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Chat pretends to trip and tumbles down the roof in a manner far too controlled for either of them to believe he’s actually in danger, but it makes Ladybug laugh for a while. Chat catches himself and returns to where she’s balanced on the ridge of the roof, looking perfectly at ease despite the long fall to the streets of Paris below.
“You didn’t even try to catch me,” Chat protests, sticking his bottom lip out, delighted by the laughter she muffles behind her hand, eyes shining, the faint glow of the city covering her with warm light that softens the features of her face.
The moon is currently hidden by clouds, but Chat waits patiently for it to come back out so he can see her in that light too, so he can drink in the way she looks in any lighting, so he can feel his heart thud in his chest.
He’s memorized the way she looks in the moonlight. He wants to see it anyway.
He’s not stupid. As much as he loves Ladybug, he knows she doesn’t return his feelings and over the years he’s learned how to deal with it. When he was 14, it seemed like the end of the world. Having lived through this many iterations of Hawkmoth, still living through the attacks getting increasingly dangerous, he’s glad that they can steal small moments together on the roof with no one else. He’s glad to have her this close.
“If I tried to catch you, you would have just taken me down with you,” Ladybug says, grin apparent in her voice. “And cats always land on their feet,” she teases, leaning forward to flick his bell.
Chat heaves a big sigh, trying hard to fight down his own smile. “You have too much faith in me.”
“And you have too little in yourself,” she replies, yo-yoing to the next roof over. Chat watches her go, lingering for a second before following.
They roam around for a while, chatting lightly as they walk on roof ridges and swing off buildings. Ladybug has a good eye, and most of Paris is lit up, but Chat’s vision at night and his hearing are better so he’s usually the one to catch things as they happen. As it is, it’s quiet and calm tonight, and he’s very glad of it. It gives him the time to watch Ladybug, to notice the cadence of her steps.
“You haven’t been getting enough sleep,” he notes.
Ladybug just shrugs. “Neither have you.”
Chat laughs. “Touché, My Lady.” He wonders for a moment, tail flicking absently behind him, if he can coax her to talk.
Chat remembers them out on patrol when they were new superheroes, when he couldn’t live with Ladybug not loving him, with hiding their identities.
If he could go back in time and not rip a hole into the fabric of the world, he would slap some sense into his younger self. But he’s feeling light and calm tonight and there- the moon’s coming out, catching on her hair and making her eyes glow, making her seem even more serene and ethereal than usual.
Cold isn’t exactly the word. But Ladybug bathed in Paris light looks like the people’s hero. Ladybug bathed in moonlight looks quietly powerful.
She glances at him briefly and he forgets to breathe for a moment, silver-blue eyes fixing him in place. “No,” she says, looking slightly stern.
“No?” Chat echoes, raising an eyebrow, acting as if his heart isn’t betraying him right now.
“You have that look in your eyes,” she tells him, tone disapproving, though softened by the corner of her mouth twitching up.
He puts a hand on his chest and gives her a wounded look. ”Any look I give you is my sincerest.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Kitten’s honor?” he tries.
Ladybug snorts. “If you’re a kitten, I’d be a-” She struggles for a moment, waving her hands around trying to think of something. “A baby bug.”
Chat bursts out laughing. “Babybug?” he says, trying it out as a nickname.
She groans. “If you call me that, I’ll throttle you.”
Chat grins, but he relents as he always does for her. “Fortunately for you, I’m rather fond of my current nicknames for you, My Lady.”
She rolls her eyes, huffing out a laugh. “Luckily for you, I’ll tolerate it.”
She jumps over to the next roof, and Chat follows. “Just tolerate? Maybe you could grow to love this alley cat,” he teases, holding his tail and trying to look innocent, but Ladybug takes one look at him and bursts out laughing again until Chat’s shoulders shake with the effort of trying not to laugh too.
“You’re an idiot,” is all she says when she’s regained the ability to speak, and then she looks up at the moon, still grinning, still Ladybug from the ease with which she stands there, the lightness of her limbs and posture but Chat, for a split second sees her, as if in double. Ladybug with her mask and her suit, smart, quick-witted, a spine of steel, and more deeply, her with blue eyes and hair, red dusted across her cheeks, a soft smile, a glance at him so affectionate he forgets how to breathe.
So affectionate it hurts as it’s never hurt before. It’s one thing to get that glance from Ladybug. It’s another thing to get that glance from the girl uncovered by the mask.
She’s gone in the next second, once again safely hidden by her powers, her suit, but Chat’s heart won’t stop beating hard in his chest, his mouth unable to form words.
“Come on, alley cat. Let’s finish patrol.” Her yo-yo is out in the next second and Chat follows, just as he always does, but he realizes, suddenly, that maybe he’s never known her as he thought he did. That being in love with Ladybug isn’t being in love with her.
It’s not just the girl under the mask, he knows. It’s Ladybug simply as herself, not a hero but just as strong and brave, just as gentle and caring as she always is with him and in the way she acts with everyone she meets.
All it takes is that second for Chat to realize why Ladybug always pushes him away.
