**A/N: Well, this is it! This story has been in the making since September. I was introduced to the Miraculous fandom just this past July, and instantly fell in love. So, in honor of the second season coming to Netflix today, I bring you my first Miraculous fanfic, as well as my first completed multi-chaptered fanfic. Enjoy!**

CHAPTER 1: MISTAKE

She didn't realize I watched her every night, and, frankly, I probably shouldn't have.

I'm not entirely sure what it was about that particular night. Murphy's Law was in full effect. Either that, or the glorious luck of the Black Cat.

I landed within my bedroom just as the last beep sounded, and the last neon-green pad vanished from my ring. Yellow energy sparked around me as the superhero costume of Chat Noir vanished; replaced by the civilian clothes I had on before. My ring spat out my kwami Plagg before returning to its silver color.

"So exhausting," Plagg dramatically croaked as he spread out in my awaiting hand. The magical being roughly filled my palm, and resembled a black cat with a bulbous head that took up about half his body. His proportions always reminded me of the chibi designs used in anime. It made me wonder quite a few times if the originators of the chibi styling had ever seen a kwami, and got the design idea from them.

"If you're going to wear me out," Plagg continued, straining to keep his green eyes open as he addressed me, "could you at least do so fighting against the akuma instead of Ladybug?"

My heart tightened. I hated having no memories after being controlled by one of Paris' supervillains. Especially since Plagg always seemed to know exactly what was going on while I was powered up as Chat Noir, even if I blacked out and had no control over what I did with my superpowers. He had no problem mocking me about the cruel things I'd do while brainwashed.

"I was trying to shield Ladybug. I didn't actively aim to get controlled by The Conjurer," I huffed out.

"You nearly hit Ladybug with your Cataclysm this time! It's a good thing-"

"I know!"

Before I could continue my rebuttal, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"Adrien?" The voice of my father's personal assistant was soft but stern. Something was up.

"Plagg, hide," I whispered to my kwami, knowing from Nathalie's tone that she wasn't going to wait for a response before opening my door.

"Too tired," Plagg whined back.

I quickly shoved him into my cover shirt's inner pocket just as Nathalie cracked my door open. She peeked in to figure out where I was in my vast bedroom before opening the door the rest of the way and standing with perfect posture against it.

"Adrien, your father wishes to see you in his atelier." Always the professional, Nathalie gave nothing away with her tone. She just spoke fact, not speculation. For Father to call for me to his office meant he was busy but needed to see me immediately. There was something important he needed to discuss, but I wasn't going to figure out what from Nathalie.

I didn't say anything back. I simply nodded and walked past her out into the hall of my father's Parisian mansion. She escorted me downstairs to my father's office, where she skirted around me to open the door and announce my arrival. Sometimes I wondered if she wasn't a bit over-the-top with her duties. It wasn't like I was royalty, and I was perfectly capable of both walking the mansion and opening doors by myself.

Father didn't seem to notice the announcement anyway. His back was towards the door as he stood behind his desk and stared at the near floor-to-ceiling painting of my mother. His stance was as staunched and ridged as always while he yelled into his phone.

"No! I said that the fabric had to be navy blue, not steel blue. The color scheme is going to be horribly off now. Fix this. I expect the proper fabric by tomorrow morning. No excuses!" Father slammed the phone down and ran his hands through his platinum blonde hair; smoothing loose strands back into his peaked, coiffed locks.

"Father?" I meekly implored after a reassuring nod from Nathalie.

He whipped his head past his shoulder to address me. Taking a few breaths through his nose, he patted down his cream blazer over his silver vest, and then straightened the candy cane striped ascot before scooping a folder off the corner of his desk.

Now fully put back together, he strutted over to me with his hands folded behind his back and his chin parallel with the floor. He only allowed his head to dip once he stood before me, towering over me; unable to otherwise peer down far enough to see his young teenage son.

