Work Text:
Of all the things he had learned about since starting school, nicknames were Adrien’s favorites. Nicknames were the sweet spot where his two other favorite things met: puns and friends. Still, they seemed to have a steep learning curve, and some people just didn't get it.
Take Mariposa for instance. Adrien was still attempting to find a nickname that she didn’t reject outright, which was difficult given her remarkable ability to find reasons he shouldn’t use them. Monarch had been rejected (due to design inconsistencies: “monarchs are orange, Chat”), Mari-sipan nixed (due to culinary preferences: “marsipan is impossible to work with, trust me, Chat”), Butterfree didn't stick either (due to her having been raised in an anime free cocoon, clearly, and he thought he was raised under a rock, “how could you even suggest anything ought to be without butter, Chat? We’re French”) and Bugaboo had been right out (due to ???? He still thought it was perfect and she still rolled her eyes each time he said it). So the search for a mutually acceptable nickname, the final (and altogether necessary) symbol of their partnership, carried on.
Three months in, and Chat was working with diminutive suffixes and abbreviations (an advanced move, Nino had informed him, one has to be careful with diminutives lest they be perceived as disrespectful). So who could blame him for greeting his partner with his latest creation?
“How nice of you to flutter in my sweet Mari-nette!”
She very nearly missed her landing. "What did you just call me?"
"Mari-nette? Like little-butterfly? But like, shortened."
She didn't respond.
"Isn't that how nicknames work?" Chat backpedaled. "I mean, that's how Nino said they worked. . . "
Mariposa flinched more. "Who?"
"One of my friends at school. " Chat replied, realizing too late that he had broken one of her cardinal rules. (“No personal information! We cannot risk compromising our identities!”) “Hahaha, actually nevermind, right? I totally already have a friend with that name, so it was just a joke.”
Mariposa inhaled forever.
Chat just started talking, hoping desperately that eventually he’d say something that would fix the problem, with an increasing awareness that the more he said, the worse things were getting, and with any option to shut up growing more and more distant. (Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Plagg is facepalming). “I mean, at least I think she's my friend, we got off to kinda a rough start when we met at the beginning of the school year, and I had thought I smoothed things over, but sometimes I'm not sure, because she hangs out with our crew a lot, like I think our besties are dating so I don't know what that makes her and me, but sometimes I'll ask her a question and she'll just say like eighteen words at once, which is super cute honestly but I’m just worried that maybe she’s still mad about the gum thing but it feels too late to bring it back up and try to explain over again but I hope she doesn’t hold that against me because she's like super cool, class president and everybody thinks she's amazing and she's this amazing fashion designer and, not to brag, but I know fashion, alright."
He finally ran out of words when Mariposa turned around to face him. Slowly. She still didn’t say anything, just stared at him like he was growing a second head.
"Oh really? You know fashion, do you?" Mariposa's voice was unnaturally high and oddly pitched.
"Yeah well I was kinda born into it you know, ever since I was a little Chat-erpilliar"
And, listen. Chat could be honest with himself. That was far from his best pun. Top ten maybe, but that was being really generous. So, needless to say, he hadn't really expected that to be the joke that Mariposa finally laughed at.
But, boy, did she laugh. Less a sort of “haha funny joke” laugh and more a frantic, near crazed laugh that, oddly, sometimes sounded like his name.
Not "chat", weirdly enough, but "Adrien".