Ces heures avant l'aube

(these hours before dawn)

Marinette had woken up extremely early that morning—or rather, night. Four AM. Alertness came to her rudely, like banging a door open, erasing the sleep within her and leaving her feeling like she had to get out of bed, now, and get outside, now. Was it an akuma? she wondered. But her gut seemed to say no, it wasn't. This feeling that pumped her stomach wasn't ominous or oppressive. It was the feeling of birthday mornings, of hearing your name called on the school PA. Anticipation. Something was going to happen. She was transformed and out the window before she'd even thought about it.

Traversing the rooftops of Parisian banlieues felt, to Ladybug, a bit like skating across the sky. It was best in the dark of the night. She could swirl and twirl with all her repressed glory, as if her body was made of shimmering red ribbons, sailing over the gaps between roofs as well as the gaps in her soul. The streetlamps and car headlights below provided her spotlights, the sparse stars above the only audience to her show. She was all alone, but she was shining.

Perhaps the best part was the way her stomach flipped as she looked down and registered the fatal distance between the ground and her soaring heart—but it wasn't fatal after all, as long as she was wearing her hero suit. And so with that reassurance, she'd laugh and finish the jump, caring only about making the landing absolutely perfect. Diminished friction, in exchange for a thrilling sense of gravity. In a single word: flight. Ladybugs had wings, after all. She laughed, fully, loudly, like a blooming flower. Then it occurred to her she might be creeping out the civilians by cackling on their roofs at four AM, and she laughed a little more.

She was about to make a grand leap across the street when she felt something snare her wrist. She felt it tug at her and suddenly she was falling backwards—she caught in the corner of her periphery a shadow of something dark, yet not-so-dark—and then she was trapped in an envelope of warmth and familiarity, with just a spice of irritation.

"Fancy seeing you at this ungodly hour…" A pause to make room for his obnoxious grin. "My lady."

He'd apprehended her from behind, arms around her waist and chin on her shoulder, his whisper in her ear a warm wind that set her spine rod-straight. "Let go of me," she hissed, lightly tugging at his arm. He didn't budge, of course.

"Awww, but I'm just really pleasantly surprised, you know? I thought you'd be in bed at this time… Well, a bed would be better, but we gotta make do with what we have, I guess. Here works too!"

She stomped on his toes. He yelped and scuttled backwards.

"You're mean, my lady. So mean…"

"What are you doing out?" she said stiffly. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I should be asking you that!" he chuckled, coming back to stand beside her—not intrusively close this time, and for that she was grateful. It was a friendly distance. Still, she considered edging away, just to make it clear how much of a buzzkill he was, but then she decided against it.

"I dunno," she muttered, gazing out at the tiny lights prickling the base of the distant Eiffel Tower. Even in the farthest reaches of the night, Paris was a tireless, eternally bright metropolis. "I just woke up. Not much else to do at this time other than jumping roofs."

He raised a finger, amused skepticism in his smile. "True. But normal people don't 'just wake up' at four AM."

Rather than glaring and responding with daggers, she flicked her brows and tilted her head to look at him with softness and irony. "Well, I'm not normal, so."

He laughed at that. "Yeah. You're very special, actually."

She grimaced. "Please, Chat, just save the lines for someone who cares."

He eyed her appraisingly, and she couldn't help but feel that there was something different about him today—er, tonight—uh, this morning? They'd probably had the exact same conversation before, but instead of laughing off her clear rejections and coming back for more as he usually did, he just shook his head and gave her that look—playful yet at the same time, intriguingly serious.

He took her hand.

"We've got forever and a century before dawn, my lady. Won't you accompany me on this night of breathtaking escapades and heart-wrenching romance?"

"Oh my god," was all she said—which was good enough for him. Without asking for permission, damn him, he'd done something he'd surprisingly never done before and scooped her up, bridal-style, and stole off into the night. Truly like a cat burglar. She would've kicked and complained but that wouldn't have been wise at these full-throttle speeds. The wind whipped her hair as she felt them rise, then drop down, land gracefully and stream back up again. It made her feel a safe sort of danger. Like a carnival roller coaster. She let herself forget about being in Chat Noir's arms, instead focusing on being in the arms of a friend. That loosened the knots in her limbs and let her relax. Perhaps Chat noticed this, because he smiled into the sky.

