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In hindsight, it’s kind of funny. Because there they are. Partners of seven years. Seven freaking years, yeah, almost half a lifetime, at least when you’re about to enter your twenties, and it’s a cold autumn night when Ladybug notices it for the first time, moonlight surrounding them, stars illuminating the night –
Chat Noir is handsome.
Look, she isn’t that stupid nor blind. Of course he’s handsome. With his blonde hair and wild eyes and that stupidly handsome grin when he throws another pun right in her face – yeah. But there are several factors that always managed to obscure this particular fact. For example, the puns he throws right in her face. Almost magical how quickly they can extinguish any hint of attraction.
That, and the fact that there’s another blonde boy constantly occupying her mind.
Which is exactly the problem. Because while she is staring like an idiot having the realization of a lifetime, her mind begins screeching constantly. There’s only space for one boy in her heart. And that boy is a model and gorgeous and decidedly doesn’t bombard her with stupid puns. Which she prefers. No puns, good.
So it doesn’t make sense that she is staring like that.
And it doesn’t make sense that her heart gives a sudden wild throb as he turns his head to her.
And it doesn’t make sense that warmth curls in the depths of her stomach.
And it doesn’t make sense that for a second, just a second, she imagines how his lips –
“Woah, so little to do today!” she quickly interrupts her own traitorous brain, forcing in some pictures of a certain model while she’s at it. “Could almost lead to some very unrealistic thoughts, huh?”
Chat tilts his head at her. In an unfairly handsome way. What the hell. She needs a pun to save herself. Now.
“Starring unrealistic protagonists. Of those thoughts. Starring.” She gestures towards the night sky. “Starring.”
Chat keeps staring at her. “Wow,” he breathes. “My lady, are you okay?”
She internally dies. Externally, she keeps up her best smile. “You’re fine!” she responds.
Catches her mistake a second too late.
“Not that you’re fine,” she elegantly saves herself. Pauses again. “Not that you’re not fine – well, not in that sense, you know – I’m sure you must feel fine, I mean, not in a touchy way –”
The tiniest hint of a smirk twitches onto Chat’s lips. “In a touchy way.”
Oh god. Oh, what. Why is this going there? This was not her intention. Stupid handsomeness making stupid brain all mushy. Not that she would actively think – look, Chat is only objectively handsome! Only – that doesn’t mean that she finds him handsome! Not that she doesn’t – oh god –
“I’m sure you’re fine in a touchy way,” she splutters out.
Oh what.
Chat’s face falls for a moment. She’s kinda glad there’s so much distance between them. Three whole steps. For good measure, she increases this distance to four steps. Then she looks away. Blushes so hard she freezes on the spot. Blushes even harder. Whirls her head back to him.
“If I were to touch you, that is,” she helpfully adds. “Which I wouldn’t.”
Chat blinks.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to – I mean, it would be fine to touch you, great even – it would be so great to touch you, but I wouldn’t do it –”
Chat blinks again.
“No, I wouldn’t!” Oh god, she has to get out of this situation. Now. Fast. “No touching. No touching between us! Only if we have to – as strictly professional superhero partners! Like business partner. Business partners wouldn’t touch each other!”
“That’s,” Chat clears his throat, “true?”
Ladybug pauses. “No, it’s not always true. When business partners start an affair –” She pauses again. “We won’t start an affair!”
Chat nods. “LB, do you really –”
“Stop thinking about an affair!”
“I – okay. I stopped?”
“No, don’t –” She needs an excuse. Something. Anything. You’re surprisingly handsome and I feel the urge to lick sweat off your skin seems like the worst possible thing she could have said, so instead, she thinks of something else. Hormones? Nah, too intimate. Does it even matter? She could just stop this conversation and die at home all on her own. What the hell is happening? He’s not that handsome! So – “Stop being attractive!”
That’s not what she meant to say.
She wants to scream.
“… is what I would say,” she continues hastily, “if I was attracted to you.”
Yeah. Great. Awesome.
Oh god.
“Okay, LB,” Chat says slowly. Comes a step closer. She panics. Hard. Stumbles back and flails her arms until he stops again.
“It’s just – tired! Brain tired! That’s – uh – sorry.”
He looks unconvinced. She feels unconvinced too. Somehow, this is getting worse and worse. No, no, just think of Adrien, think of his smile and his eyes which are just as green as Chat Noir’s oh god Chat really has pretty eyes how has she never –
Fuck.
“Tired,” Chat repeats. “A lot of Freudian slips then, huh?”
“Freudian. So Freudian, exactly, it’s –” She stares at him. Sees a grin grow on his face. “No, wait –”
“I’m just making fun of you. Sorry, Ladybug. Kinda weird to see you being all over the place.”
“Y-yeah. Weird, right? I think so too.”
“But nice to hear you think I’m fine.”
She groans and averts her gaze. “That … No …”
“A Freudian slip, huh?”
“No! No, it – no, stop that!”
God damn it.
Alya is waiting outside the bar, giving Marinette a stern look as she comes closer. “So sorry!” Marinette already calls from afar. “I missed my bus, and then I missed the subway, and then I missed the other subway, and then –”
“Uh-huh,” Alya returns, looking entirely unconvinced. Wow, what a night. Can’t even come up with the easiest of excuses, it seems. So Marinette makes a face, getting ready for the lecture that is sure to follow.
Alya taps her foot against the pavement, and then she shrugs. “You’re gonna have to make it up with some nice drinks. To Luka, too. It’s his big night, after all.” She rolls her eyes. “Even though we agreed to sit through two hours of performances just to see him play one tiny song. Oh well, that’s the bad thing about being friends – suffering, I guess.”
Oh. Drinks. And slipping up even more than she already did while she leads her brain absolutely anywhere than to a certain black-clad superhero partner of hers. So Marinette makes a face as Alya wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading her into the bar.
“Oh, yeah, about that,” she starts carefully. “Drinks. So, uh –”
“Let me guess. It’s a white wine kind of night.”
Marinette keeps making a face. “Nope.”
“Okay,” Alya drawls. “Red wine?”
“Nope.”
“Girl, I’m so proud! Vodka orange?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, kinda getting lost here. Cocktails?”
They’re already inside, dimmed lights hitting them. Their table is close to the entrance, and Nino, already sitting there, greets her with a grin and a nod.
“No cocktails either,” Marinette retorts. “In fact, um, no alcohol at all today. I’ll resort to, I don’t know, water.”
“All right, all right, my dude.” Nino comes closer, shaking his head slightly. “My dear dude. Most dudette of dudes. Just, dude.” He leans towards her, whispering his next words like a well-kept secret. “What did my poor ears have to hear right now? You cannot drink water on a night out, dude.”
“That would be kinda lame, yeah,” agrees Alya.
“This is called peer pressure, and I do not condone it.” Marinette glowers at her first, then at Nino.
“Nah, man, doesn’t have to be alcohol.” Nino grabs her arm and pulls her with him. “Watch and learn, dudette.”
He drags her to the bar, gesturing for the barkeeper to take his order. Tiredly, Marinette watches, then lets her eyes sway over the dark room. Their regular bar, something Luka suggested and something they all found somehow comfortable, casual enough not to feel out of place in a rather comfortable outfit, and there’s suddenly a face next to her, so close she stumbles back with a suppressed scream.
“Oh, sorry!”
Ah, all good. Only Adrien. Distressed looking Adrien who is catching her fall, pulling her up until she almost stumbles into him. They stand too close to each other, his warmth palpable on her skin, but she suddenly finds herself unable to move.
“I didn’t want to scare you, sorry, I was just about to say something, but –” Adrien starts, looking almost flustered. Which would be weird. And funny. No flustering here, after all. Yeah.
