Archive of Our Own

“Marinette?” 

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 

A pigeon flew above their heads, silhouetted by the sun before diving back to the city street. It flew away before the feathery beast could call to Adrien’s allergies. Marinette closed her eyes; her brief glance at the beaming sun sent almost as many spots to cloud her vision as there were on her costume. She’d always loved the sun. How her parents would warn her not to look directly at it, lest its Medusian stare scorch her eyes, yet she would always try to see it for how beautiful it was. And every time, she blinked back tears from the sun’s burning sting of rejection. Marinette opened her eyes just wide enough to squint through the cracks at Adrien next to her. His eyes were shut, long, delicate lashes resting atop his domino mask. The wind picked up stray threads of his hair, so bright in the midday sun that it looked like it had been spun from gold. 

Yes. Marinette had always loved the sun, but when the sun stood unmovable, unable to change how it hurt her, she found a new sun to love instead. 

“Marinette?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you love me too?” 

“Yes. I do.” 

He opened his eyes, his pupil stretched in a catlike point. Her heart slammed against her chest. Even now, even after everything, his stare was just as arresting as the sun. Marinette was a statue, motionless under his gaze. Her heart surrendered, white flag whipping in the wind because she knew she never stood a chance. 

“Marinette?” 

“Yes, Adrien?” 

“Why aren’t we together?” 

She sat up, clutching her knees to her chest and looking out over her side of the rooftop. Building after building sprawled throughout the city, stretching as far as she could see. All of Paris was their’s to protect. They were responsible for it all. One wrong move and they would all be left to Hawkmoth’s mercy. 

“You know why,” she sighed. 

Adrien sat up, turning to look at her, but for once she couldn’t look at him. “No, I don’t know.” He insisted. “I don’t understand. We love each other. What could stop us?” 

“Hawkmoth.” She turned to him, as she always had, and ached at the sight of his disheartened face. “You know that we can’t be together until he is defeated.”

“But we know each others identities now. We both love each other. All the things we were worried about, everything that stood in our way is gone.” 

“Adrien,” she grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Those were part of it, yes, but as long as Hawkmoth still stands, we can’t be together.” She gave him a sad, wobbly smile and tucked a lock of his messy hair behind his ear. Her gloved hand lingered by his face. How she wished she could touch him, skin to skin, like this. So intimate and delicate. She knew he would let her, sans masks and Miraculous, but Marinette knew that she couldn’t. Not until Hawkmoth was defeated. “Not like how we want.” 

He closed his hand around hers, dragging it down his jaw to his mouth. He pressed his lips against her knuckles. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, intensity burning with every second he held her stare. “I understand.” His voice was husky and thick, like he was swallowing a spoon of honey to help an uncomfortable pill go down. “Marinette?”

“Yes?”

“I would wait for you until the world ends.” 

It was overwhelming, the love he had for her. Even before they revealed their identities—before they truly knew each other, backwards, forwards, and every which way—he had always been so sure that he loved her. Marinette was no stranger to magic, the earrings and costume she wore were proof enough of its existence in the world, but she was positive that there was nothing in the world more magical than the love—the overwhelming, heart-surrendering love—Adrien had for her. 

The sun had already begun its descent towards the horizon. Every inch and mile that the sun dropped was a moment closer to their final battle against Hawkmoth. A moment closer to when they could finally be together, but Marinette couldn’t help but buzz with anxiety at the forthcoming ending. She laid down on the roof, pulling Adrien down with her, until they were back in their original position: her facing one direction; him facing the other; their eyes perfectly aligned. 

“Until that happens, can we just lay here and look in each other’s eyes?” 

“Come on, Marinette,” Alya groans, toting Marinette behind her. “We have to hurry. Nino is already at the train station with Adrien. He’s going to leave any minute!” 

“I don’t know why you guys want me to see him off so badly,” She grumbles but picks up her pace anyway. If she didn’t keep up, Alya would run her into the ground. The stone facade of the Gare du Nord rises in front of them, sending a twist of anxiety spiraling into Marinette’s stomach. She wants to turn around and go home, but there was no chance of Alya letting that happen. 

“Because your his friend!”

“I might be his friend, but he’s not mine!” Marinette counters. Alya stops just before the doors, spinning to face her with a horrified look on her face. 

“Marinette—“ 

“No, Alya.” She insists. She is so tired of having this same argument. “He’s not! Adrien is basically a stranger to me.” Marinette crosses her arms, annoyed that she has to keep explaining this to Alya, to Nino, to everyone. If she had to believe everything they told her, why couldn’t they believe her when she tells them that she doesn’t know Adrien? 

Alya’s face softens and she rests a hand on her shoulder. “Marinette, I understand that things have been difficult since the accident. I know it’s been frustrating and confusing to hear all these things when you don’t have the memories attached to them. But things have been difficult for Adrien too. He lost his parents, his home, his friends.” Alya gives her a pointed glance that she wants to ignore. “You both lost so much.” 

It’s been four days since Marinette woke up in a hospital bed with a stranger sitting next to her. A stranger who was apparently one of her best friends. The past four days has been a disorienting whirlwind of unbelievable truths crammed down her throat. The doctors told her that she experienced a brain injury that caused amnesia. They were perplexed; Marinette knew her name and age, knew who the president was, she knew her parents and Alya and Nino, but for some reason, certain memories were just… erased. Memories that included magic and superheroes and friendships with supermodels. 

Since she woke up, Alya and Nino have been hard at work, filling her in on everything she missed and explaining why the city was in such a state of disarray. Four days ago, not only did Marinette lose her memories, but Hawkmoth, the villain who had apparently been terrorizing the city, was defeated and revealed to be none other than Gabriel Agreste. Father of her so-called best friend. 

“Adrien is moving to London, and we have no idea when we will see him again,” Alya’s voice quivers. Guilt creeps up Marinette’s neck. She might not know Adrien, but Alya does. And she is losing one of her best friends. “There’s so much you don’t understand and it’s not your fault, but you have to do this. You have to see him go. You, you—“ Alya’s shoulders wrack with sobs. She spins around, burying her face in her hands. 