They left the suburbs, the comfortable buildings where ordinary people lived, and approached the dazzling city centre—the truly sleepless part of town. The light grew steadily stronger, and the next time Ladybug looked up at Chat Noir, his face had been dyed in soft yellows that temperately reminded her of late nights reading books in bed, moonlight picnics and stargazing—nighttime wasn't a dark time. If you thought about it, maybe it was even brighter than daylight.

"I really love living in this city," he said, glancing down at her for a split second. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the wind. "It never feels dead, you know?"

"Yeah." She knew exactly what he meant.

"Mhmm. At one point I lived in these suburbs in America, and it was always so dark past nine. Everyone went inside and kept to themselves. The quiet was nice, but sometimes it just got to me. But here, it's much harder to feel lonely. There's always something going on. Everything is always bright. Bright and beautiful—like you."

"Oh, come on," she grumbled. "I was understanding what you were saying right up until that last part."

"It's true though," he said cheekily.

"Yeah, yeah…"

He landed on a seemingly arbitrary building, gracefully rounding out his fall with quick steps forward. He stopped at the edge of the roof, but to Ladybug's disgrace, he still didn't put her down.

"Look down there," he murmured.

She peered over her shoulder and saw a quaint, stone-cobbled town square. There was a water fountain quietly bubbling in the centre, and sitting on its ledge was a couple. A girl and a boy, about their age, maybe slightly older, sharing a mug of coffee or tea and talking affectionately as their fingertips touched. It was all very cute, but Marinette felt a twinge of annoyance.

"What do they think they're doing at four AM? Do their parents know?"

Chat hushed her. "Shh, my lady. Let's not alert them of our presence."

"Who does that at this time?" she went on, though softer. "Four AM is the time for sleeping or maybe catching up on homework, not for dates. I really don't get it."

Chat Noir frowned despite himself. "Wait, what does that make this then? I-I thought this was a date…"

"It's not, and you're daft if you think it is," Marinette replied smoothly.

Chat Noir shook his head, frowning amusedly. "Just look at them, though. It's picture-perfect. Like a scene out of a movie, right?"

"I dunno. Not really."

He shifted her in his arms, and Ladybug belatedly realized that he'd been carrying her for quite a while—but he was a superhero, so of course he wasn't tired. "Come on. We live in Paris. The city of romance. Isn't it wonderful, then? That even at this time of night, even in these dark times, in an era where people are selfish and love is hard to find… These people found it?"

She blinked. "Why are you… all of a sudden… waxing lyrical about… I don't even know what you're talking about."

He seemed far away now, not looking at her but gazing down at them, like they were his newborn children, or something like that. "I dunno. I just think it's incredibly romantic. To rendezvous and have conversation by a water fountain at four AM."

She wasn't sure how to respond. She'd always had a feeling that underneath his bubbly, amiable exterior, Chat Noir was particularly sentimental. He seemed the type to attach a lot of value to his relationships—familial and friendly as well as romantic. He deeply cared about those close to him—maybe it made her uncomfortable to think it, but that included herself, as well. She couldn't help but feel, in the tiniest corners of her being, that maybe, past the flirting and related superficial nonsense, Chat Noir would actually be a decent, loyal, caring… well, boyfriend.

Don't get the wrong idea. She liked Adrien—Chat was just that other guy who she'd trust with her life. Still, it was only natural that after his countless confessions of undying love, Marinette would come to imagine—just imagine—the idea of her and Chat Noir being together. And it would've been a lie to say she was uncomfortable with the idea, because she liked Chat—platonically, of course. If she was thirty and still unmarried and had no other choice, and if he was still around, then yeah, sure, she'd let him strike something up. She could imagine herself living the rest of her life with him simply because they were that close. Platonically.

Then again, he was a puzzle. She wasn't sure if he actually liked her as much as he claimed to. He was an extremely playful personality. She was fairly certain that he wouldn't think twice about telling other girls about how pretty and stunning and wonderful they were. Perhaps it didn't matter to him with whom he found love—perhaps he only cared about finding it.

"My lady?" He blinked and the flashing green snapped her out of her thoughts. "Have I lost you?"

She felt herself blush. "Oh, no. I was just thinking, well. It's, um. Kind of weird, I guess."

"Hm? What's weird?"

