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There’s a strange sort of limbo between them. Neither of them are in a relationship — not anymore, not after Chat Noir left and Nino went with him, leaving them both to pick up the pieces — and it feels strange.
They’re the only ones.
Alya’s head rests in her lap, and Marinette’s hand is softly working through her curls. They don’t speak. Right now, all they need is comfort from each other. It’s enough to get them through every fight Alya has with that ring on her finger Marinette wishes desperately weren’t there. But nothing is as it seems, and she’s not actually sure what happened, but one day Adrien was there and the next day he was gone. And on that same day, Chat abandoned his ring.
On that day, Nino broke up with Alya. Adrien was gone — Gabriel had withdrawn him from school and shipped Adrien to another country, according to Mme Bustier.
“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Alya says. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being a superhero, but…it isn’t as charming as it used to be.”
Marinette sighs and continues to separate the curls apart gently. “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve thought something similar. I’ve almost given up my Miraculous…a lot. But because of Tikki and because of Chat and because of you, I never did.”
“Do you wish you could?” Alya asks quietly. “That you could afford to give up.”
“Yes,” Marinette confesses, and it weighs heavier on her soul than any other confession she’s ever made. That she’s wanted to give this up, over and over and over. But she never has. She never has, and that’s a good thing, she thinks.
After all, someone needs to have stood up to Hawk Moth. What would’ve happened if the destruction were allowed to continue?
“But neither of us can,” Marinette says. “You know that as well as I do.”
“Do you think I fit?” Alya asks. “Do you think this Miraculous is good for me?”
“I don’t know,” Marinette answers, “but you’ve been using it effectively, and that’s good enough for me. I don’t think anyone could ever be as good as he was.”
“You’ve…always had this effortless way about communicating,” Alya says. “I don’t speak your language yet. But I want to learn it, Marinette.”
“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “It’s…never been something we really talked about, it’s just something that we did. It was an accident.”
The fact that Alya doesn’t speak the same language of glances and body language does not miss Marinette. She knows now, too late, that she loved Chat once too.
And now he’s gone.
“An accident, huh?” Alya asks.
“Just like our first meeting,” Marinette answers, wistful. “The yo-yo has a steeper learning curve. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that it can be used as a grappling hook, but there’s a lot of physics stuff involved that Adrien would be able to explain better than I could involved in it, and it takes a while to develop an intuition for how gravity will affect you as you swing.”
“I’d like to try it sometime,” Alya says, looking out of one of the windows in Marinette’s room. “You never know what might happen.”
Marinette closes her eyes. “I know. I’ve used the ring before. I’m sure you remember.”
“I do,” Alya answers. Marinette lets herself be grounded by the sound of Alya’s breathing, by Alya’s weight on her lap, by the feeling of Alya’s hair in her fingers. “And there’s always a chance that something like that could happen again, or maybe some other circumstances where one of us could go away.”
“We have solutions for that,” Marinette says, opening her eyes and allowing herself to be overwhelmed by sight again. “The space powerups and the Horse Miraculous are both viable solutions.”
Alya hums. “What are the consequences of unification?”
“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “I…barely remember the events of Kwamibuster, and that was when I used it the most.”
“Kwamibuster…that was Mme Mendeleiev, right?”
“Yes.” Marinette gently uprights Alya and goes over to the Miracle Box, sealed away in the craft supply box. She dangles a pendant. “I used the power of the Mouse to unify with multiple Miraculous at once. Master Fu said it could’ve killed me. I don’t know how true that is, but…maybe it does hold some water. I never found out.”
“Marinette,” Alya breathes. “You’re exceptional.”
“I could’ve died,” Marinette mutters, looking at the pendant. “And…no one would really have figured it out until it was too late.”
“That’s why,” Alya says. “You did all that, and you survived to tell me about it. You’re still surviving.”
“I just wish I could be happy,” Marinette says, putting the pendant back in the box. “I’m surviving, but I’m not thriving. I could’ve been happy. I almost was.” She doesn’t voice what she wants to — that lately she’s been happiest when she’s with Alya. There is something about it that feels strange, despite the fact that Marinette’s been aware of her bisexuality for a long time. “But as long as I’m Ladybug…I feel like I’m not allowed to really be happy.”
“Marinette,” Alya says, slightly strangled. She clears her throat. “You deserve to be happy. I guess I kind of sound like a hypocrite, with everything that’s been happening lately. But you deserve it more than almost everyone I know. And a lot of people would agree that Ladybug deserves happiness, at least.”
“What if I said that I’m happier when you’re around?” Marinette says, sitting down beside Alya again.
“I would have to say the same,” Alya responds evenly. They’re looking at each other now, and Marinette slowly, slowly leans forward, grabbing Alya’s hand. “Marinette.”
“Could I?” Marinette asks as quietly as possible, seeking to avoid shattering anything.
Alya closes the distance between them with a kiss. Marinette’s other hand reaches up to stretch around Alya’s neck, and Alya’s other hand lands on her back The kiss is nice, but it’s not the best thing about the two of them — it’s the fact that they’re together, the fact that they can be so intimate without ruining things.