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Marinette is many things—a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend, class representative, Paris’ renowned superhero… but she’s not a liar. She can try with all her might to lie to the people around her, to lie to herself, but it just never works out. The only lie she’s been able to hold up is being Ladybug, which, firstly, is a lie of omission, and secondly, didn’t stay a lie for very long (exhibit A: Alya).
When Marinette lies, she’s coloured in the aftertaste of her deceit. You can see it in every trace of her being, the way she behaves, the way she speaks, the things she says, everything. So it wasn’t a surprise that Chat Noir could tell that something was up with her that night, and that she wasn’t being entirely truthful when she’d told him she was ‘fine’.
They were in their superhero forms, hanging out by the rooftop with a clear view of the Eiffel Tower panning across the horizon. The velvety night sky dazzled with stars, brightening their faces under the soft glow of moonlight.
“I know you’re not fine, Ladybug. You can tell me,” he pushes just a little more, seemingly unsatisfied with her answer.
She sighs, trying her hardest to suppress the fluttery sensation in her gut. She’s tried for so long to lie to herself that that familiar feeling stemmed from pure friendship and platonic feelings, warmth of a regular good friend, despite knowing she’s never felt like this around anyone else before.
She loves it when he notices these things about her, she loves it when he asks about her and actually listens, she loves that he’s always, always there for her, she loves that he cares about her so deeply, she loves that he loves her, and she loves that she loves him too. So much.
So much that it hurts.
She remembers the day her heart had been shattered into a million irreparable pieces, scattered across the ground beneath her waiting to be picked up by him, and only him, but never was.
“I have some good news,” he’d told her that day, smiling so widely and genuinely that she felt her stomach do that same routine flip. She loves seeing him happy, always. She’d been so excited to hear his news then, she could never have seen what was coming.
“I’m in love with someone else. I don’t love you that way anymore, so you don’t have to feel bad about me constantly ruining things… for us, for our superhero identities, everything.”
The words had come out of his mouth so naturally, so carelessly, as if they weighed nothing to him. Words as light as a feather to him, words as piercing as a knife to her. She’d never fully recovered from the events of that day.
She shakes the memory off, focusing on the present, focusing on the odd feeling in her heart. It felt… heavy, she thinks to herself. Like something was weighing her down, but she didn’t know what.
Another lie. She knew exactly what. She’d just never admit it.
She turns to look at him, ignoring the tears that began to brim. She couldn’t care less about what he thought of her vulnerability at this moment, it was the least of her concerns.
“Chat, I…”
Something was holding her back, as if a pair of hands were wrapped around her throat begging her not to make this reckless decision. Begging her to make the right choice. She gulps, hard, taking a deep breath, allowing the cold air around her to numb the throbbing pain inside her chest.
This is the right choice, her inner voice echoes to herself.
She shuts her eyes for a second, grieving the potential loss of what she perceived as a lifelong friendship, the loss of a fulfilling partnership, the loss of the love of her life.
“I’m in love with you, Chat Noir.”
…
Silence.
A cool breeze sweeps past them, sounds of cars blaring their horns on the streets below them can be heard from the height they’re seated at, incoherent chatter from the Parisians strolling the sidewalks adding on to the muffled commotion, and yet the only thing she can hear is the deafening silence that sits between them.
She decides to continue.
“I have been… for a while now… and I think I always will.”
Still no response. Still silent. Just stares and mouths agape and eyes widened and silence. So much silence.
She doesn’t know what she wanted to get out of this confession—she knows he doesn’t love her like that anymore. Perhaps she’d just wanted to get rid of this deadweight that’d been resting on her chest, suffocating her every single night in her sleep since the day she’d come to the realisation.
Or perhaps, deep inside, a small part of her wanted to believe that maybe a small part of him still loved her back.
Just maybe.
“Ladybug…” He starts, voice barely a whisper. His tone is harsh, confused, desperate… helpless. His tone is so, so helpless, and it makes her want to die right there and then.
She’d put him on the spot, cornered him up against a wall with nowhere else to go. Silly her to think he would ever even consider taking her back. To think she had a second chance. That isn’t how life works, especially not for girls like her.
She’s too late.
“…You know I-”
“You’re in love with someone else… yeah,” she interrupts, finishing his sentence with dread lacing her sentence. “I know.”
He pauses, slightly taken aback at her interruption, then reveals a soft, comforting smile.
“I know,” he repeats, reaching out to wipe the tear she didn’t even know had started to escape from her eyes. His thumb caresses her cheek ever so gently, adding on to that strange sensation in her stomach, now more bittersweet than ever.
She leans into his touch, just slightly, so subtle he probably didn’t notice. To her, his touch meant the world.
He is her world.
And she was his, but she’d been too foolish to realise it sooner. Too foolish to appreciate him for what he was. And now she’d lost him.
“I’m sorry, Bugaboo.”
How long has it been since he’d even called her that? She can’t remember. It didn’t matter, anyways, she hadn’t even realised how much she missed it.
“I really, really am.”
He tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, that same comforting smile not once leaving his lips. She smiles back, melancholic, grieving, remorseful… hurt.
“I know,” she echoes back to him.
And for the rest of the night, it was just him, her, and the empty silence of unrequited love.