She smiled slightly at the curiosity in his voice. He was so lively, so spirited. She really didn't know anyone else like him. "For a guy to be as sappy as you, I mean. I know plenty of girls who would swoon about that scene down there, but guys? You're the only one."

He grinned impishly. "Wait. Can you say that again?"

"What?"

"'You're the only one.'"

She would've given him a good karate chop on the head, but that would've been difficult in her position. So she just rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

He backed up a bit, getting ready to take off again. He took a run and jumped, and then they were soaring once more. The couple below glanced up at the darting shadow that was Chat Noir and Ladybug. Chat somehow managed to wave without dropping the girl in his arms.

It was after a quiet minute or two that he spoke again.

"Well that's alright. I'm okay with being an idiot. As long as I'm your idiot."

And he had the audacity to wink. Ladybug furrowed her brows, but a laugh was threatening to cough out her chest. "Calm down, dude."

They'd pranced around the city for another ten minutes before Chat decided on a good spot to rest. Marinette didn't register where they were, at first. It was old and stone and pretty—but so was every other building in Paris. She assumed it was just another random place, chosen at Chat Noir's unfathomable whims. But then he put her down, carefully like she was made of glass, and hopped to the railing that hugged the perimeter and sat, casually swinging his legs over the ledge. He looked like he was having fun.

"Come on." He bade her over, and she went and stood next to him. She looked over the edge and realized where Chat had taken her. The stunning height, gargoyles and flying buttresses—

"Notre Dame?"

"Yep." He grinned like he'd just given her a present. "Have you ever been here before?"

"Of course," she bit out. "I live in Paris—obviously I've been to the Notre Dame."

"Yes, but have you ever been up the towers before?"

"Well, no," she hated to admit.

He motioned for her to sit, but she wouldn't feel comfortable sitting on the railing—she knew falling wouldn't be a danger, but she'd always been on the shy, safe side, and habits died hard, even through as drastic a transformation as that from Marinette to Miraculous Ladybug. So she sat on the floor beside him, crossing her legs and appreciating the night view through the banisters.

"So why were you out?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I actually don't know. Same reason as you, I guess."

"You just woke up?"

It was like that commonality brought them closer, or so he'd like to think. "Yeah. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought, why not go out? Maybe I'll run into Ladybug! And then I did!"

"You're weird."

His grins were limitless, she could've sworn. "No, I'm just in love with you."

Of course those kinds of words would make her heart skip a beat. Her heart liked to believe they were genuine. But she wasn't sure, she had no way to be sure. She shook her head and turned to hide her blush in the shadows. "See, that's what I mean. You're really weird."

"Do you really think it's that weird for someone to like you? Do you not want me to like you?"

"Well, no. I'm—I'm flattered, of course. But… I guess it's just weird because I don't see you the same way."

"Ah, yeah." He sounded a little dejected, but honestly, hadn't she made that clear from the beginning? He just didn't know when to give up. And that was his own problem. He didn't have the right to drag her into it… Right?

"Sorry," she said, because she didn't know what else she could've said.

He shrugged. "Nah. It's no problem. You don't have to force yourself to like me, or anything. I wouldn't want that."

She frowned. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

He let out a long breath. Calm pause. A small smile. "No, you're feeling guilty of your own accord."

"Please."

"Please," he echoed, smiling again.

Chat Noir's constant festivals of I-love-Ladybug-marry-me-please-Ladybug were such a staple of their everyday lives that most often, they forgot the underlying awkwardness of the ordeal: that he liked her, and she didn't like him back. Maybe he was so persistent in his affections because 'hard workers are always rewarded for their efforts,' or some similar meaningless proverb, but Ladybug was quite firm in believing that Chat Noir simply wasn't that kind of guy. He was like a pet cat: cute and funny and a warm, fuzzy companion on lonely, rainy days. That was all. Meanwhile, guys like Adrien were guys: interesting and fascinating but also cute but also with so much hidden depth she wished to be privy to. Adrien, the quiet, withdrawn boy, was like a treasure box. Marinette just needed to find the key to open him up, and her heart beat at the thought of the wonders she would find inside.

"Well, then," Chat said. "What is your type, then? If your type isn't dashing, handsome, dreamy, then what is?"

Her cheeks warmed at how he'd seemingly sensed her thoughts, and she brought up her hands to cool them down. "What?"

