A/N: Hey, guys. Super long hiatus between updates, I know, and I feel really really bad about it. But really, I don't have any excuse besides being super busy lately. I try to write, but I mostly write on stolen time these days. My sincerest apologies. You guys have been lovely in your patience.

Ladybug looks up, squinting into the bright light of the sun. It's a glorious afternoon, warm as any, leaves gently swaying in the breeze. The sky is clear—rain hadn't been forecasted to mar this marvelous day (not accounting the Akuma running rampant that is)—so she can clearly see, swishing lightly against against the slender column of metal, a thick leather belt, black as night, tangling with steel-capped boots.

"If you would so kind, milady." His voice carries lightly with the wind, somewhat remorseful. "We have a cat stuck in a tree."

She can't help the laugh. It bubbles in her, out of her lips, and despite the sun burning against her eyes, she doubles over, hands against her knees, tears swimming.

"Ah. The Lady is amused."

"Oh Chat," she says, straightening. She winds her yoyo, tosses. It coils just a few inches over Chat's head. "How'd the kitten get himself roped to a pole?" She tugs the string a bit, then pulls herself up in a graceful leap.

"How'd we always end up with villains that get power over random household items?" He shakes his head morosely as their gazes meet on her way up. "Honestly, my greatest fears have come true. A villain with power over rope. Made of it, too, from what I saw."

Crouched on the very top, she giggles over Chat's dramatic distress, knowing he's only putting on a show for her. He gets ridiculous sometimes, but he's never let it jeopardise the way he fights, so she's learned to giggle along with him when he lapses into periods of melodrama.

She hooks her feet on the string of the yoyo, lowers herself behind the silly cat. Positioning herself carefully, she begins working on the rope, loosening it, getting the knot to tug free.

"Did you see where the Akuma might have been?" she asks as she works.

It's a hard knot, and she's aware that, in their dallying, some part of Paris is suffering severe vandalisation. But a small part of her, the selfish little girl she always tries to forget when she has to wear the mask of Paris' saviour, basks in the moment of lightness and laughter, the ease of their playful banter, when she can pretend that the world isn't going to end.

"There was a necklace," he recalls, turning partially to look at her. He only manages as far as his bonds would allow him, but she catches the edge of that smile, the rascal's smirk.

Finally, the rope loosens, slips from her fingers. Chat's quick reflexes allow him to catch the pole between clawed fingers before he could fall, and he dangles, effortless and casual, as though it doesn't cost him any strength at all. He loosens his grip, hooks an ankle to the pole, and lets himself slide down.

"Standard formation?" he asks, his feet touching the ground first. Instinctively, he turns and catches her as she descends before setting her on the ground, accepting the baton she holds out to him, which he'd undoubtedly misplaced sometime during his solo scuffle with the rope creature. "I distract, you grab the necklace, purify the Akuma, and we'll all be on our way home."

"Sounds like a plan, kitten. Now, keep up with me. We've wasted a lot of time on you."

"And I feel paw-sitively awful for it."

Rolling her eyes at his morose pout, she launches herself in the air. As always, Chat accustoms himself to the pace easily, taking off after her; soon, he's close behind her. She relaxes her shoulders, forces the cogs to turn in her head, basking in his comforting presence.

They land amidst the bars of the Eiffel Tower, exhilarated and laughing.

Steady on her feet on the metal beams, she gazes out towards where pastel coloured buildings lie, where concrete snake into mazes and the horizon cuts across in a decisive slash of a line. Once again, Miraculous Ladybug has stored peace, and what had been wrecked has been healed and repaired.

"That was surprisingly easy," Chat remarks. He's standing close to her, one hand resting against a slanted beam, gazing out into the open vista. "And we had time to take turns to recharge too. I call that a rare victory."

"Don't get too comfortable, kitty. You did get tied up to a flagpole."

"There was that minor obstacle," he acknowledges. "But the rest was rather smooth sailing, wasn't it?"

"Too smooth," she murmurs, looking away into the distance again.

