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Chat’s claws gripped the ledge as he watched his boots swing back and forth over the street below. Generally, at this point in their evening, he would be pretending to watch the sun set behind la tour Eiffel from where he sat with his Lady atop l’Arc de Triomphe (while, of course, really watching her). Today, however, his gaze was downcast, eyes glazing over while he pondered how to say what he wanted to say.
It was a fairly simple request he wanted to make. A very nonessential piece of information he sought. Nonthreatening. Even so, he still couldn’t bring himself to speak. Chat Noir sat on the ledge and sat on his words, dangling his feet over the street below and trying and failing to begin his question.
Ladybug sat next to him, currently oblivious to his internal struggle, seemingly content with relaxing next to her partner after a successful patrol. Very little was happening this Thursday evening in the city. Thursdays were Ladybug’s favorite. Thursdays were their day to zip through the 6ème, 7ème, and 8ème arrondissments. While there were plenty of people in the bustling city center, there was also plenty of external aid (law enforcement, akuma victim support centers, and the like), so once they’d completed their generally quiet patrol, they could swing back toward Place Charles de Gualle and pick a perfect rooftop (or l’Arc de Triomphe, when they didn’t mind being seen, across the way) to watch the sun set behind the tower. It had an incredibly calming effect on her, seeing one of the most beautiful parts of the city she and Chat protected from their superhero-accessible vantage point.
Through her reverie, she did notice Chat’s tense posture beside her. His silent train of thought started and stopped behind his eyes as she watched him, clearly trying to get something off his chest, but unsure of how to do it.
“Chat?”
“Yes, bugaboo?” His crooning always did an excellent job of masking his uncertainties. Not necessarily from her, but a valiant attempt nonetheless.
Her eyes softened. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Chat grinned, but looked away. “Ah, you know me too well, my lady.” He reached his arms up to stretch, then folded them behind his head and leaned back against the structure's facade. Always feigning an air of suave nonchalance, her kitty was. She watched him as he closed his eyes, his face expressionless for a moment. “It’s more of…a question for you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Eyes still closed, he smiled. Not his usual grin though, she noticed. Something about his expression seemed sad. They sat still, the fall breeze gently filling the silence. The leaves hadn’t begun to turn yet, but she could feel the bite in the air that came when summer had ended.
Chat was silent. His smile had fallen.
“What’s your question?” Ladybug prodded. She knew exactly what kinds of questions Chat wanted to ask. She could hear the very specific question he burned to ask every second of every day.
That was why he looked sad, she knew. Whatever he was considering asking wasn’t really what he wanted to know. She hoped more than anything to be able to answer whatever he was going to ask now. At least give him something when she knew she couldn’t give him what he really wanted. What he deserved to know.
Chat exhaled and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. He still avoided her gaze. “It’s…really silly. Kind of embarrassing really,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Silly doesn’t have to be embarrassing,” she countered.
“Well, this is.” He was trying to lead them off-topic now, she could tell.
“Chat,” Ladybug said, swinging her legs back onto the ledge from where they had been dangling and turned to face him. She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest and resting her chin on her knees, looking pointedly at her partner. Her movement inspired him to at least lift his gaze to hers. She felt her breath catch.
He looked like he felt so small, and it broke her heart when she knew everything he felt was so big. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Are you really concerned about sounding silly? Now? I’ve literally heard you freestyle terrible rhyming stanzas while we dance-battle singing villains.”
He laughed once. “I remember that,” he said. She could see him replaying the memory from the battle from their ‘Bambi stage’, as they affectionately referred to their first year of hero-dom.
She moved her hand from his shoulder to take his hand. “It’s okay,” she assured. “Whatever it is, you can ask me.”
Chat squeezed her hand. Unwavering, as always, Ladybug squeezed back. He looked at her once before turning away to look out at the skyline.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Ladybug could have laughed if she hadn’t clearly seen how deeply important this was to her partner.
“My…favorite color?”
He scrunched his eyes shut and squeezed her hand again, crushing the embarrassment bubbling up from his chest. She squeezed back. And she knew why it was such a difficult question for him to ask without him needing to explain.
