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Strangely enough, the first time Rose meets Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t at collège, or even primaire or maternelle.
Or—well, she isn’t sure if their meeting should even count as one. They didn’t even lay eyes on each other on that strange day.
But to understand how that not-quite meeting happened, one needs context.
See, Rose is what some would call a witch, and others would call a sorceress.
She doesn’t have a preference for either title. It isn’t like she has enough magic to make flowers blossom or turn straw to gold like the magic-users of old, anyway. Not like her oncle, who uses his affinity with plants to maintain a flourishing one-man farm in the countryside.
No, what Rose does have is a more subtle kind of magic. The ability to sense emotions, to be specific.
Her papa can heal small wounds and bruises, while her maman becomes super strong when she drinks blood, like a vampire. Not that vampires actually exist; most of the alleged supernatural creatures are witches who specialise in blood magic, and the rest—as far as Rose can tell—are people with blood kinks.
Rose can learn those other kinds of magic, but it would take years of practice, of stretching her magic reserves to the breaking point before letting it replenish itself, like building up muscles. Maman insisted she focus on her studies for now, and if she’s serious about wanting to expand her magic skills, she can take a gap year to for an apprenticeship before universitè.
To Rose’s magic, most people are like candle flames, small and flickering, flaring up when they are happy and dimming when they are upset. Young children, who don’t know how to control their emotions, flare bright and warm, as well as particularly emotional people. Walking into a crowd is like walking into a candle festival—at least, Rose assumes they would feel the same, she’s never been to one even though it’s on her bucket list—warm and lively and hopeful. A beautiful symphony of feelings and emotions, weaving into an uplifting harmony that echoes in her heart.
Rose loves crowds.
When she was younger, she accompanied Maman to the mall every chance she got, and basked in the warmth of the hundreds of people surrounding her while Maman got some shopping done.
A mall is where she first met Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
Rose doesn’t remember the name of the mall; it’s been shut down years ago. And yet, she can remember that day—that moment—as clear as if it happened seconds ago.
She was holding Maman’s hand when it happened.
Her eyes were closed so she could focus better on the emotions surrounding her, not that Rose was in any danger of walking into people. Being an empath had its uses.
Engulfing her was a symphony of candle flames, cresting and falling to a beat she was not privy to. Most people were content to be there, and some were particularly excited about some adult thing, their emotions flaring and feeding the flames around them. A few people were frustrated, though because of what Rose didn’t know. She didn’t mind those people much. The bitter undertone of their anger only brought out the sweetness of the enthusiastic shoppers.
And then.
And then Rose sensed her.
A bright, roaring bonfire, so bright and overwhelming that Rose couldn’t focus her entire attention on it. It flared and danced of its own accord, as if it had a life of its own. It swirled with colors that should be impossible—green and yellow and purple and white and so many others. Most people only seemed orange-red to her mind’s eye.
It was…
It was beautiful.
Rose was far from the flame—no, the girl, so far away that the girl should only register as a single spark of heat. They probably were at the opposite ends of the mall.
And yet. Just standing here is enough to warm Rose’s chest. What would it feel like to stand next to that roaring bonfire?
“Rose? Mon chérie, are you okay?”
A soft hand tapped Rose’s shoulder, startling her back to reality.
Rose blinked, artificial light glaring into her eyes. Instantly, the flames vanished from Rose’s senses. Though she’s used to this sensation now, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the absence of the bonfire’s warmth. “Yes, Maman. I just…sensed something interesting.”
Maman frowned, concerned. “Okay, mon chérie. Just don’t overexert yourself.”
Nodding absentmindedly, Rose tuned back to her other sense, hoping to learn more about that strange, bright girl.
Yet, the girl was already gone.
The memory of that raging bonfire plagued Rose’s mind, even as she returned home. It plagued her as she went to bed, as she woke up in the morning, for days after that short encounter.
Just who was this girl?
The second time Rose meets Marinette, she has just barely learnt to sense emotions without closing her eyes.
That time, Rose was waiting with Papa at the bus stop. Bored, she practiced using her other sense with her eyes wide open. Oncle always said she needed practice to grow into a big, strong witch anyway.
When she did this, there always seemed to be a piece of rice paper—transparent but not quite—layered over her other sense, muffling it. The thought of closing her eyes, of peeling that rice paper back to reveal the true extent of her senses, was very tempting.
