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“All that for a magazine?” Chat Noir asked, jerking his thumb toward where the Miraculous Cure swept the city, dousing the night in pink. “I’d hate to see what she does when next month’s issue comes out.”
Ladybug tore her gaze away from the newly cleansed white butterfly, meeting her partner’s eyes beneath the yellow lamplight. He looked half-amused, half-exasperated as he leaned against a street pole, the newest edition of Gabriel’s fashion magazine—the one that had caused the ordeal—still clutched in his hand.
“As long as Adrien Agreste isn’t on the cover,” she said, “then I think we’ll be safe.”
Chat Noir looked down, and Ladybug took the chance to steal a quick glance at the model gracing the magazine cover. Adrien posed with his hands in his pockets, his suit jacket open and exposing a bare torso peppered with red lipstick stains. His eyes, dazed and half-lidded, focused on a point off-camera. A shiver edged down her spine as she remembered what it felt like to have that look directed at her.
Chat Noir hummed, turning the magazine over and shielding Adrien from sight. “He is a problem, isn’t he?”
“His fans are a problem,” Ladybug said, a little too quickly. “The ones who go crazy every time they see him with a new girl, I mean.”
Chat tilted his head, and Ladybug tried to look at anything but the magazine. Instead, the glint of her partner’s eyes pulled her in like gravity. She reminded herself, adamantly and for the millionth time since the photoshoot, that the resemblance between Adrien's smile and the one Chat Noir gave now was purely coincidental.
She wouldn’t recognize him outside the mask, even if she encountered him face-to-face. Their magic protected them against it, and any similarities she had found between Adrien and Chat Noir since meeting them both were just products of her overactive imagination. And maybe a bit of wishful thinking.
“Then it’s a good thing the girl wasn’t actually featured,” Chat said. He broke his gaze from hers to thumb through the pages, each of which displayed a very tousled and flustered Adrien in various poses. Every glimpse of his mussed hair and lipstick-smeared face sent a new jolt through Ladybug’s core, and she had to remind herself it was a good thing Chat Noir didn’t know who she was or what she did in her professional life.
Because that was all the photoshoot had been. Professional. Marinette had only been doing her job; there had been no need for an Adrien-obsessed intern to swipe the magazine from Marinette's purse and proceed to become Akumatized over a few lipstick stains.
“Well, we’d better start patrol,” Ladybug said, ignoring the tingling in her lips as she reached for the magazine. “Meet you at the Eiffel Tower in twenty?”
“Sure.” Chat Noir fisted the magazine, either not noticing or ignoring Ladybug’s attempt to take it. “I’m going to find somewhere to put this where it can’t Akumatize anyone else.”
He turned to go, extending his baton and crouching to spring.
“Chaton, wait!” Ladybug said, catching him by his tail. “That’s, um, actually mine.”
He turned back to her, surprise splattered over his expression. Slowly, the corners of his lips twitched up. Ladybug felt heat bloom in her cheeks.
“This?” he asked, holding up the magazine and pointing a clawed finger into the center of Adrien Agreste’s chest. “This is yours?"
“Shut up,” she hissed, making a fast grab for it. “Give it back.”
Chat Noir dodged her swipe and, with a click of his baton, rose up from the alleyway and disappeared out of sight over the edge of the adjoining rooftop. Cheeks flaming, Ladybug tossed her yo-yo around the iron rod of a fire escape railing and swung high, landing hard on both feet before him.
He was crouched atop the smokestack, the magazine pages crinkling as he rifled through. “So you like fashion, my lady?”
“Who doesn’t like fashion?” she said, exasperated.
“Gabriel has some pretty good designs, I guess.” Chat Noir raised the magazine to eye-level, his ears perked with interest. “You did get this for the designs… right, my lady?”
She hooked her yo-yo on her hip, crossing her arms and glaring at the cover of the magazine Chat Noir held over his face. Adrien smoldered back, his face flushed and his pupils blown. Wondering if the two were in fact the same man seemed suddenly very silly… and yet.
“May I remind you this is supposed to be our patrol time?” Ladybug said, tapping her foot in a manner she hoped came across as more impatient than anxious. “We’re supposed to be protecting the city, not ogling gorgeous models.”
“So you are ogling him.”
Having had enough, Ladybug leapt up to join him on the smokestack, landing on the ball of her right foot. The angle was wrong, with too much slant to the left, and she tipped back on unbalanced weight. Then Chat Noir’s hand was on her wrist, his arm curling around her waist and his fingers digging into her hip as he pulled her against him.
She met his eyes, their torsos pressed flush together. The night was cool but his warmth seeped from his suit into hers, making her breath hitch. She tried not to think about how familiar the shape of his hand felt against her back, or how familiar it had felt with Adrien.
The column of his throat drew her gaze. His collar was pulled open by his bell, exposing the smooth, blank skin beneath. There was no smudge of lipstick there, only the faintest smatter of stubble. If she pressed her bare fingers to it, would it feel like Adrien’s did? If she dragged her mouth along it, would he tip his head back as Adrien had done?