"Adrien, care to explain any of this?" In a swift movement, Father flicked the folder from behind his back to about even with my nose. Cautiously, I took the folder and flipped it open. It contained proofs from my latest fashion shoot, displaying the designs my father had created for his latest teen line of clothing.

"My photo shoot?" I flipped through the proofs a second time, but I couldn't find anything that needed explaining. I had done the poses I was told. I was looking where I was instructed. I wasn't sure what my father was trying to get at.

"They're absolutely terrible." My father snatched the folder back from me in order to flip through the pictures himself. "I can't use any of them." He then began pulling each photo out to address his concerns. "You're slouching. You're not smiling. When you are smiling it's obviously fake. How am I supposed to sell the latest line like this? You're not showcasing the clothes well in most of these. And when you are showing off the outfits you look depressed. Is this the image you think my line should have?"

He tossed the folder at Nathalie, who scrambled to catch it before the photos fell everywhere.

"No, Father. Of course I don't." I hung my head, unable to look him in the eye when he's like that. My tone dropped with the shame I felt. I wasn't even sure if I was feeling ashamed of my performance, the way I disappointed my father, or how my father was so overly focused on photos I didn't think looked all that bad.

"I also got a call from your piano instructor," Father continued, "She informed me that you should be much farther along than your current skills. Have you been practicing?"

"Yes, Father. Of course I-"

"You don't have your priorities in order anymore. You're so focused on your friends and that school; you're neglecting your future." Father turned and marched back to his desk.

"Father, no, it's not like that." I took a step to follow him across the room, but thought better of it and moved my feet back together.

Father stood in front of his desk, his glasses in one hand as the other massaged the bridge of his nose. He again stared at the painting he had commissioned of Mom after she disappeared. Part of me wished it was her staring at a painting of him instead. She would have understood.

"You are having a reshoot tomorrow, and I expect you to put some proper effort into it." Father put his glasses back on and walked around to his chair. He sat down with purpose and steepled his fingers. "You are also grounded until you can prove to me that you're focused on your future again."

"But Father-"

"Am I understood, Adrien?" My father's lips barely moved as he spat his question through closed teeth. There was no reasoning with him, only submission.

"Yes, Father."

"Nathalie, take my son back to his room. He has studying to do, and an early night so he's well rested for his shoot in the morning. Please inform his teacher that he'll miss History first thing, but assure her that we'll make sure he's caught up."

"Yes, Mr. Agreste." Nathalie bowed slightly at her hips before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and escorting me back out the door.

"Oh, and Nathalie?" Father called out just before his assistant could close the door behind her.

"Yes, Mr. Agreste?"

"Make sure to handle these workers being misquoted in the tabloids. I have enough on my plate as it is, and now I have to deal with this slanderous filth aimed at my brand. You should be the only one talking to the press besides me, am I clear?"

I could hear Nathalie's sharp inhale at the accusation that she wasn't properly doing her job. Her back and shoulders went stiff before she melted into them; her eyes sinking to the floor.

"Yes, Mr. Agreste. I do apologize for not being so vigilant and-"

My father must have waved her off, because she softly bowed again and closed the door behind her before even finishing her sentence.

The door latching closed clicked loudly in the silent atrium. The length of the echo was all the time Nathalie needed to collect herself. She pulled at the hem of her steel grey blazer to straighten it, slicked back the streak of red tipped fringe that always seemed to untuck from her bun, and pressed gently on my back to let me know it was time to return to my bedroom.

Neither of us said anything as she escorted me, and even when she left me inside my room, she simply bowed her head before closing the door behind her. As soon as I was alone, Plagg zipped out from my shirt pocket.

"Wow, he sure chewed you out," my kwami noted as he hovered in front of me. His arms and legs were folded as he cocked an eyebrow.

I slinked back into my computer chair and spun it so I could rest my elbows on my desk; my head perched on the heels of my palms.

