Her eyes hold the world within them, unbidden watery galaxies that leaves anyone looking in dazed.

She knows more than she says, and yet when you look at her, you don't always see the answers to the questions not yet asked.

Her name is Marinette, and yet that's not enough to properly explain what her eyes say, hidden in the folds of joy, of laughter, in the folds of sorrow, of pain, of holding back a wince when her muscles ache some days.

She's curled up on her balcony, a cup of something warm and hot in her hands, that sometimes appears sweet when her eyes gleam, reflecting the brown liquid, and yet sometimes seems bitter when her lips pull back into a contemplative grimace.

It's a wonder that no one stops to stare up at her as if in a daze; whoever she's waiting for, thermos by her side, doesn't show up.

When she stands it's like the world falls away with her, and she leaves, already entering her room, isolating the world once again behind beautiful blue eyes and dancing constellations.

There's always a sight to behold when civilian identities fall away, and the world or at least all of Paris seems to catch it's breath when she presses closer to kiss Cat Noir.

Ladybug is before them now, all bold colors, and bravery.

She is all that Paris needs other than her partner, the one held in her delicate grasp, because there's something fragile about the way she treats him, like he's the fragile one when neither of them seem to be.

Ladybug backs off, and she's gone, barely uttered words against his lips, 'Don't leave a girl waiting like that.'

It's like she's left him waiting, like she short circuited his brain, and her power leaves him stuck on a string, in a daze.

Marinette lets colors sweep over sketches, fabric brightening on the pages, colors swinging out of the lines and folds of the paper.

A curious voice draws her gaze to the woman at her side, already curious about the strange twinkle in her eyes; she writes it off.

She's waiting for a sign when she turns away from her sketchbook gazing up at the Parisian rooftops, already imagining wind against her skintight suit, the taste of freedom when life seems far too away, and yet a thought of someone just beyond her reach now is nearly enough to bring longing tears to her eyes.

Marinette writes it off, because he's what she was never supposed to need, to crave the sound of his voice by her side, see a giddy smile in those pure happy moments, and she already wants to pull him to her side where the world can't touch them.

She knows that he's just a little busy, and that he'll come soon; he's stuck as a civilian, doing civilian things right now, and she nearly giggles at the thought of may be he's doing his laundry or something else so mundane and domestic.

While she walks, there's a determined purpose; it's like more than her eyes convey a deeper meaning of the world.

Every step is with the strength of a thousand giants and yet with the delicate sweetness of a first kiss; nobody stands in her way, not while her hair is up in a bun, not while she wears pretty yet formal clothes.

Each step brings her closer to Gabriel Agreste's business, every second brings her closer to being near the bright opportunities of the future.

If anyone stares at the small woman that holds the universe in her heart, no one says a word; she doesn't seem to notice any ordinary person by her side, doesn't even react when she gets to the office and her future boss's son follows at her side.

She does let him know that it's not orbiting out of his reach with a gentle, fleeting smile and softening eyes; he relaxes as if he doesn't need more than this.

They are a sight to see side by side; the universe and a small moon, never without each other until he pauses at the office to wish her more than luck.

Paris doesn't doubt with even a breath that she gets that job.

Her eyes still spell secrets out in the air, as vibrant as shapes, words, written in the sky by airplanes, and yet as mysterious like a long since hidden lake in the middle of a deep forest.

She's curled back up on her balcony, another Akuma attack, long since passed, and yet she knows that he's still a little further out; he must be dealing with finishing up the last strings of that past fight, hiding his identity, feeding his Kwami.

Marinette trusts that he'll be on his way before long, and there isn't much sadness in her probing eyes that follow the skyline, tracing shapes that could one day soon be them again.

She shakes her head; he doesn't yet realize even though she's practically written it in the stars for him to find.

The young woman vanishes into her room, letting the rest of the world slip out of her grasp.

The world feels faint as a young woman perches herself on a balcony, looking free as she speaks with Cat Noir, and the world titters, shakes, and trembles.

Secrets are still in her eyes, and the universe still rests in her heart.

Perhaps he knows too, because his gaze doesn't fade away from her, his smile vibrant against the black of his mask.

There's something beautiful about the way, a clawed hand lightly brushes across her cheek, gentle as a dove's wing, as free as an eagle.

It sounds like the ocean ripples by their sides; her laugh dances across the skyline.

Paris swallows up their presence, their laughter, letting it hide in its depths.

She laughs from his arms, squirming slightly, and yet pressing just close enough when it's safe to kiss his cheek.

Joy bellows its call throughout Paris as he flushes beetroot red, and as she giggles, suddenly almost shy in his embrace.

Paris doesn't stutter or feel shocked when on an especially lucky, random rooftop, Paris's cat themed superhero kisses a civilian.

It knows that she's more than just a passing civilian; she holds the universe in her heart after all.

She clutches his shoulders, happiness bubbling forth like fizz over a beloved soft drink, sweetness clinging in this moment.

Paris hums with their joy, feeling as if it ached, leading up to this; this is what it wanted, in a form that seems more right than it ever would have realized before, but she holds secrets, stars, in her eyes.

The world shifts and bends under his hold and her embrace, and perhaps if a picture is taken, it's cherished like a memory that never longs to be forgotten.

His eyes hold her moon, dance on the high of the Parisian air up above the city, and that's all that they need: Marinette and Cat Noir, half of the superhero duo, and yet full all at once.

The humming of the city fades into a content purr as it could never not feel this kind of joy when they are up there, just high enough to be almost out of reach, and yet they are entwined in a kiss that beats like the steady passage of time, like centuries, like decades, and it's enough for Paris to smile up at them.