“No, sorry, I’m a scaredy-cat, that’s all!”
A scaredy-cat. Ha.
Okay. So. There’s one thing she will decidedly not do tonight. Think about stupid handsome Chat Noir. She doesn’t need to ponder her sudden realization any further, thank you very much. And it’s not like she has pondered such a thought before too. Nope. Chat Noir is, after all, Chat Noir. Nothing attractive about him. Okay, a few attractive things about him. But nothing too much!
See. That’s the reason for her no-alcohol rule tonight. Surely doesn’t need to blurt out even more stupid stuff.
Yeah.
Anyway, there are other things to focus on. For example, a way more handsome boy handsomely (nope, not awkwardly) looking at her. Even though there is something weird about his expression.
Well, sure, because once again, she is acting like a klutz around him. Oh, what a surprise.
“Adrien, bro!” Nino calls out. “Beer for you?”
“Uh, sorry, I won’t drink tonight.”
Nino blinks at both of them. “What, you’ve got some kind of secret you’re scared to blurt out drunkenly?”
“What? No? Me? Secret?” Marinette throws her hands up, giggling nervously. “Come on! Me? No!”
“Secret! How would – look at me! Open book! So open!” Adrien throws his hands up too, matching her tone. For whatever reason.
“That was …” Nino looks from one to the other, then eventually shrugs. “Well, whatevs.” He taps against his temple. “Watch and learn, my dudes.”
He leans closer to the barkeeper.
“We’ve got two designated drivers here, care to fix them something appropriate?”
“Hoo boy,” the barkeeper says, eyeing both Marinette and Adrien. “Long night ahead, then. Red Bull?”
“Sure thing,” Nino answers in their stead. “Add a beer too, please.”
When the guy is gone, Adrien leans closer. While doing so, his shoulder brushes Marinette, and she is kind of standing between him and Nino, so it’s no surprise Adrien’s scent fills her nose. She inhales as soundlessly and deeply as possible, filling her whole mind with his scent.
“So,” Adrien whispers. “Why didn’t you just, I don’t know, simply order two Red Bulls? What exactly did we learn?”
Nino tsks and shakes his head. “Bro, I love you, but you seriously have so much to learn. Your guess, Miss Marinette?”
She jolts, quickly wiping her mouth. Because there is no drool at all. Please, that would be so embarrassing! “Um, yeah, I agree!” she quickly answers, giving Nino a thumbs-up.
Nino gives her a long look.
“I think we’re failing his class right now,” Adrien mumbles.
She meets Adrien’s eyes, looking at his perfect features and his soft hair, and slowly she realizes that she needs to answer. “Really handsome.” A beat. “Worrisome, I mean! Really worrisome.”
Nino saves her from unbelievably painful embarrassment by giving a loud sigh. “Look, muchachos. There’s always that one drink that indicates you’re here to party, but also to party responsibly. Depends on the bar, so the barkeeper is your best shot. If you get any other drink, you’re lame. Easy as that.” Their drinks are put in front of them, and Nino pushes their Red Bulls closer. A deep, almost orangey yellow. Very appetizing. Very nice to look at. “In this case, we’ve got Red Bull. Cheers!”
Exchanging a look, Adrien and Marinette cling their glasses.
Back at their table, she scrunches her nose at her glass and takes a sniff, grimacing. “I don’t even like energy drinks.”
“Look, your own fault for being kinda lame.” Alya shrugs. “You’re not really allowed to complain.”
“Plus, it keeps you awake!” Nino pats her back a few hearty times.
Still grimacing, she takes a sip. Sugar, even more sugar, oh, and sugar too. Even a hint of sugar. She shudders. “Yeah, nope. Nope.”
When she looks at Adrien’s glass, she notices that it’s half-empty.
“Woah, wait, you like Red Bull?” she realizes, looking at him out of wide eyes. He clears his throat and ducks his head.
“Uh, I kind of like sweet stuff?”
Right. He does. Right. She knows that. Does that mean he likes pastries? It has to. Well, he did seem happy whenever she brought him something. Not him specifically, but the whole class, so him included. Which didn’t happen often. And now she can’t stop imagining it. Does he like chocolate? Of course he does. Everyone does. Melted chocolate. Melted chocolate on her skin, on her stomach. His tongue licking it up, ever so slowly, green eyes watching her every reaction, a smirk building on his lips, the feeling of his claw slowly travelling from her shoulder to her collarbone, lower –
Oh god, no, no, she wasn’t just thinking about Chat Noir! She was thinking about Adrien with long nails, yeah, absolutely! She is allowed some kinks, right? Right?
On a totally unrelated note, she is going to kill this cat.
“Are you … Everything okay, Marinette?”
She jerks. Meets Adrien’s worried eyes. There you go. Adrien. Sweet, comfortable Adrien. There, easy. Just forget about stupid alley cats. Forget about them by having a nice, normal talk. Exactly.
That’s why the next words leave her in a hurry, sweeping over the table loud and clear. “I’m sweet!”
Nino weakly coughs next to her.
Shit.
“I mean, everything’s sweet! Everything good. You good?” With a high-pitched laugh, she points a finger at him.
“I … think so?” Confused, he points a finger back.
“Sweet! See, sweet? Sweet.” Abruptly, she stands up, her face so hot it must look like an overripe tomato by now. “Gotta go. For a sec. Sorry.”
“Sure.” He makes place to let her through, and stiffly, Marinette walks. Keeps walking. Robotic movements. One foot forward, then the other one, and yeah, don’t forget about the arms. They’ve got to move too, right? Right. When she peeks over her shoulder, the whole table is shooting her weird looks.
Yeah, going great.
Marinette robotically moves faster. To the stage room, to where she knows Luka is, and she sees him sitting at the edge of the stage, attuning his guitar. Now she feels stupid again. Being next to Luka is comfortable, sure, and his presence always manages to calm her down, but things have never been the same. Not since she broke up with him in a way that still makes her cringe in shame, and no, she still doesn’t want to talk about it, thank you so much.
She stays where she is, watching Luka from a distance. Fiddles with her fingers. Tugs at her sleeves. He looks up for a moment, and he sees her. His little smile makes her smile too, and she comes closer until she can sit down next to him, legs dangling from the stage.
“Nervous?” she asks.
“You get used to it.” He plays a little melody, and she knows the notes. They changed over years, sometimes daily, sometimes only every few months, and she can’t help but keep smiling.
“Something new, huh?”
“Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows. “Even though I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
She watches him. There was a time she was convinced she loved him. Like, truly loved him. As much as a teenager can, anyway. It would have been so much easier, being in love with Luka, and she can’t quite understand her own feelings nor herself.
“I just …” She sighs. “I just wish there was some kind of switch, you know? Like, all righty, I want to have feelings for that guy now, so – bam! All good. Or, well, that guy would be better, so – no problemo! Everything fixed.” She scratches her head. “I’m not really making sense, am I?”
“Oh, no, you are.” He stops playing. “Feelings can be pretty complicated.”
She suddenly freezes. It’s not like Luka is obliged to still have feelings for her. Ha, anything but! But if he did – and what she said – didn’t she just imply something? Something she definitely didn’t want to imply? Or did she reveal something she really didn’t want to reveal? Will he think she somehow meant him? Because she doesn’t. Honestly, she really doesn’t. Just how does she make this clear?
Maybe with words. Yeah, words are good. Words are great. Calmly, and empathically, and by carefully choosing them. She can do this.
“You are not on either end of the switch though!” she blurts out.
Yeah, no.
Luka looks at her for a second. Then a laugh escapes him. At her incredulous look, he laughs even harder.
“Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!” She feels her whole face heat up once again. “This isn’t funny!”