What he wanted to ask was simple. Safe. But, more than anything, she knew how much he wanted to respect what she wanted. This one thing he wanted to know was so, so far from the careful, distinct lines she'd drawn. It shouldn't have been this hard. It just made him so much more afraid that he’ll never actually know her.
She wanted to give him something. Anything. Just a piece of her that was real and ordinary and safe.
“Pink,” she said.
Relief radiated from Chat’s body. Everything in him relaxed. He laughed, and it almost made Ladybug want to cry. Such a simple question had inspired so much anxiety in her partner. She wanted to be able to be closer, to share more, to be the confidante she knew he deserved. It was depressingly unfair. Chat’s relief was enough for the moment, though. The sadness that tugged at his features had faded, almost imperceptible when he finally looked at her.
His eyes were so warm.
“I should have guessed. Pink suits you, my lady,” Chat said, his usual charisma swirling into his cadence. “Although, I say that red suits you even more—”
“Literally stop that right now.” That finally made him grin at her. Smirking, she laced her fingers through his. The sun had dipped down below the city skyline, and bathing the horizon in pink and orange. The Eiffel’s iconic lights would be glittering any moment now.
“Thank you,” Chat murmured. He didn’t quite have the courage to squeeze her hand again. Something about how dear this trivial piece of information was to him made him feel too vulnerable. The big things were so much easier. It really didn’t make any sense.
Reading his mind, Ladybug squeezed his fingers again. She lifted her other hand so she could hold his hand between both of hers.
“Any time, chaton.”
…
She regretted it almost immediately.
Not truly. Of course not. She would share anything and everything of herself that she safely could for Chat. But on a purely surface level, she couldn’t help but be affectionately exasperated.
The photos didn’t stop. They came at least five times a day. The first one was of a stuffed flamingo in a shop window. The next was of what appeared to be a strawberry smoothie. When she opened her bug phone to a snapshot of a man with a pink umbrella while waiting to start their evening patrol, she messaged him.
BugLady: Taking an interest in street photography?
She knew Chat was on his way to meet her, but she had an obligation to play coy with him anyway. It was kind of their schtick. When her bug phone buzzed again, she could already see him bounding over rooftops in the distance.
Chaton: Only when something reminds me of you, bugaboo
BugLady: I specifically recall that you’re not allowed to be reminded of me more than four times a day. I don’t make the rules.
Chaton: Nuts to the rules
She snorted.
Chaton: I cataclysm my way through the rules on the daily. Rules will never come between Chat Noir and his lady
BugLady: You shameless flirt
Chaton: I have no idea what you’re talking about
His message was accompanied by a photo he snapped while flying through the air of the Parisian rooftops and pink sky behind her. She could even see herself, just a speck on one of the rooftops on the horizon. She saved that one.
…
It became something of a ritual for her, seeing what reminded Chat of her on any given day. He delivered on a fairly consistent basis, at least once a day. She found herself missing the early days of the habit when he’d send five or more.
Not one to send him photos, she reciprocated in her own way. She knew she thought of her partner just as often as he did of her but, unfortunately, wasn’t quite ready to admit that to herself.
If she were going to take photos, they would have been of the empty spot on the bench next to her when she had thought of a joke Chat would find hysterical, or of the street performer she knew he would jump at the chance to volunteer for. A little more depressing than cute, admittedly, so she abstained from snapping and told him about these instances instead.
That evening, they perched on the very top of the dome of the Panthéon, huddled together against the chilly night air. The days were getting shorter and night had already fallen. She tore off a piece of the croissant she was holding and handed it to Chat where he sat next to her. Tuesdays were “Mardi des patissiers”, and it was her turn to bring treats.
“You would have loved this guy,” she said, recalling the charismatic street performer she passed earlier that day. “He was balancing on this platform on top of this stack of cans. He kept bantering with his volunteer.” She chuckled. “This little kid was so shy he didn’t know how to deal with the jokes this guy kept making. You would have played right along.”
Chat raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Definitely. You would have served right back to him.”
Chat nodded his agreement, taking another bite of his croissant. “You know me too well, my lady — honestly, where do you get these things?” he asked, gesturing to his nearly finished pastry.