And a second is all it takes for Chat to fall in love for a second time, much harder, and for someone he’s only ever really seen once.
-
“Camembert,” Plagg sighs contentedly as he zooms away towards the cheese. Adrien watches him go and then turns, eyes catching on the picture of Ladybug he currently has set as his desktop screensaver.
Adrien thinks, for the first time in his life, that the picture looks almost too perfect. Her eyes are sharp, running straight at the akuma without any fear, a slight grin on her face. Adrien remembers why; she was just a distraction for Chat to swoop in from behind.
She’s a hero. She’s everything a hero should be, everything good in one person, always the one people turn to in tough situations. Adrien himself has held Ladybug’s miraculous, he understands the rush of power, the ability to solve everything, the bravery and thoughtfulness.
He tries to see her in that picture, the girl on the roof, the girl whose laugh warms him from the inside out, and he can’t.
“Plagg?” he asks, turning his ring absently.
Plagg groans. “If you’re about to go on another rant about Ladybug’s bluebell eyes-”
Adrien can’t help but laugh. He’s not 14 anymore, but Plagg, the little gremlin, had to deal with him when he was like that.
Adrien supposes he was a little gremlin too. He still sort of is. “You should be glad I’m not waxing poetry about her smile,” he sighs, trying hard not to grin. “Like daisies in a meadow-”
Plagg actually gags, and Adrien laughs. “Stop,” Plagg begs, looking ill. “I’ll answer your question, just no more.”
Adrien looks at his ring again, imagines the paw print, the green stark against black. “What’s she like out of the mask?”
Plagg huffs. “You know I can’t tell you, kid,” he says, and Adrien feels a little endeared by the fact that Plagg still calls him that. He’s not sure what it is right now but running up against walls every time he has a question is familiar in a good sort of way. It reminds him of his powers, of Chat Noir, of her.
He likes this, Adrien realizes. He likes the chase, the unknown, and at the same time he likes discovering a little more.
“You’d like her,” Plagg says out of nowhere, pointedly not looking at Adrien when Adrien glances at him over his shoulder. “I like her better than you,” the kwami adds, never one to be serious.
Adrien can’t help but smile. “Okay, don’t tell me more,” he says, fiddling with his ring again.
“What?” Plagg complains, zooming right up to him. “You’re just giving up? You? Lover boy?”
“She’s a dream, Plagg,” he says, all sorts of sincere as he flops down on his bed. “She smiled at me today.”
Plagg groans and zooms away. Adrien ignores him.
“The real her smiled at me today. She was so-” Adrien gestures vaguely at the ceiling, thinking again of the warmth, of the way he could feel the fondness in her eyes. “I feel like I’ve never seen her,” he admits, swallowing, and it doesn’t hurt, not really, but it doesn’t sit quite right in his chest.
“Bah,” Plagg says, sorting through cheese wheels. “Ladybug, civilian, civilian, Ladybug, they’re exactly the same.”
“You don’t get it, Plagg,” Adrien mumbles. “I’m her partner. I’m supposed to be the only person who knows her, but all I know is Ladybug. And I’m in love with Ladybug.” He rolls onto his side and curls up, burying his nose into the sheets so he can confess again into the covers, “I didn’t even see her. The real her.”
Plagg chews on some brie. “Is Chat Noir the real you?” he asks bluntly.
Adrien lifts his head up to look at him. “That’s different.”
Plagg shrugs. “I’m telling it like it is, kid.” And with that he zooms off and out of sight so he can savor his cheese without Adrien’s moping ruining the aging process, as he likes to say.
Adrien sighs, his head hitting the sheets again. He can see his screensaver out of the corner of his eye, and his glance at it, at just the right angle, for just a fleeting moment, reveals her again.
Adrien sits up abruptly, heart in his throat, but the trace of her is gone when he looks back.
“You’re wrong, Plagg,” Adrien tells the empty room, pulse still beating through his skin. “Ladybug isn’t the girl under the mask.”
And if that’s true, then maybe he isn’t in love with Ladybug at all.
-
Adrien, as it turns out, is an idiot.
He gets ready for bed and sleeps restlessly, dreads and anticipates patrol the next night, but she’s nowhere to be seen so he lounges, chin in his hand, watching civilians far below.
His stomach churns as he waits, and though he’s trying to get himself to relax, his muscles remain taut as if he’s preparing himself for something. He feels the same way when he’s jumping at an akuma, and he can’t help but click his claws against the roof.
He hears her first, as he always does. Sometimes he hears her yo-yo from far away. His ears are attuned to her, and he swears his senses are especially strong when it comes to locating her.
She jumps on the roof one building over, landing lightly, but the soft sound is enough that his ear flicks up. And then she’s jumping on to this one, and Chat doesn’t care about which one he’s seen, he doesn’t care about falling in love with the wrong girl or the right one, because he turns and she looks just as beautiful as she always does.
“Hi kitty,” she says, smiling, and Chat’s heart thumps anyway.
“You made me wait, Bugaboo,” he pouts, and he sees her again as she grins.