"Yeah, I know," I sighed, "What could I say, though? He's right. My priorities have changed. They changed the moment I became Chat Noir and had to focus on protecting Paris. I can't exactly tell him that though. Besides, piano and modeling were his idea to begin with. I like them well enough, but I'm not passionate about them."

"Boring," Plagg mocked in a sing-song tone. "And I'm still hungry. You never fed me and I'm still so weak from earlier-"

Before he could go on I held up a slice of Camembert for him. He greedily scooped it from my fingers before nuzzling it against his cheek.

"Oh, my tasty gooeyness," he purred before downing the whole thing in one bite, despite the slice nearly being the same size as his head.

I tried to ignore him; let him do his thing to rest up from my misadventures as a superhero earlier. I went to work on my homework, and was equal parts relieved and disappointed that I didn't need to give any of it much thought. I would have loved the distraction from everything, but at the same time, I wasn't sure I could tear my mind away from running through everything that happened earlier. All the failures: arriving late to class, becoming an akuma villain's puppet, attacking Ladybug instead of assisting her, and another night where not only didn't I bond with my father, but I also disappointed him. I couldn't settle. I couldn't stay there in that room; in that prison.

I turned to my kwami.

"Plagg," I called to him while extending my right fist. "Claws out!"

As soon as I said the keywords to trigger my transformation a faint chime rang out: my Miraculous, the Cat Ring, had activated. Black bled out from the center of the circular face and covered the silver band. I brought my hand up to my face and waited as Plagg got sucked into the ring. As soon as he was locked into my Miraculous, giving it, and me, the power of Chat Noir, another faint chime went off. Feeling pumped after hearing the ring activate and my powers lock in, I thrust my right arm triumphantly upwards. A neon green glow flashed for barely a second as a cat's paw formed on the ring face where the black bled out and Plagg was absorbed. Yellow energy sparked off my hands, waiting to be used to create my superhero costume. Using two fingers on my right hand, I swiped across my eyes, and a black mask formed; magically attached to my skin and never capable of being pulled off. The eye holes of my mask filled with a thin cover that made my eyes - sclera and all - a cat-like lime-green. My hands sparked again with more energy, and I combed them through my blonde hair, ruffling up my locks and causing two, black, false cat ears to pop up. Pulling my arms in tight, crossing at my chest, I focused the energy to my core, willing it to put on my bodysuit next. Thrusting my arms out to the sides, my black, leather-like, full-body catsuit formed onto my body, magically taking the place of my existing clothes. With a curl of my body, I re-extended with a heroic pose and a belt wrapped around my waist, dangling long behind me like a cat tail. My weapon, a magical baton, attached to my lower back just above where the belt knotted. Swiping at the air, I tried out the claws at the ends of my suit's gloves. I was ready. I was no longer Adrien Agreste. I was now Paris' superhero Chat Noir.

I felt freer as Chat Noir. I could be my true self as him. I wasn't the sheltered, teen model son of famous fashion designer Gabriel Agreste. I didn't need to be poised and proper at all times. I didn't have to be overachieving or perfect. I didn't need my father, or Nathalie, or my teachers, or my gorilla of a bodyguard watching over me every second. I was the guardian. I didn't have to be perfect because Ladybug was always there to help correct any failures I came across. I could be bold. I could be daring. I could try to reach farther than I thought I could. I could breathe.

Normally, that would be enough. Just being Chat Noir would be all I would need to feel the weight lift, the joy of life return, and my worries melt away. That night it wasn't enough, though. I still needed out of my bedroom; out of that house. I needed Paris. I needed to run through it to be truly free. I raced to the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the back wall of my bedroom. Each window pane was roughly the same height as me, and there were three rows of them in order to reach to the two-story high-volume ceilings. Only the center row of windows opened, for safety reasons, but I could still easily hop through them as Chat Noir. Using my remote, I opened the left-most window and gave my room one last look before embracing my city.

