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It’s been raining for the past week.
Ladybug pushes her hair to the side, grimacing at the wetness, and Chat Noir gives a slight chuckle. His hair is just perfect, of course, because apparently he’s immune to the effects of the water. She’s not sure how he does it, and although he claims to have bargained with his Kwami, Ladybug’s not convinced. But he grins at her, says, “It looks great either way, m’lady.”
“Well, thanks,” she replies flatly, “but I’m more worried about actually being able to see while we attack.” They leap in unison off the building, Ladybug harnessing the sentimonster’s neck with her yoyo to trap it, and Chat Noir dives for M. Pigeon’s leg, grabbing his amokised object hastily– a simple paper bag– and tearing it in half. Ladybug gasps, and he seems to panic slightly, yelling, “Go! Go, go, go get the amok! Sorry!”
She does so, swinging her yoyo at it with as much force as she can muster, and it floats away, dark blue shimmering into white like it’s iridescent. The sentimonster dissolves, and Ladybug sighs with relief, only to yelp as she realises Chat Noir is still fighting M. Pigeon.
Honestly, the defeat isn’t that difficult, but something about it sends Ladybug careening over the limit of her patience, because Jesus Christ, she hates this. M. Ramier apologises profusely, and Ladybug lets Chat Noir handle it, lets him take the reins on this one, because she’s far too tired to deal with it. But M. Ramier approaches her timidly, clasps his hands together, and says, “Please, Ladybug, may I have a Charm?”
She’s given him one every other time she’s been able to, but this time, something inside of her just collapses, and she says, “No.”
Chat Noir blinks, and Ladybug continues, “No, I can’t give you another. It’s obvious that they’re not working, and– there’s just, there’s just no point anymore.” She ignores M. Ramier’s look of despair, and Chat Noir’s look of disappointment, launching herself away from them and onto a rooftop.
Five minutes later, Chat Noir joins her, sitting down beside her and saying quietly, “That wasn’t very good superhero–ing, m’lady.”
She groans. “Don’t care. I’m a good superhero every other day.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s–”
“Shut up,” she mutters, and he does. After a few minutes of awkward silence, his hand moves to find hers, and he grasps it. “What’s going on, Ladybug?”
Ladybug doesn’t, can’t answer.
Instead, she whispers, “Spots off.”