“You’re so impatient,” she chides as she sits down next to him. They have patrol, and they should go, but they both sit there without impatience, Ladybug’s legs dangling off the roof.
“No sign of anything,” he reports anyway, aware of her but not quite looking.
“That’s a shame,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice telling him she’s not quite looking at him either.
“Are you this flirty all the time?” Chat tries, unsure if it’s pushing too far, but he’s delighted by her sharp laugh.
“No,” she admits after a moment, sounding thoughtful. He turns his head so sharply it throws him off balance and he flails as he slips off the roof before she catches him by the tail and pulls him back up, yanking just hard enough that he ends up practically sitting in her lap, nose to nose.
She looks like she’s trying hard not to laugh at the expression on his face.
He grins. “You did that on purpose.”
“Me? Never,” Ladybug says, trying to look innocent and looking anything but.
“I’m in your lap,” Chat points out, and he realizes only an inch or two and he could kiss her.
His face feels hot. She doesn’t seem affected by the proximity, but Chat knows Ladybug isn’t cruel. “Yes,” she agrees serenely, and Chat can’t make sense of it, but his smile stretches wide across his face anyway.
You make me happy, he thinks, throat aching. Every version of you, and it feels more important than anything else.
“You’re just flirty with me?” Chat asks, raising an eyebrow, leaning his weight back so there’s more space between their faces.
Ladybug shrugs, but her cheeks are a little pink, and Chat thanks everything and everyone that his vision is good enough at night to see it. “Why are you asking, Mr. flirts-with-everything-he-sees?”
“Meowch, My Lady,” he whines. “I don’t flirt with anyone but you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She looks like she doesn’t believe him, but she’s leaning back on her palms, just watching him. “Are you flirty all the time?”
Chat can feel the thin line between them stretch tight.
“Are you flirty when you’re not Chat Noir?” she asks softly, and he stares at her, wordless.
“No,” Chat says eventually, eyes closing so he can think for a second of Adrien.
Of himself.
And when he opens his eyes he sees her again, nervous yet bold, and this time she doesn’t disappear.
“You wouldn’t recognize me as a civilian,” Chat says, to which Ladybug actually laughs.
“You would stand out from the crowd, kitty,” she responds, looking amused. Adrien, he imagines her saying, and for a moment he just wants.
“I’m a gentleman,” Chat counters.
She laughs at that. “Somehow, I can’t imagine that.”
Chat rolls off her so he can put a hand over his forehead in a fake swoon and lay back on the roof. “Ah Ladybug,” he sighs and then sobers up a little. “I’m not… very Chat-like,” he mumbles. “In real life.”
It feels easier to admit when he can’t quite see her.
She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not very Ladybug-like either,” she admits, and she sounds like just a girl in a suit and a mask. “I’m clumsy.”
Chat laughs at that. “Really?” he says, picking his head up.
She’s smiling sort of helplessly, and she shrugs even as she blushes. “I’m sort of hopeless.”
“No,” he fake gasps, sitting up so he can curl up next to her, so he can look at the deep blue of her eyes, at the girl who’s sitting here with him. “My Lady is anything but hopeless.”
She rolls her eyes, grinning. “And my kitty is anything but a flirt apparently,” and though she’s teasing, he can see the warmth in her eyes.
They stare at each for a long second, and Chat forgets his train of thought.
The dark makes her features fuzzy, and Chat has such a strong temptation to press a light kiss on her nose that he has to blink a few times before he can pull himself away.
When he finally feels in control of himself enough to look back, she’s not looking at him any longer and he can’t see her face.
“I think you’re a gentleman, minou,” she mumbles.
Chat blinks. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Sometimes,” she continues softly, “I think I’m only my real self when I’m with you.”
His chest feels warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Chat’s gaze gets caught on her fiddling with her fingers, and he realizes, fondly, that she’s nervous. “Sometimes I’m afraid,” she whispers, so quietly he only hears it because of his cat’s hearing, “that Ladybug isn’t real. That-” and he knows she’s thinking of her real name.
“How could Ladybug be anything but real?” he asks her gently, guiding her away from it with just his voice. He knows sometimes she gets overwhelmed, and she once told him that his voice can guide her out of her own head. “She’s sitting right beside me.”
“I don’t think I’m Ladybug,” she says, and she looks so small sitting beside him, shoulders drawn in. “I’m just a girl. But there’s so much I can’t share, so much I have to hide that sometimes I’m afraid I’m not anyone.”
“Bug,” is all he says, and his heart feels raw. “If you weren’t anyone at all, I’d still love you.”
She turns back with glossy eyes, blinking back tears, and Chat loves her more than anything. “You’re in love with Ladybug,” she says, and it’s like he can see her exhaustion, how she does her homework with singular focus, how she bought plastic plates because she used to break the china ones at least once a month, how her favorite color is pink, and how she has the sweetest tooth in the world and Chat doesn’t know if any of those things are true and it doesn’t even matter.