In less than a minute I was out of my house and perched on the thick cement fence that surrounded my father's property. I listened to Paris in order to figure out where I wanted to go. It told me to go right a block towards the Place des Vosges.

The oldest Parisian planned square was a great reprieve from the urban environment around it, along with a breath of history still being enjoyed by modern society. Father typically had me take pictures by one of the fountains nestled within it. Children loved to play on the small playground or ride King Henry IV's carousel within the park. Even with all that history though, for me, the best part about the Place was something only a few months old. At the front of the historical square sat a statue of Chat Noir and Ladybug, dedicated to us as a thank you from all of Paris for our bravery and endless effort to keep the city safe.

I stood before the statue and stared up at it. Both me and Ladybug were carved to be life-sized, but the pedestal our statued selves were perched on was roughly even with my shoulders. Stretched out low on the rectangular, green marble, the bronze version of me looked poised to pounce. Leaping heroically off Bronze Chat Noir's arched back, Bronze Ladybug had a huge smile as the string from her magical yo-yo flew up from her extended right hand, and wrapped loosely around her like a lasso. The artist Théo Barbot had mastered the feel of motion and action in his statue. Sure, I may have hated that Théo had a crush on Ladybug, and I may have even felt threatened that he could win her away from me. However, no matter how I felt about Théo, I still had to admit that he captured Ladybug beautifully. His passion was definitely put into his work, and he showcased Paris' heroine in a way I couldn't.

I looked upon the statue and hoped that seeing the bronzed version of my lady would be enough to calm me, since I had no real way of tracking down the real one. I even hopped up onto the pedestal so I could better look Bronze Ladybug in the eye. I wanted to stroke her cheek. I wanted to hug her; hold her. I wanted to confess my feelings to her. This wasn't the real Ladybug, though, and I wasn't so desperate as to flirt with an inanimate version.

Besides, studying Théo's workmanship, being that close to even a simulated Ladybug, just reminded me of how much I had failed her earlier that day. While my lady would normally bring me comfort, I found none this time. I needed to move on. Paris hadn't healed me yet the way I thought it would. Silently pleading for the city to try again to help me, I felt a yearning to move further down the street: to my school.

A few more leaps, and I was perched along the roof of my three-story school; not even a hundred meters from the statue. So much had happened at the collège. It was the first time I was allowed to get a public education; a chance to make friends. I made them easily, and I had my best friend Nino to thank for that. He accepted me almost instantly, and helped the rest of the class warm up to me as well. He'd claim I did it all on my own, but I knew better. This school brought me my first true group of companions; the same social life my father had berated me about earlier that night.

Unfortunately, this school was also the center of my Chat Noir life. Nearly every member of my class had been taken over by Hawk Moth. Each one of them was turned into one of his akumatized villains. I had to fight almost every one of them in order to protect Paris, and to save them from the parasitic akuma that had transformed them. It was like Hawk Moth purposely targeted this school, which made me even more protective of it.

A lot of battles were fought there. More probably would be, but with Ladybug by my side, I'd protect those students. I'd protect my second home. I'd protect my friends.

A thought pulled at the back of my head as I reflected on the akuma supervillains that had originated at that school. There were fifteen kids in my class, including myself. Fifteen. There were thirteen akuma victims that were my classmates. Excluding myself, that meant only one of my classmates hadn't been akumatized. One kid didn't have a school year punctuated with the guilt of becoming a Paris-attacking supervillain: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Realizing that Marinette was the lone student, besides me, who hadn't been transformed yet, I had a protective need to check on her home, as if gazing upon the abode was enough to ward Hawk Moth from her. I shifted along the roof of the Collège Françoise Dupont so that I was again facing the Place des Vosges. Nestled between these two key points in my life as Chat Noir was the humble bakery Marinette's parents owned, complete with the apartment the Dupain-Cheng family lived in.