She smirked. He knew that was her secret. He pouted.
“Seriously, that’s the first thing you need to tell me,” he decided through a mouthful of almond croissant. “Put Hawkboy behind bars, tell me where you get these croissants, then tell me who you are.”
She laughed, smiling wide. “Deal, chaton.”
…
It had been nearly a full hour since she’d taken her last note. Marinette’s pencil was pressed to her notebook, sure, but very little had made its way onto the page. She had her title (Plus du Bac), the date (13 Novembre), and a singular note — “cherche du temps pour etudier???”. She frowned.
Next to her, she felt Alya nudge her arm and glanced dejectedly at her friend. Alya, it appeared, happened to have impeccable notes on the lesson for the day. She glanced between Marinette’s empty page and tired eyes before offering her friend a solid squeeze around her shoulders. Marinette knew Alya would upload the notes for her to copy down. In fact, Alya had started a drive specifically for uploading assignments and notes from days her friend was clearly over-bugged. Marinette almost objected when Alya had titled it “Break Time for Buginette”, but eventually decided it was vague enough that it was safe. And she thought it was sweet.
Thankfully, she only had to feign attentiveness for about five more minutes before the bell signaled the end of class and they were released for the afternoon.
“Do you have time to stop for coffee, Marinette?” Alya asked as they packed up their books. “We could grab a bite and I could help you catch up on test prep at the park.”
Marinette smiled. She actually did have time today. When it came to taking care of herself, it was so nice to have someone keeping her accountable.
“That sounds great, Alya,” she said. “I could use the caffeine.”
“Trust me, I know,” Alya teased.
“I’m not going to say you look tired, because that’s rude as hell and you look lovely, of course, but…you look tired.”
Marinette groaned. “I think the eye bags are just part of my face now.”
Reaching up, Alya affectionately squeezed Marinette’s cheeks between her hands, wordlessly telling her not to worry about it, before taking over packing Marinette’s things so her friend could relax.
While Marinette waited, she noticed Adrien also packing up his things at his desk near the front of the room. For the last two years, she’d managed to always find a seat behind him when they were in class together, which was probably for the best because she was sure she would never focus if she knew he could see her. She thought about saying something to him, like she did most days, but, also like most days, decided against it. It hadn’t gotten any easier for her enamored brain to make heads or tails of language whenever he was in close proximity. She really didn’t know what to do about it at this point besides admire him from a safe distance or cocooned within a larger group of friends.
As if he could read her mind, Adrien paused and looked back at her. Marinette held her breath. He definitely knew she had been staring. Even so, he smiled warmly at her. She could feel her cheeks turning red as she tried (and failed) to calmly smile back. He put his last few things in his book bag and started walking back toward her.
Oh god. Oh geez oh man oh lord.
Marinette made a small strangled noise to try to alert Alya of the imminent Situation, but she was preoccupied with chatting with Rose as she finished packing her and Marinette’s bags. She would have to fumble through yet another interaction with Adrien Agreste alone. A nightmare, frankly.
“Hey, Marinette,” he greeted, oblivious to how her pulse was pounding in her ears.
“Ah, hi, Adrien.” Be chill be chill be chill be chill be chill—
“How has your Bac studying been going?”
“Yeah, I’ve been studying.” She had not — she had been saving the city on a daily basis, but that was beside the point. Wow, his eyes were so beautiful.
She took a moment to come back to earth, and when she did he was looking at her questioningly. She had no idea what he’d just said.
“Haha! For sure,” she said hoping that would be a sensible reply to whatever it was.
Whether it was or not, good-natured as Adrien was, he chuckled and moved on.
“Anyways,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know this is going to sound a little silly, but could I take a picture of your pants?”
Marinette wasn’t sure how to respond. She settled on looking at him blankly. “Huh?”
It was Adrien’s turn to blush and Marinette wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen anything more adorable. “I know it sounds really weird, but I’m kind of doing this scavenger hunt with one of my friends and I realized that your jeans would be perfect and your shoes are even pink too so it would work really well…”
Again, she barely heard him explain through the fog of admiring his precious rambling and the glow she felt after being asked to do Adrien a favor. She wanted nothing more than to help him.