“You said you’re your realest self with me,” he says, wiping one of her tears away with his knuckle, careful not to scratch her with his claws by accident. “Can’t I fall in love with that self too?”
“Too?” she echoes.
Chat shrugs, thinking of everything and all his worries. “I think, even if Ladybug wasn’t your real self, I’d still love her,” he says simply. He knows even as he says it that this rings true. “And anyway,” he says, offering her a grin, “Ladybug is clumsy too.”
And he finally gets it.
She laughs despite her tears. “No, she isn’t.”
“You,” he corrects, “are Ladybug, a superhero. And you’re also her, the girl that looks normal walking around on the street. And you’re also-” Here he hesitates for a long second.
“You’re mine,” he settles on, because that’s the best way he can put it. She’s still listening to him. “You’re my Ladybug,” he continues, voice lowering in volume with the intimacy of it. “The one right here. Right now.”
Because though Adrien has felt for a long time as if Chat Noir is realer than Adrien Agreste, as if Adrien is chasing after Chat, Ladybug can see both in one. He finds he doesn’t mind being one person after all, and that maybe she doesn’t either judging by the relief in her eyes.
She’s all of them, and he’ll love all of them, every version of her, and it’s not about romance, but rather about her.
“Minou.”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
Chat shrugs, reaching out to grab her hand and squeeze before letting go, not before he feels her squeeze back. “No,” he says, because somehow she always fixes him when he needs it. “Thank you.”
-
Chat is convinced he’s hallucinated and made up some crazy delusion that Ladybug kissed his hand, like he’s 14 and has no idea what reality is.
To be fair, young Chat Noir would’ve dreamt of a kiss on the lips not the hand, but his knuckles and cheeks burn and he forgets how to speak for a good few minutes after as Ladybug laughs and laughs, color high in her cheeks.
“Did you just-” he starts when he regains the ability to speak and then stops.
“Did I just what?” Ladybug says, grinning, eyes sparkling.
Chat can’t help himself. He melts. “You’re an asshole,” he says, grinning back.
“That’s not very gentlemanly of you to say to a lady,” she teases, poised and ready to jump off the roof. He catches her by the wrist before she can go and pulls her into his chest so she’s forced to look up at him, their faces close.
He forces himself not to react. “You’re playing with me, Bug,” he says, tilting his head in an unspoken challenge, looking down at her.
One thing about Ladybug is when she’s confronted by a challenge, she never looks away first. Even now, she doesn’t blink and stares at him straight on. Chat doesn’t look away either.
“Don’t cats like challenges?” she asks, trying to bother him on purpose.
“You,” he says, leaning down until their noses bump, until they’re so close he can barely breathe, thrilled that she doesn’t look away, “just kissed me.”
She finally seems to have been rendered speechless, but she regains herself after a second in a weaker voice than before. “Chaton, don’t lie. A kiss on the hand is what every proper gentleman should do.”
He draws her into a hug, laughing into her shoulder. “I would know.”
“Gentlemanly civilian Chat Noir probably kisses every maiden’s hand,” she laughs too, but one of her hands has somehow made its way into his hair, and she’s leaning her head gently against his. She smells like sweets, like eclairs and fresh bread and sugar, and something underneath so comforting Adrien always thinks she feels like home.
He doesn’t know what it is, but he squeezes her briefly to which she just hums and continues petting his hair.
“I think I’m my best self with you,” he mumbles into her suit. She pauses briefly.
“You should kiss my hand more often,” she says after a moment, teasing but kind and so very warm. “Then you’d be more like your civilian self.”
“Do you like the gentlemanly type?” he asks absently. “I feel like… I can never tell if it’s the real me or not.”
“It’s real,” she says without hesitation. “You’re always a gentleman with me.”
“Pfft.” He can feel the smile tugging at his lips. “The flirtatious Chat Noir?”
“Who sweeps me off my feet? Of course,” she says, like it’s easy.
And it feels easy with her.
So the second time she does it, a week later, pressing her lips against his wrist, his chest just feels gooey more than anything.
Ladybug watches him closely, as if anticipating a reaction. Chat fights hard not to betray himself, but his face feels hot again.
“You fluster easily,” she notes, amused.
“You don’t,” Chat sighs. He looks up at the sky and shakes his head with a huff. “What do I do with her?”
She laughs at that. “I get flustered too,” she argues back.
Chat raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Not around me.”
“Then maybe you should try harder.”
Chat scoffs. “Oh, it’s on, My Lady.”
“Fine,” she sniffs. “We’re currently 2-0.” She opens her mouth to say more but her earrings beep, and she sighs. “Consider yourself lucky,” she says to his smirk.
“2-1,” he replies and she unexpectedly flips him off, which makes him laugh in shock and she’s gone by the time he’s recovered.
Chat checks his ring. He still has a good amount of time, and he doesn’t much want to go back home to his empty flat. He taps his claws idly against his thigh as he looks around in the darkness up here, where the lights just barely reach.
It’s a beautiful summer night, a light breeze brushing gently through his hair, and warm enough that he’s grateful for his suit’s breathability.