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his breath warming her face as he spoke. “New shade of lipstick, my lady?”
Ladybug’s heart turned over in her chest. She looked up, finding his gaze locked on her mouth. A moment later, he met her eyes, and the look she found there filled her with heat.
“What?” she said hoarsely.
“What?” he repeated, then gave a nervous laugh. He withdrew his hands, the cold breeze stealing over the places his palms had just been. “I just—your lipstick. I haven’t seen you wear that color before.”
Ladybug brought her fingers to her lips, heat spreading through her chest down to her belly. It didn’t mean anything that Chat Noir noticed her lipstick color. He’d long since stopped thinking about her in that way; he’d told her so years ago, and they’d both had break ups and heartaches since.
And then, with a lightning strike, she realized. “I’m wearing…lipstick?”
She’d had it on before her transformation. Juleka had insisted Marinette keep it after working the photoshoot in her stead, and Marinette would be damned if she ever wiped it off. Had her magic taken that into account?
“You are,” said Chat Noir. He stepped away, the magazine crinkling in his hand. Only when he smoothed out the cover again did Ladybug realize he had rolled it up. “I like it. It looks like—”
He broke off, looking at the magazine cover, at the kisses smeared over Adrien’s face, neck, torso… mouth. Her heart twisted in a new way, and as she stepped forward, he stepped back, his eyes wider than before.
“Oh,” he said, a Chesire grin slowly splitting his face. “I get why you want this back so badly. You’re a fan, aren’t you, Ladybug?”
She didn’t like the look of his smile, or how it had looked on Adrien, or the way it squeezed around her heart both then and now. “I want it back because I paid for it!”
“It’s the same color,” Chat Noir said, pursing his lips and moving his finger in a circular gesture over them. “You must’ve really liked how it looked on this guy.”
“No,” she said, but her stomach fluttered, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a tingle down every limb, just as Adrien’s had. “It—I—it was a gift from a friend!”
“How nice of your friend,” he said. Holding up the magazine, he dragged a finger across the kiss mark on Adrien’s sternum. “It looks a little smudged here, though. I think it might be—” He held up his pointer, smirking. “Lipstick.”
He stepped back again, anticipating the throw of her yo-yo. Ladybug’s wire caught around an iron rod instead of his wrist, and Chat Noir fell back off the roof, taking his laughter with him.
She swung after him as he sliced through the streets, turning sharp corners and clearing gaps between buildings with exuberant bounds, the magazine clutched tight in his hand all the while. Ladybug shouted after him, her words lost to the wind, but his chortles carried back to her as he kept a swift pace ahead.
“Lucky Charm!” she let out at last, and a laser pointer fell into her outstretched palm.
She hesitated before clicking it on, more heat rising to her face. It had been one thing when Vincent used the laser on set, flicking the ball of light every which way to indicate where Marinette’s lips should mark Adrien. It was another for Ladybug to direct the spot of light at Chat Noir’s feet, stopping him in his tracks and pivoting him to face her.
She moved the light to his chest, then up, tracing a constellation of imaginary kisses all the way to the lower right corner of his jaw. And there was no possible way he would know the pattern, no reason for him to watch her with such heat in his gaze. Not unless this had happened to him before.
“What would the world say if they knew Ladybug was an incorrigible flirt?” Chat Noir asked, and a thrill shot through Ladybug, tingling down to the tips of her fingers and toes.
She met his eyes, her heart tight in her throat. “Maybe I don’t care what the whole world thinks.”
Chat Noir smiled, clipping his baton behind his back and strolling forward. The Eiffel Tower glittered behind him, throwing gold over the surface of the Seine as he walked along the low wall like a tightrope. He stopped just out of arm’s reach and leaned forward, surveying her with careful green eyes.
“I’ll tell you what, my lady,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. He raised the magazine behind his back, the yellow street lights glossing over the cover as he wiggled it back and forth. “If you really want it that much, I’ll give it to you. For a price.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze, though her knees were weak. “Fine,” she managed, the word soft and low and nowhere near as authoritative as she would have liked. “What do you want?”
He took the laser pointer from her hand, the material of his suit sliding across her fingertips as they brushed. Switching it on, he directed the bead of light to the corner of his mouth—the same place Marinette’s lips had met Adrien’s, the evidence red and blatant on the magazine cover.
“A kiss,” he told her. “Right here.”
Ladybug’s heart flipped, the sting of panicked joy searing deep within her. She moved without thinking, pushing his head down and springing over his back to snatch the magazine out of his hand. Her feet carried her fast down the length of the wall, but Chat Noir’s laughter was on her heels.
“That wasn’t part of the deal!” he called after her, and though his footfalls were silent, the click of his baton and the slice of night air gave away his pursuit.
“Be more convincing!” she called back, holding the magazine close against her chest.
She leapt off the wall, looping her yo-yo around a street light and swinging into the night. Chat Noir’s triumphant whoop bit into the wind, and she knew once he caught up it would not take much convincing on his part at all.