She’s right; Marinette doesn’t understand. But the words stung despite their truth. But how can she ever understand when the memories weren’t just forgotten but destroyed? She’s searched and searched, Marinette scoured her brain looking for these lost pieces that are missing, but they don’t exist. It’s like she’s stranded in the sea; lost for so long on the cerulean waves that she’s not even sure land exists anymore.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Marinette wrap her arms around Alya, trying to comfort her the best she can with her own headache of confusion. Alya nails squeeze into the flesh of her arms. Her grief is so potent it calls for more pain. “Come on, let’s go see Adrien while you—we—can.” Marinette’s arm snakes around her shoulder as they make their way into the station. 

“I’m sorry,” Alya sniffles, wiping her face frantically. “I know how much you are going through. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“It’s okay,” She says with a shrug. This close, Marinette can see the dark rings under her eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well this week. Alya’s been splitting her time between Marinette’s house and Nino’s, caught between her concern about the injury, and trying to help Nino house Adrien until he was ready to leave for London today. A lock of frizzy curls escapes her usually meticulous bun. “You are going through a lot too.” 

Alya squeezes her into a side hug as they spot Adrien and Nino waiting on a platform. Marinette gathers as much breath and courage as she can before they trek towards them. Nino rubs his eyes, glasses held up to clear away the moisture. Should she be crying too? Would she be crying if she had her memories? 

Adrien has only a single bag with him, a white and grey messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Not something you would expect from someone moving to a new country. There is a certain sadness that Marinette doesn’t fully understand. A pang that thudded against her chest every time she looked at him. Probably the last remnants of her memories. The only thing keeping her from believing this was all some elaborate ruse by everyone in her life. There was something uncomfortable about him leaving. She didn’t know if it was just the sheer awkwardness or if it was something more, but the state of his luggage tugged at her heart. 

He really had lost everything. 

“Marinette,” Adrien speaks her name with such a wistfulness and hope that it makes her want to run in the opposite way. Alya and Nino were wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t pretend like she knew this boy that spoke her name like that. It’s cruel. And he’s been through enough. 

Marinette looks down at her feet, unable to withstand the weight of his stare. “I’m, um, I’m just going to stand over there, so you guys can say goodbye,” She stumble through her words, aware that she is letting everyone down. She shuffles towards a bench farther down the platform. Everyone was expecting her to come here and for it to miraculously cure her amnesia. At this point though, she doesn’t know if she wants them back. Adrien is leaving. What good would it do to know how wonderful and caring he was if he wouldn’t be here? Marinette glances back towards Adrien. For some reason, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, her eyes kept wandering back towards him. 

For a supermodel, he is incredibly disheveled. His clothes are wrinkly and didn’t fit; the arms rested two inches above his wrist, clearly indicating that they were Nino’s. He looks like he rolled out of bed to come here, which she can’t blame him for. It’s a wonder he was even able to get out of bed after everything he’s been through. Despite how painful it was to look at him, with his rumpled clothes and dreary, tortured eyes, he was still beautiful. He looks over at her and catches her staring but Marinette averts her eyes immediately. She look up at the train board, studying the train times as if she were planning a trip herself. 

“Can I sit down?” Marinette turns slowly to face him, gulping down her anxiety. Adrien is haloed by sunlight streaming in through the glass windows above. All she can do is nod. Adrien sits. He doesn’t say anything. Marinette doesn’t say anything. Train whistles scream, but nothing seems as loud as the silence and tension between them on the bench. 

“So, London?” She say, somewhat stuck between a statement and a question. 

“Yeah, London,” Adrien blows out a breath, grateful for the, albeit awkward, start to conversation. “My aunt and cousin live out there.”

“Felix, right?” 

“You remember?” Adrien nearly shouts, eyes lighting up like a kid being presented with a puppy. 

She can’t stop the cringe that settles on her face, “No, sorry. Alya told me yesterday. I—The doctors said that I don’t have any trouble forming new memories.” She looks at her hands in her lap, unable to watch as he crumples. 

“Right, sorry,” he mutters. “So you really don’t remember me at all.” 

This was worse than being in Mme. Mendeleiev’s class and not knowing the answer when she calls on her. Every word that they speak is jilted and painful and Marinette just wants it to stop. “No,” She finally answers. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I can’t remember, but it’s not just you. I don’t remember anything about Ladybug or Chat Noir or—“ The words tumble out of her mouth before she could stop herself. What was wrong with her? She turns slowly to gage how he feels after she forced him to think about the fact that his father is a terrorist, but Adrien looks as if this all makes total sense to him. Which Marinette doesn’t know how it possibly could because it makes zero sense to her. “Anyway,” she resumes, trying to pass through her misstep, “there’s a lot of random things that I can’t remember no matter how hard I try. I don’t know why you were included in that.” 

“Marinette?” 

“Yes?”

His hard stare lingers on her face, as if it would clue him in on what to say next. He shakes his head slightly, not getting the answer he hoped for. “I get that you don’t remember me, and that’s okay. But you said yourself that you don’t have any problems forming new memories.” He pauses to twist a silver ring and suck in a breath of air, “Could I message you while I’m in London? Do you think we could form a new friendship?” 

Her stomach sinks like a ball of mercury. “Adrien, I, I don’t know if I will ever get my memories back. The doctors have no answers and I don’t have answers and I have been trying and trying and trying to remember but—“ She gasps for breath. Marinette really needs to stop rambling, especially when Adrien is looking at her with his huge green eyes and it makes her want to stop the world from turning. “What I’m trying to say is that, I think you might be waiting for something that might never happen. I’m not the person you know, and I think you might be waiting for me to be, even though I can’t.”

“I understand,” he turns, voice thick like honey. 

Silence falls over us again as people begin to board the train, but Adrien makes no move to get up. “I want you to go to London and make new friends and get the fresh start that you deserve. And I want you to forget all about me.” 