“Where to, Plagg?” he asks softly, knowing his kwami can’t respond.
Chat goes anyway, balancing on ridges and tiles, practicing movement with his baton and testing angles that don’t need to be tested. It’s certainly been long enough, and he thinks the suit gave him an instinct for it even when he’d barely known anything, even before he’d known Ladybug.
And before he knew Ladybug, he knew-
“Chat Noir?”
He turns. He’s perched on Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony railing. “Hello, princess,” he smiles.
She moved into an apartment of her own years ago, started her own wildly successful boutique, and became a force even Adrien’s father had to reckon with. And even before that, before Adrien was associating with someone his brand might consider an enemy, she was one of his first friends.
“What’s a cat doing out all alone at night?” Marinette asks, almost shy, and Chat remembers who he is.
“Ah, nothing,” he shrugs off. “I don’t want to go home,” slips out of his mouth, like personal information never does with Ladybug, because Marinette is the person he trusts more than anyone. It’s foolish to do so as Chat Noir, and yet.
She frowns, and Chat knows she gives the best hugs and she always knows how to comfort people, that she likes giving out macarons and that he’s safe with her.
She also won’t ask. She’s one of the only people Chat trusts with Chat Noir, one of the only ones he feels like he can even talk to. “Would you like to come in?” she asks politely, and then seems to catch herself with a blush, but she doesn’t take it back even after he waits a second.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says somewhat modestly, “but this alley cat does like being invited in,” he adds with a grin.
Marinette gives him a long look, blue eyes dark and searching. “Are you flirting with me, Chat Noir?” she asks, simply curious.
Chat blinks. “My heart belongs to Ladybug,” he tells her truthfully.
“Hm,” and with that she marches inside, leaving the door open for him to slip in.
“Hm?” Chat echoes, following her inside and shutting the door behind him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she shrugs, but she’s smiling, he can tell. “Don’t you ever-” She makes a vague motion with her hands as she plops down into one of her beanbags.
“Ever…?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. Her room is cozy and alive, papers and designs spilling over her desk, fabric scattered around. She throws a ball of yarn across the room, and his eye twitches as he watches it, forcing himself to stay in place. He looks back at her when it rolls to a stop, offended by how much effort she seems to be putting in not to laugh.
Chat scowls. “I’m not a real cat.”
“You like the yarn,” she teases.
He scoffs, but his ear twitches this time when she locates another ball, this one a light pink. “Princess.”
“Chat,” she says in the same tone, and then she softens. “Will there ever be a time you’re not in love with Ladybug?”
“Never,” he replies, sitting gingerly on the love seat, watching Marinette carefully to see if he should be wary of more yarn distractions. She seems to have stopped for now, lingering smile on her face.
“Isn’t she ever imperfect?”
“All the time,” Chat says, and Marinette looks surprised. “You don’t believe me?” he asks carefully.
“No, I- every time you talk about her, I just- it sounded like you idolized her.”
“I do,” he says, and then he thinks. “I did. I- she’s not perfect,” he amends. “I thought she was for a long time, but-”
He grew up. Because even before seeing that girl, even before he saw her, he knew she wasn’t perfect.
Chat feels suddenly emotional for no reason at all. “She’s stubborn and suffers from a terrible affliction called catastrophizing.” The pun isn’t lost on him.
Marinette laughs. “I can’t imagine that.”
Chat half shrugs. “I wouldn’t expect you to. She’s only ever like that with me,” falls off his tongue, so easily it feels good. Right.
“You like that,” Marinette notes gently, and Chat blushes despite himself.
“Is it that obvious?” he asks after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck absently, staring at the ground. He groans and falls back, putting his face in his hands. “You can never repeat this to anyone, especially not Ladybug,” he says, picking his head back up and pointing at her.
“I would never,” she says, but the corners of her mouth are tugging up and she laughs when he scowls.
“Whatever,” he sighs. “She already knows how I feel about her. And she knows it’s not conditional.”
Marinette is quiet.
“My poor bug,” he says quietly. “My Ladybug.”
“Poor?”
“She thinks that she has to carry the world by herself,” Chat murmurs, thinking of the strain he sees sometimes on her face, of the expression she wore when she said Ladybug wasn’t real. “She thinks she’s no one.”
Marinette’s eyes are so transparent when he looks up that Chat forgets how to breathe. Her eyes are blue, almost like-
But even more than that, he’s never seen an expression like that on anyone else’s face, an expression that only one who has a secret so deep that you have to hide yourself to keep it can have, and he’s never seen it on anyone but Ladybug and he’s never seen it on Marinette.
No. It can’t be.
Marinette’s eyes drop. “She’s lucky to have you,” she says.
Chat stares at her for a long second, absently fiddling with his ring. “I feel like I didn’t really see her until recently,” he confesses, in this liminal space.
Marinette looks back at him, and for the first time Adrien feels unmasked completely. “If not you, then who?” she asks simply, and Chat doesn’t know what to say to that, but he does know his heart beats steadily and he thinks that this whole spiral of his is growing ever more ridiculous in light of this simple fact:
He loves her.