Papa was a warm, steady flame next to her. The annoyance of the other passengers was palpable even without her eyes closed, but the bitterness of their frustration seemed…diluted, somehow. Across the street were two people—a woman and a girl about her age, her eyes informed her. Her mind’s eye told her the woman was happy, while the girl—
The girl was bright, even with Rose’s other sense muffled. Her emotions seemed to dance around her, swirling across her shoulders in a gentle caress, as if they were alive. In fact—
The girl seemed familiar.
Could it…?
Rose closed her eyes.
Immediately, she was assaulted with a roaring bonfire, dancing with white and yellow and green and purple and every other color under the sun.
Rose’s breath hitches.
Her eyes spring open.
She—the girl—
Carefully, she memorizes the girl’s features. Small, about her height, with black hair that almost seemed to glow blue under the amber sunlight, and sapphire eyes that shone like the bonfire within her.
By the third time Rose crosses paths with Marinette, she has learnt how to shield her mind’s eye from unwanted emotions.
She doesn’t quite remember why she was at the park that day, just strict instructions from Maman and Papa not to wander off while they took care of an emergency.
It was a sunny day again, like that day at the bus stop. With no playground at this park, all Rose could do was lay on the grass as she soaked up the sunrays.
Absentmindedly, Rose imagined she was a tree sapling. Oncle had taught her that word the last time she visited the farm. It meant a baby plant.
She imagined she had roots that were just beginning to unfurl into the warm, rich soil. She imagined she would one day grow until her great branches would stretch for miles and miles, providing shade to all who came near. She imagined—
A shining, beautiful bonfire of a girl entered her senses.
Rose sat up, her eyes springing open.
She watched as the bonfire girl entered the park, her pigtails swaying with every step she took. Rose wished she looked this nice.
Focusing this intensely on her, the girl’s emotions almost felt searing to Rose’s senses. Rose hastily threw up a partial shield, pretending it’s a pair of sunglasses for her mind’s eye.
There. Now she could admire the girl to her heart’s desire.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” She murmured to the person next to her.
The person startled. “You—you can see me?”
Rose blinked, momentarily forgetting about the girl with a bonfire within her. She turns to properly regard the person next to her.
This person—another girl—had long dark hair and crimson eyes. There were two stripes of purple across her hair. Rose was almost jealous; her hair looked so pretty and soft.
Actually, this girl seemed…almost familiar. Where had Rose seen her before?
“Of course I can!” Rose told the girl. “Why wouldn’t I?”
The girl scowled. She lowered her head, hair falling forward to hide her expression. Not that it stopped Rose; she could still clearly sense the girl’s apprehension and frustration. “You shouldn’t be.” She muttered, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the non-existent wind. “I was deflecting my presence.”
Deflecting…?
Rose suddenly remembered the annual Christmas gatherings that nearly every sorcerer in Paris attended. Last year, there had been a boy with teal-stained hair who could hear the melody of a person’s soul. They had become fast friends while the adults talked about things neither could understand. Didn’t Luka say he had a twin sister?
Rose had only caught glimpses of that alleged twin, a shy girl with purple highlights hiding behind Luka’s maman, whom basically everyone ignored. Was that her magic? It had to be.
“I know you!” She exclaimed. “You were at that Christmas gathering last year. I became friends with your brother!”
The girl didn’t flush as much as Rose sensed her mortification at being recognized. No, not quite embarrassment—more of a desire not to be seen and known.
“Hey, you don’t have to be shy!” Rose told the girl. What was her name? Jules? Jullie? Something starting with J, she was sure. “I’m Rose Lavillant! What’s your name?”
The girl hesitated. “…Juleka Couffaine. How did you realise I was here?”
“It must be my magic.” Rose mused. “Did Luka mention me? I’m an empath, and I sensed there was someone next to me.” She paused, then added enthusiastically, “Come on, sit down! Tell me more about your magic!”
“…you’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?”
“Nope!”
When she was home, Rose asked Maman to tie her long hair into a pair of pigtails as well.
Maman tied her hair up near the top of her head. Bonfire girl had her pigtails near the bottom of her head, and her hair was much shorter that Rose’s.
It isn’t exactly like bonfire girl’s hairstyle, but Rose thinks she looks pretty nice too.
And then, Rose ends up at the same collège as the bonfire girl.
