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A lot of people, when they first see the two of them, assume that they’re together. Blame heteronormativity or some other word for what it is, but that’s the truth — Marc and Juleka’s partnership has always been seen as romantic, even though it isn’t. There aren’t any words Juleka knows that can describe it. Marc’s…well, okay, not gay, not all the time because he isn't always a guy, but either way “not attracted to women” and Juleka is definitely one-hundred-percent a lesbian. Not everyone can tell just by looking that they’re queer, though.
Sometimes it helps, though, to be perceived as though they’re in a romantic relationship. It helps prevent them from getting attacked by those who don’t tolerate being queer if they can call each other partners and just…let people take away what they will from it.
It doesn’t help the annoyance, though, when people assume. The more people assume, the less able Juleka is to make a move on the girl she's in love with because even she thinks that Juleka and Marc are together—
Enough meditating on her hopeless situation.
“So,” the reporter said, sitting across from both of them, “the two of you have been working together for a long time.”
Juleka glanced over at Chat Creative. “You could say that,” she said, cautious. It was hard to get the words sometimes — both of them were semi-verbal as a result of anxiety, she knew, which could be an advantage because nobody ever knew sign language, but in situations like this…it was easy to slip. Even now she could feel her desire to talk draining.
“You’ve often referenced each other as partners. What does that mean?” the reporter asked. Juleka should probably have remembered her name, but she didn’t.
“It means that we have each other’s backs,” Chat says. They’re sitting ramrod-straight in a way they never do, and she knows it’s because they’re uncomfortable. “I trust her to keep me out of trouble, and I make sure she doesn’t get captured or mind-controlled.”
“Does it mean anything more?” the reporter asked.
“No,” Juleka answered firmly. “We support each other in the fight against Hawk Moth. There is nothing romantic about our relationship.” She resisted the urge to come out, but…she could. She probably could. It would make a great role model for young queer kids growing up — they could look at her and see themselves, say to their parents that they’re like Ladybug. And maybe it could change the minds of the homophobic to see one of Paris’s heroes come out.
But it was also incredibly daunting, even if it didn’t affect her civilian life.
They tapped her shoulder, and signed that the stress was getting to them — they couldn’t continue the interview.
“We have to go,” Juleka said. “Thank you for inviting us onto your show, but…we can’t stay any longer.”
“Really?” the reporter asked. She looked over at the camera, and Juleka suspected something was up, though what she couldn’t say.
“Important things to do,” Juleka answered, and the two of them left.
“Well, okay, notwithstanding that aromantic people can be in romantic relationships without feeling romantic attraction, as long as there’s consent and such involved,” Alix says, “Max and I aren’t dating.”
Juleka doesn’t mean to overhear the conversation. But she does, and Alix is trying to explain something to Kim.
“Then…what is it?” Kim asks.
“It’s called a queerplatonic relationship,” Alix says. “I’m not going to explain all the nuances, because it would take a while, but…that’s what’s going on. Happy?”
Kim looks sort of confused by the word. Juleka discreetly grabs her phone from her pocket and googles the word “queerplatonic”.
Huh. Okay. It does sound like the way she thinks about her relationship with Marc — the two of them are partners, in a way that she hasn’t been able to summarize before. But…definitely. She screenshots the definition and texts it to Marc, who’s in a stricter classroom and definitely unable to check his phone. She slips it back into her pocket right as Mme Bustier starts class.
They spend most of lunch signing to each other over food — neither of the two are particularly up for speaking, but they have to communicate somehow especially if they’re negotiating out something new.
Then again, it’s not really new, is it? It’s a natural extension of their dynamic as it currently exists. Marc agrees. The two of them are able to move forwards together — in this new kind of relationship.
And then an akuma attacks during lunch.
Today’s akuma is an entitled parent, and she sees Marc wince as the two of them fight the parent — she’s the mother of a trans child, and of course that would hit hard for Marc. But he’s still capable of fighting, at least. The two of them best the akuma.
So Hawk Moth is throwing his weight in with the transphobes, huh? She’s not surprised. Hawk Moth strikes her as more opportunistic than transphobic, but she doesn’t know for sure. Not unless she asks, and…well…she wouldn’t really ask a supervillain about that. She isn’t interested in whether Hawk Moth is transphobic or not; he’s a bad person either way and well worth defeating.
“Do you think we were too harsh on her?” Marc asks quietly.
“No,” Juleka answers. “We honestly weren’t harsh enough. But…we can’t hurt them too badly, or else the public loses faith in us as heroes.”
“You’re right,” he answers. “Not bad, for our first day as partners, right?”
“We were always partners,” she says, nudging him lightly. “This is just defining it in a new way.”
Life goes on. The two of them are queerplatonic partners. People say what they will about the two of them. Some days it keeps them safe, and other days it just hurts, digging under their skin. The two of them fight sometimes, and that can be okay too, because in the end their partnership is more important than anything the world could throw at the two of them. As long as they’re able to trust each other, they’ll keep going.