At that, Adrien stands, slinging his singular bag over his shoulder again and resumes his spot in front of her, silhouetted by the sun. He smiles, but it’s off, it’s not his real smile. It’s too wide and it doesn’t reach his eyes, and she can’t see the dimple he has in his left cheek. It is a smile of someone defeated. The type that finds its way when there’s nothing left to do. “I don’t think I will ever forget about you, Marinette.” Adrien extends his hand, and she takes it gingerly. For a split second, she feels his hand twitch, like he wants to do something more, but he restrained himself. Instead, he raises their combined hands once before letting go; the gesture, whatever it was, left unfinished. “Goodbye, Marinette.” 

He turns around and heads back to Alya and Nino, who kept their distance the entire time he sat with her. He shakes his head once and envelopes them in a hug. Alya’s face is tear stained and she’s not even trying to hide it anymore. The train whistle shrills again, and Adrien breaks away stepping onto the train and out of sight until he sits down in a window that is directly across from the bench. He sees Marinette through the window and she can see that he did not leave as unfazed as he was trying to come across; tears roll steadily down his cheek. He brings up his hand, ring glittering in the light, and gives her a single wave. The train rolls away before she could return it. 

Alya and Nino make their way to the bench and sit on opposite sides of me, each resting their heads against my shoulders. We sit quietly until long after the train is gone and Marinette realizes the answer to her own question. 

Yes, she should be crying too. 

“Do you ever think about what our lives will look like when this is all over? When we’ve defeated Hawkmoth?” 

Marinette knew the answer before she even asked the question. Adrien lit up at any opportunity to talk about what future he saw for them. He had this blind faith that they could make it out of this unscathed. They would defeat Hawkmoth and live happily ever after because after everything they’ve been through, how could they not? Marinette, though, watched the summer sun be pulled down as if in chains, fighting against the earth’s rotation for just one moment more to bless the world with the warmth of it’s light. She could not help but feel like they were coming upon a terrible horizon. A sick, twisted feeling lodged itself in her stomach and each day it grew and grew and grew. She did not know how much longer she could ignore it. 

But today, they were sitting together on the very top of the Eiffel Tower, a place where only they, donned in their miraculous costumes, were able to go. Together they could bypass the traditional rules and experience wonders of the city that were off limits to everyone but them. Though the sun was being dragged below the horizon, it bathed the city in a tender golden hue. A last ditched effort to remind the world what the sun promised with each day before the night came to cloak the city in darkness. Marinette needed that reminder; she needed the promise of what they could be once this was over. She needed to hear Adrien’s wholehearted hope in their happiness. 

“I already have our wedding planned out.” 

Marinette forgot to breathe. Adrien had that effect on her. She wanted to cement every inch of his face in her memory. The faint scar on his chin from when he was child, running away from Felix in a game of tag, and ran straight into a door. The single freckle on his nose that was hidden beneath his mask. The dimple that he only had on his left side and only made an appearance when he smiled. Adrien’s smile was her favorite thing about him. It was infectious; it tugged at the corners of her own mouth, coaxing them out of their hard, anxious lines, and smoothing her lips into something soft. She never wanted to forget his face. 

“We aren’t even dating yet and you planned our wedding?” Marinette asked when she remembered how to breathe.

“We aren’t dating yet, but we will.” He closed his eyes and lifted his head to bask in the dwindling rays of sun. “And then we will get married.” 

“Tell me more about our wedding.” 

“Well, your parents would make the croquembouche obviously.” 

“Obviously,” she said with a giggle. 

“You’ll design your own dress and everyone in all of Paris will be begging you to design theirs too.” He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at her. “What type of dress do you see yourself in?” 

She thought for a moment. Of course she had a dress in mind. The throes of her youth were filled with her daydreams about marrying Adrien, but who they were now were infinitely different to who she imagined. She thought she knew what love was. Fourteen, slumped on her bed, thinking through elaborate plans to tell Adrien how she felt. And now here she was, sitting with him atop the Eiffel Tower, engulfed by the devotion they had for each other.  It was complex and layered, but bound with the simple revelation that they were in love. 

“I see something satin, clean and elegant. Something everlasting.” 

“Beautiful,” He breathed, his dimple appeared, bringing a blush to her cheeks. 

“Well, keep going,” she prodded. 

“Right, well, Alya and Nino will be there. And there will be a ring. And then the vows. Do you want to hear them?” 

“You already thought about your vows?” 

“I thought about them the very first day I met you. And I’ve been adding onto them ever since. You actually have a line or two in here.” 

“I do?” 

“Hey, don’t skip ahead, we still have to hear the vows!” The joke was so stupid but she threw her head back. It was so easy to give into his jokes. “Okay, it starts like this,” Adrien straightened and took her hands in his. “Marinette?” He motioned with his head that it was her line.

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

Recognition sparked in her and she rolled her eyes. “I know,” she finished her line. 

“You’re a natural!” He laughed through his words. An effortless, bubbling laugh that couldn’t be contained within him.

“That just happened a few weeks ago! You said you’ve had this since we met!” 

“I said I’ve been adding to it everyday. A true romantic like me knows when something is worth including.” 

He cleared his throat and regained his serious composure. “I love you, Marinette. I don’t think I can say that enough times. It’s been a whirlwind of a time getting to this point, but as I’ve said to you before,” he paused and winked at her, “I would wait for you until the end of the world. There is not a single day or night or moment in between when I do not love you. I don’t know anyone in this world that I know half as well as I know you. It’s always been you, Marinette. No matter what obstacles stood in our way, I know we were meant to find our way to each other. It’s you and me. It always has been and always will be.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles lightly. “I would give you the ring on my finger if I could.” 

This is what Marinette needed. She needed the escape into Adrien’s mind—to live in his cocoon of optimism and sink her claws into this fantasy. This will be her anchor when night falls. When the darkness rises and the war wages on, she will remember the sunset and the marriage they created in their heads. 

Crowds of tourists swarm around Marinette and her friends as they pack themselves in the sardine tin elevator. Marinette huffs and wriggles her arm out from where it is pinned to her side by an elderly—and oblivious—American man, who is fiddling with a clunky camera, to push her bangs out of her eyes. 