It is only then that Rose learns her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
Rose’s family moves a short while before she starts collège, so she ends up at a school different to the one all her primaire friends are going to.
Juleka will be going to the same school as her—even the same grade, although the crimson-eyed girl is two years older than Rose.
“…my maman didn’t want us to go to school.” Juleka muttered when Rose asked her about it. “She said she wasn’t going to let her children be brainwashed by the government. She got away with it for two years before people from the education department caught her.”
Rose nodded. She doesn’t quite get Captain Couffaine’s anarchistic tendencies, but…Juleka’s stories about her maman are always entertaining, so that’s something, right?
When the girl who shines like a bonfire walks into the classroom, Rose nearly forgets to breath.
It’s been—years since the last time she saw bonfire girl. Rose’s hairstyle has changed, but not the bonfire girl’s, and time has dulled the memory of the sheer force of that girl’s emotions.
The girl’s bonfire has not dimmed with age, like most people’s emotions do as time marches on. Instead, her fire seems to burn fiercer than ever.
It isn’t even like a bonfire anymore. The girl seems to shine like the sun, bright and life-giving yet terrifying and scorching at the same time. Rose can’t even be in the same room with her without throwing up her shields.
And yet.
And yet, Rose can’t help but gravitate towards Marinette Dupain-Cheng, like a moth to the flame.
Rose always insists on teaming up with Marinette every time they have to do a group project.
Marinette and Rose and Juleka—the three of them tackle homework assignments with the ferocity of three knights fighting a dragon to rescue their grades. Marinette’s unwavering determination is fitting of the girl with a sun in her heart.
They start a study group chat, and Marinette begins inviting Rose and Juleka over to her home for lunch. Rose doesn’t understand anything about the mecha video game Marinette likes, or her multiple design projects, but simply listening to Marinette’s impassioned explanations sends a warm flutter through her heart.
It doesn’t help that the Dupain-Cheng’s cooking tastes like ambrosia in her mouth.
Rose is now enamoured with the Dupain-Cheng bakery, for more reasons than one.
Something is bothering Juleka.
The girl isn’t acting any differently, but one of the benefits of being an empath is that she always knows how her best friend is feeling.
“What’s wrong, Juleka?” Rose asks, a bounce in her steps. They just left Marinette’s apartment after working on yet another group project—why does Françoise Dupont Collège have so many of those—and are walking towards Juleka’s ship.
Juleka doesn’t answer. Rose waits quietly, until—
“…you like her, don’t you?”
Rose tilts her head. “You mean Marinette?”
Juleka gives a slight nod that Rose would’ve mistaken for a twitch if she hasn’t known Juleka for half of her life.
Rose blinks. “Of course I do! Marinette’s my friend. Our friend.”
Juleka shakes her head. “I, I mean…you’re in love with her.”
Rose laughs, “Don’t be silly. Girls can’t be—”
Wait.
…oh.
The thing is, Rose knows about people who fall in love with others of the same gender, but only in that distant way one knows about a foreign country that is rarely mentioned on the news.
When she imagined her future, Rose always thought of a handsome prince kissing her cheek, or a dashing knight swooping in to rescue her from some unnamed monster.
Now, when she thinks of her future, she imagines kind bluebell eyes, and a girl that shines as bright as the sun.
“Hey, Marinette,” Rose starts faux-casually during lunch. It’s only Marinette and her today; Juleka agreed to eat at home at Rose’s insistence. “What do you think the person of your dreams would be like?”
Marinette’s lips twitch. “Are you thinking about your fairy tales again?”
Rose does not agree or deny the assessment. “Just answer the question!”
Marinette hums. “Well…I think the man of my dreams would have…silky hair…and beautiful eyes like gems…or maybe steel? Steel-grey eyes…and…” She frowns, then shrugs. “That’s all I’ve got for now.”
“I see. What—what about girls?” Rose asks hesitantly.
Her heart pounds unsteadily in her chest as she awaits the answer, like drums beating off-kilter. Please, she wishes on all the magic in the world, please, please…
Marinette blinks.
Rose senses bewilderment at the question, a curiosity to its strange phrasing, and apprehension—
“It—I—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Marinette!” She quickly assures, though the words taste bitter as they come out of her mouth.
“No, it’s not—” Marinette frowns. “I just—now that you mentioned it, I think—even if I was born as a boy, I don’t think I would be interested in girls that way.”
