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It was tricky trudging through the quickly accumulating snow, but Marinette had no choice. Her parents had spent hours perfecting the pastries for the Le Grand Paris Christmas Eve party and she couldn’t afford to be late with the delivery.
One look at the deteriorating weather and they had both tried to talk her out of it.
But Marinette had insisted she could make it. She didn’t tell them that if worst came to worse, she could always drop off the pastries and swing home as her alter ego.
But even she had to admit her limitations, and if the snow and wind kept increasing their fury, the commute home could be beyond even Ladybug. As the thought crossed her mind, Marinette stepped on a patch of ice and skidded. She managed to steady herself and took a deep breath as she rebalanced the tower of boxes in her arms.
“Almost there,” she nodded, trying to amp herself up. It might be easier to walk if her toes weren’t half frozen, but the snow had drifted above the tops of her boots in some places and now her socks were soggy.
Marinette took another step and felt her feet fly out from under her. She wrapped her arms around the boxes, making the split-second choice to protect her parents’ hard work over saving herself from a spectacularly bruised behind.
Luckily, someone else did.
She was so used to Chat Noir having her back as Ladybug that it didn’t even surprise her when she felt him catch her under her arms and set her back on her feet. She would know that quick catch and steady hold anywhere.
“Thanks, Chat.” She turned to give him a grateful grin.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked, reaching to take some of the (only slightly crushed) boxes from her arms.
“Who else would be crazy enough to come out in this storm?”
“You, apparently. I wanted to make sure there were no frozen civilians stranded out here.” He gave her a significant look. “Lucky I did.”
She shivered and gripped the boxes tighter, not that they provided any warmth. “I have to get these to Le Grand Paris before five for their party.”
Chat stared down the street toward the hotel. “Well, you’re almost there.” He turned back to Marinette with a determined look. “Would you be interested in some help?”
Marinette wanted to say she had it under control but she felt another shiver wrack her body and found herself nodding without knowing what she was agreeing to.
“Cool,” he said, taking the rest of the boxes from her and setting them in the snow. Then he scooped her up and vaulted towards the hotel.
“The pastries!” she shrieked, clutching at his side and staring over his shoulder with widened eyes.
“I’ll go back for them!” he shouted over the sound of the wind. “But I need to get you inside before you become a Marinette popsicle.”
“But—”
“No one is going to touch them. Remember? We’re the only ones crazy enough to be out in this storm!” He retracted his staff and they dropped to the sidewalk, the momentum causing them to skid several meters upon landing. Chat set her down gently and then bent to get a better look at her face. “You better get inside,” he said, a concerned line puckering his brow under the mask. “Your lips are turning a little blue.”
“You’ll get the—”
“Yeah, I’ll be right back!” He launched off again.
“Be careful!” she called after him, but the sound was swallowed up by the wind.
Marinette chewed anxiously on her lip as she watched him go. When his figure had disappeared into the swirling snow she finally turned to let herself in the hotel doors, which swung open as she approached. The doorman, who’d been waiting inside due to the severe weather, ushered her in and closed them quickly behind her.
“Mademoiselle!” He cried, taking in her half-frozen appearance. “What are you doing out on this terrible night? It is so dangerous!” He snapped his fingers and a bellboy came running up to them. “Get the young lady a hot water bottle and a blanket.” The boy nodded and ran off.
“I’m from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. I’ve brought the pastries for the party.” Her teeth chattered around the words. “Chat Noir’s got them—he should be right behind me.”
The doorman looked up just as Chat landed outside the door and he rushed to help him through with the boxes.
“Thank you for your brave effort to bring the desserts,” the man said, taking some of the boxes from Chat’s arms and setting them on a nearby table. “But I’m afraid it was all in vain. Mayor Bourgeois has canceled the party for the safety of his guests—the weather, you see.”
Chat and Marinette shared a dismayed look just as the Mayor himself appeared around the corner trailed by a busboy and the waiter. “Chat Noir!” the Mayor said, reaching to give Chat’s hand a hearty shake. “It’s always good to see you in my fine establishment. And you,” he said, smiling vaguely at Marinette as she burritoed herself in a blanket and plopped into a chair. “You’re a school friend of Chloe’s. Always a pleasure, Ms Dupain-Cheng.”
“Hello again, Mayor Bourgeois,” Chat said loudly, covering up Marinette’s mutter of you are very much mistaken.
“Well, it sounds like we’ve had a mix-up with the party, but I want you to stay as long as it takes to get warm. I wish I could have you stay the night—it’s dreadful dangerous out there, but I’m afraid the holidays have left us without any available rooms.”