“I’m so glad that butterfly guy is gone so we can finally come to Paris,” the man says, unaware of the loudness of his voice, to his wife. 

“Such a shame what happened to those two kids though,” his equally obtuse wife clucks. “What were they called again?”

“Ladybug and the Cat,” he answers with unbridled and incorrect confidence. 

“Sure is a shame we won’t be here for the statue ceremony. I sure would’ve liked to see it.” 

Marinette shoots an aggravated stare at Alya and Nino across from her as the elevator dings. “Why did you bring me here?” She asks as they shuffle onto the viewing platform. Ever since Adrien left, they had been dragging her around the city. Every excursion they went on, Marinette asked the same question, and every time, she received the same answer. 

“It’s important that you remember the history of Paris,” Alya answers, as usual, and led them to the edge of the cage. Her fingers circle around the links in the fence as she looks out at the view of Paris, but as Marinette gets closer her nose wrinkles. 

“The Eiffel Tower, though? It’s so touristy…” Now that Paris has found peace once again, tourists have been pouring in from every port. The threat of Hawkmoth—of Gabriel Agreste—just an unfortunate delay in their vacation plans. Visitors, like the elderly couple in the elevator, crowd every part of the city. Marinette couldn’t escape the shutters of their cameras, or their butchered pronunciations. And all they ever did was sensationalize the disappearance of the superheroes, yet they could never remember their names. She isn’t sure why it bothers her so much. 

“There’s a lot of history within the Eiffel Tower,” Nino complies. 

“Tourists go to important places. Nowhere is more important than the Eiffel Tower,” Alya says with more emphasis than necessary. 

“But how could I forget the Eiffel Tower? I’ve been here thousands of times.” 

“When?” Alya has that look in her eye, like she’s set the perfect trap and is waiting for everything to fall into place. 

Marinette rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to respond, but the words never came. She blinks. Her brows knit together as she turns in a small circle, taking in her surroundings. She’d been here before. That was true. That was something she knew. But when? With who? 

Suddenly, this didn’t feel right. The view was different. She didn’t remember this fencing that obstructed her sight. There are too many people here, but when could she have been at the Eiffel Tower without hoards of tourists? 

A memory claws at her mind, desperately trying to escape its cage but Marinette didn’t have the keys to unlock it. She walks away from her friends, circling the deck while they chase after her. She isn’t sure where she is trying to go, but she maybe if she could just find the right spot, it will jog these memories, but after two full turns, Marinette finds herself back in the same spot, and just as stuck as before. Her hand reaches up to her earlobe, but pulls it back when she realizes it’s empty. 

Didn’t she have earrings in? 

She turns back to Alya and Nino, catching them as they exchange looks. Marinette can’t tell if they were worried or guilty, but they must be able to see the disappointment that was settling on her face because they pull her into a deep hug. She holds onto them tighter, unable to vocalize why she is feeling like this. This mixture of frustration, and deja vu, and grief, and nostalgia. 

But as Marinette blinks back the tears she can’t explain, she knows now why Alya and Nino brought her here. They were trying to get her to remember. 

And God, how Marinette wanted to remember. 

“Are you sure you want to tell them?” Adrien’s breathy whisper sent a trickle down her neck. Marinette nodded. She was beginning to believe this was their only way. 

Alya and Nino exchanged a glance from their spot in the circle on Marinette’s bedroom floor. “Is this the part where you tell us that you’ve finally gotten together?” Nino asked bluntly. 

“No, not yet,” Adrien answered as they settled back into the circle. 

“Yet?” Alya asked, only receiving a wink from Adrien in response. She turned to Marinette for answers.  Everyone’s eyes landed on her, but Marinette looked at Adrien, kind eyes gently nudging her to explain. 

Marinette knew why she had to do this. And she knew that the things she had to do, the ones that she looked at every angle and could not find another solution, were the hardest duties to fulfill. But she had to do this. She took a deep, steadying breath before she looked both of her friends squarely in the eye and announced,“I’m Ladybug. And Adrien is Chat Noir.” 

Nothing happened for a moment, and then everything happened. Alya and Nino fell over themselves as they tried to wrap their minds around the earth shattering news. “It all makes sense,” Alya muttered to herself. 

“It makes no sense!” Nino’s head kept switching back and forth between her and Adrien, as if he was trying to catch them in their alter egos. 

“How long have you known?” 

“A few months,” Marinette couldn’t believe there had even been a period of time that they didn’t know each other’s identities. Since they found out, they melded together. He was not just Adrien, or Chat Noir. And she was not just Marinette, and Ladybug. They were one, bound together in more ways than were explicable in a single night. 

“It all makes sense,” Alya repeated decidedly. “But why are you telling us now?” 

“It was actually Marinette who insisted that we tell you guys. She hasn’t even told me why yet,” Adrien leaned back on his elbows, completely at peace within her bedroom, and watched her stand up. She paused, capturing this moment in her mind; the way he looks in the hazy light, the softness of his t-shirt, his hair, slightly damp from the rain outside. The adoration in his eyes was the hardest to turn away from, knowing that it would blink away as soon as she returned. 

Marinette’s hands shook as she retrieved the box from her desk. Adrien sat up, recognizing the object she brought down in front of them, but still confused to her motives. “This is the Miracle Box. It contains nearly every Miraculous. I have this because I’m not just Ladybug, I’m also the Guardian.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but she could feel the realization starting to dawn on Adrien, but she refused to look at him. If she did, she knew she would abandon her plan. “We told you about our identities because…because,” her eyes betrayed her and found Adrien’s grief stricken expression. She shut her eyes tight and forced the words out, “I’ve chosen you two to be the next Guardians.” 

“Marinette, no!” She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to remember his adoration, the state of complete content he was in just moments prior. “Marinette,” the seriousness of his voice pried her eyes open. “You can’t do this,” he pleaded. 

“We have to.” 

