunging her under.
Two thirty-three.
If she were better, they wouldn't even be here, crashed in some three-star double hotel room at two in the morning after five hapless years of fighting. If she were better, they'd be asleep in their own homes, and Chat would get to rest through the night instead of getting dragged behind her at ungodly hours to patch up another one of her mistakes.
Chat, she remembers for the hundredth time, and her heart pangs.
At least he's finally sleeping now, blond tufts peeking out from beneath his comforter, one arm draped over the side of the mattress. He looks almost peaceful like this, when his face isn't pulled taut by strings and his shoulders can melt like wax against the sheets.
He deserves to look like this all the time, Ladybug thinks.
If only she were better, he would.
If only, if only.
Bile rises up in her throat as her thoughts begin to swarm, and the familiar feeling makes dread dig a pit in her chest, makes her bite back the beginnings of a cry. She lowers her head into her hands and struggles to block it out, but acid's already eating at her vision like old film, and she's sinking, down, down...
Clamping her hand over her mouth, she tries and fails to control her breathing and lets out a whimper when it finally escapes her in strangled little spurts.
A few feet away, Chat shifts slightly at the noise, and Ladybug's eyes blow wide as he turns over, pulse pounding in her ears as he twitches. Before he can rouse completely, she slams her feet on the cool wooden floor and flees.
Blearily, she stumbles through the bathroom door, slaps her palm over the light switch, and rushes to the sink to splash water over her face. The liquid is ice cold and shocks her cheeks, but it's enough to distract her, to momentarily ground her to the floor and make her feel in control again.
Exhaling shakily, she slowly lifts her head and stares at her trembling reflection. A stranger with flushed cheeks and hollow eyes looks back through a flimsy felt mask, hair plastered to her forehead, water dribbling off her chin. Ladybug leans forward to brace herself on the cool countertop, closes her eyes, and tries desperately not to cry.
Five years.
Five years of lying, of making promises so worn thin they're like sand in the wind. Five years of fighting, with nothing to show for it but sunken blue circles under her eyes and a restless tic in Chat's right hand.
It's like struggling up a cliff without gaining any foothold, a constant cycle of sweating blood under the hot midday sun just to look down and find herself no further off the ground. It's cruel and draining and every time she closes her eyes, Ladybug can see those five long years turning into six, into ten, repeating over and over again like a broken record all because of her own inability to just-- fix it.
Failure, her mind whispers. Failure--
"Ladybug?"
Her head snaps up, heart hammering in her ribcage as she whirls around.
Chat's standing in the doorway, sleep-ruffled and stark against the darkness. His face is pulled into a frown, and despite squinting slightly under the glaring overhead light, he's craning towards her with eyes spilling nothing but concern.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." His voice is so very gentle, lined with fleece and a tenderness that makes her want to cry. "What's going on?"
Ladybug opens her mouth to answer, but every possible explanation feels tight and wobbly, coagulating into a twisted lump that sticks in the back of her throat. She feels her vision blur, hopelessly tries and fails to blink back the beginnings of frustrated tears.
"I..."
When only a broken sniffle bubbles up from her chest, Chat takes two steps forward and simply wraps her in his arms.
"I'm here," is all he says, whispered in a puff against her hair. "Whatever it is, I've got you."
Ladybug crumbles.
Like a dam breaking, every anxiety bursts forth in a tidal wave, and she feels herself cling to him, squeezing her eyes and leaking hot, silent tears into his shirt. Chat shushes her gently as she hiccups and smoothes a hand over her hair, and when her knees collapse he sinks down with her, until they're huddled together on the tile against the cabinet under the sink.
"I've got you," he promises, bent against the doors, voice falling into her ear. "I've got you."
He doesn't say It's okay or It'll be alright, but for that she thinks she appreciates him a little more, for reminding her of what's really important, what's always true, instead of slathering on empty promises.
That she'll never be alone.
Overwhelmed, she hides further in the crook of his neck and drains.
They sit like that for awhile, meshed into one wet shape beneath the buzzing fluorescent light. Ladybug doesn't notice when it's over, doesn't feel her heart slow until it's calm or see the tension leak from her shoulders. But after awhile Chat starts to pull away, and when she opens her eyes she notices the world is clear and not blurred, that her vision is no longer smeared with tears nor her chest wracked with grief.