"Your type," he repeated, as if she was five and he was her kindergarten teacher. "Of guy."

"Oh. Well, um." She shot him a glare but was unable to block from her mind the picture of Adrien—his small smile and his warm voice and his blonde hair that looked the tiniest bit like Chat's. "I like quiet guys," she said, softly but resolutely.

Just from her voice, Chat could tell she was thinking of someone specific, and he felt like he'd been denied something important to him. He raised a brow, surveying her carefully. "Quiet guys?"

Her blush was radiation in the night. "Y-Yeah. It's like, they're mysterious, I guess."

"Are you saying I'm not mysterious?"

"You're not. I know you too well."

"Damn," is all he said. Perhaps her words hit him hard.

"So yeah," she said lamely. "I like quiet guys. And you, well you're not really a quiet guy. You're loud and obnoxious and, yeah, just not my… type."

He pouted. "I can become quiet for you."

This was getting kind of awkward. "I appreciate the thought, Chat, but just be yourself. Don't change for anyone. Even the girl of your dreams." He snorted, obviously to hide his embarrassment, and she found herself giggling. She was allowed to tease him sometimes, right?

They were quiet for a moment. It felt like any words would break a window, crack a glass. But Chat Noir had broken many things in his life as a superhero. "Tell me more."

"About what?"

"About why you like quiet guys." He folded his hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance. "What about them do you like?"

"Why—Why do you want to know?" she asked, uselessly, because they both know the answer to that. She sighed. She felt abnormally light. "They're just nice, you know? Like, I could trust them with my secrets. But they're not self-absorbed, and they don't brag, and they seem really genuine—yet, they're really in-tune with their emotions, as well as the emotions of the people around them, and they have a natural desire to help others…"

"Hold on, hold on," Chat interrupted, waving his arm to stop her. "It doesn't sound like you're describing quiet guys."

"What?" she snapped, not meaning to snap.

"It sounds like you're describing someone specific," Chat said slowly, watching her carefully (as he always did). "...Are you?"

Caught red-handed. Well, she should've expected that. Chat Noir was a natural sleuth. It was really difficult to keep things from him. He was really… tuned in to the emotions of the people around him. "Well, yeah," she said, muffling her face in her knees. "What's it to you?"

"Again with the useless questions, my lady," he intoned, his bitterness masked by his usual jest. "Anyway, though, this is interesting. So you have a crush on someone?"

"I-I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"Who is it?" he asked, then he paused. "No, no. Just tell me about him. What kind of guy is he? Does he go to your school?"

"Yes," she groaned.

"The same age as you?"

"Yes."

"In your class?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Chat put a hand on his chin. "So how did you meet him? Did he like, help you with homework or something? Is he really smart?"

"Yes, he's smart—but I really don't think this is something I want to talk about with you, Chat."

Right. For them, for Ladybug and Chat Noir, there was such a thing as getting too close. It was the unspoken rule between them that they weren't allowed to pry into each others' identities, and even though Chat wasn't hounding Ladybug for her identity, per se… What he was asking was still highly personal. And while he wished with all his heart that he could just keep talking with her about whatever he wanted, he couldn't. They were good friends, but at the same time, they weren't. So he backtracked. "Fine. I apologize, my lady."

The dejection in his voice tugged at Marinette's compassion. "D-Don't apologize. It's fine."

He grinned despite himself. "You're fine."

And that was that.

"It's interesting, though," Chat thought aloud, "that you like quiet guys. 'Cause in my experience, it goes like this: the quiet ones like the confident ones, and the confident ones like the quiet ones. Don't you agree?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, you're pretty confident, from what I see. It's what I like about you, after all," he said, adding a wink. "So it's natural you'd like someone who's a bit more subdued. Because, I dunno, you feel like you'd be able to protect them. Or something along those lines."

She frowned. "I don't think so. I…" She paused. "I'm not nearly as confident in real life as I am when I'm Ladybug. I mean, when I'm in my costume, it's like an escape from who I normally am, you know? But usually, I'm actually pretty shy, myself. I-I can't even form a proper sentence around the guy I like…" she admitted, scratching her head sheepishly.

This new tidbit of information about her fascinated and invigorated him. "Is that so? Huh. That's interesting, because you know what? I'm pretty shy in real life, too."