The room was silent. Alya and Nino watched the interaction with perplexed attention, missing the hidden meaning in Marinette’s admission. Adrien jaw set in a hard line and looked about the room, before deciding to stand and hop up her bed to the terrace. “Adrien, wait!” She called, chasing after him. 

Fat drops of rain splashed onto her head as she dropped the trapdoor quickly to prevent the water from spilling onto her bed. The sun had long since abandoned them, casting dark shadows of early evening over the city, but the moon provided enough light to see Adrien standing at the edge of the terrace. She made her way towards him and wrapped her hands around the slick iron railing. 

“You know what will happen if you give up the Guardianship,” Adrien choked out the words, staring out above the city. He turned to her suddenly, face dewy from the rain and perhaps something else. “I don’t want you to forget about me.”

The rain flattened his hair against his forehead. Marinette loved him; she was more sure of it than anything, but if there was something else she knew, it was that their duty to the city had to come before anything else. She reached through the mist and rested her bare hand against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, craving any contact that she allowed without the barrier of their magical costumes. To touch, skin against skin, with all their coarseness and imperfections, was a rare and magical moment. Holding her hand to his cheek, knowing that this was all they could have, was the cruelty of intimacy. One touch will never sate their hunger. 

“I could never forget about you,” Marinette lied. “Telling Alya and Nino, choosing them to be the new Guardians, these are all just precautions.” She removed her hand and looked above her head into the charcoal sky, praying that he wouldn’t see right through her farce. “We are still going to defeat Hawkmoth and live the life we dreamt of atop the Eiffel Tower. This is just us…covering our bases.” 

“Marinette,” the hardness in his voice brought her gaze to him. That same arresting stare hypnotized her, begging her for the truth. She would surrender everything to him—her heart, her body, the sun—but she could not give him the one thing he asked of her: her word. “Do you promise?” 

She crossed her fingers behind her back, “I promise.” 

He smiled, but like her words, it was a lie. The imposter of a smile never reached his eyes; the dimple never peaked out from behind the folds of his skin. On some level, Adrien must know the truth that she tried to hide from him. 

With no sun to dry them, they returned to Marinette’s bedroom. The clock ticked away on Marinette’s desk, inching closer to midnight with every moment that passed in silence. Even after they resettled, the awkward tensity lingered until Nino blurted, “So, are you going to explain that little outburst to the rest of the group?” Adrien tossed the towel he was drying his hair off with at Nino, filling the room with bittersweet laughter. 

The brief respite ended when Marinette explained, “When I give up the Guardianship, I will lose all memories associated with the Miraculous.” The room fell quiet with another solemn silence. “Not just the fact that I was Ladybug. I will forget everything. I won’t remember that there were even superheroes. I- I won’t even remember Adrien.” Marinette struggled to keep her voice even. 

“You mean, you’ll forget that he is Chat Noir?”

She shook her head, “No. I won’t remember him at all.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Nino exclaimed for the second time. “You knew him for like a year as just Adrien Agreste. You won’t even remember him as a classmate?” 

“Our identities are tied to the Miraculous.” Adrien’s voice cracked unabashedly. “She won’t remember that I exist at all.” 

The weight of the truth, the inevitability of it, pressed heavy on the four friends. Alya reached out and grabbed Marinette’s hand, squeezing tight as if to try and transfer strength to her. The simple truth of the matter was that Marinette did not want to forget. She did not want to lose her memories or her Miraculous or Adrien. She wanted to keep her life exactly as it was. 

“What do you need us to do?” Nino asked. 

“When that day comes, I will transfer the Miracle box to the two of you. There are two things you must do: keep the Miraculous safe, and make me remember. You can’t tell me that I was Ladybug—the magic is too strong, I won’t believe it—you have to make me remember. Take me to places that are important, say things that will trigger my memory, do whatever you can to make me remember.” 

“We’ll do whatever it takes.”

Marinette stole one last glance at Adrien. How could there be a day when she would wake up, not remembering how beautiful he was? How could there be a day where she wouldn’t remember his laugh or his smile? How could she even be herself when there wasn’t an Adrien for her to love? 

Marinette broke her gaze away to look up to the ceiling. She wished she could see the sun, remind herself of nature’s cruelty in the face of true desires, but instead there was just the cloudy night and the certainty that one day she would forget. 

“Marinette.” 

A voice calls to her, beckoning her forward toward the blindingly bright sunlight, before Marinette wakes up with a start. She sits up in her bed, breathing heavily to recover from the dream. Who’s voice was that? Who was calling to her? It sounded so familiar, but the dream slips through her grasp, disappearing like mist. 

She flops back in her bed, running a hand over her face. The aurora of sunrise floating in through the skylight is not as beautiful as she expected. Nothing seems as beautiful as it should when Marinette knows there is something—someone—missing. Whoever this person is, they haunt her dreams, always just out of frame, refusing to show themself. Why didn’t they want her to know them? Why is she cursed to live with this silhouette of a memory? 

Marinette needs to meet Alya and Nino at the train station, but she can’t see the point. The gaping hole in her memory shackles her to her bed, struggling to find the motivation to move. Every day she is filled with hollowness. Another day with an itch that she can never scratch. A wicked reminder that she has forgotten. 

Somehow, she makes it to the station. Marinette isn’t sure when she arrived or what route she took—none of it seems to matter—but her friends seem to pick up on her mood and combat it with an incessant stream of conversation as they wait at the platform. 

“We haven’t been here since Adrien left? Isn’t that strange? We used to come here all the time. Ladybug and Chat Noir were here even more than we were since there were so many travel-based akumas.” Alya chatters without check. 

“I don’t remember,” Marinette drones apathetically. 

“Right,” Alya grimaces. 

“How is your memory? Has anything come back yet?” Nino asks, failing to keep the hopefulness out of his voice. Her friends had calmed down on their ‘memory-jogging’ tour of Paris since the Eiffel Tower, but Marinette spent days and nights combing through her memory to try and remember, yet it always eludes her. 