It was a simple home considering the entire first floor made up the bakery, which was still smaller than my bedroom. In fact, my two-story room may have been larger than the entirety of the three-level apartment. Neither Marinette nor her parents ever seemed lacking, though. In fact, part of me envied the small apartment. No one could get lost in there. No one could feel alone. Family was always a good holler away, not that Marinette ever needed to holler to get her parents' attention.

There was a warmth to that building that transcended the ovens Mr. Dupain started up at four every morning. Even at night, long after the bakery had shut down, and despite being across the street, I still felt that warmth. For the first time that day, I felt at peace. Just looking upon the Dupain-Cheng household calmed me the way being Chat Noir normally did, the way running through Paris normally did, the way the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue normally did, the way none of those did that night.

Family. I think that's what pinned me to that spot; what soothed my heart. That transcending warmth I could feel meters away was the idea of family. The idea that Marinette was always surrounded by hers, and how it was obvious that her family was immensely proud of her. Marinette's parents were constantly smiling and visibly beaming whenever they were around their daughter, or at least talking about her. Their pride in the woman Marinette was becoming was palpable. The same was true about Marinette's great-uncle Cheng Shifu. The entire clan radiated with love. Anyone could feel it, even from across the street.

I needed that sensation that night. After all of my failings, and with Father's stern talk of his disappointments in me, I needed a reminder that unconditional love existed. I needed to know that people could love others even with their shortcomings; a way to reassure myself that my father still did love me, and that Ladybug would still need me as her partner.

Like the scent of freshly baked croissants, the pacifying feeling of honest, familial love wafted towards me, and I breathed it in deep. I was no longer on edge as I pictured all the things that made the Dupain-Cheng home so welcoming and loving.

I remembered being Chat Noir in Marinette's home as I assisted Ladybug in hiding Kim from an akuma villain who was hunting him down. While Ladybug discussed her strategy with Marinette's parents and Kim, I had spotted a family photo displayed on a bookshelf in the living room. Marinette had her goofy little grin, and her parents sweetly smiled behind her. While I don't think I have a single picture like that with Father, the photo reminded me of the ones I had with my mom; both of us grinning ear-to-ear. Love shone through the pictures of me and Mom, just as it did with that photo in Marinette's living room.

My mind then wandered to when I helped Marinette by translating for her Chinese great-uncle. She was so nervous about dishonoring the master chef, but the man took to his great-niece instantly. I got to spend the day watching the two of them interact, and it was sweet the care each took to learn about the other. In the end, Cheng Shifu was so proud of his great-niece that he renamed his famous Celestial Soup after her. True, my father uses me as a poster child for his clothing line, but there was something different; something special in Cheng Shifu honoring Marinette the way he did. She was able to be her clumsy, awkward, unsure self and still manage to impress him. I have to be poised, reserved, and refined at all times to avoid disappointing my father. Which is probably why I needed Chat Noir so much.

The thing that brought me the most comfort, though, was remembering when I was at Marinette's house to practice for the Ultimate Mecha Strike III gaming tournament. Marinette may have been embarrassed by her parents, but I thought it was super sweet that they kept popping in to check up on us. The fact that they did so using the pretense of bringing us snacks was a nice added touch. They always had smiles that matched the warmth of the croissants, cookies, or quiche they brought for us. I get that Marinette was like most teenagers who just wanted some space to breathe, but I've had all the space I could want, and then some, since Mom went missing. To have someone check in that frequently, to have parents that so desperately want to be in their child's life; I don't think Marinette realized how fantastic that is, or how jealous I was.