“Actually, Monsieur,” the bellboy said as he handed Chat Noir a steaming cup of tea. “Madame Ogorodnikov just alerted us that her jet has been rerouted and she won’t be arriving before tomorrow night.”
Bourgeois turned to Chat Noir with a jovial grin. “What do you say, Sir? She was booked for a very fine suite, very fine indeed. Her loss is your gain!”
Chat glanced over to his friend, who was still shivering as she sipped at her tea. “What about Marinette? She can’t go home alone in this.” Marinette frowned down at her teacup but didn’t say anything.
“Of course she should stay here in the lobby until the snow stops,” the Mayor assured him. “But as you’ve heard, we only have the one room, unless any other Russian diplomats decide to cancel on us. And just the one bed in there. I couldn’t turn one of Paris’s heroes out on the street.”
Chat leveled an indignant stare at the man before turning to Marinette. “You should stay, Marinette. The suites here have attached sitting rooms so I can take the couch, if… if you don’t mind.”
She met his stare, a flood of pink on her cheeks.
“But if that makes you uncomfortable,” he added quickly, “You should take the room anyway. I have superpowers and a magical ice-skating suit, so I will probably be just fine getting home tonight.”
“No!” she said, standing suddenly, the “everyday Ladybug” in her overriding her embarrassment at the thought of her partner wandering the streets in the cold. “You can’t go out in that. Sharing will be… fine.”
Chat nodded at her and then addressed the Mayor. “There, that’s settled then.”
Bourgeois leveled a skeptical look at Marinette. “You’d better ask your parents, young lady.”
Marinette nodded. “They’re probably already worried about me. I’ll call them right away.” She pulled out her phone and saw that she’d missed a call and several texts, one of which informed her of the party’s cancellation.
She wished she had noticed it before she’d gotten so far from home. That sure would have saved her an awkward situation. Not that hanging out with Chat was awkward as a rule, but the Mayor of Paris was eyeing her like it was a salacious event.
She hit redial as Mr. Bourgeois addressed Chat. “And you, young man, do you have… parents?”
“I was born of shadows and darkness.”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “For the love of—oh hey Maman! Yes, I made it to the hotel. No I got your messages after. I know, I won’t try to come home tonight. Mayor Bourgeois has generously offered us a room.”
Sabine must have asked for clarification, because Marinette’s voice went up an octave when she next spoke. “Myself, obviously, and… Chat Noir. He kind of rescued me, and there’s just the one room. Don’t tell dad—oh, hey Papa, you’re there too?” Marinette gave a forcible laugh. “No, not like… no Papa, you can’t just—ugh.” She held the phone out to Chat. “He wants to talk to you.”
Chat gulped and took the phone like she was handing him a lit stick of dynamite. “Hello, Mr. Dupain. Yeah, it’s pretty bad out there—oh, you’re welcome. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” He laughed nervously. “Oh, no, there’s an ensuite. Yeah, on the couch.” He paused and his face turned beet red. His free hand came up to fidget with the bell at his collar. “It’s actually just for decoration. It doesn’t, uh, unzip. And I wouldn’t… of course. Of course, Sir. You too. Stay safe.” Chat handed the phone back to Marinette, determinedly not meeting her eyes. “He said you can stay.”
Marinette was biting her fist so as not to burst out laughing. “Great.”
“Very good,” the Mayor agreed, gesturing behind them. “See Paulette at the desk. She’ll get you checked in. And if you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to call the lobby.”
“Can I get a plate of camembert for the room?” Chat asked. He didn’t usually like to burden the staff but he was still feeling piqued by the Mayor’s snub of his very good friend Marinette. “Melted in the rind, please.”
The Mayor nodded and snapped for the waiter to return before hastily excusing himself.
“Maybe this will be fun,” Chat told Marinette as they headed for the desk. “I’ve never had a sleepover with a friend before.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t?”
He shrugged.
“Well then,” she said, a smile growing from one end of her face to the other. “We’ll have to do this right. Is your hair long enough to braid?”
“Ooh, let’s find out.”
Marinette’s jaw dropped when they entered the suite. It was expansive and ornate, decked floor to vaulted ceiling in Christmassy resplendence. Chat laughed as she spun around the room and launched herself onto the plush bed. “This is awesome!” she sang, kicking her legs in the silky sheets.
“I’m glad you like it,” he grinned.
“You know, you can have the bed if you want. It was supposed to be your room, after all.”