The clouds are pretty, soft and light as cotton candy. It's a scenic view, despite the chaos the city had witnessed. She wonders what Paris would have looked like if she and Chat Noir aren't there to save it, if Akumas were given free reign to lay waste to everything Paris holds dear. What would stand and what would fall?

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of Chat's voice, saying, "—you, my Lady, performed excellently. I had never been more dazzled by your creativity."

She punches him on the arm, lips threatening to smile. "I don't fall for your praises you little—"

Her voice dies, seeing the look in Chat's eyes; while his words had been jovial, his eyes carry melancholy. He's not facing Paris but her, his head and gaze bent towards her, the white scar of the sword stark against his skin, running just an inch or so over the golden bell.

"You laugh all too easily, my Lady," he says, and his tone is melancholic. "But your eyes turn sad just as quickly."

"What are you talking about, Chat?" she says lightly. "I'm just thinking, is all, about Paris. How it would be if we aren't here to protect it."

Chat nods, acknowledging, but his searching eyes never leave her face. "Ladybug, are you happy?"

Her lips part; her throat shrivels into nothing. Chat's sincerity is difficult to swallow, and the words play, over and over and over, familiar in her head. She reels back to her encounter with Chat on the rooftop as Marinette, his true despondence when she selfishly gave him the notion that Ladybug might be alone, that she might be weeping in silent company.

"Of course I am." The words are raw, wrung from her throat.

"I never asked about your personal life." He shuffles on his feet, pushes his boot to the edge, then draws it back in rhythmic scrapes, as though he's trying to pace his thoughts to the beat. "Mostly because I respect that you want a professional relationship between us. But I care about you, and I'd like you to know that I want you to be happy. I want you to have," he smiles, "a wonderful life."

She takes a deep breath. "I am happy, Chat." Every time I'm with my friends: Alya, Adrien, Nino… you.

His smile doesn't waver. He leans against the bar with a stretch, gazes out again. "How's the boy?"

She blinks owlishly at him.

He chances a glance at her and there's still that twist on his lips, the piqued interest that weaves itself through his irises with skeins of care and concern. "The one you're in love with," he clarifies simply.

Her mouth feels as parched as sandpaper. It takes effort to not twist her fingers together in front of her. "He's fine, I think."

Chat nods, believing her. "Does he treat you well?"

"As well as he can, which is more than I deserve sometimes." She looks up, catching him dead in the eye. "Chat, how did you… how did you know anything about him?"

It's a question that she hadn't been able to ask as Marinette, but now, standing here as Ladybug, masked and confident, the question slips out all too easily, her curiosity plain and unsuppressed.

"Because you laugh with me and smile at the far distance," Chat says simply, hands behind his back.

The air is frigid up here; it stings her throat every time she inhales. "How long have you… noticed?"

Chat smiles and it's both consoling and sorrowful. "Long enough."

She's speechless, staring.

"If the boy won your heart, then he must be worthy of my Lady's love," he declares, exhaling into the cool air, which dissipates into soft laughter. "I was so jealous of him."

"Chat, I—"Her words waver, and there's that pain in her heart again, cords binding, thread as thin and fine as hair squeezing her from the inside. "I'm sorry, I—I didn't—"

"It's okay, Ladybug," he says, gentle. "You don't have to apologise for it. The heart wants what the heart wants. And our partnership—your friendship—is far too precious to me. I wouldn't trade it for the world."

"But Chat…" she wrings her hands together, twists her fingers hard just so she can find an anchor in pain. "Do you still love me?" she squeaks.

He smiles and bows a tiny bow, hand to his heart. "As much as a Chat can love his Lady. Part of my heart will always belong to you, no matter whom I've grown to love."

"Have you then, Chat?" Her voice sounds tiny. "Have you found someone who makes you happy?"

When Chat smiles again, she can feel her world shattering. Chat never lies to her, and in his eyes now is the open truth. His chin jerks in the smallest of nods.

It's about then that she finds the air up here not only cold, but awfully stifling.

"Tell me about her," she says instead, because the hunger is there, the desperation to know whom Chat loves, to judge if she's worth that golden heart.