-
“Model for me,” Marinette asks one day, handing him a box with so many treats Adrien’s mouth starts watering and then he finds it impossible and quite rude to refuse when he’s already inhaled two croissants. He doesn’t mention that fact to his father.
“She’s an enemy brand,” Gabriel says placidly.
“It’s good to maintain connections,” Adrien counters calmly, using his father’s own words against him.
“People might see it as a betrayal.”
“When was the last time we put out something with frills?”
Gabriel looks amused for a second, and Adrien revels in the fact that he can get his father’s serious exterior to break. It’s been a slow process, but Adrien’s much happier now than he used to be, though he only realized that much later than he probably should have.
Moving out helped in some ways. The loneliness still eats at him, but he thinks he’s closer to his dad than he ever was before. He doesn’t model so much anymore either, and Gabriel seems fine with it for the most part, but occasionally Adrien will make an appearance.
Whether it’s for the Agreste brand or not is a better question.
“I didn’t come to ask for permission,” Adrien says. “I just wanted to let you know.”
His father inclines his head at that, quiet respect obvious in his eyes.
Adrien is proud when he leaves, slipping out the door quietly. He says goodbye to Gabriel’s secretary on his way out and takes the steps up two at a time to his little office looking out at Paris from a slightly higher vantage point than most people would normally get.
Nathalie quit not even a year ago, and he still gets lunch with her regularly though she refuses to see his father. She once said he was too stuck in his ways. Adrien thinks she wouldn’t believe her eyes if she met him now.
Gabriel has done a lot of soul searching. It helps that there are less akumas so Adrien can spend more time with his father, and also more time thinking about what he really wants.
Modeling isn’t what he wants, he thinks as he tabs to his emails. He doesn’t mind it that much, but he hated it as a teenager when he was self conscious about everything, when he felt like he was just a kid being broadcast to the whole world.
He likes the behind the scenes work more, the management and networking and talking to models. He understands pieces of them, and they know him quite well so his relationship with fashion remains intact, if in a very different way.
As it is, Marinette Dupain-Cheng just asked him to model for her line, and as a friend, he doesn’t want to say no. As Chat Noir, he wonders…
Adrien thinks of the eclairs with longing before sighing and getting to work. Hopefully she’ll bring some to the shoot.
-
“Snacks after,” she warns in a stern tone when she catches him staring.
“You asked me to model, not to eat,” Adrien replies, but he can’t help but smile anyway. Marinette brushes a strand of his hair off his forehead, eyes scrunched in concentration, eyeing him over to make sure he’s exactly as she pictured.
“Dupain-Cheng!” they both hear, and he peers around Marinette as she turns. Chloé has a hand on her hip and a supremely disapproving look on her face. “What did I tell you about touching the model?”
“The model,” Marinette scoffs. “This is Adrien Agre-”
Chloé breezes past her muttering under her breath as she fixes Adrien’s hair. “Utterly ridiculous… Dupain-Cheng always messing with my work…” Adrien hears, and he suppresses a laugh. He makes the mistake of making eye contact with an exasperated Marinette, and he’s forced to close his eyes to stop himself laughing out loud.
To be honest, none of them are sure how this ended up happening. Chloé’s mother left again for New York, the next day Chloé threw a temper tantrum, and the next she was working for Marinette as hair stylist and makeup artist and basically anything else.
Adrien will never understand why Chloé went to Marinette, or why Marinette allowed this, but sometimes they make eye contact and Adrien feels like maybe he knows nothing about them at all.
“Chloé,” Marinette says, glaring, opening her mouth to go on before she shuts it resolutely. “Hurry up,” is all she says curtly, and she marches off to the cameras and lights, making sure they’re all in place and ready.
Chloé pauses for a second, the hard press of her lips relaxing, before she resumes. “Tell her she should ask me to do this stuff,” Chloé snaps when she catches sight of Adrien’s knowing smile. “And stop smiling like that. It makes you look ridiculous.” And with that, she turns on her heel and walks back to Marinette.
The shoot goes smoothly. Marinette’s new line is gemstone-themed, and he munches on snacks as she shows him each model for each stone. He modeled for the emerald pieces to ‘match his eyes,’ she said, so warmly that he was rendered speechless.
“You’re modeling the ruby?” he asks as he scrolls to the next photo, Marinette sitting there in deep red.
She flushes a faint pink, trying to grab the camera out of his hands. Adrien holds it out of reach, unable to help his laughter until she gives up with a sigh and groans. “I was just testing angles,” she tries, offering an unconvincing smile.
“O-kay,” he sings and then pointedly avoids eye contact as she glares at him. He clicks through them, Marinette hovering nervously over his shoulder. The outfit itself is gorgeous with frills as he told his father, but somehow quite regal in a soft, approachable way. She has a red scarf in some of them and in others a hat with a veil, and the next one he clicks to makes him catch his breath, face heating up. Her head is tilted up so he can barely see her eyes through the veil, but her mouth is fully visible and Adrien’s heart won’t stop racing.