Chat shrugged. “The couch looks pretty cozy. And anyways, it looks like I’d have to pry you off those pillows like a barnacle, so…”
“You’re right,” she said, rolling over to the other side. “Throw pillows shouldn’t be this comfortable. How are the throw pillows this comfortable? They’re beaded!”
He chuckled. “I’ll let you look around. I actually need to detransform for a minute.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting up. “Do you need me to leave the room, or…?”
“No, you get comfortable. I’ll do it in the bathroom. That way I can wash my face and moisturize and stuff before bed.”
She blinked at him.
“What?” he asked, his hand going nervously to the back of his neck.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that most teenage boys aren’t so into their skin care routines.”
He arranged his face in a mockingly serious expression. “Marinette, do you think I just magically wake up this pretty? I exfoliate.”
She laughed and threw a pillow at him as he ducked into the bathroom.
“Chat?” Marinette called, knocking on the bathroom door. “Your smelly cheese is here.”
“Oh, thanks!” He said, his voice muffled. It was… familiar, and yet somehow not. She had always thought so when she heard him detransformed, whether through a door or wall or around a corner, but she sometimes felt closer to her partner in those moments than she did when they were face to face.
In her experience, a mask could be a far greater barrier than a wall.
The door opened just a crack. “Could you just set it down inside the door?” She heard him ask. “Don’t look.”
“I won’t.”
Marinette set the covered platter down in the doorway and slid it into the bathroom with the tips of her fingers.
“Thanks,” he said.
“It’s about time—” “Shhh!”
The door snapped shut.
Marinette smirked. “What was that?” she asked innocently. “Is someone in there with you?”
“Nope!”
Marinette chuckled to herself as she went to hunt for the room service menu. It was always nice to hear from Plagg, but she knew he could be a bit pushy when it came to his camembert.
She found the menu and went back over to sit against the bathroom door. “Okay, they have fish… cold lobster…”
“Do they have the confit of duck foie gras?”
“Um… yes.” Marinette’s eyes widened at the price.
“Awesome, it’s really good here. You should try it.”
“I’m probably getting a cup of soup.”
Chat… whoever was Chat on the other side of the door was quiet for a moment. “That’s all? You were oh-so-dramatically starving a minute ago.”
Marinette shrugged before remembering he couldn’t see the gesture. “It sounds good because it’s hot.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Marinette considered the twenty euros in her purse and closed the menu before she could be tempted by anything further down the page. “Do you eat here a lot, then?” She asked as she leaned her head back against the door.
It hadn’t latched all the way. Marinette’s stomach lurched as the door opened and she fell backwards into the bathroom. She snapped her eyes shut just in time, catching only the slightest glimpse of a sock-clad foot as she sprawled on her back on the cold tile floor.
She slapped a hand over her eyes. Just to be safe.
A warm pair of hands grabbed her under her elbows and lifted her to a sitting position. She could hear his shaky breathing just behind her. “Are you okay?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.
She nodded. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Good. That’s… good.”
It wasn’t completely true. She now knew he wore Gabriel brand socks. But that wasn’t super surprising from someone who could so casually order an appetizer that cost almost two days of her pay at the bakery.
“Let me help you up—”
“No, I’ve got it!” She squeezed her eyes closed extra tight as a precaution and pushed herself to her feet, feeling blindly ahead of her for the way out. After a few seconds she felt his hand—his bare hand, strong and lightly callused—take hers and set it against the door frame.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
His fingers released hers and she heard him take a step back. “No problem.”
Marinette fumbled her way out of the bathroom, only opening her eyes when she heard the door shut firmly behind her and the lock click into place.
She stood for a moment, flexing her hand at her side to disperse the pins-and-needles feeling from her fingertips.
“Hey Marinette?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you order two of the duck confit? I’m really hungry.”
“Sure.”
Marinette made the call while Chat’s kwami (whom she definitely didn’t know about) recharged. Chat reappeared a few minutes later, and she snorted when she saw the fluffy bathrobe he'd tied over his suit.
“So… what do you want to do while we wait for the food?”
Marinette looked around. “Not much to do here except watch the television. Or the amenities brochure said we could request a game console at the front desk.”
“Or… did you know Chloé Bourgeois lives three balconies above ours?”
Marinette made a face. “I don’t really want to hang out with Chloé. And anyway, I think she’s in Milan with her mother for the holidays.”
Chat’s smiled turned mischievous. “Chloé may be in Italy, but her portable karaoke machine is right upstairs. And I know for a fact that she never locks her windows.”
“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Marinette laughed, pushing him towards the window. “Be careful on the balcony railing! It’s really coming down out there.”