The sun within Marinette sings to the truth of her statement.
“…oh.”
And Rose—
Rose—
Her heart stutters.
Rose is not heartbroken, thank you very much!
Just because she has locked herself in her bedroom with enough chocolate to poison all the dogs in the world doesn’t mean she isn’t fine, Maman. She might be simply having intense cravings. Didn’t the nurse say cravings for chocolate are normal for girls her age during sex-ed? The fact she hasn’t had her first period yet is not relevant.
It isn’t like her first crush has just indirectly rejected her. Because Marinette doesn’t even constitute as a crush, she’s just a really good friend who Rose has slightly more than platonic feelings for—
“Mon chou?” Papa asks softly, knocking quietly on her door. “Someone is here to see you.”
Before Rose can summon the energy to tell her mystery visitor to go away, the door cracks open.
Juleka walks into the room and sits down next to Rose on the bed.
She doesn’t say a word, but the arm around Rose’s shoulder, and the silent, unwavering support Rose feels from her, are worth more than any words that can come out of her best friend’s mouth.
Rose cries into her shoulder until late that night. Juleka stays over for the night, and with her best friend’s constant presence by her side, Rose feels…
Better.
Days pass. Rose tries to keep to their routine—just because Marinette doesn’t like her that way doesn’t mean they can’t be friends—but it’s hard, when every glance at those shining bluebell eyes reminds her of a future that could have been.
Slowly, without meaning to, Rose and Marinette drift apart.
Time marches on. Now that it’s only Rose and Juleka instead of Rose and Marinette and Juleka, the two girls grow closer and closer.
Final exams come and go. During summer, Rose practically spends every single day by Juleka’s side. It doesn’t change when school starts again, with the two of them in Cinquième instead of Sixième.
More often than not, Juleka eats lunch at Rose’ house, since Captain Couffaine is not a firm believer of cooking lunch or set lunchtimes. Maman and Papa are more than keen to fuss over how thin Juleka is. Rose thinks Juleka is perfect—perfectly healthy—the way she is.
Love, Rose has always thought, is a dramatic and overwhelming thing that sweeps one off their feet.
That is what always happens to the characters in her stories, after all. Small things build up, one event after another, until the pressure crests and the protagonists’ feelings are made clear to each other in a dramatic declaration of love, often after some life-or-death situation that makes the characters realise they might never get to act on their feelings if they don’t do it now.
But then, as Rose walks Juleka home down the Seine, and the setting sunlight catches Juleka’s hair on fire to match the steady flame within her, Rose’s breath catches in her throat, and she thinks…
Oh.
Maybe love doesn’t always have to be one dramatic, romantic declaration after another. Maybe it can be something softer, something gentler, like the gentle warmth in Juleka’s chest whenever Rose is with her. Maybe…
Maybe love can be a moment like now.
“…Juleka?” Rose says softly, her footsteps slowing to a crawl.
The older girl pauses, and turns to regard Rose.
“I…” Rose hesitates. No; love is not something that deserves hesitation. “I think I love you, Juleka.”
Some people may think it is foolish for a girl this young to declare something as bold as love. Rose thinks those poor sceptics have never experienced true love.
Juleka’s emotions stutter with her surprise, before her flame rises and roars. She turns her head to the ground, her bangs hiding her blush, but her emotions tell no lies and they both know her unspoken answer.
Yes, yes, yes.
I love you too.
Rose smiles as she grabs Juleka’s hand, enjoying the warmth Juleka’s emotions cast on her as they flare with love and innocent joy.
Before them, the Seine glows red and orange and yellow. It looks like Juleka’s flame, Rose muses silently.
It looks like love.
Rose and Juleka the Couple becomes an open secret in their class.
Rose thinks Kim might’ve won a bet when they begin not-quite-secretly dating, if his vindicative grin and Alix’s groan are any indication.
Marinette smiles at her when she finds out, despite their strained friendship that is almost entirely Rose’s fault.
That smile no longer sends flutters running through her heart, though Rose will always remember those days at the bakery fondly.
She hopes one day, Marinette will find the man of her dreams as well.
And then, in Quatrième, Hawkmoth and Ladybug and Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste appear.
Rose knows about Adrien Agreste, of course. Every single girl in Paris does, as well as quite a few boys.
The Prince of Paris. The crowning jewel of the Gabriel brand. The heartthrob of France, with soft golden hair, kind emerald eyes and a smile that can rival the sun.