"She's fascinating." He says it with a sigh, and Ladybug's smile strains at the edges. "Beautiful. Whip smart. Talented." He looks down at the beams, the ground far below. "I've known her for a pretty long time and I've always thought she was wonderful." His lips lift in tender fondness. "She's cute and very… expressive. It's fun guessing what she'll do next. I don't really know when I started seeing her more than a friend," he admits, flushing under the black mask, "but the more I got to know her, the more I saw. She has a beautiful and kind heart."

"Sounds remarkable, your dream girl," she comments offhandedly, making an effort to not seem malicious.

"She is a dream. A lot of boys pine for her." He laughs. Despite the silent scream of her breaking heart, it's the most beautiful thing she's ever heard. "I don't think she has a clue about it though."

"Surely beauty comes with awareness," she says dubiously.

"Not with her. I can tell she doesn't know."

She clenches her fist, then relaxes. She breaths cold air through her lips, leaves it to sear through her lungs. It touches her heart, too, unintentionally, and she can feel the broken cracks, the red, bleeding edges, the pulsing jealousy.

Something she can't do anything about.

"If she ever hurts you," she begins, staring at the thin scar on his throat, the imprint of the pressed blade. "If she ever makes you sad, tell me, and I'll know what to say to her."

Chat's tips his chin in surprise, but the smirk is there, dancing on his lips with amusement. "That seems to go against the code of secrecy, but all right, my Lady." He laughs. "Under the condition that you tell me if he breaks your heart. I'll wear a blindfold to beat him up of I have to."

She bursts out laughing. "Chat, you know that's going to do more harm than good."

He shrugs remorselessly. "But you get the idea. I'll protect you, Ladybug. Forever and always, no matter what."

At that the laughter dies from her lips. The smile she forces stretches her lips thin, wobbling at the edges while her heart chips.

This.

This is just a plain mess.

"Adrien?" Nino is eyeing his friend strangely, speaking through the hand pressed to his mouth as though he had meant to muffle an exclamation of surprise. "Why is your hood meowing?"

Marinette's pen freezes. Her head snaps up. The back of Adrien's neck and shoulders are stiff, and she can see the fine trickle of sweat slipping down the back of his neck. She slides forwards on her seat, gazes down with disbelief down the hood.

"Adrien," she gasps, causing both Adrien and Nino to turn, and Alya to raise a subtle brow in her direction. "You didn't just do what I think you did!"

Adrien whips around and presses his finger to his lips, his eyes pleading. He turns his head left and right, checking the coast, before he nods and reaches behind him to poke the kitten gently. He turns so Marinette can see it, while Nino and Alya stare, slack-jawed.

When the kitten opens its mouth to mew again, all three frantically begin coughing and sneezing.

"Flu season," Alya clarifies when the teacher looks up, smiling apologetically.

"Dude, are you nuts?" Nino whispers frantically once she'd turned away.

Alya, on the hand, caught on something else. "Wait. Marinette, you know about the kitten?"

"We found it yesterday," she mutters without thinking. She flushes when she realises her mistake, but a glance at Alya tells her that she's not going to let it go that easily.

"Marinette picked it up when we were walking home together," Adrien clarifies and she just manages to refrain from leaping out of her seat when Alya discreetly slaps her arm from under the table. "It was raining, so I volunteered to take him home."

"That's very kind and all," Nino whispers, pretending to be busy with the textbook they're supposed to be reading. "But what about your pops? He's alright with this sort of thing?"

Adrien's smile grows a little brittle at the edges. "That's why I had to bring it to school. If him or Nathalie start snooping around my room, then it'll be the end of it."

"It'll be the end of you if the teachers found out you brought a pet to class," Alya says, not unkindly.

"I know." He looks up at them beseechingly. "That's why I need you guys to help me hide it.

"Oh, Adrien," Marinette sighs, speaking above the pen she pretends to move over the page. "If you had told me that it cost you this much trouble I would have -"

"No," he interjects, shaking his head. "It's perfectly fine. Besides, he's a nice little guy. I kind of like him."