Chat gingerly separates from her as she scrubs the crust from her lashes. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he sends her a gentle smile and says, "I'll be right back."
Ladybug closes her eyes with a shaky breath and leans against the cabinet, feels the knobs dig into her back but makes no effort to readjust.
He returns after a minute with a cup of water and rubs her back while she sips. The flow relieves the dry scratchiness in her throat, slowly smooths over the cracks until she feels she can get out a sentence once more.
"I'm sorry," she utters eventually, still slightly choked, as if having swallowed a cup of sand. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"Don't apologize." Chat's hand is warm where it strokes between her shoulder blades. "I'm glad you did. What's going on?"
Ladybug falls silent once more, eyes lowering to trace the white floor tiles, following the lines of grout until they reach the wall. Chat squeezes her knee in encouragement, digs tiny circles with the pad of his thumb.
"It's not... it's not really that big," she says quietly.
"Sometimes the little things hit hard."
"I know, but I just... overreacted. I feel better now, really."
Chat affixes her with a level look-- not unkind, but transparent, eyes flicking to her wringing hands.
"What is it?" he tries again, knowingly. When her gaze dips down once more, he tilts her chin back up to meet him and assures quietly, "It's okay."
With a weak sigh, she relents.
"Sometimes... I feel like I'm not enough."
He frowns. "Not enough?"
"Yeah, I mean..." She trains her eyes on the tile once more. "It's been five years since we started this, but we're no closer to defeating Hawkmoth than we were when we were kids. Every time we seem to make a step forward, it's a false lead, or we get thrown two steps back. I just... I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to fix it. And I guess it just hit hard, tonight. Do... do you ever feel that way?"
Chat blows a quiet breath out of his nose.
"Sometimes," he admits. "But what makes you think that's your fault?"
"Because I'm the planner. I'm supposed to get us out of the binds, I'm supposed to know what to do. That's-- that's my job."
He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Your job is to protect Paris, and you do that more than well enough."
"But that's just the bare minimum, Chat. Is this just how it's going to be? Is Paris going to get hit with akumas forever? I can reverse the damage all I want, but is that really progress?"
She releases a long sigh, rubs her palm over her face in defeat, and wilts.
"I just... I feel like I'm letting everyone down." Then, in a small voice, "I feel like I'm letting you down."
At that Chat's eyes fill and his mouth opens, but she hurries to continue before he can reply, feeling a fresh wave of insecurities gush from the recesses of her heart.
"You don't deserve to keep dealing with this, blindly following me without complaint, even when I screw up. It's wearing you down, and you don't say anything because you're too sweet, but I know it's true. I know. And it kills me, not being enough to make it stop, because I-- I--"
She fumbles, hands tossing, and takes a shuddering breath.
"I just-- see it. Your eyes are tired and your humor is gone and, and-- and your hand--" She seizes his right hand, rubs her thumb over his knuckles. "It shakes, all the time, and if I was better, if I could just figure out how to end this somehow--"
"Ladybug--"
"If I could just be enough to solve it--"
"Ladybug." Chat grasps both her shoulders, shaking slightly, and she stills.
"I want you to listen to me, okay?" His voice is as firm as the grip on her skin, and she blinks back at its sincerity. "None of this is your fault."
"But--"
"No." He shakes his head, refusing to break eye contact. "None of it. None of it."
"Chat..."
"Listen," he reminds, gently.
She purses her lips.
"I need you to understand that all of this inadequacy... you're pushing it on yourself. No one resents you or blames you for everything that's happened. No one thinks you're not enough. It's the opposite, actually-- you're adored. You've done everything for everyone. And even if you can't see it, the truth is that you have always been more than enough."
"But aren't you tired of living like this?" she counters hopelessly. "Don't you wish we could just end it?"
"Sure," he agrees with a shrug. "But just because it's not ending doesn't mean it's your fault. And it's not my fault either. Some things can't be controlled-- there's only so much we can do at a time, and if you ask me, saving the whole city every day? That's incredible enough."
"But we can't continue like this forever," she laments. "Sooner or later, we have to finish it."
"And sooner or later, we will," he assures. "Listen, Ladybug, you have never, ever let me down. I trust you completely. But I also don't expect you to have all the answers all the time. No one can do that, no matter how brilliant they are. And you're at the top of the brilliance list, so that's saying something."
Her shoulders sink. "It doesn't feel like that, though."