Just because Rose has a girlfriend doesn’t mean she has no eyes.
When Rose learns Adrien Agreste will be joining her class, she is...curious.
But when she finally meets Adrien, and senses him, the results are…underwhelming.
Adrien looks as perfect as he does on the ads, but inside him…
He isn’t rotten on the inside, not in the way anyone might worry. But his flame…
It is so dim, a barely present thing, smothered and suppressed to the point of dying. Rose aches every time her mind’s eye glances him, wishing she can do something to help him. But what can she do?
Marinette, however, is smitten with him. According to class gossip, he lent her an umbrella after school, and the rest was history.
A boy with soft hair and gem-like eyes…
The girl with the sun inside her and the boy with a dying flame. Maybe the two of them will balance each other out.
Rose hopes Marinette will win over Adrien’s dim heart. She has a feeling if anyone can breathe life back into Adrien’s smothered flame, it will be Marinette.
They are both amazing people. They deserve that much.
As the weeks pass, something miraculous happens.
Adrien’s flames grow and grow, until it is a soft, flickering light instead of the dying spark it used to be. His smiles become brighter and more genuine. Rose never noticed how fake his model smiles used to be.
It also gains traces of green—a different green than the streaks of color in Marinette’s sun, more neon than Marinette’s warm, dark green.
But Adrien is so much happier—and healthier—now. That’s all that matters, right?
Rose doesn’t mean to. She doesn’t, okay?
It’s just…when she ends up in the middle of an akuma attack, it’s impossible to dismiss the strikingly unique emotional signatures Chat Noir and Ladybug have.
Normally, Rose can’t differentiate the emotional signature of a certain individual out of a crowd. Those flames she senses are nothing like fingerprints. If anything, they are like eye colors—even people with generic brown eyes have eyes of a slightly different shade of color, but Rose can’t tell two shades apart without studying them intimately, the way she has with Juleka and Maman and Papa.
Except for Adrien and Marinette.
…and Chat Noir and Ladybug, apparently.
When Chat Noir picks her and Juleka up while Ladybug tanks Rubric Cube’s attacks, Rose feels that not-quite-dying flame shuddering within the leather-clad hero. And when she turns her attention to Ladybug, she learns that Marinette’s sun is shining, as bright and unyielding as always, within the superheroine’s red-and-black suit.
…so. Ladybug is Marinette and Chat Noir is Adrien.
Somehow, the revelation doesn’t come as a surprise. Rose has always known there is something different about those two—not bad-different but not entirely good-different either. This piece of knowledge clicks in her mind to form a puzzle she didn’t know she was solving.
This knowledge doesn’t change as much as one would think. It isn’t like Rose can become a hero and throw herself into battle, not without revealing how she knows the truth about Ladybug and Chat Noir. Besides, she doesn’t know anything about combat magic.
The only thing she can do is cover them while they duck out of lessons to fight akumas. It’s the least she can do for the heroes who risk their lives and sanity to protect Paris, as well as the friends she cares for and worries about.
…Marinette and Adrien are really stupid.
Look. Rose doesn’t believe in using words such as dumb and stupid and idiotic, but what else can she use to describe two people who are pining after each other but don’t know it?
Marinette is in love with Adrien. Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug.
And despite Rose’s best efforts, they just won’t get together like they’re supposed to!
Why must they do this to her?
Akumas—the butterflies—are like cold, dark purple flames. Instead of giving warmth, they suck it from their surroundings, particularly the akumatized victims.
Rose didn’t sense the one that turned Juleka into Reflekta, but she does sense the one that comes after her in its aftermath, when her uncharacteristic anger at Chloe—cruel, petty Chloe—smoulders in her chest.
School has not resumed from Reflekta’s attack when that happens. Rose runs and runs and runs, away from those hungry dark flames that seek to suck the life out of her, until her chest burns from breathlessness instead of anger, and the akuma drifts away to seek another victim.
She will not betray Marinette and Adrien. Not today.
Marinette’s sun grows and grows, until the flames seem to engulf her entire body, giving out heat and light and energy so immense Rose doesn’t understand why even the most magically inert cannot feel her sun.
No, that roaring fire cannot even be called a sun anymore. Rose remembers the unit on astronomy they covered during physics—if anything, that living flame within Marinette should be equated to a giant red star, something much larger and brighter than any sun, so encompassing in its unyielding brightness that Rose must force her attention away lest she be blinded.