Marinette finally snatches the camera out of his hands, red stained across her face. “That’s all of them,” she says, and Adrien sees her, all of her, right through her, and even when she turns away, he realizes he knows her posture and he can read the embarrassment in her shoulders, that somehow his lady is standing right there, that Ladybug was the one who asked him, as Adrien Agreste not Chat Noir, to model for her line and who used food to entice him and knows he doesn’t care about going against his father. That Ladybug is always the one he goes to when he’s lonely.
And he also realizes that she sees him just as much as he sees her.
“Mari,” he says quietly, a name he uses rarely, more often when he’s trying to comfort her. Princess.
Marinette looks over her shoulder at him, aware of the nickname. “You okay?” she asks softly, and Adrien can understand why no one else can figure Ladybug out. This tone of hers, the fond look in her eyes, every part of the way she looks standing there is Ladybug as she only is with Chat.
He thinks the two of them are paper dolls, fragile under the enormity of the secrets they bear, insecure and imperfect and even so, just themselves when they’re with each other.
Even so, he reaches out for her hand without thinking as he would if they were two superheroes rather than two civilians and she lets him take it and squeezes gently. He squeezes back.
“I’m good,” he says and she lingers for a second as if not completely convinced, eyes unreadable for a moment, but then Chloé calls, “Marinette!” and she goes, leaving Adrien’s hand empty, and his heart completely full.
-
“So,” Chloé starts, nails clacking on a little table outside a cafe overlooking the Seine. “You think you’re good enough for Marinette?”
Adrien chokes on his croissant.
They go out on Thursday afternoons, just the two of them, a tradition they’ve done so long Adrien hardly even remembers when it started. He thinks if someone were to ask him why he stayed friends with Chloé, even through the worst of it, he’d say Thursdays.
Because here, when there’s no one listening, when Chloé lets her mask slip for just a moment, Adrien knows that she’s still the girl who was there for him when his mom died. She’s the girl who hugged him and didn’t let go even when he didn’t ask for it. And over the years, he’s watched that girl become more and more apparent. Less hidden.
Chloé remains supremely unbothered, raising an eyebrow as she watches him splutter and recover himself.
“What?” he asks, trying to act innocent, sure his face is pink.
“Anyone with eyes could see your-” She pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase it as she fakes disgust. “-heart eyes over there yesterday.”
“I did not have heart eyes,” Adrien protests, taking a small bite of his croissant just in case of future choke-worthy questions, fighting another flush.
“Listen up, Agreste,” she says as she glares at him and then she sighs, closing her eyes. “You’re my best friend,” Chloé says quietly, and Adrien stops munching. She opens her eyes, giving him a look that it takes Adrien a second to decipher.
Pity, he realizes.
“She already has someone,” Chloé says, nails tapping against the table again. “So don’t get any ideas.”
Adrien slowly finishes chewing. “They’re dating?” he asks carefully, because he’s almost sure.
“Adrien-” Chloé starts with exasperation.
“Marinette’s my friend first,” he says firmly. “If she’s happy with him, I won’t do anything.”
Chloé examines him carefully before huffing. “They’re not dating. And she refuses to tell me anything else.” She sounds put out and Adrien has to suppress a smile. “They only meet late at night too, which does not make me feel better.”
“That’s not safe,” he says, and he should be serious but he can hear the smile in his own voice. Chloé groans.
“You are such a romantic little-”
“Shit, I have a meeting at two!” Adrien says, catching sight of the time. “Thanks for treating me, Chloé!” he says, stuffing the rest of the croissant in his mouth and grabbing his phone as he jumps up and leaves, glad he can hide his wide smile and his transparent heart as Chloé yells after him, “Watch yourself, Agreste!”
-
As it is, Adrien does not in fact watch himself. He’s too antsy to stay in his apartment when he gets home after work and eats, and he transforms far too early, resulting in detransforming on a roof when the stars are twinkling not so far above him. “Cheese,” Plagg begs, and Adrien’s inner pocket is empty.
“Um,” he squeaks, and Plagg goes into a dead faint. Adrien catches him with wide eyes, feeling sorry.
“I’m dying,” Plagg groans, and Adrien feels a mixture of amusement, annoyance, and apology.
“You’re not dying,” Adrien says, but he pets Plagg’s head anyway. “I’m sorry. I won’t forget next time.”
Plagg’s stomach growls in response and he groans again and then goes silent and alert, picking his head up. “Sugarcube is close,” he says and Adrien, in a panic, dashes behind a chimney just in time to hear Ladybug yo-yo to the roof.
“Chat, what are you-” she starts, heading closer.
“Don’t look!” Adrien and Plagg both yell, exchanging looks of panic.
Her footsteps stop. “Are you detransformed?” she asks in disbelief.
Adrien groans this time. “Yes, do you have any extra macarons with you? I forgot to bring cheese for Plagg.”
There’s silence for a long time and then she snorts. “You forgot to bring cheese?” Plagg zooms right out of Adrien’s hand around the chimney.