She eyes him skeptically, but Adrien is resolute. It's then that the kitten decides to poke its face out of the hood, and Marinette bites her lip to keep from cooing. It looks at her with green, curious eyes, so much like Chat's when he gazes wonderingly at her after she announces an idea and instructs him to stage a diversion.

"Fine," she says to it, "you win."

She notices the hood shaking; Adrien quivers with the silent laughter that he tries to hide behind his textbook, grin splitting from ear to ear.

She feels a subtle kick against her shoe; Alya discreetly taps the pen she's writing with when Marinette turns to glare at her, signalling with her eyes at to the teacher. Marinette takes the hint without looking up and bends her focus to her work, praying that she'll be spared this once.

She is, and as she relaxes herself into the rhythm of her pen, she notices he corner of a paper sliding towards her. Scribbled across, in Alya distinguishable penmanship: You are so telling me, girl! What happened between you and Adrien?!

She smiles a tight and guilty smile.

"Adrien walked you home?" Alya rounds on her with her hands on her hips, leaning in so they are both nose to nose. "And this has happened more than once?"

Bracing herself, Marinette nods.

She feels the tickle of Alya's breath as she heaves a disbelieving sigh. "Damn girl."

"Don't you dare confront him about it." She glares at Alya, though she feels too weak to summon much heat into it.

"Of course I'm not going to confront him about it," Alya scoffs. "I'm going to confront Nino."

Marinette gasps and practically flies out of the bench to clamp a hand against her best friends mouth. "No! Not Nino. Especially not Nino. In fact you're not going to confront anyone at all. You are going to stay here with me, and we are going to enjoy our lunch talking about something else entirely."

"Something else, huh?" Alya questions slyly. "Then let's talk about what's gotten into you lately."

Marinette freezes mid-chew. She tries to channel Tikki's innocent, big blue eyes and aims it full force at Alya. "What are you talking about?"

Alya squints her eyes at her and chuckles. "Oh, you're good, Marinette, but you don't think you can slip by me that easily, do you? What happened to you the last few days? If I were to be honest, you looked like a girl who had had your heart broken to pieces." She shakes her head, dissatisfied. "But that can only happen with Adrien, and he's literally been treating you like a princess. So what gives?"

"Alya," -Marinette tries to invoke the pacifying tone of voice she had often used as Ladybug when she had to talk people out their hysterics -"nothing's wrong. I just wasn't in a good mood those few days."

Alya's bespectacled eyes narrow even further. "I don't buy that at all."

Internally, Marinette sighs; outwardly, she offers an innocent shrug. "I can't do anything about that."

"One day, Marinette Dupain-Cheng," Alya says, nudging her on the arm gently. "One day, I will find out all your secrets, then you'll know that you would have been better off not keeping them from me."

Marinette laughs. Her heart though, thuds.

There's too much that Alya can't know, too much at stake. She loves Alya too much expose her to danger, to have her explicitly targeted for the coercion of Ladybug's identity.

And then there's the question of Chat Noir, Ladybug's faithful partner; a secret she would rather keep to herself.

Adrien is crouched in the corner of the music room when she finds him later that evening, long after the bell had rung. He doesn't notice her at first; the kitten he plays with skitters over the floor, tiny claws batting the air, making to reach for the pigeon feather he wiggles just centimetres out of his reach.

She takes a moment to study the picture-worthy scene before inhaling deeply, steeling herself. Slowly, she steps through the door.

He's quick to scoop the kitten up in alarm at the sound of foreign footsteps, panicked eyes looking up, green as summer, as paint in an artist's palette. When he sees her face, his muscles loosen and a smile breaks loose.

"How long are you going to keep him?" she asks, hugging her arms, staring down the feline eyes of the adorably wretched thing peeking from his hand, raking curiously over her form.

Adrien opens his mouth, but his voice dies before it can be of much use. He settles for a shrug instead, feather poking between two fingers. His fingers are long and fine, she notices, made to span a piano. Curved against the kitten, they are gentle.