“What was that?” Chat asked, grabbing the remote to turn down the music.
Marinette paused her spirited karaoke performance and frowned. “I didn’t hear anything,” she said, a little breathless from what she called dancing, but was mostly just her jumping around on the bed with a microphone. “Chat, I’m doing some of my best work over here and you aren’t even listening.”
“I think someone’s at the door.” Chat pointed at his cat ears. “Super hearing.”
“Go check. Maybe it’s the snacks.”
Marinette resumed her singing while Chat went to the door. He opened it to the sardonic face of Chloe’s butler, Jean-Something.
The man raised an eyebrow pointedly at the scene over Chat’s shoulder. “My apologies, Mr. Noir, but there’s been a noise complaint.”
“There has? That’s strange, because we’ve been so—”
“Oooooh I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the *heat* with somebody!”
Chat winced. “Got it. We’ll quiet down.”
“Very good, Sir.” The door snicked shut with far too much attitude for an inanimate object.
Chat went back to Marinette with his literal tail metaphorically between his legs. “Hey, Marinette?”
“Don’t you wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’t you wanna dance?”
“Marinette! We need to turn down the music.” He reached up a hand to help her off the bed.
“After this song,” she said, locking her fingers in his and tugging him up to dance beside her.
“Fiiiine.”
When the food arrived, Chat was suddenly too full for both plates and begged Marinette to take the second one off his hands.
She was not fooled.
But she would begrudgingly admit that he was right— it was delicious.
“If I guess your real name, will you tell me if I’m right?” Marinette tossed a piece of popcorn at Chat, who tipped his head back and caught it on his tongue.
“Nice! What number are we on?”
“That was sixteen for sixteen.”
She tossed him another, which he had to duck to catch but just managed it.
“Seventeen!”
“Chat?”
“Not even close.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed a whole handful at him. He missed every piece.
“Hey, you messed up our streak!”
“You were hogging the popcorn… Mittens.”
Chat snorted. “Nope.”
“Fluffy?”
“Why are you guessing cat names?”
Marinette took a handful of popcorn from the bowl and shrugged. “Well, I figure you’re half boy, half cat—”
“I am not!’
“—and that means you either had a cat mother or cat father—”
“Marineeette—”
“So if your cat parent named you, then you probably have a cat name—”
Chat pounced on her, sending the bowl flying so they were caught in a confetti-rain of popcorn as he tickled her sides until she shrieked.
“Bad kitty!” she wheezed, shoving him as hard as she could (harder than he expected) so he flopped off the bed. She looked down at him and giggled as he sat up and brushed some kernels out of his hair. “You look like a popcorn ball.”
“So you’re saying I’m a snack.”
“Just for that, Miette, you get to clean this up while I pick the movie.” She tossed another piece at him, which he intercepted with a snap of his teeth.
“One for one.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Chat complained over the sound of the movie. He and Marinette lay on their stomachs across the bed with their snacks spread out around them. She reached out a hand and he passed her a peppermint macaron. “I’m always getting left home alone on the holidays and I handle it way better than this kid.”
“Didn’t you cataclysm a Christmas tree a few years ago?”
“No.”
“You did. You sang a whole song about it.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You told me. Like an hour ago during karaoke.”
“Nope.”
Marinette elbowed him. She had a hard time taking him seriously with the little braids she’d plaited into his hair sticking out at all angles. “What I don’t understand is how the family in the movie can afford that giant house. Do you think all houses are like that in America? I’ve only been to New York City and I don’t even think I saw any houses at all.”
“It’s not that big.”
Marinette twisted to face him. “Not that big? What, do you live in a mansion or something?”
Chat laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something. Pass the gougères.”
“They’re gone.”
“Already?”
Marinette hummed in reply and turned back to the television. “Want to watch Un Conte de Noël next?”
“Aren’t you getting tired?”
“No.”
Chat stretched his arms. “Sure, then. But my neck is getting sore. Can we skootch back so we can sit up against the pillows?”
“Sure.”
He ran a hand through his hair, accidentally snagging one of his braids on a claw. “Ouch.”
“C’mere,” she said, sitting back against the pillows and patting the spot beside her. “I’ll undo them.”
He crawled over obediently and sat beside her, tipping his head down so she could work. She set about undoing the braids, gently combing her fingers through after each one.
He hummed sleepily, leaning into the pressure of her fingertips. “Feels nice.”
“Good,” she whispered, burying her fingers in his hair and stroking the tangles smooth. She kept at it long after the last braid was gone.