She doesn’t understand why, but doesn’t quite question it anymore. For her entire life, Marinette has been a girl who burnt inexplicably bright, and something would be wrong in the world if that suddenly changed.
Until one day, Marinette shows off a new weapon in her arsenal.
No matter how old she becomes, Rose thinks she will still remember that akuma attack as clear as day.
Zentangled is an akuma that can turn anyone they shoot with a grey ray of light into grey-skinned zombies, with sprawling spirals etched onto their skin. The aesthetic would’ve looked nice if the zombies weren’t in the process of overwhelming Ladybug and Chat Noir with sheer numbers.
Coincidentally, Ladybug and Chat Noir end up on the street outside Rose’s home. Rose grips her bedroom’s window sill tightly, as she watches the zentangled zombies surround the heroes, as they retreat until their back is to each other, as all hope seems lost. She wishes more than anything that she can leap onto the street to rescue her friends, like a knight in shining armor, instead of the hapless victim she currently is.
And then. Almost as if she is in a trance, Ladybug pulls her arm back. The sun within her flares, flames swelling and dancing down her arm, and Ladybug punches—
Even from two storeys above, Rose can feel the tsunami of wind that slams the zombies in the face. A loud boom resounds, like thunder on a stormy night, and Rose instinctively squeezes her eyes shut.
When she reopens her eyes, the sea of zombies has turned into an ocean of broken bodies, with Ladybug and Chat Noir the sole survivors of the vicious attack. No matter where Rose looks, there are bodies of grey-skinned mannequins lying hazardously on the floor, their limbs bent in unnatural angles. Despite that, no blood stains the streets, and it is all she can do to cling onto that fact and think those people are not real.
The miraculous cure repairs the damage, and none of the victims recall anything past being hit with a grey light, but Rose doesn’t manage to look Marinette in the eyes for days after that attack.
Her sun seems more alive now, Rose thinks absentmindedly when she can’t stop herself from turning her attention to Marinette. Flames races down her limbs no matter what mundane task Marinette is doing, and those tongues of fire almost seem to caress Marinette’s skin tenderly whenever she shifts.
It should be impossible; emotions are emotions and should not be sentient. But Marinette has been one impossibility after another, ever since that first time Rose laid her other eye on the girl. Is this new development any more impossible than the others?
The next time Ladybug shows up, it is with a costume change. Red and black lightning flickers down her limbs in tandem to her inner flames, and she manages to fly like a true ladybug. Shadowy tentacles grow out of her body, and even without sensing Chat Noir’s emotions, Rose can tell he is madly amazed by Ladybug’s new abilities.
Marinette is a thousand enigma stacked in a trench coat, masquerading as a normal human being. At this point, she might as well be a closeted witch with overwhelming magical skills, the likes of which haven’t been seen in centuries.
The magical community of Paris is in uproar.
Not that it is much of a community in the first place. There are about thirty magic users in Paris, including the children, which isn’t a lot but is more than what most cities have.
Marinette—Ladybug—is an unknown sorceress. No one can figure out where she came from, or who she apprenticed under to become so powerful, with enough magic to rival the sorcerers of olde.
Privately, Rose thinks Marinette apprenticed under no one. She must’ve finally learnt to harness that more-than sun within her. If anyone can do that, it would be Marinette.
Months pass by. For a while, Marinette is engulfed in a miasma of grief, bitter feelings lacing the bright star in her chest. But then something shifts, and Marinette and Adrien become so much happier, their heroic counterparts growing so much closer.
And then, Hawkmoth is defeated. And then, it turns out Hawkmoth is Adrien’s father all along. And then, Adrien moves into Marinette’s apartment, and they stubbornly refuse to date for three more months before finally becoming a couple.
Rose never quite finds out why Marinette burns like the sun, nor why she has that incomprehensible combat magic at her command, but she doesn’t mind.
All that matters is that Marinette and Adrien are together, and content. They deserve a happily ever after, and it seems like they have finally achieved it.
Of course, that is when a man with silky starlight mint hair, beautiful turquoise-blue and steel-grey eyes runs into Marinette in the streets. He gazes at Marinette like a long-lost lover with romantic love in his heart, and Rose fears for her friend.
(The end of one story is just the beginning of another.)