Chapter Text
The days unraveled one thread at a time, and the spools were endless, knotted, spilling untidily in Marinette’s heart. They unraveled nearly as slowly as her clock's arms moved.
Of course, she had tried to distract herself with a thread of her own. But no matter how many times she punctured fabric through, no matter how repetitious she made her own movements — her arms, her fingers, her wrists — the clock always bested her.
It had been approximately 94 days since Chat Noir and Ladybug had defeated Monarch.
93 days since Ladybug had last seen Chat Noir.
And 28 days since Marinette’s hope had begun to wane.
“Marinette?” Her mother’s voice rose, muffled through the trapdoor to her bedroom. “There’s food ready downstairs!”
“Thanks, mom,” Marinette called back. Her gaze was fixed on the rooftops beyond her bedroom window. “But I’m not really hungry.”
She listened to her mother’s footsteps retreat back downstairs.
94 days since Chat Noir and Ladybug had defeated Monarch.
93 days since Ladybug had last seen Chat Noir.
28 days since Marinette’s hope had begun to wane.
Months had passed.
Sometimes, when she couldn’t stand to think anymore, she’d listen to the infuriating clock and count along with it.
Up to 94.
Back to one, and up again to 93.
Once more till she reached 28.
Seconds had turned into months and back again.
It was useless, wasn’t it? Monarch had been defeated. She should be joyous, but without Chat Noir to celebrate with her, there sat an empty pocket in her heart.
There was nothing worth celebrating if her Chaton was also gone.
“Where are you?” Marinette whispered, her breath fogging the pane. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass.
It was December now. She had never felt lonelier.
____________________
Two weeks later, the heater gave out.
“Oh, it is just frigid in here!” Her mother exclaimed that morning. “Marinette, sweetie, your father needs me in the bakery. You know how busy these mornings are. Could you please run to the store to buy us another space heater?”
Marinette merely nodded before walking to the closet to grab a jacket. She hadn’t left the house in days. She hadn’t wanted to and, if she was honest, she still didn’t want to. Her grief lingered in bouts of fatigue.
But maybe this was just her mother’s way of trying to get her moving forward again.
Not that she knew what her daughter needed to move forward from.
Marinette’s arms slid smoothly into the sleeves of the puffer jacket she chose, and she decided to reach back in for a scarf, too. Without thinking, one hand hovered over the black wool scarf hanging in the front.
The one she had embroidered with bright green paw prints just this time last year. It had been her favorite.
Marinette pressed her lips together into a flat line. Reaching to the left of it, she grabbed the plain white one her mother usually used, instead.
“I’m heading out now,” she called over her shoulder before walking outside and shoving her chapped hands into her pockets.
Then, as she traipsed through the snow and toward the nearest general store, she counted her steps.
Up to 108.
Back to one, and up again to 107.
Once more till she reached 42.
December was halfway over now, which meant that, for the first time in several years, she was going to have to greet the new year without Chat Noir.
Last year, they had celebrated by exchanging baked goods. Aiming for a gift of warmth and familiarity, she brought a basket of fresh croissants — some regular, some chocolate. She knew her Chaton couldn’t turn a croissant down if it was within reach.
Then, when it was his turn to unveil his own creation, Chat Noir beamed. Not only was he proud, but he clearly enjoyed how the quality of his homemade cookies had taken her by surprise.
She fondly remembered the way they shared smiles and a stomach ache by the end of the night, and—
“Oof!”
Marinette had been so engrossed in her memories that she hadn’t been paying attention to the pavement ahead. She realized belatedly that there had been a ledge coming up, and her foot hooked onto the hard cement.
She fell forward, her arms wheeling. The ground rushed up to greet her and she tried without grace to catch herself as she landed. With her fingers braced on the ground through the ice and snow, she felt how the shock of the fall tingled up through her wrists. The impact on her knees felt even sharper.
Marinette sucked in a pained breath, her eyes watering. She bent her head and waited a moment for the pain to subside before she tried to stand.
As the snow melted into her jeans and leeched away her warmth, she barely even realized that someone had placed a hand on her shoulder until she recognized her name.
“Marinette?” The voice was soft. Hesitant with concern, but familiar.