“No, I just,” he gives one last chuckle, “sorry. Me too. I also wish it was that easy.”
Oh.
Still blushing, she puts her hands on her knees and stares at her nails.
They got one of the best seats in the room, second row. Marinette is almost bouncing in her seat. She managed to convince Nino to switch her Red Bull for an Almdudler (“Come on, it also looks like pi- it has the same color as Red Bull anyway, nobody will know the difference!”), and Adrien is sitting next to her again, and there is no awkward conversation going on, and all is good. All is swell. She’ll just have to keep it this way, which is easy peasy. No sweat.
Until she sees Adrien staring at her drink, eyebrows furrowed, that is.
Her eyes follow his, inspecting the glass for any kind of irregularity, but it looks pretty normal. No crack or something. Some bubbles from the carbon dioxide, sure, but that’s it. No stains of her lip gloss either. Nothing weird floating in there. She is starting to sweat. Is there something she just doesn’t see? The tension is becoming too much, and she abruptly leans closer to him.
“Is something wrong with my drink?”
Adrien shoots upright, staring at her. “What? No!” At her look, he gestures wildly from her glass to him. “I just never – what was that, Alfudler? Allkugler?”
“Almdudler.”
“Yeah, I – I never drank that.”
“Oh. No wonder, actually. I only saw it in a few other bars. It’s not really French.” She brings the glass closer to him. “Want to try?”
His eyes are sparkling. “If I may?”
“Of course you may.” Giggling, she hands him the glass, watching as he rises it to his lips. Every hint of amusement escapes her. Her mouth goes slack as his lips meet the glass’s rim. Liquid flows over his lips and down to his mouth. His Adam’s apple jumps as he swallows, elegant neck extended while his head is thrown back. Her heart is beating against her chest. She mathematically memorizes where exactly his lips touched the glass before he hands it back to her.
“Thank you,” she whispers before he can.
He blinks slowly. “Shouldn’t I thank you?”
“Yeah,” she dreamily giggles.
He blinks again. “It’s not too bad, by the way.”
“Yeah,” she giggles again.
Her brain gently nudges her to look down at the glass where her hand is lying over his. She stares at the place of contact. Realizes that this is not the way to get handed a glass. Usually. With some awkward motions, she eventually can take the glass from him, sending him a nervous smile.
He is about to say something when Nino taps his shoulder, causing Adrien to look away. For a second, she keeps staring at him. Then she raises the glass to her lips. Her eyes scan the rim for the exact spot his lips touched, and there you go – she finds it. It would be totally weird to lick that spot, hello, ew? She didn’t even remotely think about doing so, puh-lease!
So she resorts to taking a sip on the same spot. Which is kind of like an indirect kiss, right? That’s what they call it, right? Yeah, almost feels like a kiss, too. If Adrien’s lips tasted like Almdudler. Which they probably do, at least now. And if his lips were cold and solid. Which they pretty much can’t be, because they must be perfect just like everything else about him. Maybe they usually taste like candy. Or like honey.
“I really don’t want to interrupt your alone time with your glass, but you’ve been holding it up without drinking for at least a minute now.”
“I’m not indirectly kissing anyone! That would be so weird!” Marinette thoughtfully shoots back, being met by Alya’s amused eyes.
“Sure thing, girl. Might want to concentrate on the stage, though. It’s Luka’s turn.”
“I noticed! I kinda noticed!” She pauses. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have noticed.”
Luka is made for the stage. Kitty Section disbanded after life got in the way, but Luka’s talent never ceased, his voice carrying an edge that still sends shivers down Marinette’s spine. As his song echoes through the otherwise silent room, she is reminded of nights at the docks, moonlight shining down on water. Evenings in her room, his lyrics filled with a playfulness he never revealed before anyone else. He used to kiss her like he sings, used to touch her like he plucks the strings of his guitar, every motion purposeful. She often wondered how it’s even possible, falling for someone and realizing you somehow still aren’t in love with them. She was angry back then, sometimes. Angry at herself, and even angry at Adrien. Angry at the whole world.
But now, his song doesn’t fill her heart in the same way it used to, and at the end of his performance, she claps like the rest of the audience. He smiles at the crowd, and she has to smile too.
“Totally the public’s darling,” says Alya next to her with a nod. “Girls want to be with him, guys want to be him, the whole package.”
“Yeah,” Marinette mumbles. “Almost funny, right?”
Almost funny.
Well, she wishes things could really be that easy.
The next guy enters the stage. Not all of the acts today were musical ones, and this one seems to be a poet of some sort. A guy in his late twenties, maybe, even though his moustache makes him appear at least twenty years older. He sits down on his stool, shifts around a bit, the papers in his hands rustling. Clears his throat a few times. He seems tense, and it makes Marinette feel tense in return.
All in all, honestly, she is getting a very bad feeling.
“So, I’m a psychologist in training. Still under supervision, you know the drill. Came across some stories over the years, though,” his voice resounds, quivering just the tiniest bit. “Let me tell you one of them. All right, it goes like this: A psychologist has problems with his vehicle. So he visits a car service station. The mechanic says he can’t find anything. The psychologist replies, ‘Ah, then those sounds must be of psychosomatic nature.’”
Silence. Utter silence. The man smiles expectantly, and the silence lasts. A feeling of horror sweeps over Marinette. She sits up straight, sympathy manifesting in her heart. But there is nothing she can do. Nothing other than watching the catastrophe unfold.
“Huh, tough crowd today!” The man gives a shaky laugh, clears his throat. His movements caused the microphone stand to sway, and he quickly holds it in place, a high-pitched sound filling the air for two seconds. With another laugh, he looks down at his papers again. “No problem. Going to break through your defense mechanisms. Get it? Because Freud – yeah. Another little story. A patient says to his psychologist, ‘Doctor, everyone hates me.’ The psychologist replies, ‘Nonsense, you haven’t even met everyone yet.’”
Silence. A cough from one of the corners. Someone clearing their throat. Abashed quietness. It’s painful, and Marinette bites her lip.
“Woah, making it hard, aren’t you! Ha, a challenge. A challenge for sure.” The man tugs at his collar, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Let’s try again. Two psychologists meet. One says, ‘You are good, and how am I?’”
It hurts. It hurts so deeply Marinette clutches her chest. Tears spring to her eyes, but she doesn’t allow herself to sob. It isn’t over, she realizes. It still isn’t over, and it won’t be over for such a long time. This moment will go on and on, will suck out all their souls, will leave them as withering corpses. She shakes her head, hopes for him to see it, but of course he doesn’t. His eyes restlessly scan the crowd on the search for at least one person who finds him remotely funny, but there is no amusement. Not a single tiny hint. Nothing but dread.
“Uh. So. A man goes to his psychologist. He tells him, ‘Doctor, nobody is taking me seriously.’ The doctor replies, ‘You are joking.’”
A sound that resembles a laugh. No, false alarm – someone just cleared their throat again. A loud slurp from somewhere. Marinette has to close her eyes for a moment, her lips quivering. She can’t do this anymore. She can’t. It’s too painful, and her heart is clenching, and if nobody says it, she will have to.
“Sorry, but you kinda suck,” someone calls from the first row.
Okay. Whew.
“Seriously,” someone else adds.
“Which kind of book did you steal those jokes from? They suck ass.” Five pieces of French fries land on the stage. (Marinette refuses to be associated with them. French fries have nothing to do with her. Just because she’s French? Excusez-moi!)
“Come on, dude. Please spare us and leave.”
The man grimaces. “I have a few more! Give me just a minute. They’re pretty good. Come on, people, trust me! A man goes to his psychologist …”
“Please go to a psychologist yourself,” someone groans loudly.