Adrien was asking for her help breathe, Marinette.
“Of course! I mean, I think I designed these years ago. I have much better pieces now,”
“What do you mean?” Adrien asked. “These are still really great! You’ve always had an eye for design, Marinette.”
“Oh! Thanks…” She needed to get this photo done and get out before he complimented her again or she was going to cry.
She stood and attempted to pose in a somewhat flattering way, but really she was just doing everything she could to keep her limbs organized. She went ahead and assumed the cutest pose she knew, putting her hand down by her hip so it would be in the frame and raising two fingers in a peace sign.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Adrien agreed, stepping backward with his phone. When he bumped into the desk behind him, she could have sworn he started to blush.
Keep it together, Marinette.
Laughing sheepishly, Adrien readjusted himself. Marinette couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly snapped the photo.
“Thank you, Marinette,” Adrien started, picking up his bag and throwing it back over his shoulder. “I know it’s kind of a silly ask, but thank you for going along with it.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re the best.”
“Not at all!” She insisted. “Anything! I mean — any time!”
He gave her one last parting smile before he turned and exited the classroom.
Marinette's whole brain was jelly and her muscles felt fuzzy, but nothing mattered because she was warm from the inside out replaying the feeling of Adrien’s hand on her shoulder and the glow of his soft smile.
Once he was gone, Alya took her cue to reappear.
“Girl, you are a literal mess.”
Marinette hung her head, whimpering. Alya patted her on the shoulder.
“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Alya said. Marinette just groaned.
“Please just take me to the caffeine.”
“Of course, mademoiselle,” Alya chuckled and threw her arm around Marinette to guide her out of the classroom.
…
The sun set early, leaving Marinette’s loft lit only by her string of fairy lights and desk lamp. Marinette was steadily copying the notes from Alya’s doc into her notebook while she sipped her cafe viennois and nodded along to the podcast Alya was editing on her laptop. Aside from Alya’s occasional rescripting, the only noise was the rain falling outside, enveloping the girls in a comforting patter.
When the clouds had started to appear on their way to the cafe, the girls chose to take their drinks back to Marinette’s and spend the evening studying for le Bac. Well, at least Marinette would be. Alya was quite on top of her studying, but was kind enough to provide comfortable companionship while Marinette caught up, chiming in every now and then with a helpful tidbit when Marinette had a question about a note.
It was Thursday, but her and Chat’s standard rule was to postpone patrol in the case of inclement weather. The forecast called for it to clear up in time for patrol, but Marinette was a bit reluctant to lose the cozy bubble that her loft became in the midst of a rain shower.
Marinette paused in her note-taking to check the time — 17:30. Plenty of time to finish her note copying and get Alya home. But, she thought, it would really be ideal if they could talk for just a little while before she had to leave. And Marinette was itching to listen to this week’s Ladyblog podcast (and add in her two cents, of course).
“Hey, Alya?” she called to her friend where she sat huddled over her laptop on Marinette’s chaise. She glanced up from her editing and removed one side of her headphones. “I’m going to transform so I can check in with Chat about patrol tonight.” Alya smiled and shot her a thumbs up.
How incredible it was to be able to tell someone that.
Grinning, Marinette set aside her schoolwork and crossed the room to climb the step ladder to her bed. She peeked over the top to find Tikki curled on her pillow where she had left her, snoozing peacefully in the soft glow of her fairy lights. Marinette had just about decided to descend the ladder since her kwami was simply too cute to wake when Tikki popped one eye open.
“Hello, Marinette!” she peeped, floating lazily upward and stretching her tiny limbs. Marinette smiled and reached out one finger to pat the top of Tikki’s spotted head.
“Hi, Tikki,” she giggled. “Sleep well?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, punctuating her sentiment by swooping a circle around Marinette’s head. “Did you need me for anything, Marinette?”
“I did! I’d love to send Chat Noir a message. If we can delay patrol tonight I can visit with Alya and make sure we don’t get caught in the rain, which I’m sure he’d appreciate.”