She looked up. The shock of blond through her blurred vision, the warm green eyes, brought her heart into her throat. But when she blinked, she realized it was Adrien Agreste kneeling beside her.
Of course, it’s not Chat, she thought bitterly. How could I even…
Despite the fact that she had already given up 42 days ago, she still felt her stomach sour and sink.
“Are you okay?” Adrien asked. He removed his hand from her shoulder and extended it in an offer to help her up.
For a brief moment, Marinette remembered when her partner had done the same on the day that Monarch had first emerged, emboldened by his acquisition of the other Miraculous.
That was the day she had truly fallen in love with Chat Noir — not that she had known it in that moment.
Marinette’s gaze lingered on Adrien’s hand a second longer before she sniffled and wiped her hands on her pants. She felt a little bad when she took his hand and stood up, as she realized just how frigid her fingers must have felt in his.
“I’m fine,” she said, smiling weakly. “Thanks.”
Adrien cocked his head. He was clearly skeptical of her answer, but unwilling to pry.
“Where were you going?” he asked instead.
“To buy a space heater. It’s pretty cold at home.”
“Ah.”
He looked down for a moment, weighing his words before tightening his grip on her hand.
“Well, I was going out to grab a coffee,” he said. “Would you like to stop in with me? It seems like you could use a pick-me-up of some kind.”
Though she didn’t feel like it, Marinette smiled. It had been weeks since she had held a conversation with someone who wasn’t Tikki or one of her parents.
“Um, sure,” she said. “Okay.”
____________________
The steaming mug was a welcome shock between her palms.
Marinette watched as Adrien slowly removed his gloves and realized that she should have grabbed some on her way out, too. But the only pair in the closet had been part of a matched set with the Chat Noir scarf.
Looking down, she watched the foam slowly dissolve on the surface of her mocha, the memory of stitching the small paws onto the inner wrist of the gloves fresh in her mind.
“It’s been a while.”
Adrien’s voice broke her out of her reverie.
“What?” She looked up.
“I said it’s been a while,” he repeated. “We’ve all been worried, you know, especially Alya. We barely see you anymore, let alone hear from you. Especially now that we’re on break from school.”
Marinette guiltily remembered the unanswered texts on her phone, the phone calls she had never returned from classmates.
“Yeah, I’ve been…” She took a deep breath. “Just occupied, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Adrien said softly. He was looking down now, too. “I get that.”
They let the silence hang comfortably between them for a moment, their gazes lingering in opposite directions while the subtle backdrop of hissing steam and clinking dishware filled in the sound around them.
Finally, Adrien spoke up.
“Whatever it is…” he blushed as one hand came up to scratch self-consciously at the back of his head. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me. If you want to, that is.”
Marinette hesitated and was surprised to find herself considering his offer.
Sure, she couldn’t tell him the whole truth. And she hadn’t told Alya anything because her best friend would know immediately that this was about Chat Noir, and her emotions just felt too big, too cumbersome — too… too much — to be shared in their entirety.
But Adrien didn’t know everything Alya did. So, maybe she could open up — just a little.
“There’s not much to tell,” Marinette started. She ran one finger slowly around the rim of her cup. “I guess I’m… I’m just missing someone, you know?”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Marinette was startled by how quickly he had responded but decided not to dwell on it. He was probably just eager to help her open up.
She nodded, once again eyeing the thin layer of foam on her drink.
“This person is just really important to me. And he hasn’t… well, I haven’t been able to—” she stopped abruptly, feeling the tears press once more at the base of her throat. She tried to discreetly swallow around it. “I’ve tried to get in contact with him, but nothing has worked. I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay, and I just… miss him terribly .”
Her words were met by silence, and she dared to peek up at Adrien through her eyelashes.
He looked sad. He was also staring intently down at his coffee, both hands cupped tightly around the mug.
Finally, he sighed.
“I get that. I miss someone terribly, too,” he admitted. “But I guess my problem is the opposite. I’m afraid to reach out to her.”
He sounded about as forlorn as she felt.
Marinette looked out the window and began to count the falling snowflakes.
Several minutes passed by in amicable silence. Even if they couldn't comfort each other, Marinette felt happy to know that they could at least share this quiet pain, whatever it was.
The snowflakes continued to fall. She started her counting over from one, and the closer she got to 108, the more she felt herself inwardly fallingfallingfalling back into the arms of her grief.