“Yeah, just please leave.”
“No! My performance isn’t finished yet! The man says to his psychologist –”
A whole chorus of boos. Growing louder, growing more demanding. Sweat is running down the man’s forehead in thick runlets. He tries to say something into the microphone, and the booing becomes even more aggressive. Next to Marinette, Alya joins the chorus. At her disbelieving look, Alya gives a shrug and sinks back into her seat.
A whole load of fries follows the first few, some of them dripping with ketchup as they land in the man’s face. The moderator tries to calm down the crowd, but it’s too late. Some of them are a bit drunk, and that makes them a bit pissed. Fries everywhere. Fries and ketchup. Marinette screams when one lands on her head, and Alya stares at it, quickly smacking a hand over her mouth as she tries to hold back a laugh.
“Oh,” Adrien exclaims next to her, carefully reaching out for the fry. “Um, let me just …”
Two pieces of fries drop into his hair, some of his blonde beautiful strands getting drenched in deeply red ketchup. The booing continues. Adrien’s hand freezes midair, and he makes a face.
This is getting out of hand. Seriously out of hand. He was just trying to make jokes! Even though, yes, it was painful. Still. It doesn’t excuse anyone throwing fries at Adrien. Adrien has done nothing wrong! Why him?
And all of that combined –
“Enough!”
The scream was so loud it echoed through the whole room, vibrated in her own bones, made everyone turn around abruptly and wide-eyed. A tone so sharp it shot through the whole audience, and as Marinette realizes she has stood up, it also slowly dawns on her that she was the one to shout the word.
French fries stop flying. It becomes eerily quiet. Someone eats a piece, the crunching sound clearly audible. When they notice that everything else is perfectly silent, their chewing slows down. Still audibly so.
Okay, there she is. She can do is. She is pissed, so she can do this.
“You all should feel ashamed for being that cruel! How would you feel in his stead, huh? What would it feel like for you, standing on this stage right now?”
Another few seconds of silence. Some people avert their gazes in shame. Her heart is beating wildly. She hasn’t felt that powerful in a while. Like she could move worlds. Like she could do anything. Like she –
“I don’t need a little girl to defend me!” it comes from the stage.
Mechanically, Marinette turns her head. Moustache guy has stood up too, his face red with embarrassment. He points an accusing finger at her.
“Freud would call that a messiah complex!”
She keeps staring. “Excuse me?”
“Or – or penis envy!”
A chuckle from somewhere. Then another chuckle. Then a laugh. Marinette can only keep staring, feeling her face being flooded with heat. “I’m not – what?”
“Or maybe,” the guy’s smile is shaky, “I remind you of your dad? Yeah, clear case of an Electra complex!”
Laughter again. Marinette feels frozen in place. She just defended this dickhead, and that’s her thanks? She opens her mouth, closes it again, and next to her, two chairs rattle over the floor. Adrien to her left, and Alya to her right. Alya is faster than him though, her eyes set ablaze with unabashed fury.
“Listen up, you little shrimp. I’d advise you to stick Freud up your pathetic ass and think about your own Oedipus complex before going home to suck on your mama’s tiddies. Or wait, I guess she clearly doesn’t love you, seeing as she lets you wear that disgusting pornstache of yours. And let me guess – you wish you could tap that,” she smacks Marinette’s butt, the slap echoing through the whole room, “but aw, you never properly got through your phallic phase, and all you can do now is fiddle your own cute little pipe every night before crying yourself to sleep. Penis envy my ass. Do you even have a dick to be envied?”
Seconds of silence. Slowly, Adrien sits down again. Slowly, Marinette does so too, her face still burning hot. The man onstage gasps for air, the microphone in his hands almost slipping from his fingers as he grimaces.
“I have a penis!” he squeaks. “And it’s bigger than average! I swear!”
The crowd erupts into laughter. From her position, Alya bows. “Case closed. Thank you very much.”
Wild applause follows. Roses fly towards the stage, towards Alya. His face beet-red, the man quickly flees from the stage, tears glistening in his eyes. Serves him right though. People start patting Marinette’s shoulders, and she feels so embarrassed that she can’t meet anyone’s eyes, wishing the ground would just open up and hide her away from everyone and anyone.
It was the last performance before the break, and on the way back to their table, people keep laughing at her. Marinette is just about to burst with anger and shame once again when suddenly, someone shoves a shot of tequila into her hands. Confused, she looks up at a girl’s face.
“Wow, you were exceptional!” she says. “That whole performance – I seriously thought that guy was whack, but that whole number you had planned, woah! Nobody expected that! I’d advise you to work a bit on the first few parts, but other than that? Bien, muy bien!”
“Ignoring the concept of a stage in a theatrical performance – that’s some real modern theatre shit. Very vogue.”
“Your part was my favorite one, honestly,” a guy joins them. “That look of shock after that guy told you off? Man, you’ve got some serious talent. Are you a professional actress?”
“If yes, can I have an autograph?”
“And a photo?”
“And that guy next to you … Perfect addition, even if he didn’t get a line. He kinda looks like a model. Like, hot damn. Think I can get his number?”
A girl said that, a girl with flowing blonde hair and bright blue eyes and a body that makes Marinette blush from head to toe. An animalistic instinct makes her jolt upright, finger cramping around her shot glass.
“No!”
At least ten pairs of eyes stare at her.
“Because!” She gives a strained laugh. “He’s! Busy! Very busy! So!”
The girl’s eyes narrow. “Because he really is a model, right? I think I know his face from somewhere …”
“He works at a … at … at McDonald’s!” Marinette splutters. “Which is a very respectable job, very hard too, well-earned money, but you know, standing next to the kitchen all day, his hair kinda …” She moves her hand up and down in front of her nose.
“You sure know a lot about his hair,” someone considers.
“Oh, you must be his girlfriend then!” the girl realizes.
Marinette blenches. In fact, her whole body goes into a state of being only half-conscious. The other half of her mind waves goodbye and ventures happily into pretend land. Where Adrien comes home to her after a hard day, and no one else but her is allowed to embrace the smell of grease in his hair. Whatever, shampoo exists for a reason. Long baths too. Long baths together. Long baths together while being – gasp! – naked. Very naked. His naked hand on her naked nakedness.
“Neugh,” is the only reply she manages.
“Oh, good to know!” The girl smiles broadly. “How about a picture of the couple, then? Just the two of you?”
Marinette jolts again. “I’m not sure – he’s kind of – I’m sure he’s not in the – he’s busy!”
“He’s literally sitting at a table with another dude, doing absolutely nothing.”
With a stiff smile, Marinette turns around and sees Adrien sitting next to Nino. Returning the smile, Adrien waves at her. Returning the wave, Marinette keeps smiling at him. Returning the smile – yeah, and so on.
“Ha, your boyfriend is pretty cute!” There is absolutely no reason why that girl had to shout the sentence across the room like that. Marinette’s hand freezes midair, and her smile does too. Across from her, Adrien draws his eyebrows together, sending that girl a confused look.
“Alotusely cute.” She clears her throat. “Cuteolusely nude.” She smacks her forehead. “Oh my god.”
Fingers suddenly close around her shot glass, and honestly, it’s just pure instinct to hold onto it that hard, looking up with a growl at the intruder. It’s only Luka though, softly lying a hand on the small of her back as he shoves the glass into the blonde girl’s hands. “Sorry, I’ll abduct her for a bit,” he tells the onlookers, gently ushering her to their table. The whole group of people stares after her reverently.
Sighing, she lets her forehead meet the table’s surface. “Thanks for saving me.”
“No problem.” Luka pats her back. “Guess escaping fans is a fine art, huh, Adrien?”