She shakes her head as the train pulls up to the platform. The file into the car, grabbing a set of four seats: Alya and Nino together on one side, Marinette next to the window opposite them, and a  vacant seat next to her occupied by the everpresent reminder that someone was missing. 

“Adrien is coming back to Paris soon,” Nino mentions, though Marinette is only half-listening. “He’s coming for the Heroes Statue unveiling.” 

“That’s nice,” Marinette says flatly, preoccupied by a pigeon trapped within the walls of the train station. Something tickles the back of her mind as she watches. Isn’t someone allergic to pigeons?

“One day, they are going to make a statue of me,” Nino begins, his voice swelling to a drumroll, “but I’m gonna have to train harder for that to happen.” 

“Ugh, that was horrible,” Marinette grimaces, her attention snapped away from the caged avian. “That pun was almost as bad as—”

The words slip out of her mouth but she cannot find an ending. Her brows furrow as she meets her friends hopeful expressions, though their sanguine smirks dissipate quickly after. Their trick failed again, but it wasn’t just the fact that Marinette still didn’t remember. It was that she could feel how close it was. Yet the memories remain tantalizingly just out of reach. She could stretch and stretch as far as she could, but it was never enough. 

The chains of Marinette’s amnesia pull her back from the memory, locking her in her place next to the empty chair inhabited by the ghosts of her memories. She leans her head against the window as the train begins to roll backwards away from the station, and wished that she could go back to a time before she even forgot. 

Midnights were the worst part of the night. 

Marinette always found herself overwhelmed with a specific type of sadness when the clocks reset. Each new day ushered in by midnight was the end of another day. She wanted to stay in the moments, freeze them forever in amber, but each time the bell struck twelve she’s reminded that she cannot return to the yesterdays that have already passed. 

“So my father is…” Adrien trailed off as they rested, shoulder to shoulder, on a sloped rooftop. 

“Yeah,” Marinette finished for him. “And he knows…” 

“Yeah.” 

When the bell tower clanged with a cacophony of twelve identical tolls, Marinette wanted nothing more than to rewind to the day before. To the day where she didn’t know that Hawkmoth was Adrien’s father. To when Hawkmoth didn’t know that she was Ladybug. Each booming ring from the bell drummed into her body the fact that this was the end. 

Midnight had come for them. 

“Adrien,” Marinette breathed, grabbing his hand as she looked over the city. Fires burned throughout the streets, casting a harsh, hazy hue on the night sky. She was struggling to swallow, her throat feeling tighter than ever before. She wasn’t ready. It was all happening too soon. She didn’t savor her time and now it was too late. “You told me before that you would wait for me until the world ends,” She forced her head up to look at him, tears escaping both their eyelids and with a shaky voice said, “I think this is the end.” 

“No!” He pulled her into him, enveloping her in his embrace, as if he could keep her there, in that moment, so long as he held her. “This can’t be it, Marinette. He’s my father, I can’t-I can’t do this alone.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck, words muffled as he spoke into her skin. 

Marinette squeezed Adrien, fingers clawed desperately over his shoulder blades. All of this was terribly unfair. They would win. Hawkmoth—Gabriel Agreste—would be defeated, but there were no victors in this war. Just terrible, unfair, and tragic losses. These were the sacrifices they had to make to end this epoch of terror. But just like midnight bringing the end of something and the start of something new, this final act would bring a fresh wave of suffering. 

“You can’t do this,” Adrien pleaded, pushing back from her. Somehow, this hurt worse than their impending end, as if she could already feel the sharp knife cutting the Adrien-sized hole out of her heart and mind. She wanted to pull him back, hold on to him until the very moment he was ripped away from her. “You promised! You said it was just a precaution. You promised that you wouldn’t forget about me.” 

“I’ve looked at it every which way,” she croaked, taking a step closer to him. “I’ve tried, Adrien. This is the only option left.” She looked up at the sky, trying to quell the tears that already flowed freely down her face, but found no solace in the empty abyss. She wondered if this is what her memory would be like once it was over. Not just missing, but gone. As if it never existed. All of the time she spent as Ladybug, everything she has done for the city would become somebody else’s accomplishments. And Adrien…everything she’s experienced, everything she learned, and all the love she had in her heart, all of it would be erased. She would never know that it happened or that there was a boy who she loved more than the sun. 

She dropped her chin. It was a futile attempt to stop crying. And what did it matter anyhow if she cried? In a few moments, she wouldn’t even remember that there was a reason to cry. Her eyes locked on Adrien’s beautiful, grief-stricken eyes. Eyes that won’t mean anything to her soon. “Adrien, I’m scared.” Her whisper was all it took for Adrien to return to her. He scooped her into a bone-crushing hug. Now it was her turn to press her face into his collarbones. “I don’t want to lose my memories. I don’t want to forget you.” 

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, holding onto each other, desperate to make their last moment together matter. Marinette wanted to press him against her so hard she would make an imprint, something that could outlast the magic that would take him from her. But she knew their time was running out, and Hawkmoth—Gabriel Agreste—would be on their trail soon enough. 

Every moment that inched closer to their goodbye was more painful than the last, but somehow, Marinette detangled herself from Adrien. He held her forearms tight, but she pulled her one hand up to cup his face, running her thumb across his cheek. He dragged her hand down his chin and pressed a kiss to her open palm. “Adrien?” Her voice quivered. 

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

Adrien answered her by pulling her into a kiss. It was wet and unpretty, tears and spit combining as she breathed him in, but they didn’t care. They had waited under the veiled promise of someday, that they would be together, but now that the curtain had been pulled and the truth has been revealed, all that time just seemed like a waste. She tried to commit everything to her memory—his taste, the thud of her heart in her ears, the shagginess of his hair as she ran her fingers through the locks—but she knew it was useless. In the end, the magic would take everything. 

She broke away, resting her forehead against his. “I know,” Adrien breathed. “Don’t go, Marinette.” 

“I have to,” she sniffled. “We’ll find our way back in the end. It’s you and me; always has been.” 

“Always will be,” he finished. 