Tikki nodded her understanding and opened her arms wide, signaling she was ready to transform. As rosy light washed over Marinette, she was again aware of how whole she felt being able to do so while Alya sat below, tapping away on her laptop. Smiling, she reached for her bug phone and flipped it open. She wasn’t surprised to see several unopened message from Chat waiting for her.
“What do you have for me today, Kitty?” She asked herself quietly, tapping the alert and flipping through the photos he deigned worthy of sending her today.
The first was of the sunrise that dyed the sky a soft golden pink (there was something so cozy about learning her kitty was an early riser). Another strawberry smoothie skirted by pink macarons (he had a sweet tooth as well, but she already knew that). A pink plaid button-up displayed in a boutique window (questionable, but could certainly work if styled well).
She scrolled to the next photo and her heart stopped.
The next photo was of her. Specifically, her legs clad in her pink crop capris. It was cropped closely that she couldn’t see much of the classroom or her desk behind her or anything else identifying about the classroom, but those were her legs and her torso and her pink pants and little pink flats.
Adrien took that photo. Adrien just took that photo of her today.
Marinette’s pulse was in her throat. Like flipping on stadium floodlights, when she pictured Chat in her mind’s eye, she saw Adrien, clear as day. And she couldn’t unsee it. If she replayed his favorite catchphrases, she heard Adrien’s voice. If she pictured his posture, his little idiosyncratic gestures and how he carried himself over Parisian rooftops, she could map every detail to her classmate. His hair. His eyes. His cheeky little grins. Adrien was Chat Noir.
Chat was Adrien. In a catsuit.
Marinette dropped her yoyo.
“Alya?” she called. Her voice was small and warbled. Alya didn’t look up from her screen, earbuds in and entrenched in her work. Oh, how Marinette envied her ignorance.
“Alya!” She called louder, scrambling down her ladder and approaching the chaise.
“Yeah?” Alya answered, removing her earbuds. “Are you okay, girl?” Marinette knew she must have looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“I know who Chat Noir is,” she croaked.
Alya’s eyes shot wide open.
“Really?” She asked, voice hushed. “What? When? How?”
“I didn’t mean to find out! It just happened!” Marinette moaned. “He just let something slip that just helped me figure it out because I…” she paused. “I know him already."
Alya clapped her hands to her mouth. “No way!”
Marinette whimpered.
“Wait, do I know him too?” Alya continued, but held up her hands defensively when Marinette shot her a pleading look. “Sorry, sorry, reporter’s instinct.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. Then, she tilted her head, puzzled. “Wait, you didn’t know his identity already?”
“No!” Marinette hissed. “How do you not know this?”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you need to know to work together without, like, wacky hijinks ensuing?”
“That’s always been against the rules! We just…hide? If we need to detransform?”
“Was that the old guardian’s rule?” Alya asked.
“Yes! If Chat Noir and I know each other’s identities, then Hawkmoth could find out and pit us against each other.”
Alya paused, looking at Marinette like she’d sprouted a third head.
“How?”
“Huh?”
“How would you knowing Chat’s identity automatically mean Hawkmoth would know?”
“He just…could!” Marinette spluttered. “Or he could get the information out of one of us if we were captured—“
“That’s it?” Alya cut her off. “Mari, if you get to the point where Hawkmoth captures one of you, I think we have bigger problems.”
Marinette spluttered. “Still, it’s a failsafe! This has ended the world before, Alya!”
“So you’ve said,” Alya hummed. “I know that those times were scary, but Mari, that was years ago. You’re older, you’re wiser. And, I know you’ve explained what happened then, but do you have any evidence that you and chat were the key to the universe’s undoing?”
“That was always the common denominator,” Marinette replied.
“Correlation does not imply causation,” Alya pressed.
“Oh my god.”
“Seriously, Marinette,” Alya insisted, “stop doomsday planning for a moment and think about the situation practically. More often than not, this information is helpful to know.”
Marinette sat with her mouth open. “I don’t know, Alya! It’s not right. Those are just…the rules!”
“Since when? Don’t you make the rules now?”
“Well, yes, but…” she searched for a concrete reason that rule existed, but came up empty. Of course, the fewer people knew their secret identities, the more secure they would be. But she was the Guardian. And she trusted Chat with her life. If anyone could safely know, wasn’t it her? Wasn’t it more practical for the two of them to be able to protect each other? If so, why did she still feel like the room was spinning?