“Uh. Kind of.”
She turns her head to look at Adrien, finding that he must have watched her. Something in her stomach churns. Something in his eyes flickers, and with a little cough, he looks away from her.
“Don’t engage too much with them and you should be fine.”
“Even though your performance was seriously impressive, my dudes,” Nino laughs.
“Especially my well-aimed butt smack, right?” Alya winks. “Always wanted to do that before a crowd.”
Marinette blushes. “I mean, a warning would have been nice?”
“She was too in the moment,” Nino provides. “Ya know, she’s constantly talking about your butt, dudette. Almost makes me think there’s a fixation going on.”
Alya nods thoughtfully. “Never got over my anal phase.”
“Um, ew?” Marinette tosses in.
“What? That’s Freudian psychology. It’s science, Marinette. Science!”
“Speaking of science,” Adrien says. “Has anyone seen our psychologist guy?”
Nino shrugs. “Nah, dude. Gone like the wind.”
Well, he was pretty upset. And suddenly, her gears start turning. Because it’s pretty late, and that guy looked ready to curl into a ball and pity himself for the rest of the night, and she didn’t have the good sense to follow him right away and make sure he is not too upset to be influenced by certain supervillains just looking out for some more victims, and when she jumps up, a sudden movement to her left makes her stumble to the side. Adrien, staring at her just as bewildered as she feels.
“Fresh air!” he expresses.
“Same here!” she shoots back.
“Good!”
“Cool!”
“Your timing is pretty much as simultaneous as always,” Alya says, sipping on her gin tonic with her eyebrows raised. “It’s almost suspicious.”
Marinette’s heart pumps wildly. She gives one single tiny laugh. “Yeah. That’s funny. Woah, yeah.”
“Yeah, funny, heh,” Adrien joins her as he takes a step back.
“Ha! Suspicious. Yeah, that’s. That’s true.” Slowly and carefully, Marinette turns around, giving one last laugh.
“So true! Very true.” Their backs on them, Adrien clears his throat, and they walk away in very funny, very non-suspicious silence.
Well, it is kind of suspicious. Isn’t it? Or maybe Adrien just thinks she’s weird. Which is just as bad. This is bad. This is really bad. She can’t just go outside for no reason at all. Why is he even following her? Is he following her? Or is she following him? Maybe he doesn’t want her near him, and there she is, constantly being near him. Oh god, what if she is annoying him?
“Sorry!” she squeaks.
Startled, he turns to look at her. “What? What for?”
“Timing! For mine! My timing!” Okay, deep breaths, come on, you can do this, Marinette. “If you want to be alone –”
“No, I, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “If I’m being honest with you, I just wanted to look for that guy. He seemed upset.” He furrows his brows.
Oh, yeah. That’s sweet, compassionate Adrien right there. No matter what happens, he looks after other people. Such a big heart. Dreamy and perfect. With a heart of gold, forgiving anyone no matter what they did. That’s just how Adrien is.
“Even though he’s a dickhead for how he treated you,” he adds sharply.
He’d never judge anyone for anything, would never think badly of one single person, would – wait, what?
“I mean, what’s wrong with him?” he goes on. “How can you make fun of a girl who stands up for you?”
“Uh …”
“You’re so kind-hearted, and what does he do? Be a dick about it.”
“Well …”
“Maybe he really was intimidated. Because seriously? The way you silenced the whole room – that was pretty hot.”
The whole world comes to a halt. It stops spinning, just like that. Sudden gravity threatens to take her to the floor. Only with a whole lot of effort, she manages to find her balance again. He stops too, and for a moment, they only look at each other. Her face is burning. It’s on fire. She swears it is. She can still see the movements of his lips from a second ago, forming that one word. Everything else fades. There’s only Adrien in front of her, the slow realization making his eyes glimmer with horror, his cheeks turning pink. She can’t talk. She just can’t. Her mouth has stopped working. Everything stopped working. Someone will have to find her on button again. Even though she is already really turned on. Heh. Um. No. Not now, Marinette. Later, though? Sure, absolutely.
“Objectively!” he clarifies, his voice climbing an octave higher. “Objectively hot!”
“Yes! It would be weird for me to be cold, after all! It could mean that I am dead. Which I am clearly not.”
“That’s exactly what I mean! Body temperature! Body temperature is very objective.”
“Objective is good. I like objective! Do you like objective?”
“Yes! A lot! Who doesn’t?”
“Oh, hi there, sweetheart.”
A stranger’s voice dares interrupt their intellectually challenging exchange. And oh wonder, it’s the blonde girl wrapping an arm around Adrien’s. He blinks at her, confused, and the blonde smiles sweetly at both of them.
“Do you have a second? Just one drink.” She comes closer, sniffing him shamelessly. What the hell? Which sane human being would do that? “Huh. You don’t even smell like grease. That’s funny.”
“Funny?” Adrien repeats.
“Um, excuse me,” Marinette begins, but the sudden sound of sobs interrupts her. Automatically, she turns towards its source, her gut feeling alarming her forcefully, and when she turns back again, the girl is already dragging Adrien with her. He shoots her a distressed look, and Marinette feels torn.
Sometimes she hates having to be a responsible superhero.
With an apologetic look, she goes after the source of the sound, ending up at the bar’s entrance. Sobs have turned to high-pitched laughter, and a shiver runs down her spine as she steps outside.
And just as her instincts warned her, there he is. The moustache guy, a monocle on his face, a cigar in the corner of his mouth, his suit making him look even older than before. He is holding a clipboard in his hands, nodding pensively as Marinette stops on the spot.
“Ah, yes. My diagnosis for you, Fräulein, is a very severe case of helper syndrome mixed with childhood trauma manifesting in a lack of respect for authority figures and lack of proper humor. I’d advise you to have a good and honest laugh.” While speaking, he busily kept writing, and as his last word falls from his lips, he sends the piece of paper flying towards her sharply. With a sound of surprise, she dodges the paper. It collides with a wall and flutters to the floor. She can barely read his writing, but it looks like a proper diagnosis. Then she notices wild laughter around her, seeing people applaud the moustache guy as if never having seen a better show in their lives.
“And you are?” she asks, shivering from head to toe.
“Call me Doktor Freude, my friend. Combining Freudian psychology with the best therapy there is – laughter!” His own cackling sounds sinister and dark, and Marinette clenches her teeth.
“Of course. Of course I caused an akumatization while trying to help someone.”
“Yes, but Marinette –”
“Of course! What kind of stupid day is this? First, I’m being a clumsy idiot in front of Chat Noir – in front of Chat Noir!”
“That’s possibly true, but –”
“Then, I strictly try to pull myself together, and –”
“I know, Marinette. But can we talk about this after having defeated Doktor Freude?”
Marinette clears her throat, wedged into the tiny bathroom. “Sure, sorry. You’re right. Spots on!”
She emerges to see screaming people escape from Doktor Freude. He must have already moved further into the room. Chat Noir is nowhere to be seen, and she clicks her tongue before opening her yo-yo.
“Where are you, kitty? Please don’t say you’re partying right know. We’ve got a cat to skin right here.”
She ducks underneath a pair of hands trying to hold her in place, their owner laughing erratically. So that’s his tactic. The race to the stage room becomes an obstacle course. The table her friends occupied is empty, but when she takes a look at the bar, she sees Adrien hiding the blonde girl from before. Then he looks around, and instead of heading for the exit, he heads for the toilets.
Weird.
The instinct is too loud to ignore, and she leaps over tables until she lands right in front of Adrien. With a yelp, he stumbles backwards, and she catches him before he can fall.
“Hi! Surprised to see you here! In this bar! Of all places!” Ignoring his beautiful eyes beautifully staring at her, she nods towards the exit. “You really shouldn’t stay in here. Get out of this place.”