“Hold onto hope, Adrien. Think about the wedding. We’ll get there one day.” Marinette took a step back, still holding onto his hands, but now they stood arms length apart. She took one final look at him. He was as beautiful as ever, though it was a tragic sense of beauty. The kind that was encased in glass and hung in a museum. This was not how she wanted to remember Adrien—though she knew she wouldn’t remember any version of him. No smile, no dimple, no exuberance for life, just the melancholic tragedy of a love that must be lost. She gave him a watery smile, but soon the tears blurred her vision, blocking her last look at Adrien. “Make me remember.”

She took another step back. He remained just out of reach. This was the end. She knew she had to do it, and she understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. Hasn’t she given enough? Yet, the rules of the Miraculous demanded this sacrifice to defeat Hawkmoth. “I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng—“

“Wait,” Adrien called desperately, moving toward her, “Don’t let go!” 

“—hereby relinquish the Miracle Box and name Alya Cesaire and Nino Lahiffe the new Guardians!” 

The last thing Marinette saw was a flash of green cat eyes as the white light of magic swirled around her. It trailed up her fingertips, circled around her waist, bloomed in her chest. It was warm and comforting, a gentle hush to all the pain and sadness she was feeling. There was nothing to be sad about. 

“Marinette.” 

A voice. But who’s? Someone called to her. Someone knew her. She grasped for it, but the rope was pulled away from her, tearing the skin of her palms as she tried desperately to hold on, but it was to no avail. The voice, and it’s owner were gone. Marinette was alone. 

And suddenly she was falling. 

The ground pitched away from under her and she was falling in a tumbling flail of extremities and somersaults. To Marinette, none of it mattered. She felt light, a weight that had been resting heavy on her heart had finally been lifted. No more riotous quests to the depths of her heart, just a willful bliss and the freedom of flying. 

When Marinette peeled open her eyelids, she found that she really was flying—or at least, being carried through a flight. The surrounding night landscape was moving much too fast and the course they took found high peaks before sinking low to the ground, then started the whole vicious cycle over again. Her stomach dropped as they sprang upwards again, but not just from the violent jolts of their course. Who was carrying her?

She looked up, still hazy from what she could not explain, and saw a boy. He looked about her age, with golden hair and the most extraordinary eyes. Long lashes trailed over a peculiar black mask that obstructed the top half of his face. He had a pale crescent scar on his chin, and when he noticed her eyes were cracked open, he gave her the smallest hint of a smile, an indentation forming on his left cheek. 

“Don’t let go, Marinette,” he whispered, but she could hear him perfectly clear despite the roaring wind in her ears. Marinette did not know who this boy was. She did not know why she was being carried on this harrowing journey, or where she was being taken. But Marinette did feel calm. And safe. Marinette, for some inexplicable reason, trusted this boy with the cat eyes. She held on tight and let herself sink back into unconsciousness. 

When Marinette awoke, she was no longer flying like in her dream. She laid stationary in a bed that she didn’t believe was hers. It was a persistent beep that woke her from the throes of her sleep. A steady, unchanging shrill that was so like an alarm clock, yet she could tell it was not. Marinette forced her eyes open, finding the electric hum of florescent lights above her head. She blinked back spots that clouded her vision and tried to rub her eyes but something was clamped around her finger. A heartbeat monitor. The beeping suddenly made sense. 

“Marinette.”

There was a boy beside her hospital bed. Dark shadows hung in the creases of his eyes. His blonde hair disheveled and tangled as if he had been pulling on it all night. He let out a bark of laughter that was more in surprise than because there was anything humorous to laugh at. She thought it was strange that he only had one dimple. She’d never seen that before. 

“You’re finally awake,” he croaked. His voice was hoarse and she hadn’t noticed it before but his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. Had he been crying for her? “Marinette, I was so worried.”

She stared at him blankly, waiting for the pieces to connect, but they never did. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her own voice just as coarse as his, “but who are you?” 

His smile didn’t just drop, his entire being crumbled. He slunk back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair and puffing out his cheeks. “You really don’t remember,” he said more to himself. He didn’t seem surprised by this development, but instead he looked defeated. Like this was the last blow he needed to break his spirit. 

A knock came from the door, breaking her attention away from the boy beside her. A woman in a lab coat carrying a clipboard entered the room. “Good morning,” she spoke cheerfully, though nothing about it seemed good to Marinette. Not when this boy looked so devastated for reasons she didn’t understand. “Marinette, I’m Dr. Toussaint. I’ll be taking care of you today.” Marinette wanted to ask why she was being taken care of, but Dr. Toussaint turned to the boy. “M. Agreste—“ 

The boy cringed, “Adrien, please.” 

The doctor looked abashed and corrected her mistake, “Adrien. Of course, I’m so sorry.” She shook her head and continued, “Adrien, I want to run a few tests on Marinette, if you don’t mind stepping out into the hall.” The boy, Adrien, gave a tightlipped nod and removed himself from the vinyl chair. Marinette watched as he crossed the room to the door. He locked eyes with her once more, offering a slight smile, sans dimple, and left. 

Dr. Toussaint began to speak. Lots of complicated terms and tests that swirled in her brain. Mentions of brain injuries, and amnesia, and someone called Chat Noir, but she wasn’t paying attention to any of it. Adrien Agreste. That was the boy’s name, yet the name itself meant nothing to her. She knew his name but who was he? 

She caught a glimpse of him through the window pane in the door. He stood with Alya and Nino, clutching onto them with his head buried between their shoulders. Why did he cry for her?

Why couldn’t she remember? 

It is not yet morning when Marinette wakes, but it begins like every other: a dull persistent ache that begs for a retribution she cannot appease. She sighs, turning over onto her side to look at the cork board on her wall. It is always strange to see photos tacked up of moments that she did not remember. She considered taking them down for a brief moment when she came back from the hospital. Her head swarmed with things she ought to know, and every photo seemed like a reminder that there was something she had forgotten. Ultimately though, the pictures remain. Marinette decided that it would be a disservice to her old self to take them down. She had already lost so much. 