I allowed myself to truly relax. I lounged across the roof of my school, my legs dangling over the edge, as I leaned back on my elbows and imagined what was going on in that warm apartment. What was it like to live there? What was it like to be part of that family? I pictured myself in Marinette's place: Tom Dupain was my father instead of hers, and Sabine Cheng was my mother. I envisioned it was me flailing around during a water balloon fight with my father, or that I was the one being instructed by my mother on how to roll out the dough properly to make the crust for a quiche. I could practically smell the smoky sweetness of a well-seasoned roast and fingerling potatoes being pulled from the tiny apartment kitchen oven and placed on the breakfast counter. I almost tasted the flaky butter of still-warm biscuits topped with a touch of plum jam. The chilled breeze of the night vanished from my notice as I felt snuggled into what would have been my lofted bed; should I have been the one who lived above the neighborhood bakery. I breathed in the sweet lingering smells of the day's baked goods as I pictured them being the cologne from the Dupain-Chengs as they tucked me in and kissed my forehead goodnight. I yearned for Marinette's reality to be mine, and imagined that it was.

I got so lost in that fantasy I nearly fell off the roof when I heard the scream.

"Marinette?" Freshly alert, I curled into a low, readied crouch and listened for further danger. The time ticked slowly in relation to my quickened heartbeats. The world was still.

A second shrill shriek rang out, and there was no doubt that it was coming from Marinette's attic bedroom on the fourth floor of the Dupain-Cheng's building.

"Marinette!" I pressed the paw-shaped button on my baton, and it extended, allowing me to use the momentum to push myself over the street like a pole vaulter. It kept me mere seconds to close the distance and land gently on her roof-top balcony, but my mind had already raced through about a dozen questions.

What was wrong? Why did she scream? Is she alright? Are her parents alright? Was she under attack? Was it an akumatized villain? Was it an akuma itself? Could Hawk Moth make a new supervillain already? Was Marinette being transformed just like all of my other classmates? How did I miss the attack? How could I have allowed myself to get that distracted? I knew there was something wrong, which is why I started watching her house to begin with, so how could I have screwed this up too? How could I be considered a superhero when I couldn't even keep a simple vow of protecting just one friend? How would I explain any of this to Ladybug?

The rest of my body was still and alert, but my hands twitched with subtle vibrations as I grabbed the skylight entrance to Marinette's room. The air on her balcony was stuffy and stale, and I struggled to choke it into my lungs. Mentally preparing myself for whatever fight I might find inside, I raised the glass. I managed to lift it about five centimeters when I heard a giggle escape from the room below.

Marinette was safe. The scream I had heard earlier must have been one of excitement, not of pain or fear. I was blanketed with relief, but my hands still shook, and my adrenaline didn't seem to ease up. My heart continued racing, and my breath remained trapped in my lungs.

"Alya," Marinette chirped below me, "I don't think you understand how amazing you are! You just made my whole year."

She hadn't noticed that I was on her balcony, or that I had opened the skylight used as a trapdoor entrance to her room. I could easily close the window again before she found me out. I knew I should leave before I was caught and called a Peeping Tomcat. I was frozen though.

"Hold on, let me check real quick." Marinette's voice was so excited and bubbly. She then squeaked out an abrupt squeal before giggling again. That was when it occurred to me that I couldn't really recall hearing Marinette giggle. Not a true one filled with glee and elation, like the one I already heard twice that night. Up until that point, I had only heard her nervous laughs. The ones where I could almost picture her screaming "kill me now" in her head.

There were a few occasions where Alya got Marinette to abruptly guffaw, and they surprised me each time. I was never part of the conversation. I didn't know what made her chuckle. I was usually engrossed in my own activity; snapped to attention by the sudden, unexpected sound of her laughter.

Maybe that was what froze me on her balcony that night, that same sense of surprise at hearing something that was such a rare sound for me. Maybe it was because her giggle had the same warmth as her home: unexpected, but once experienced it seemed obvious and natural that it was so welcoming. It was infectious. I could feel a smile pull at my own lips as I heard the energy burst out of Marinette. The calm that washed over me when I was watching her house before seemed tenfold now that I could hear that startling giggle.