"I don't believe you," she deadpanned immediately. He laughed.

"It's true! It's just, my—my parents—well, my dad. He, uh, feels like I need to act 'proper.' Reserved and smart and all those boring things. And maybe, I dunno… I'm scared of what people will think of me, and I'm too aware of myself and I try too hard to fit into what others expect of me… So I put on a mask." He chuckled, pointing at the black fabric around his eyes. "Not a mask like this, but you know. A figurative one. So everyone thinks I'm all quiet and sweet but in reality?" He grinned like the full moon, pointing his index fingers at himself like spotlights. "I'm a freaking wild child."

For some reason, she laughed really hard. Bending-over-and-holding-your-stomach kind of hard. It made him feel really good, of course, and they laughed together for a full minute.

Simultaneously, they both realized the reason they'd come out here today—tonight—this morning. It was for this.

"Ahhh, that felt good," she breathed once she could breathe again. "Wild child, huh? I get that. Yep, that's you, alright."

"So, going along with that…" Chat continued. "I'm actually both sides of the coin. I'm both shy and confident. And it makes sense, because, well, in the past I mean, I've liked both shy girls and confident girls. There really isn't a type I prefer."

"Is that so."

"Yep. But of course, right now I prefer the confident ones."

She tsked, reddening. "I told you. I'm not even that confident. Sometimes I get so nervous around people. I don't know what I should say, and I get so caught up in finding the right thing to say that I just don't say anything at all."

He smiled. "I find that part of you cute too."

His offer of reassurance brought about a strange weakness in her chest. He was so sure he was in love with her, it honestly kind of freaked her out. And yet… She was, at the same time, not freaked out at all.

She wasn't sure of anything. She was jealous of him, for having the sureness and confidence she herself lacked. Jealous… but also, inspired.

She couldn't help but wonder—would Chat Noir like her as Marinette? She was such a stick in the mud as Marinette—awkward and clumsy and not cute at all. Surely he'd laugh at her and call her a klutz and think her a loser. She just had this feeling that in real life, Chat Noir was a high-status, gold-embroidered poor little rich boy—so surely someone of his caliber, rich kid by day, superhero by night—would look down on her? It was only as Ladybug that she had his attention. She was famous and flashy as Ladybug, of equal status to him.

He only knew her as Ladybug. He only knew her good side.

Then it caught her attention once more the way the moonlight framed his shoulders, broader than her own; the studious, serious way he gazed at the sky, at her, at everything; the sounds of his breath underneath the whispers of Paris at night. She remembered that Chat Noir was Chat Noir. He wasn't a snob. He was kind and observant and undeniably, frustratingly cute. She really did like him, so surely, he'd like her—all of her.

"Hey, Chat."

"Yes, my lady?"

"One day. I'm not saying anytime soon, but one day—"

"You'll go out with me?"

"No." She ground her teeth. "I was saying, one day… I'd like to show you who I am under my mask."

He didn't respond right away. They just looked at each other.

Marinette remembered, even on the day they first met, there had always been this imperceptible something in Chat Noir's expression—it had the invisible yet brightening quality of dusty light. It was something that she didn't take much note of, brushing it to the side… But now, all of a sudden, she felt like she understood it. His eyes seemed to be saying…

I already know who you are.

And just as soon as it came, her momentary understanding was gone. How did that make sense? He didn't know anything about her true identity—she knew he didn't. So what was all this? What was he thinking? What was this flowing between them?

Yes, that was it. Understanding. Friendship.

He knew her. And she knew him.

He canted his head. Quietly reached to twirl her pigtail through his fingers. "You really want to show me?"

She nodded, smiled. "Yes. One day."

She was happy.

…

He then tapped his chin thoughtfully. Grinned. "You really want to show me?" he repeated.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?"

"You really want to show me?"

"Um, yeah."

"...You really want to show me?"

"Yes, um, what are you…"

He laughed, and Marinette realized what he was doing, and it made her mad but it also amused her against her will.

"So you really want to show me."

"You," she said slowly, "need to get your mind out of the gutter, and shut the hell up."

He'd shifted on the banister so he was perched right above her, his silhouette blocking her view of the moon and his blonde hair catching the wind and falling across his forehead in a haphazard, yet rather pleasant, way. He leaned down a bit, bending his face closer, then slowly raised a hand to brush, just brush, her cheek with his fingers.