“Ladybug! Woah, that was fast.” His smile seems nervous. Well, of course. He is standing in front of a superhero, after all.
“You know me. Always here when people need me.”
“Exactly why I lo- ah, admire you so much!”
“You admire me?” Blushing, she jabs her forefingers against each other. “Heh. That’s. That’s cool.”
Before he can reply, numerous hands try to grab her from behind, wild laughter becoming audible. Creepy. Her body being on autopilot, she pulls Adrien towards her, grabbing him by the waist as she lets her yo-yo wrap around the ceiling’s beams. The entrance is cluttered with laughing people though. Great. Pushing herself off random people’s heads, she arrives at the other end of the room where a small door must lead to the storage unit.
For a moment, she allows herself to take in his scent (without droolage, of course. Ladybugs don’t drool!) before setting him down onto his own two feet. “Just hide in –”
Having opened the door, she sees a bunch of people waving at her, crammed together into a space that doesn’t even seem appropriate for two people at once. Well, at least they are safe.
“Hide in here,” she ends. “I’ll make quick work of that whacky guy.”
“Um, I’m kinda claustrophobic though,” Adrien admits.
Oh, right. Wouldn’t be the first time she pushed him into a crammed space without considering his feelings first. Stupid her. Gritting her teeth, she thinks about another solution when Nino’s voice resounds from somewhere between those people. “Dude, no, you ain’t. Remember that time we got stuck in that closet? You were totally fine, man.”
Ladybug claps her hands. “Great! So you overcame it already!”
“Uh, actually –”
“Look, I just want you to be safe, so –” Sharp paper hits the door next to her head, and with a squeak, she shoves Adrien in. “I’m so sorry, please hide!” She pushes the door closed, proceeding to look at the attacker.
“I’m kind of worried about you, Fräulein.” A series of papers follows, and with ragged breaths, Ladybug dodges them, jumping from table to table. “At such a young age, a helper syndrome such as yours could lead to serious consequences.”
“Oh, gee, thank you so much, Doktor! But see, you’re confusing some things.” She tries to get closer, looking for the object the akuma could be hidden in. His monocle? No, he didn’t wear this one before. The moustache? Yeah, sure, even though she would have done him a favor ripping this thing off. “That’s not a helper syndrome you are seeing. It’s called ‘big dick energy’. Guess you have none of that.”
“Ah! Yes! Hiding behind sarcasm.” He starts scribbling for longer then. “A typical defense mechanism if confronted with an accusation that hits too close to home. This is certainly not the pure amusement I seek for, Fräulein.”
His next paper projectile is bigger this time than the last ones, almost getting her. Ladybug can dodge it by letting herself drop down, and the following missile bores into the floor right in front of her nose. She heaves herself up with her yo-yo, landing on one of the beams on the ceiling as she opens up her weapon. “Here, kitty kitty. I’d really need you right now. Where the heck are you?”
“What do we have here? Depending on a pet? Talking to it as if it’s a human being?”
She snorts, jumping from beam to beam as missiles ram into the wood in quick succession. “Actually, he is a human being.”
“Depending on a man, then! Interesting, interesting. Tell me more.”
“That alley cat is rather depending on me,” she chews out, eyes darting around. This is getting her nowhere. She needs a distraction, or something, or anything. Well, she doesn’t have much of a choice. As quickly as possible, she hides in a nearby room and calls her Lucky Charm. She doesn’t depend on anyone, damn it! Especially not as Ladybug! If Chat Noir decides not to join her, then so be it. Whatever. With her Lucky Charm, she is sure she can solve it all on her own.
A package of handkerchiefs. With cute little spots all over it. True ladybug design.
Okay. Uh. What?
Laughing people emerge from somewhere, and Ladybug quickly dodges a dozen more hands. So she has a choice. Wait for Chat Noir to finally appear, go outside and risk more people being turned into laughing zombies, or try to have an epiphany on the spot and use her handkerchiefs. Maybe she is supposed to make him cry? Or maybe she is supposed to cry? Or –
Oh. Oh! That guy wanted attention, right? He wanted to be taken seriously. Plus, he’s a psychologist. It might be a dumb idea, but it’s the only she’s got, and damn it, it doesn’t hurt to ask. In most cases, that is.
“Hey, Doktor Freude. You’re a professional psychologist, right?” she calls from her position on the ceiling.
Doktor Freude pauses. “I am.“
“I need a session. Like, right now. Are you free?”
He stares at her. Yeah, going great. Come on, Ladybug. Just use your charm! All your charm, that is!
“Because I heard you are one of the greatest doctors in all of Paris, you see!” She twiddles her thumbs, showing the shakiest smile she can manage. “And it’s really hard to admit, but maybe you are right about my helper syndrome. And I think it’s time that I get help, don’t you agree? And who’s better suited than the best psychologist in the city? You can still do your evil stuff afterwards, right?”
Doktor Freude grits his teeth. “Well, it is my job to help people.”
“Right!”
“And you are in clear need of a lot of help. Long overdue, too.”
She keeps up her smile, her right eye twitching. “Oh yeah, I agree!”
“And I cannot turn down a patient in need.”
“You sure can’t!”
He takes a deep breath. Then, with a little cough, he sits down at a table, gesturing for her to lie down next to him, the bench cushioned with three sitting pillows.
A bad feeling is slowly setting in, but it’s too late. Carefully, Ladybug swings down. The laughing army has stopped trying to grab her, senselessly strolling around and ramming against objects instead. Not creepy at all. She is starting to sweat. Okay, Chat will be here soon enough. Until then, her Lucky Charm will protect her. Magical powerful tissues. Yeah. And she’ll have a chance to find out where the akuma is hiding. Easy. Totally her kind of challenge. She can do this. Feeling not weird at all, she lies down next to Doktor Freude, looking at him.
“Frau Ladybug,” he begins, leaning back with his clipboard and taking notes. She is in a vulnerable position right now, and her body tenses up at the realization, but she forces herself to stay where she is. “For starters, a Freudian approach will be most beneficial. The method we will try is called free association. I will ask you to freely speak your mind, no matter what the thought is. I want you to be as honest as possible, even if the thought only consists of, ‘I don’t know what I should be thinking about.’ Does that sound all right to you?”
“Uh. I guess.”
“Then please. I am listening.”
Woah. This is bizarre. She can’t just tell an enemy that she is thinking about how to defeat them. That’s, like, very impolite. She’ll have to wing it. With something else. Something that is still believable. Come on, Ladybug, stall. Chat Noir should be here soon. He has to be. He wouldn’t just leave her on her own like that.
“Frau Ladybug, those thoughts should be said aloud. I know it’s a lot to ask for, but I’d ask you to at least try.”
“Oh. Yep. Sorry.” She clears her throat. Mentally counts to three. “Just, yeah. I kind of wish Chat Noir was here. He usually doesn’t take that long. You know, when we have … stuff to do. He’s here pretty quickly. Which doesn’t mean I am depending on him! That’s just how things are.”
Doktor Freude nods. Judgingly so. It must be judgingly. Ladybug sweats.
“I swear! It’s only habit, a matter of habit! It’s been like this for seven years already. Long time, huh? We’re really great partners.”
She sees him raising his eyebrows at the clipboard, his scribbling pausing for a second.
“Oh, no. No, no. Not that kind of partners. Strictly professional partners! We are so professional. I never think about him outside of work. I mean, sure I do, but only in a work context. Like, him at work. And me at work. No, not doing nasty stuff, gee! I wouldn’t want to! Not that he’s not a great guy, but – you know what I mean, right? Right?”