“Why did he leave?”
Startled, Marinette looked back at Adrien. His eyes were still averted.
“What?” she asked.
“Why did he leave?” Adrien repeated. “I mean, if you know, at least.”
“Maybe… maybe because our job was done?” Marinette slumped her cheek into one hand. She didn’t actually know the answer, which was part of the whole problem. “Before we defe— um, before we reached our goal, we had a period of time where things got rocky between us. I thought we had moved past it together, but… I don’t know. Maybe not.”
Adrien ran his thumb thoughtfully over the handle of his porcelain mug.
“What about you?” Marinette asked. “Your person might miss you just as much as you miss her. Why don’t you reach out?”
“Because of my father,” he said bitterly. “Not that that needs explaining.”
Ah.
Yes, Marinette remembered the sadness and anger she felt on Adrien’s behalf when she and Chat Noir discovered Monarch’s true identity. Chat Noir had appeared to be even more shocked than she was; stricken, even. She hadn’t understood why.
She pushed the thought aside.
“Adrien,” Marinette raised her head and extended one hand across the table, “the people who truly know you already know that you aren’t like your father. We would never judge you for what he did. Maybe you should give this girl a chance to show you the same acceptance.”
Adrien swallowed.
“Yeah, it’s… It’s just that it’s different with her,” he whispered. “I want to believe she’d still accept me, but I’m still too scared of the alternative to even try.”
Though the conversation had started on Marinette’s behalf, she couldn’t help but feel protective — emboldened, even — when she saw the way Adrien’s lips wobbled.
“Well, then she’s not worth your time,” she said fiercely. “Really, Adrien, do you even realize how amazing you are? You only deserve the best. But… but if she’s someone you want in your life, I think you owe it to yourself to find out.”
Adrien only closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“That’s enough about me,” he finally said before taking a deep breath and looking back up. “We came here to talk about you. I just want to know: Are you okay? I mean really okay?”
Marinette bit her lip and shrugged one shoulder noncommittally.
“I… will be. I guess.”
“Well, would it help you to talk about him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Did you… do you… I don’t know.” Adrien sighed. “What would you say to him, if you could? I mean, I kind of up and disappeared on someone, too. And sometimes I wish I knew what she would say if I had the nerve to reach out.”
He took a slow pull of coffee from his mug. A fine layer of foam coated his top lip after he set it back down.
“Truthfully? I would just ask for him to come back,” Marinette said, retracting her hand and placing it back around her mug. “If he needs to take time to tell me why he left, that’s fine, but I just… want him back.”
She took a shallow sip.
“You know, once, when things were, uh, quieter than expected for a while, we used to meet up just to play card games and pass the time. It was like this little break we got to have together. I’d kill to have that with him again.”
“We did that too,” Adrien sighed, referring to his mystery girl. “They were nice. Quiet moments between the storms.”
“That’s it, exactly.”
Marinette smiled at the memory of how insistent Chat Noir had been about finally defeating her at cards one day.
“Okay, well,” Adrien started with a soft smile, “what do you miss about him?”
Everything.
But she couldn’t say that; Adrien was probably looking for specifics. Marinette ducked her head shyly.
“Well, I miss his jokes. His puns used to drive me crazy,” she chuckled sadly. “But I also loved them. He was silly and always knew exactly what to say to lighten the situation. And he was brave. And kind.”
She thought some more.
“But most of all, I think what I miss the most was just… that it was him and me against the world.” For once, her fragile smile wasn’t forced. “He was right: it was what always worked. Me and him, I mean. A duo. But now he’s just… gone.”
When Marinette looked back up, Adrien was staring at her more intently than before, the furrow of his brow just barely perceptible.
“Just you and him against the world,” he murmured.
Marinette blinked. She didn’t think it was an odd statement, but maybe Adrien was taking it to mean something else.
“I mean, we– it’s not that— Uh, I mean, we were just—”
“Partners.”
Adrien still hadn’t moved, but his eyes had shifted back down. The lines of his shoulder had tightened, hiking defensively up toward his ears.
“Y-yeah,” Marinette stuttered. “We were partners.”
Then, a little quieter, she said, “Although he usually called me his lady.”