Startling giggle. How strange that hearing Marinette genuinely laugh felt surprising. How could I have heard it so infrequently, considering how upbeat and happy Marinette always seemed to be? Knowing Marinette, talking with her, watching her with others, she was such an optimistic person who never let anything get her down. She would simply take a beat, pick herself back up, and try again. That was probably why she hadn't been akumatized yet; she never seemed to have any negative feelings for Hawk Moth to manipulate. It was weird to me that I could easily imagine her laughing in her daily merriment, and yet I hadn't truly heard it until minutes ago.

"Okay, Alya. I'll see you in school tomorrow. Thanks again."

I was knocked out of my own thoughts. I hadn't even registered that I was still holding her window open. Now I had lingered too long. She had gotten off the phone with Alya. I had nothing distracting her from hearing me latch the window back closed. Worse yet, I was again clueless as to what Marinette's best friend said to her in order to get her to giggle like that. A shame, because I would have loved to be able to get that sound out of Marinette whenever I needed its soothing tone. Like a cat purring.

"I can't believe this! So awesome!" Marinette squealed a high-pitched note once more. She then turned on some Jagged Stone. A wicked rocker guitar riff enveloped the room as drums added to the energy. Jagged's gruff vocals joined in a couple seconds later, followed by the padding of Marinette dancing barefoot across her hardwood bedroom floor.

She was distracted again, and she still hadn't noticed me. Still hadn't noticed that the window above her lofted bed was ajar. Still hadn't noticed that she wasn't alone. Now was my chance to escape without embarrassing myself.

Okay, I told myself, gently, put the window down. Close it. Leave. Go home. Marinette's safe and you're being a little creepy.

I didn't move, though, I was hypnotized still. Her scream had called me over. Her giggle hooked me. And now listening to her dance and try to emulate Jagged's baritone voice was entrancing. She sounded so at ease, so confident, and so careless about how off-key trying to imitate the rocker's gruff voice made her. Everything about her rocking out seemed more aggressive and assertive than I knew Marinette to be in most situations, and yet matched perfectly with how she stood up to Chloé. It was beautifully in character for her, and yet contradictory. The end result was a goofy surrealism that forced me to choke down my own laughter so I wouldn't be caught.

From my vantage point I could only see her lofted bed, but that didn't matter. I could still hear her dance and sing, and it was wonderfully whimsical. I never got to witness this side of her. Not up close.

Around me she was always so awkward. She tripped over her own tongue, as well as her own feet. She exuded self-doubt even though she more than proved her capabilities on numerous occasions. She seemed so meek and shy, which was partially why we never really spent some one-on-one time together, despite her probably being my best friend behind Nino.

Marinette and I had a connection. I knew we did. I knew it from the moment I offered her my umbrella that first week of school. For whatever reason, I felt vulnerable around her, but at the same time, I sort of liked that I could be, that I was safe to be. Yet, even with this connection, we never seemed to get much of a conversation going before her bashfulness bogged the interaction down.

I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to hang out with her more. I liked hanging out with her. I enjoyed when she could come out of her shell, like when we were playing Ultimate Mecha Strike III. Still, this Marinette dancing around her room and purposely singing gruffly was new to me, yet familiar.

The song ended; almost instantly followed with the next one on the playlist. I must have been holding up Marinette's window for over five minutes at this point, but I barely noticed my muscles begging for me to stop flexing; to either open the window the rest of the way and enter her room, or to close the window and go home like I knew I should. I couldn't do either. I couldn't let this opportunity slip away from me. I wasn't sure when I'd see this side of Marinette again.

See it. I hadn't actually seen anything. I imagined, based on what I heard, but I didn't actually see her dance. I was picturing a whimsy I never actually witnessed in Marinette, but it still felt so natural to imagine her that way.

I had to actually watch her. Every cell in my brain was screaming for me to let it go and go home; that I was being a total creepasaurus. But every muscle twitched with a need to take in this part of Marinette she probably would never let me see, not with how awkward she always was around me. I had an opportunity just a few meters below me. How could I pass it up; ignore it?