It doesn’t stop Marinette from wondering about those days captured in celluloid more than her memory. She remembers a few of the occasions. One of them was Alya’s birthday, when she tried to teach Nino how to bake a cake. Alya stood sandwiched between a flour-drenched Marinette and Nino, blowing out the candle on her slice of cake. But when Marinette thinks of the memory, it is like the edges are singed off. A dark boarder that cut off her access to parts of the story. Someone brought Alya to the bakery, but who? Who took the picture of the three of them? 

There is only one picture that Marinette removed from the wall. One picture remains face down inside a drawer she does not enter. A picture of her and Adrien, captured mid laugh. She covered her mouth and his palm rested over his eyes, but both of their heads were tilted back. It makes her uncomfortable to look at it. A glimpse into a life with a total stranger, and a sordid tumultuous history to go along with it. 

Marinette throws her blankets back and opens her door to the terrace. She clearly isn’t falling back to sleep any time soon. The sun began its ascent into the sky, peeking out behind puffy clouds, but it does not hold the same warmth she usually thinks it does. The sun had been eclipsed by something more beautiful, Marinette knew that much, but she is still searching for whatever that thing may be. 

For the first time in her life, Marinette doesn’t want to freeze the present. She is so tired of this endless purgatory of searching and coming up empty handed. She wants to skip ahead to the end of this limbo. She needs to remember, needs it more than anything she’s ever needed before. But how to get to that point, she didn’t know. 

Marinette leans on the cool wrought iron railing and looks at the park across the street. A small crowd already began to form around the shrouded statue of the superheroes. She doesn’t remember them, but maybe if Ladybug and Chat Noir were still around, they could fix her memory. They told her at the hospital that she had been brought in by Chat Noir himself. One of the last people to ever see the superhero, and she can’t even remember it. The events of that night remain a mystery to all. How did they defeat Hawkmoth? How did they disappear? How did she lose her memories? Question upon question asked and remained unanswered. 

There is no use in wondering. The superheroes are gone and all that remains of them is their image, incased in the stone of their statue. Still, she feels a sympathetic sadness for them. They lost something too. Perhaps more than even she did. 

Morning is in full blaze as groups stroll toward the park. She can spot tourists a mile away, already foaming at the mouth to brag back home that they were in Paris for the celebrations. Marinette rolls her eyes and switches her attention to the sky instead, watching a pigeon as it flies underneath the burgeoning sun, silhouetted by the light for a moment before passing by. 

Spots cloud her vision and she staggers back. This has happened before, although the scenery was different. She…she was laying down, and she was on a rooftop, but it wasn’t her terrace. 

Marinette. 

That voice. The one that plagues her dreams. Someone was with her. But who? She clenches her eyes shut, focusing on the threads of memory. There are flashes of color in her mind but nothing concrete, nothing tangible, and soon enough even the briefest hints dissolved. She rests her head against the railing. She used to get frustrated, anger would well up in her at this constant disappointment, but now she is just exhausted. 

And then she hears it. Her head jerks up, listening intently for it to sound again. A laugh. One that she would recognize anywhere. A laugh that was infectious and felt like a warm gust of wind on her face. A laugh that clenches her heart so tight it must mean something. This laugh must come from the voice. This must be the person calling out to her. Her eyes scan the crowd below, over stout men and tall women, over children playing games and elderly who were offered seats. They snake through groups and pairs and people in solitude and trios until she finds the person who’s laugh sounded like a memory. She sees her classmates, Juleka and Rose, Max and Kim, Alya and Nino and—

Marinette freezes, her body paralyzed under his stare. It’s him. It’s him. “Adrien,” his name escapes her lips and suddenly she is no longer standing on her terrace. She’s on the rooftops of Paris, she’s atop the Eiffel Tower, she’s in her bedroom. She’s with him. She’s holding his hand, and pushing his hair behind his ear, and saying goodbye. It’s Adrien, and Chat Noir, and the sun. He is everything to her. And she remembers. She finally remembers. 

She breaks out of her trance and stares at him, the same but inherently different. Now, she can really see him. And he is so beautiful. He must be able to tell—he always had a way of knowing the truth when it came to her. She still suspected that he knew all along that she would lose her memories—because he smiles the same infectious smile she loved. Dimple and everything. 

Marinette spins around and rushes through her bedroom to get to the door. She has to get to him. How can she waste even another millisecond? The crowd surges out front of the bakery, but Marinette pushes her way through indiscriminately. Nothing could stand in her way. A gaggle of children run in front of her shrieking with laughter. She tries to spin around them but her ankle catches on something and she pitches forward. Two hands catch her, holding steady to her bicep. Marinette feels the cool metal of a ring against her bare skin. 

“Marinette.” 

It was him. After all this time it was him. It always has been and always will be. “Adrien?” 

He beams at her, “Yes?” Alya and Nino stood just a few paces behind them, gripping each other as they watched intently. 

“I love you.” 

“I know,” he barely gets the words out before she jumps into his arms. He lifts her up as they kiss. Desperate and hungry for all the time they were separated. 

The crowd breaks into a cheer, the statue finally unveiled to the masses. They have no idea that Ladybug and Chat Noir are in the audience and they have just found each other. As Marinette drank Adrien in, she reveled in the cheers. They were, after all, for them. They might not know what happened to Ladybug and Chat Noir—they would never understand the full extent of what they have been through—but Marinette believed that they all were grateful for the things she has done for the city. The sacrifices they made and the fates they accepted were not for naught. They, tourists included, hoped that the heroes found solace in their retirement. And as Marinette broke away from Adrien, she finally believes that they can. 

Clouds move up in the sky, letting rays of gentle golden daylight beam down on them as they break away. Adrien tucks her hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her forehead. All this time, she had been missing him. She longed for someone she couldn’t remember, but now that he was here in front of her, body and mind and soul, she realized that she never truly forgot. He was alway there, begging for her to find him locked away in the magic. God, how she missed him. How had she even remembered to breathe without him in her life? It didn’t matter now. He was here, and she was never going to let go again. 

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

“How could I ever forget about you?”