He’s still scribbling, but there’s something off about the movements of his pen. What is he even writing down? She totally gave him the wrong idea. Oh my god, she is screwing this up. This can’t be happening.
“I’m not secretly thinking about him! Never! Because I am crushing on another guy who has nothing to do with Chat. It would be so wrong to fantasize about Chat while crushing on another guy! Right? Because someone can’t be in love with – I’m not in love with either! I just like them! Both in a very different way. That’s all.” Oh shit. Oh, wait. Oh, this is getting out of hand, but she just can’t stop talking. “I like them both, okay? I really do. But it’s just completely different. Because, you know, I would never be able to be with Chat. It’s just – it’s impossible. We’ve known each other for so long. Why is he even in love with me? I don’t really get it. Never did. And that other guy – I can’t really say why I like him! Because he’s nice, and has a heart of gold, and is handsome – okay, sure, I know why, but like, do I even want to kiss him? I don’t know! Yes, maybe? Or is that past Ma- La- Ladybug speaking? Because I’ve been crushing on him for years, but honestly, it’s getting ridiculous even to myself, but still. Why am I thinking about both of them? Am I falling for both of them? No, that can’t be. That stupid cat is just constantly on my stupid mind, and I have no idea why. Is that some trick of his? That must be it. But I do like him! Professionally like him. Platonically. I think. No, that can’t be right either, you don’t – uh, you don’t do stuff to yourself while imagining stuff with a platonic partner, do you? Not that I do so, oh my god, I didn’t just say that –”
“Okay, Frau Ladybug. Let’s calm down for a second.”
But she is calm. She is perfectly calm! Her hands are very calmly gripping the bench beneath her until the wood starts to crack, and her heart is very calmly racing in her chest. There, all calm.
“Let’s look at it from a rational perspective.” He crosses his legs, looks down at his clipboard. “Freud proposed that an individual consists of three entities: id, ego, and super-ego. As far as I understand your powers, beneath your superhero self lies a rather normal girl, am I correct?”
She tenses up.
“Don’t misunderstand. I am trying to propose something here.” He taps against his clipboard. “A superhero is the embodiment of justice and morals. They are the polar opposite of chaos – pure control. As such, the super-ego is a clear representation of a superhero.”
He pauses, and she feels his eyes on her. Craning her neck, she tries to return his look, discovering an expectant expression directed at her. “Uh, yeah?”
Seemingly content with her agreement, he nods. “Your ego is obviously represented by your civilian self. Not bound by the same responsibilities as your super-ego, but still under its constant control. You give yourself little choice of how to react. Your superhero identity taught you to react in one way only: regain control and dispose of chaos.”
Okay. This is getting weird. And creepy. She makes a face.
“Then tell me, Frau Ladybug. Where does this leave your id?”
She shrugs helplessly.
“Your id,” he continues, moving his pen over the clipboard again, “is influenced by two instances: thanatos and eros. Thanatos representing the wish to destruct, the idea of death; eros representing the wish to create, the idea of life.”
“Hey!” She sits up abruptly. “That’s like – Chat Noir and me! Because, you know, he destroys, and I –” At his stern look, Ladybug hunches her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“From my professional viewpoint, your id is lacking an outlet, leading to feelings of confusion which could easily be solved.”
“All right. How?”
“By allowing yourself to feel certain desires instead of pushing them away.”
“W-what? Are you suggesting –” She snorts wildly. “I take it all back. That was nonsense. I don’t have any confused feelings. None. None at all!”
Nodding, Doktor Freude ticks something on his paper off. “A clear defense mechanism. Repression.”
“I’m not – I’m not repressing anything. In fact, look, if there were any certain desires involved, that would be so immoral. That’s Chat Noir we’re talking about. My professional partner of seven years!”
He is still nodding, making a second tick. “Identification with your super-ego.”
“Listen up, I don’t like him, I – I actually hate him, okay? He’s so annoying, and obnoxious, and please, he constantly smells like camembert!”
“Aha. Reaction formation.” Another tick.
It’s getting hot. Is it hot? She is hot. She isn’t nervous. She is cool. That’s just nonsense. He can’t be right.
“Just because you think I have some … some feelings for Chat Noir … Stop looking like you think that’s the case!”
Another tick. “Projection.”
She starts tugging at her pigtails, trying hard to find words. “Okay, I don’t really hate him, but that doesn’t mean I have to have romantic feelings for him, do I? Because I don’t!”
Another tick. “Regression.”
“Because it’s just pure logic, isn’t it? You work together for so long, of course a certain amount of trust is built. And trust can be easily confused with other feelings. Because I trust him so much! There, easy peasy.”
Another tick. “Rationalization.”
“Could you,” she hits the table with her fist, “stop with those stupid ticks of yours?”
He looks at her. Looks at his clipboard. Makes another tick. “Sublimation.”
“I’m really on the verge of bashing your –”
“Look, Frau Ladybug.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. She jolts violently. “What I see is a young woman struggling with her feelings because on the one hand, her super-ego pushes a certain idea of love onto her, and on the other hand, her id is showing her its real wants. Your eros is an indication of your sexual desires which your super-ego –”
“I do not have sexual desires!” she spits out, swatting his hand away.
A moment of silence.
“Well, of course I do, but I do not want to talk to you of all people about those!”
“Which is perfectly fine, and perfectly understandable, but I think you know perfectly well what I’m trying to say.”
“I’m not a perfectionist!” She stands up, both palms on the table. “I’m not suppressing any – ugh – any eros-y feelings for Chat Noir, okay? And I’m definitely not only crushing on Adr- Adi- a guy because my super-ego deems him a good choice, okay? And I’m not absolutely certain that he will never reciprocate my feelings anyway. And that I will forever be able to have a hopeless crush on him which won’t develop into a serious relationship. Because I am not scared of actually being in a relationship with him. And the idea of Chat Noir desiring me in both a romantic and a sexual way doesn’t scare me one bit, because I am sure as hell not afraid of disappointing him. Or disappointing myself. And I am not using my crush on that other guy as a protective shield so I don’t have to acknowledge my desires towards Chat Noir which may or may not be connected to other kinds of feelings which I do not wish to explore any further. Not. At. All.”
She is breathing heavily, and oh shit, when did her vision become blurry? Slowly and shaking, she sits down again, trying to hold the tears back. With a sympathetic expression, Doktor Freude hands her the package of handkerchiefs, and she pulls one out, carefully tapping them over the mask underneath her eyes.
“I guess my eros likes Chat Noir,” she admits.
“That might be the case.”
“And my super-ego likes Adr- a guy.”
“Might be.”
“So how do I, like …” She forms her hands to bowls, pushing them together.
“Depends on whether your eros is able to latch onto the other guy,” Doktor Freude says, “or if your super-ego starts to accept Chat Noir.”
A weak laugh escapes her. “That’s just crazy. I’m crazy, aren’t I?”
“Absolutely not. Complicated feelings are a part of human life.” Doktor Freude scratches his chin. “Even though psychiatrists before Freud would have called you a hysterical woman who most likely just needs a good ol’ dicking down, but eh, that’s old history already.”
“Ah, yes. Psychiatrists as we all know and love them.” As she keeps wiping her eyes, she notices the clipboard again, and those papers, and well – but of course. She could smack herself. “I don’t know how to thank you, Doktor Freude.”
He laughs pleasantly. “Oh, well, let’s see. How about your Miraculous?”
She laughs pleasantly. “Oh, well, ah, no. No, I’d rather not.”
He laughs again. “That’s rather unfortunate, because I will take them from you anyway.”