“I dunno, Mari. It sounds like it’s not a big deal to me.”
“Um, how?!”
“I mean. You can coordinate more easily. Support each other and protect each other without having to hide from one another. Eliminate any distractions. Hiding your identities from each other seems like more trouble than it’s worth, honestly.” She shrugged. “The Avengers all know each other’s identities.”
“I’m not the Avengers,” Marinette mumbled into the chaise.
“I’m just saying, it works for them.”
Marinette tilted her head up and pouted her lips. “The Avengers don’t have jewelry that could end the universe.”
“Technically, universe-ending jewels were involved…” Alya began, but stopped when Marinette groaned and smushed her face back into the chaise. Alya reached out and placed a hand softly on top of hers.
“Hey,” she said gently, “I know you didn’t necessarily want to figure this out in this way, but I don’t think it’s all as bad as you think.” She paused, reaching out to brush Marinette’s hair back so she could look her in the eye. “I think, and you can always tell me if I’m wrong, but I’ve known you for a while now, Mari. If you didn’t tell each other when you became Guardian, I think you’re just scared it might change things between you. From what I’ve seen — and again, I’m trusting my gut here so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong — you still have feelings for Adrien, but you and Chat Noir have a really strong connection.”
“We do,” Marinette whispered. It really was perfect. She had just found out her crush and her other half were the same person. So why was she still terrified?
“I’m not a relationship expert, but I do know that Nino is my best friend.” She reached out her other hand to smooth the tension from Marinette’s knuckles. “I feel like we’re taught to picture love like it’s something different, but it’s really not.”
Marinette’s vision began to fog. She thought about her admiration for Adrien and how he still turned her brain to mush whenever she tried to speak to him. She thought about Chat, and everything they’d faced and fought together. Both were real to her, but grabbing hold of something with either of them felt like a fantasy. Everything she’d ever imagined with either of them felt like a fantasy, distant and intangible. Now that they were so inextricably woven together, he was there and he was real. Suddenly, she could reach out and let him in and bring her dreams to life and she was terrified.
“I think,” she began quietly, “that knowing who he is just makes him too real. Like I could love him safely from far away. But now I can’t. I have to love him close-up, for real.” Her chest tightened. “That could end so badly,” she whispered.
Alya smiled at her, small and warm, popping her earbuds back in. “I don’t think it will.”
…
And so Marinette began collecting.
She collected her own snapshots, one for every pink scavenger hunt item he had sent her. She started with the things that reminded her most of her partner — the view from their favorite perch on La Tour Eiffel, her morning croissant and cafe au lait, a sweet, orange tabby lounging belly-up in a shop window.
The moment he crouched down next to a tearful young akuma victim to offer her a warm smile and a shoulder to lean on. When he walked a stranger who forget their umbrella to the metro in a storm. When she approached their rooftop rendezvous point and saw he had prepared a seat and a plate for her when it was his turn to bring snacks.
And he loved it. Whenever she saw him, he simply radiated warmth.
And, she noticed, the shadow of uncertainty that still plagued their every interaction slowly began to fade. He didn’t hesitate in her space, didn’t weigh his words on his tongue before he spoke. She didn’t watch him gauge her reaction to every joke, every query, every simple statement.
If only she had realized how simple it was to help him feel loved. How he had clearly been living in a space where he didn’t feel hers.
And when she saw how loved he felt, she glowed.
…
She couldn’t help but smile watching him chuckle at the latest clip she had sent him. He sat hunched over his catphone, legs crossed, eyes lit up as he scrolled through her latest messages.
“Oh, this one. My lady, this one is incredible,” Chat crooned, flipping the screen around to show her a stray gray tabby plopped on a street corner, caught mid-groom with one leg in the air and his tongue sticking out. Ladybug chuckled.
“That’s the only ‘blep’ I’ve ever seen that can hold a candle to yours.”
Chat wiggled where he sat, puffing out his chest and shooting her the most self-important smirk she’d ever seen. “It’s a gift.”