"I like him," he says instead, and instinctively, his fingers run over charcoal fur, expertly weaving between ears and eyes. "I was thinking on keeping him around for a while."

"He's cute," she admits, a little disgruntled that the admittance had been in part due to its resemblance to another cat on whom the eyes are deep enough to drown in. "But you'll get in trouble, won't you?"

She's unprepared for the smirk he flings her way with cavalier familiarity, the effect made even more potent by the dark gold lashes rimming the green, luminescent eyes.

"You did say I should rebel once in awhile."

She smiles weakly.

"I brought some milk," she says, looking away. Adrien's eyes are distracting; dangerous, just like Chat's. "For you -um, I mean him. For you to feed it to him."

Inwardly, she grimaces. Chat's voice rings in her ears, silken: Cat got your tongue, my Lady?

One day-one day-she will get him out of her head.

"That's very kind of you," Adrien says, blessedly cutting across the train of thought. "Thanks, Marinette."

She shuffles closer and hands the small carton. Adrien takes it and his fine fingers immediately set to work, tearing open the top, producing a bowl in which he empties about a quarter of the liquid.

"I went on a bit of a scavenger hunt for the bowl," he admits to her undisguised curiosity. Then, quietly he adds, "Why don't you come here and sit? It must be pretty uncomfortable standing."

A little embarrassed, she moves over to his side and, self-consciously, sits. The room looks bigger from this vantage point, the floor more than just a little scuffed; lines score across the room from dragged chairs and light, pouring in, pick up dust motes scattered through the air like stars. She hears the rustle of clothes: Adrien, shifting in his seat, hunching his shoulders a little more; it's nothing like the artful slouches he perfects for the cameras, but he looks relaxed and comfortable.

"Don't feel so guilty," he says. His fingers are still tangled in fur, as though he finds anchorage in the kitten's small body. "I want to do this."

"I don't like my friends taking risks," Marinette admits, hugging her knees. "I really hate it when things happen to people because of me."

"It's not your fault," Adrien argues. He draws his hand away from the kitten and turns to face her. His eyes are steady. "In fact, if it weren't for you, he would've died in the cold."

Marinette laughs softly. "Yeah, I know." She holds out her fingers for the kitten to sniff, then slides her hand over his head. His fur is soft; no wonder Adrien adored it. "I guess I couldn't help thinking that I should've taken him home instead of you, considering how much trouble he could have gotten you in. I'm sure I could have gotten my parents around the idea with enough persuasion: doing a chore or two -or twenty."

Adrien matches her chuckle with a laugh.

"Sounds like a cinch," he teases.

"Why do you like him so much?" she asks, picking up the kitten to let him curl on her lap.

"He's soft. He's lonely." Absently, he reaches over to scratch him on the ear. "I can see a lot of myself in him, I suppose."

She watches his hands, the long fingers and the smooth nails. Adrien's handling of the cat is instinctive, and when he picks it up again, it curls comfortable in his hands, trusting his care.

"I can help you hide him, if you want," she blurts.

Adrien blinks. "Sorry?"

"I can take him," she clarifies. "If you ever need to hide him. If your week is busy or if your dad or Nathalie start getting suspicious, you can leave him with me and I'll take care of him for you."

She ignores the voice in her head whispering of Paris, of ladybugs and Kwamis; of duties and responsibilities that mustn't be neglected; of partners that need her as she did them. She tries to forget everything in the face of the boy and the kitten, the lost and lonely.

Adrien seems to be at a loss for words. "Well, I, uh-thank you, Marinette. That's very nice of you."

Marinette nods, a little bashful. The way Adrien looks at her warms her cheeks, all wide-eyed and enthralled.

The kitten squirms in his hands. It jerks him back to the present; with an embarrassed flush he reaches back and slips him into his hood.

"I think I'll keep him for tonight," he says, adjusting the hem and collar with a smile. "But I'll keep your offer in mind."

She nods. "Whatever suits you best."

"You seem a bit chipper today, Kitten," she says, during a short break on the ancient stones of Notre Dame.