"Your face," he whispered. "Is so warm. I could heat my morning tea on it."

She didn't say anything. Didn't change her expression. Didn't break eye contact as she leaned backwards, away from his face and away from his hand, until she was lying flat on the roof of Notre Dame's left bell tower. He smirked, leapt down to follow her, lay down beside her.

"You. You are so cute. So freaking cute, god dammit god dammit."

"Um, we're above a church, you know."

"I'm sorry. But I cannot help myself. I will follow you into hell, my lady."

"Well. Thanks, I guess." She frowned. "But seriously. Respect."

"Okay, okay."

They lay there for a long while. It spoke to how close they were—they were at the level where they could have silent moments of mutually enjoyed company. It was nice, really.

"The sun's gonna rise soon," she hummed.

Chat laughed. "Ooooh man, my dad's gonna kill me when he finds my bed empty."

"My mom too. We should—we should get going."

Chat sat up, stretching his sleepiness away. "But we haven't kissed yet."

"We probably never will," Ladybug said, shrugging as she also sat up.

There was silence for two seconds, and then Chat realized something. "Probably?" He raised a brow. "You said 'probably,' uuhhhh."

"Um…" Ladybug only realized her mistake as she saw the dangerous grin threatening to burst Chat's face open into a dirty pile of blood and raw tissue.

"That means… My lady, that means that I have a chance."

"No, it means I'm tired and I just had a verbal slip-up."

"It was a Freudian verbal slip-up!" Chat announced, clinging childishly to this piece of false hope. "You secretly do want to kiss me! That's what this means!"

She wanted to kick him. "You are impossible."

"Hey, since you say so, let's do it!" He bounced his fists on his crossed legs in playful anticipation. "Kiss kiss ki—"

"Shut the hell up."

And he did, when he realized that he'd gotten his wish. On the cheek. And, dammit, even that was enough to make him feel like he was a millionaire—well, he already was, technically, but it's not like he could focus on technical details when he was so over the moon in frenzied heartbeats and stomach cartwheels. The cheek was good enough for now, he decided. They should take things slow, right? Baby steps, Adrien, he told himself, baby steps.

"Thanks, my lady." He hugged her with all his might. She reciprocated it tiredly yet fondly.

"Sure. Hey, Chat, I think I'm gonna go home now, okay?" She stood up, patted his head and scratched behind his fake ears. "Don't die without me."

He didn't want her to go. He was having too much fun and he was way too happy to return to that big empty house all by himself. He grabbed her hand and held it on his head. "I'm gonna die without you."

"Sucks. Die then."

"You're so mean! So mean, so mean, I don't know why I like you, you're sooooo meeeaaan…"

"Well, excuse me, princess," she huffed.

He stood up quickly and spun her to face him. He held her the way he hoped no other guy ever would—by clenching her pigtails.

"I mean it though. Let's hang out a bit more. We're old enough to stay out at night, aren't we?"

The only defense against his quicksand-like grin was forced apathy. "Um, not really."

"Just a bit longer, I swear. I won't keep you forever." He knew it was false as he said it. He was definitely going to keep her until the end of the world.

She exhaled. "Okay. Just until dawn, okay?"

"Breakfast," he bargained. "Let's have breakfast together."

"Oh my gosh." She rolled her eyes. "What, do you want to hog me for the entire freaking day?"

"Well, yeah." He lifted her up and stepped onto the banister. He jumped, and they both felt the thrill of gravity in their stomachs as they plummeted to the ground. He yelled. "Yeah, I do!"

fin

a/n: hey there, thanks for reading!

I'm not as deep in this fandom, in fact I've only watched up to episode 5 of the show so apologies for any inaccuracies! This is really just based of my first impressions and a lot of assumptions/headcanons, sorry ;; Don't ask how he can feel her cheeks heat through his gloves ok - idk they're heat-sensitive gloves or something...

I think I made Ladybug a bit on the tsundere side but I like her that way, I think. Hehe. Anyway I do plan on writing some other things for this category - I think something about their school lives next time - so keep a look out and stuff! But first I have to work on my Vocaloid fics asfhdfjk hey hey you guys should all read my Vocaloid fics wink wink nudge teehee

alsooo I appreciate how you guys want more to this story but this is a oneshot. it's done. :)