Ladybug beamed as Chat flipped to his stomach and returned to swiping, ‘ooh’ing and ‘aah’ing and chuckling whenever he felt an image particularly captured his essence.
And that was what she had wanted. She had wanted to let him see himself the way she saw him. Tell him, as best she could, how she carried him with her every day. To share how much of her experience of the world was colored with admiration for him.
She loved him. She loved him so much, and it was so much easier to live in that love when she didn’t feel the need to categorize or define or make excuses for it. Her love for Chat didn’t need to be fenced off, clearly delineated so as not to betray her love for Adrien. They were one and the same, and she couldn’t stop basking in how much easier it was to breathe without the fences.
And then, he froze. Even though she knew it was coming, her heart leapt to her throat.
The last photo in the gallery was of Adrien, snapped by Marinette at the conclusion of their final lecture that afternoon. While making his way out of the classroom, the strap of Nino’s bag had torn, leaving his books scattered on the floor. Adrien, of course, knelt down with him to help gather his things, and even tied the ends of the bag’s broken strap back together in a sturdy knot. She happened to catch him as he handed the bag back to his friend, clapping him on the shoulder with a brilliant smile on his face.
It was so simple, so basic, but that was just the kind of person he was. Offering his help, his service, and his kindness to others was as natural to Adrien as breathing.
“Ladybug?” Chat asked. He kept his voice calm, but his eyes were intently searching hers. It took everything she had in her to keep still. “Why’s this one here?”
“You never hesitate to help the people around you,” she said, hands folded in her lap, voice barely above a whisper. She was still looking at the image shining up from the screen. In the stillness, Chat kept his eyes trained on her. “I know that you’ve been mistreated by some of the people that are supposed to care most about you, but you offer yourself so willingly and trust openly anyway. I admire that so much.”
She inhaled, swiping one thumb over the other, before finally lifting her eyes to his.
“And it’s what I love most about you, Adrien.”
She swore he stopped breathing. He held her gaze, clutching the phone with both hands.
“Ladybug,” he asked. Slowly, he pushed himself up to settle closer to her, searching her face. Marinette’s pulse began to race in her ears, teetering on the edge of such an overwhelming happiness she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Edges of her lips twitching, she offered out one hand, palm up. When he cautiously reached out in return, eyes never leaving her own, the knot forming in her throat pushed down into her heart, her lungs. She allowed tears to gather in her eyes, but not to fall.
“Ladybug, are you— do you know— ?” he asked. His hand still hovered just above hers. She couldn’t help the way her breath began to hitch, the soft laughter that seeped through the edges of her adrenaline-bound body. She could feel the depth of the hope and fear and love in Chat’s eyes, allowed herself to be enveloped. She didn’t trust herself to do more than nod, finally allowing her herself the smile she’d been fighting. The tears came with it.
And Chat beamed. He took the hand she’d offered, twining his fingers with hers and pulling himself closer to kneel in front of her. His other hand went to her face, palm warm, thumb stroking over her cheeks, just under the edge of her mask. He began to laugh with her, breath coming in delirious spurts of relief and joy. She wrapped her fingers around his, relishing the warm press of his palm against her face, their mirrored breathless mirth sounding through pressed smiles and disbelief and relief.
She felt his love rushing out through where the fences used to be and came up to meet him.
“Hi, Adrien,” she said through her tear-streaked grin, and his expression melted.
“Hi,” he replied, absolutely breathless. He stroked his thumbs over her palm, through the tears pooling her on cheek.
“Hi, Adrien. I’m Marinette.”
He choked out a laugh, lifted her knuckles to his lips. He brought his face to hers, pressing their foreheads together, positively nuzzling her with his nose. She felt golden.
"Marinette," he said, with the same reverence he'd always called her his Lady, "Now I know where you've been getting Paris's best croissants."
True laughter bubbled up and pealed from her lips onto the hands held between them, his cheeks, his hair, the pockets of air between them. He joined her. She reveled in the sound.
In the spaces between, he brought his lips to her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. She beamed and beamed and beamed. Whenever she opened her eyes, she could see he was, too.
She couldn't have stopped it if she tried.