By the end of the song I couldn't bear the indecision any longer. My body had won out against my brain. Sin triumphed over decency. Maybe it was the influence of the Cat, but I couldn't leave until my curiosity was sated. My yearning to watch Marinette dance to Jagged Stone had turned into a slow burning need. I couldn't shove the thought out of my head. The trick was finding a way to watch her without getting caught.

As slow as I could manage, I lowered her skylight trapdoor. I tried to bring it as close to the frame as possible before pulling my fingers away so the click of it securing would be muffled by her music.

I have no clue if it was some sort of act of god for my sins, or if it was just the Black Cat's bad luck, but as I slid my fingers out from under her window one of my claws caught. Worse yet, I didn't notice it. I thought I was free, and pulled my hands up quick in order to pounce over to one of Marinette's side windows. I finally spotted my error as the window flew back up a few centimeters with my hand, before slamming back down into place. Too quick for me to catch it again and soften the blow.

My heart hopped up to my throat like one of those scared cartoon cats that latched to the ceiling. While the clap of the skylight falling into place wasn't nearly as loud as I had feared, it still softly echoed, and the song Marinette was listening to abruptly stopped. The whole of Paris seemed to hold its breath as I heard Marinette call up "Hello?"

Move! my brain screamed at me, but I could only focus on the sound of Marinette rushing up the laddered steps leading to her lofted bed. Such a small sound - the clap of a window that most may not have even noticed - and yet Marinette was on full alert. She was fast, too, the padding of her feet bouncing from step to step getting louder as she climbed.

Move! my brain ordered again. My chest clenched as each breath seared my throat. I couldn't be caught! How would I explain myself to her? I was a hero of Paris, and I was spying on her.

MOVE! I begged my legs to straighten, for me to at least stand up. I spotted the wall that blocked off Marinette's balcony from the rest of the roofs along the row houses surrounding the Place des Vosges. My brain took back control of my body, and I leapt over the wall just as Marinette's ebony hair came into view.

My heart played Flight of the Bumblebees against my ribs as I pressed hard against the wall, crouched low into the shadows, and prayed my black suit would camouflage me enough. My skin burned with embarrassment as I tried to will Marinette into thinking the sound of her skylight was simply a pigeon pecking at it. She could just go to bed, oblivious that I had completely invaded her privacy.

Black Cat's luck struck again. The skylight snapped open with a light ping against the wall I was hiding behind.

"Is- Is anyone there?" Marinette called out in a stern, demanding voice, but it still had a hint of her signature concern and sweetness.

Never again. Never again. Never again. I chanted to myself, ordered myself, as I listened to her wandering her balcony. She called out a couple more times. Never once did her voice sound scared. If anything, her voice had an added twinge of concern with each beckoning.

She was nothing like Chloè. My childhood friend was so pampered and skittish; she'd most likely fly into a panic at the sound of her window clanging unexpectedly. She would be bellowing for her faithful butler or her father to protect her. She'd probably wail for Ladybug to rescue her. Most people would probably have that reaction, though.

Not Marinette. Even with something like a potential home invasion, Marinette still assumed the best in people; was still concerned for another's wellbeing; was still strong instead of scared. She just trusted she would be safe; trusted everything would be alright.

Once more I was reminded of how amazing this girl was; something I had known pretty much from day one, but a fact that kept surprising me.

That was the start of the end. I should have known in that moment, hiding in the shadows and waiting for Marinette to go back inside, that I was doomed.

**A/N: Whoa! Long chapter, huh? Sorry this intro chapter went on for a while, but I felt I needed to in order to justify Adrien's actions. It's only going further into the sin bin from here, but I hope Adrien is drawn well enough that it feels justified.

I will be posting a new chapter every Friday. So don't forget to come back if you liked this chapter! :D **