“He’s so horrible to me, Ladybug,” he laments. “All he does is make me transform him whenever he wants and he can’t even be bothered to bring cheese for me.”
“You little shit,” Adrien mumbles under his breath, half tempted to leave the chimney just to get his hands on his kwami.
“I heard that!” Plagg snaps and then goes back to his pathetic voice. “See?”
“He does treat you rather unkindly,” Ladybug says, and Adrien makes a sound of disbelief, sure Ladybug is petting Plagg’s head. She’s laughing too, and Adrien can’t even pretend to be mad at her. “Tikki, spots off!”
The flash of red jolts him. Because if he’s right, if he’s right, Marinette is standing on the other side, unaware that Adrien is standing on this side. His racing heart won’t slow down.
“Here,” she says, and for some reason, Adrien knows with complete certainty that that’s Marinette’s voice. “Sorry it’s not Camembert.”
“Thanks Ladybug,” Plagg says with a full mouth, and Adrien’s heart tugs for no reason. Plagg returns with half of the macaron sticking out of his mouth, and Adrien can’t wait any longer.
He mouths Marinette’s name, and Plagg chokes and coughs.
“Are you guys okay?” Marinette asks with concern and barely controlled laughter. Tikki rounds the corner the next second looking ready to murder Plagg.
Plagg points at Adrien, and Tikki raises an eyebrow at him. Adrien sighs and mouths the same thing again, watching Tikki’s eyes go impossibly wide.
They all stare at each other for a long moment.
“Tikki?” Marinette asks, more serious now, and she’s far too smart for this.
Tikki doesn’t seem to know what to say.
“Is it- it’s okay, right?” Adrien asks, suddenly afraid. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You know,” Marinette realizes with a breath, and none of them say anything. Tikki finally peeks around the corner, nervous, but she doesn’t look any more alarmed at whatever she sees on the other side.
“Ten minutes?” Marinette asks, voice unreadable, and the kwamis are gone in a second, leaving Adrien and his lady alone on the roof.
He should explain himself, apologize. He should beg for her forgiveness, or maybe ask if there’s a way to erase his memory. And maybe he should do anything except stand there and fall in love all over again, because that’s Marinette on the other side, that’s the girl who’s so worried she’s no one at all even as she’s everything to him. That’s the girl that’s afraid she isn’t any version of herself when she’s actually all of them, the girl he’d love even if she wasn’t, his partner and friend and comfort and home. Adrien should probably be afraid or anxious or anything else but he leans back against the chimney, reaching his hand out to the side and into her view as he closes his eyes.
Her hand slips into his so naturally it’s like breathing.
“Hey,” Adrien says quietly, knowing she’s close enough to hear him.
“Say it,” she asks, voice fragile and hopeful and scared.
“Marinette,” he murmurs, and she’s barely out of view, close enough that he can hear her breath catch.
She’s quiet for a while before she tugs on his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles out of sight, so much more potent than the last time when her lips met his gloves. Adrien blushes deeply, making a sound that would be embarrassing if he weren’t here with just her.
“You still fluster easily, minou,” she notes, shyer than usual but still precise, and the nickname when he’s not wearing his mask squeezes at Adrien’s lungs.
“Fine, 3-1,” he concedes, smiling.
“4-1,” she argues back, and he can’t help but tug her, with enough time for her to close her eyes and then she’s in his arms, warm and real and everything he’s ever dreamed of, blue hair and pink and smelling of sugar, the bakery and everything, all of it at once, makes sense.
“Hi,” he whispers into her hair.
“Hi,” she says, sounding amused but affectionate. “I don’t- I don’t know if I should look,” she admits, and that nervousness is all Marinette. “What if it’s dangerous for us to know?” and that caution is all Ladybug.
Adrien thinks about it for a long time, quiet with the love of his life in his arms. “It can’t be much more dangerous than us being superheroes, right?” he says eventually.
She squeezes around his waist, face still buried in his shoulder. “… Adrien?”
Adrien freezes, stock still. “I- wait, you knew?”
She’s laughing, he realizes after a second, body shaking. “5-1,” she says when she withdraws to look up at him, the world in her eyes.
“Oh fuck off,” he says, and she laughs harder. “How did- you knew?” he repeats incredulously.
“No,” she says, ever stubborn. “It was… an educated guess.”
“Oh my god,” Adrien groans. “You’re too smart for me, My Lady,” he says, leaning closer and he’s rewarded with a deep blush, but she pushes him away anyway with a grin.
“You flirt,” she chides, and then she just looks at him for a moment. “I’m glad it’s you,” she whispers.
“Me too,” he whispers back, sincere, chest feeling light.
“Chat,” she says, like a lightning strike to his heart when he’s not in the suit. Everything is quiet for a second.
“Follow me,” she asks simply, and it’s not simple at all.
He doesn’t need even a moment to contemplate it. “Always,” he promises, and it’s an oath by every moment, every year, every piece of her that he’s seen and that he hasn’t, everything they are and aren’t apart and together.
An oath he seals as she smiles and he leans forward to kiss her.