"Then take my word for it. You've always said I was a good judge of character, right? I wouldn't lie to you."
Ladybug hesitates, considering. Chat takes her face in his hands and lovingly wipes the trails of dried tears off her cheeks.
"You are more than enough," he reiterates with a crinkling smile. "If you could see yourself the way I do, what I see you do every day, you'd never doubt that.
"And I know I can't understand everything," he admits. "The pressure, the responsibility. But I'm with you every step of the way. We're in this together. You don't have to carry this alone."
As he speaks, warmth for him blooms amidst the muddled tangle of her heart and spreads outward, deep from that dusted-over place that so seldom sees the sun, coating every chipped surface until her body feels hot and golden beneath her skin.
Ladybug listens rapt, clinging to every syllable.
"We're gonna get him someday. Together. I promise. But until then, don't beat yourself up about it. That mind of yours is too incredible to be filled with worry all the time."
He ends with a breathy chuckle, and it's enough to make her lips quirk, enough to make her turn every trace of her smile into the palm of his hand.
He's everything like this, she decides distantly, and is only a little surprised when the thought surfaces. Huddled with her on the bathroom floor in this space they've carved out of tile and trust. Close enough to kiss with just those few scant inches of something surging between them.
If she leaned forward, they'd be one.
"Thank you," she whispers instead.
He smiles, eyes darting a few inches down for a fraction of a second before returning her gaze. She watches him shake his head slightly, then detach his hands and rise from his hunch on the ground, leaving planes of cold air flush against her cheeks.
"I'm always gonna be here for you," is his only response, and he offers her his hand. "That's just the way it is."
The way he says it, so casual and easy, more of a fact than a promise, strikes a chord within her, replaces her need to overanalyze with solid certainty.
"I really mean it, Chat," Ladybug says softly as she takes his hand and clambers to her feet. "Thank you."
He sends her a warm smile when she doesn't let go. "Yeah, of course." Then, "You ready to go back?"
She nods, and together they head back into the main room. Chat turns off the bathroom light as they cross the threshold, and then they're blanketed in a comforting darkness, save for a pale strip of light slipping in past the curtains.
"Goodnight, my lady," he bids softly, and then his hand is disentangling from her own, and he's pulling away all too soon, taking every ounce of warmth with him until suddenly the night is threatening again, already sucking her in with its cold black tendrils, ready to swallow her up like a black hole, and--
Ladybug stumbles, reaching through the encroaching shadows blindly with shameless desperation until her fingers clasp around his retreating wrist.
"Wait, Chat," she sputters.
He turns, eyes round as they catch the moonlight, and her mouth runs dry.
"Could you... Could we, could you just..."
She falters, nervously picks at the hem of her shirt before breathing in deep.
"Stay with me?" she requests softly, quiet enough to be a breath, yet seeping over the room like seafoam. "I... I don't want to be alone."
Chat blinks back, lips parting slightly. For several agonizing seconds, he glances from her grip around his arm to her face and doubt crawls up her throat, but then he meets her gaze once more, and the softest of smiles graces his expression.
"Okay."
Ladybug breathes out in relief and tugs on his arm until he stumbles those few steps closer. Together they fall into her bed, and when he slowly opens his arms, she surges over and melts into him.
For a moment she almost questions the ease in which she tucks into his embrace, the lack of hesitance, the instant trust. But the truth is that being with him feels as natural as breathing, like slipping into familiar sheets after a long time away from home.
And she supposes that, in a sense, it's always been this way. There's really no one else in the world who makes her feel this secure, no one else who drenches her world in sunlight to block out the rain. The wave of revelation engulfs her all at once, spun from a thousand precious moments into one final certainty.
She loves him she loves him she loves him.
"Is this okay?"
Chat's voice breaks through the thoughts circling her head like seabirds, soft and earnest, infinitely loving. Ladybug glances up through a sheen of moisture and studies his face-- the slight furrow between his eyebrows, the part between his lips, barely visible in the dim light but soaked with something unmistakable-- something she recognizes, something that's mirrored in the throbbing of her own heart.
Her hand comes up to rest over his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction, but don't cause him to pull back.
"Yes," she answers with a fledgling smile, as her heart flutters gauzy wings. "Everything's okay now."
"And you? You're okay?"
"I'm okay," she promises. And she will be.