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It starts with an innocent question.
He asks her, in his easygoing tone, what flavors she would associate with him. She pauses in the middle of her homework to press her fingertips against her lips to consider the question. She thinks the question quite odd. That being the case, it is certainly not the oddest of the sort that they have asked each other over the years. She doesn’t think too much of why he is asking and instead focuses on what her response should be.
She knows that most would associate a very bold flavor with her partner. Perhaps coffee as dark as his suit with a splash of orange to account for his flamboyant personality. But, as she considers him, she reminds herself of how there is much more to him.
Though his personality to the public is quite ostentatious, Ladybug knows it to be far more complex than that. Chat is very much the type of person to make as many witty jokes as he can, but he is also very dependable and can be serious when necessary. And, though they had both gone through many changes over the years, Ladybug knows that she can always come back to Chat. Just as he can always come back to her.
Like cinnamon and vanilla.
She wants to answer him with only those flavors, because what could one want beyond those two? Alone they are overpowering, but, when put together, nothing goes quite as well together as they do. Both meld to create a flavor that is familiar and comforting.
One that reminds her of home.
As that thought flits by, she realizes that there is one more flavor that she has almost forgotten… Chamomile. The tea is a staple in her home, and it occurs to her that she is simply reciting her mother’s tried and true recipe. She almost doesn’t mention the last flavor, but it seems fitting nonetheless. If there has been anything as comforting as being curled up under a blanket on a rainy day in her life, it would be her partner.
And she says as much, though not in so many words —she doesn’t want to inflate his ego too much.
He replies smarmily and she sasses back in their usual banter. The conversation continues on at a comfortable pace. One that is easy-going without the usual pressures that they face on a regular basis. She returns to her homework and allows herself to enjoy the familiar song and dance between the two of them.
That is, until Chat misses a beat.
He attempts to catch himself, to stop the words before she can make any sense of them. But, as is his usual bad luck, he is unable to stop himself from saying too much. From revealing too much.
In any other circumstance, Chat mentioning such a benign detail such as his place of work might have been easily covered up. Paris had to have numerous cafes all over the city and that would have done little beyond shedding a bit more light onto his earlier curiosity.
But he doesn’t work at any café.
At first, even though he hands her the puzzle pieces, Ladybug doesn’t quite absorb the information. It’s almost as if she’s looking at a puzzle where she only has to place a few more pieces and she will be able to make sense of the whole picture.
She slowly moves her eyes over him. First to his hair. It’s messy as always and isn’t quite the same, but it’s still noticeably similar. They then move to his ring. It just so happens to resemble another that she’s only seen in passing. And then, finally, her eyes land on his textbooks containing only one subject: his major.
Ladybug freezes as each piece clicks into place. She dimly notices the contents of her hands falling to the ground, but she can’t be bothered to worry about such a thing at a time like this. Her hands shake as she puts the final piece –his hair- in place. And, as she pulls her hand back she finally sees the whole picture:
Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste.
She absolutely and, without a shadow of a doubt, knows who her partner is.
As it dawns on her that the model, and local barista, is also her partner, the first thing that she feels is terror. She has long conditioned herself to fear sharing their secret identities so it doesn’t take her by much surprise. It seizes her as the fear for each other compounds on top of her minor fear of his disappointment in her civilian identity.
She isn’t allowed to dwell on it, though, as Chat begins choking at her revelation. They make quick work of avoiding his potential asphyxiation as he powers through the choking to splutter out a response. She attempts to explain how she doesn’t know him very well in an attempt to navigate away from a potential landmine, but she accidentally triggers another that very visibly hurts his feelings.
Ladybug never relishes in hurting her partner. She knows how much he has been looking forward to this moment. It most certainly is nothing like what he has more than likely planned in the past, but she hopes that by talking more they can clear this up.
As usual, though, as soon as the conversation turns in even a remotely uncomfortable direction, her selfless partner gives her an out. She insists that it’s alright. And, as she speaks the words she realizes that she actually is alright, oddly enough.
He attempts to dissuade her from continuing yet again. But, there isn’t really a point for her to know his identity without him also knowing hers, is there? A long time ago, when she obsessed over his suggestion of revealing themselves, she decided that, if she ever found out his identity that she would reveal her own. It certainly wouldn’t be fair otherwise.
But, even though she is comfortable with Chat and trusts him with her life… There is still a part of her that fears that he will be disappointed by who she really is. And, since their interactions have been limited between their civilian selves up to this point, she doesn’t have much evidence to dismiss that small voice.
Ladybug stews for a moment longer before an idea comes to her. She knows that it would be a bit tricky, and it is honestly just a way of delaying the inevitable, but there is a part of her that wants him to get to know her. The real her behind the mask.
She knows that it would be a risk. But, as the seconds tick into minutes, Ladybug warms up to the idea. Some time passes until finally—
“How about… we play a game?”