Chat's arm is hooked to one of the pillars, the wind rough and blowing. His hair is a fine mist, his costume the shadow of Notre Dame itself, and the glowing green eyes draw her heart to her throat when they dance with moonlight and darkness.

"Do I?" he asks with a twist to his lips, teasing.

"You've been smiling all through the night," she states flatly. The gust against her back makes the fine hair behind her head stand; even in the suit, Paris is freezing in the night. "I can't say patrol has been all that exciting."

"It's interesting," he protests. "The mini aquarium we saw through one of the windows had the most colourful of fishes."

"Chat." She side-eyes him in exasperation.

"My Lady," he counters with the most infuriating smirk yet.

Ladybug sighs and wraps an arm around the pillar, leans her body around to look at him. They're standing about two pillars apart, and from this far, she can see the silhouette Chat casts upon the ancient stones. Handsome and wild and free, limb and body fluidly draped against a pillar, the scene is picturesque, flavoured with flyaway golden hair and emerald eyes whose glow prevails even in the darkest of nights.

"I take it something good happened to you today." She presses a cheek against the stone; it's cold and it keeps her heart in check.

He turns his head at her and smiles.

"Is it the girl?"

He leans around the pillar, matching her pose, tapered fingers splayed against the stone. "Am I that obvious?"

"I've known you for a long time," she mumbles through the cold. "I can tell."

He chuckles. "Then you can rest knowing that so far, you're the only one who knows."

Surprised, her lips part. "You haven't told her?"

He lifts his shoulders and shakes his head with a gentle smile.

"Why not?"

"Can't find the nerve to." He rests his head against the pillar; moonlight pools on his hair. Gold and silver splash onto the dour stone.

"I find that hard to believe." She studies him, more out of whim than true need; she already has his features memorised. "You have had the nerve to do many things most people would call crazy."

"Ah, but my Lady," he tilts his head her way, smiles with something akin to sorrow, "that's only when I'm Chat. My civilian self is not as bold."

"Really? I thought you were born this way."

He laughs. "No. You can say I'm quite… different without the mask."

Intrigued, she stares longer. "Different how?"

"Most people would say more reserved. I have to be many things for many people, but Chat Noir is who I want to be -who I love to be."

"Different personalities for different people." She understands him so well that her heart aches. "You know, Ladybug is just one side of me; she's not all that I am."

"They come with the mask," they both say, coincidentally -unintentionally -in unison.

She looks at Chat and he looks at her, then a smile breaks loose and so does laughter, wafting through soft moonlight.

"I never thought we'd share the same sentiments over the subject," she admits when the laughter dies. It's dark down there, just beyond the tips of her toes, but she has never been afraid of falling, trusting herself to keep her balance. Trusting Chat to catch her should all else fail.

"We're the defenders of Paris, but even heroes have secrets. Insecurities," he adds, despite looking completely at ease now in the obsidian leather suit and lethal in all senses.

I wish I can tell you everything, she thinks, scraping her nails against the pillar to keep her face straight. But like you said, Chat, duty is duty. Ours is to Paris and each other, and no matter what, I can't lose you. The closer I get to knowing who you are, the closer you get to being hurt.

As though right on cue, he muses, "This is the closest we've gotten, I think, to discussing our civilian lives."

"Chat…" she starts, swimming through the choking guilt.

"I know," he cuts in gently, before she can say anything more. His eyes hold her still, even when there's too much space that holds them apart. "I know, Ladybug. I wouldn't risk it, too. I would have, once, but now, I won't." His grip on the pillar tightens. "It's too big a risk."

"Chat?"

"Hmm?"

She takes in a deep breath. "If it weren't for Hawk Moth, if it weren't for the danger, I would have told you. I would have told you everything."

Slowly, his face breaks into a gratified smile. "As I would you, my Lady."

"And Chat?" She gazes into the darkness, glad that it hid much of her face. "About the girl, I hope things work out between you and her."

"Thank you, my Lady." His eyes are like beacons; she can find them no matter what. "And you don't need to worry. Her heart is just like yours: pure and kind."