They only made it fifteen minutes into the next movie when Chat felt Marinette’s head drop onto his shoulder. He looked down to find her sound asleep, her lips parted in a quiet sigh.
“Marinette?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer.
“Marinette?” he tried again, and she made a little humming sound. “I need you to get up so I can go lay on the couch.”
Her answer was a muffled word against his shoulder that might have been “pillow”. Chat reached his free arm—the one she wasn’t clutching—behind them to grab a pillow. He tried to stuff it under her face in lieu of his shoulder but her grip on his arm would not be dissuaded. A little frown of discontentment appeared between her eyebrows and he paused.
“Princess?”
“Stay. Good pillow,” she murmured
Chat chuckled quietly. “Ok, but just until you fall back asleep.” He settled back into the pillow pile they’d amassed and she snuggled in against him.
“Hmm. Bon minou.”
He felt a warmth spread through his chest as he watched her face rest so peaceful and trusting upon his shoulder. Despite the frightful weather and all its complications, he had resigned himself to a much lonelier holiday than this. The gift of his friend’s company was way better than the cufflinks his father (and by that, of course he meant Nathalie) had probably gotten him.
Marinette’s breathing evened out, and Chat began to consider ways of removing himself to the couch without disturbing her, beyond his brain’s unhelpful reminder that a sleeping princess could usually be woken with a kiss.
He had nearly come up with a plan when, lulled by the rhythmic puff of her breath on his neck and the cozy warmth of her pressed to his side, he drifted off to sleep himself.
Adrien was usually an early riser, up and ready before the sun in most cases, but today he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever slept so soundly or felt so comfortable in his entire life.
He took a deep, slow breath of cool morning air and was suddenly aware of a weight pressing on his chest.
He peeked one eye open and glanced down. The weight was Marinette, sound asleep, stretched against his side with her head resting lightly on his chest. Sometime in the night she’d wrapped her arms completely around his torso and tangled one of her legs between his.
He exhaled sharply. It was a relief to feel the familiar pull of his mask against his skin—at least he hadn’t detransformed in his sleep.
He’d apparently done several other accidental stupid things in his sleep, like latch onto Marinette like a touch-starved koala bear. And maybe wrap his tail around her leg.
This is fine, he thought to himself. We are friends. Friends can cuddle. And Marinette is particularly soft and warm and exactly shaped for cuddling, so… this is fine. He gazed down at the soft lines of her face, admiring the way her cheek glowed under the warm kiss of sunlight where it streamed through the window, dust motes swirling lazily through the beam like a halo above her head.
The morning sun—which meant the snow had stopped. Which meant the roads were probably clearing and they could go home.
Which meant it was Christmas day. He'd be missed at home soon.
Marinette began to stir against him. He felt her fingers clutch against the fabric of his suit and then release as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked confusedly at the unfamiliar room, and then up at him.
“Morning, Marinette,” he said, his voice deep and rough with sleep.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and he braced himself for her to freak out. But, as always, she managed to surprise him.
She laughed.
He joined in, more from relief than anything, carefully pulling his arm out from under her (as much as he was tempted to leave it there). “So I guess we fell asleep during the movie,” he chuckled.
“Guess so. We’d better not tell my papa that you didn’t make it to the couch.”
“I don’t think he’d mind,” Chat said, casually putting a little more space between them under the guise of checking the clock.
Marinette, who had been blearily rubbing at her eyes, suddenly stilled and gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean, he won’t mind? Didn’t he warn you away from me on the phone?”
Chat put a hand on the back of his neck, his cheeks warming. “Not… not exactly, no.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Chat shrugged. “What can I say? Your dad thinks I’d make a good son-in-law.”
Marinette gave him a three second head start before pelting him with a violent rain of throw pillows. The pillow fight evolved into another tickle fight, which ended with a hard-won peace treaty and Chat and Marinette flopped out on the bed, breathless from laughter.
It was the best Christmas morning he could remember since losing his mother. Even those days were kind of hazy in his memory, leaving a vaguely snickerdoodle-flavored feeling of warmth and safety lingering at the corners of his mind— the feeling of being held through the night like he was cared for. He sighed contentedly.
All is calm. All is bright.
“Merry Christmas, Kitty.”
He rolled over to look at his friend, her lovely face pink with warmth and her eyes bright from laughter, that smile that knocked the breath out of him…
And he stumbled upon the startling realization that he had maybe done one more accidental stupid thing in his sleep.
He may have gone and fallen for his good friend Marinette.
Oops.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied with a dazed smile.