Before she can laugh, two sets of arms wrap around her own, holding her in place. Oh, shit. She tries to free herself, but fails, and with another unpleasantly pleasant laugh, Doktor Freude leans closer to her. He avoids her wild kicks, fingers approaching her earlobes –
When something suddenly hits his forehead, knocking him right back. A baton.
“Jesus, finally!” With the help of her partner, she can free herself again, letting herself be heaved up. Chat Noir carries her to the other side of the room, grinning at her when she is standing on her on two feet again.
“Missed me, my lady?”
Well, yes. Wait, no. She is attracted to him, right? She admitted as much, right? But not in a romantic way. Could she be? Ugh, her head is starting to hurt. She can think about this later on. When his eyes don’t fill with worry before her as she keeps staring like an idiot, maybe.
“Clipboard,” she tells him quickly. “The akuma is in there. Watch out for his –” She ducks, dragging Chat with her as a paper plane lands in the wall above them. “Missiles.”
“Got it.” Chat clicks his tongue. “That guy really rubs my fur the wrong way. Just saying.”
“Mine too,” she mumbles. A quick exchange of looks suffices, and then their ways part. Chat from the right, she from the left. She jumps onto the bar, avoiding hands reaching for her as she comes closer to Doktor Freude.
“Ah, Frau Ladybug,” he calls. “Do not let yourself be distracted by your eros.”
She almost slips on the bar. “Hey! There’s something called confidentiality obligation!”
“Woops. Must have been a Freudian slip.”
She squeaks as a paper plane passes her by a hairbreadth. Another follows. This time, she can duck underneath it. And when Chat Noir tries to surprise him by launching an attack from above, Doktor Freude quickly changes direction. Ladybug manages to knock her yo-yo against his hand, the missile going nowhere, but Chat lands on the floor face-first.
“Kitty!” she calls, nodding at the ceiling as subtly as possible. Rubbing his cheek, he follows her eyes, then gives her an understanding wink.
Ah, he winked.
No, she isn’t blushing.
Oh god. Oh dear god, this whole Doktor Freude thing is so going to bite her in the ass.
“Frau Ladybug! I must say, I would have envisioned someone else behind Herr Chat Noir when we were talking about him.”
At the mention of his name, Chat pauses, crouching on a beam on the ceiling. “You were talking about me?”
“Why, yes –”
“Why, who cares!” Ladybug gestures for him to get on with his work, turning to Doktor Freude again. “No wonder you have no patients at all. What you are doing is absolutely disrespectful!”
“Maybe I’m just trying to help you by informing Herr Chat Noir about your circumstances.” Laughing, he sends missiles flying after Ladybug while she dodges every single one of them. “He might be happier with the information than you think.”
Oh god, can’t that cat hurry up?
“I bet he would be, but that’s not the point!” She ducks away under a hand that tries to grip her arm. “I thought you were a good doctor, but you clearly aren’t!”
“Well –”
He gets interrupted by a wooden beam smashing directly into him, disconnected from the ceiling by Chat’s cataclysm. With a clattering sound, the clipboard slides over the floor, and Ladybug makes quick work of it. Channeling all her thanatos, she breaks it in half and catches the little butterfly fluttering away. The moustache guy falls to his knees, appearing just as pathetic as before.
“Look what your cat drags in.” Chat flips the package of handkerchiefs between his fingers before handing it to her. “What did you do with that? Purrsuaded him to talk to you by crying your eyes out?”
“Yeah, right,” she snorts. “You mean, I made him cry.”
“That much I can imagine.”
She isn’t blushing. Really. After restoring everything to its original state, people look around in confusion, bringing hands to their heads. She holds up her fist, waiting until his knuckles bump against hers.
“Pound it,” she mumbles.
“Pound it.”
She looks at his eyes. At his lips. She allows herself to think further – just once. She allows herself to imagine him kissing her. She allows herself to acknowledge that her knees are getting weak, that her mouth is dry. Just for a second – before a familiar voice interrupts them.
“Here we are, in one of Paris’s best and apparently most dangerous bars!” Alya angles her phone until all three of them are visible in the camera. “And our favorite couple saved the day another time! What do you say, superheroes? Are you holding up well?”
“Great! Awesome! Not a couple, though.” With a grin, Ladybug takes a step back. “I really gotta go, sorry!”
“Yep, same here!” Chat Noir gives a thumbs-up and twirls one time for the camera. “Even though I gotta say, your camera could really make a cat purr.”
“Right? Brings out your best features.” Alya laughs. “C’mon, show the ladies and gents how it’s done!”
“Well.” He leans closer, winking at the camera. “There’s only one lady in this world who is allowed to see all my best sides, sorry.”
Ladybug’s heart isn’t racing. There is no funny feeling tingling through her stomach. No sudden nervousness fills her veins. She gulps, meets Chat’s smile. Mouths a “see you” before she quickly flees outside.
“I don’t get it.” Marinette kicks a pebble on the ground away from her. Nightly silence surrounds her. She is still close to the bar, but far enough away that barely any people pass by, and Tikki floats down to sit on her shoulder as she nibbles down a chocolate cookie. “Do you think Doktor Freude was right?”
“Well, Marinette. I actually knew Sigmund Freud. The Ladybug of that period was from Prussia, and …” She leans her tiny head against Marinette’s. “Anyway, Freudian psychology is outdated for a reason. There are a lot of ways to explain a lot of things, and you are allowed to find your own explanation too.”
“It would make sense, though.” Sighing, she props her head on her hands. “Maybe I’m just in lust with Chat Noir. Maybe I have to get it out of my system.”
“Would you want to get it out of your system?”
She stares ahead. “But he has feelings for me, and I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty much. Because what I feel for Adrien – that’s not nothing, and it’s not only lust either.”
“Maybe,” Tikki says, “feelings can’t be easily explained anyway, not even with science, and you should listen to what your heart says.”
“My heart says something different than my groin.”
Tikki gives a scandalized sound, then laughs. “Well, maybe your heart and your groin will join forces someday. Until then, why not explore them both?”
“Ew, okay, that simile is getting out of hand.”
“You mean, that hand is getting it on with that simile.”
With a snort, Marinette lightly flicks Tikki’s head.
“No, really, Marinette. All I’m trying to say is that you have time. Do what feels right, and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. You can learn from them! Nobody is perfect, so you don’t have to be either.”
“Which doesn’t mean I can use feelings someone has for me to get them out of my system, does it?”
Tikki floats in front of her face. “You do know that there are relationships which developed exactly out of this premise, right? As long as both of you know what you’re getting into …”
She groans loudly. “But it’s Chat Noir!”
“Yes. Your partner of seven years who has never let you down.”
Well. Yes. Technically. But still.
Tikki freezes in the air, then quickly disappears into Marinette’s bag. It only takes a moment until someone slumps down next to her. Alya, instantly wrapping an arm around her and pushing her closer, resting her chin on Marinette’s head.
“So, I noticed you noticing that blondie trying to flirt with Adrien, and you still decided to catch some fresh air.” A little giggle vibrates through Alya’s chest. “Lucky for you, your bestie managed to convince annoying blondie that Adrien is very much a happily taken man. And that I’m very open for a pretty girl between my boyfriend and me. Which she didn’t take quite well. Guess my flirting tactics are a bit rusty after all.”
Marinette can’t help a little laugh escaping her. She buries her head into Alya’s chest and exhales audibly. “You’re the best.”
Softly, Alya pats her head. “Having a little crisis there, hun?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wanna tell me about it? Or wanna sit there like two very sad, but very close losers who are comfortable with their own emotions?”
Marinette smiles. “I think the second option is fine.”
“Second option it is, then.”
Together, they sit there like two very sad, but very close loser who are at least kind of comfortable with their own emotions. Or will be. Soon-ish. Surely.