I don't own Miraculous Ladybug. Please read and review though!

The first Akuma to kill someone was an architect in a dispute with city planning. The first person killed by an Akuma was an older lady from Germany, with greying hair and black eyes that Marinette distinctly remembered because she'd stared into them as she threw the Lucky Charm into the air, hoping and praying that that's all it would take.

And then the old lady was alive again.

She wheezed suddenly and loudly, and Chat Noir rushed forward to pick her up, holding her by one shoulder and her hand into a sitting position so she could cough. It appeared that she had no recollection of what had occurred and the razor sharp rulers that had pierced her abdomen had disappeared along with the blood that had gently pooled in the cracks of the cobblestone. Ladybug, because the chance to bump fists with her partner had disappeared too, had walked over to the Akuma and hefted the young man up. He stuttered as she did so, but she gripped the collar of his shirt like he was a dog.

"This has never happened before," Ladybug recalled saying, "so you'll have to wait a moment before you wander off."

"I don't know what happened!" the architect stuttered from the ground, "Was I an Akuma?"

But Ladybug just pursed her lips and stared as Chat and a citizen helped the woman up. She gripped Chat's hands in thanks, muttering some words to him in broken French before she kissed his cheeks and walked away with nothing but a "Tchüss!". Chat stared after her, thanked the man, and then walked calmly over the Ladybug and the Architect.

He frowned but said nothing and then crossed his arms over his chest. The Architect again stumbled through a series of words until Ladybug finally let go of his shirt.

"Are you okay?" she asked sharply, looking the man up and down. He seemed so much more mundane then the Akuma had appeared.

"Yes, yes, what happened? Who was that old lady?" the man asked, his eyes wide and desperate.

Ladybug glanced at Chat, who halfheartedly shrugged. What could they do? Lie? Plenty of the people who were now gathered around like a crowd had seen it. No use trying to keep it from Paris's knowledge.

"The Akuma killed her," Ladybug said slowly, "But you're not that thing. It isn't your fault." She paused a moment before she said, "And she's back now, so it's okay."

The man froze as if he hadn't quite expected that shocker, but nodded slowly and backed away. Ladybug turned away from a gathering crowd of reporters, lowering her voice. "We should leave, I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Agreed," Chat said with a nod. "I'll see you tonight at ten."

She snapped her yo-yo out, winking at him. "Will do, chaton."

They sat on some building in Montmartre, Ladybug's feet dangling precariously off the side. Chat leaned against the ledge, facing the other direction, where in the distance the Agreste Tower stood in one of the business arondissements. Ladybug stared at her black gloved hand, curling it slowly into a fist and then slowly letting go.

"I don't understand," she said, "how do these powers work? My Kwami is being strangely odd on the subject. Oy vey! She won't tell me anything!" She shifted a little in her position, turning to face her partner. "Did your Kwami say anything?"

"If he didn't explain things before, he most definitely is not now," Chat said vaguely, still staring at the Tower. "But doesn't it make sense, I suppose? You're Creation. Maybe it is more like an umbrella term, yeah? Life falls under creation."

Ladybug sighed and dropped her shoulders, the weariness from the fight and the death that day showing in her form. "But Life is… life! It doesn't inherently…," she gestured wildly around her, and if it weren't for the fact that her balance was much better now, she would have fallen straight onto the awning below.

"Na na nana na," Chat sang softly, chuckled, and then frowned. "Sorry. Yes. But I think you're wrong. The one thing we did learn. Abstract ideas, remember? Life isn't abstract, creation is. Thought is. Destruction is. We know Cataclysm destroys things, I'm very certain it could kill something. It took down the Eiffel tower, image if I touched a person's arm? Their head? Or—."

"I get it," Ladybug said miserably. "She was dead for seven minutes. Does she even know what happened?"

Chat winced, eyes finally leaving the business district as he turned to look at her. "My German is good, but not good enough to fully explain 'Hey, you died and came back to life through magic!' so no, I don't think so. But I did follow her home and made sure she was okay."

"Good," Ladybug said, "Send me her address. I talked to the police so they know what's happening. They'll be sending someone to explain and then make sure she's okay. I've never done this before, we don't know if there will be side effects. I mean… seven minutes Chat."

He nodded. "I know. I know. But it definitely opens up a lot and… we need to get our Kwami's to open up. We can't be going out blind anymore."

"Agreed," she said and nodded. "He's getting more serious. I have so much homework to do too."

He smiled at her, watching as she hefted herself up to stretch. "So, we question our Kwami's."

"Indeed," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. She looked over at him sharply. "You speak German?"

"And Chinese and English and Spanish," he replied, and then frowned. "Why? Or should I say, warum?"

She shrugged. "I just didn't know, that's all. I barely speak Chinese and don't even ask me about my English." She let her head fall into her hands before she leaned back. "We started at primary school, and you think with the number of—," she paused, turning red. She'd been about to admit that the number of American or British customers that came in to the store should have helped her but it really just made everything worse.

Chat laughed. "Oh? The number of what?"

"Nothing," she said airly, "you don't worry about it Chaton."

"Ah, ha, ha!" he exclaimed. "You almost slipped up!"

She rolled her eyes, rubbing the black gloves of her costume nervously. "I did not, and anyway we were talking about that lady and… and you speaking German."

He frowned then, picking himself up and standing next to her. They both stared out over the city, voices trailing up from below them and laughter bubbling up from the city streets around. He pulled her close to her, twirling her around so that they stared at each other.

"Would it really be so bad?" he asked. "It's been four years."

"No," she admitted, pulling herself away from his arms just after a moment. "It wouldn't. I'm not against it now, I don't think but…"

"But…?"

"But we shouldn't. Like we said earlier, Hawkmoth is only getting more serious. So should we," she breathed, staring up into his green slitted eyes. At first they had unnerved her, their unnatural shape and color on a human face had been startling, but now there was only a sense of safety and trust she couldn't get with anyone else.

"Agreed, but if we knew, we could only help each other," he said steadily.

"I… also agree. Give me some time, mon minou, and I'll get back to you," she replied, reaching forward to squeeze his arm. He smiled back at her before his baton beeped.

"I should go," he breathed, "you know me. Always on the run."

She laughed lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He reached forward to kiss her hand, "Always, bugaboo."

The next three deaths happened two months after the first, the German woman, Frau Jutta Dunst, and took place separately between two Akumas. The first of the three was a small girl from Strasbourg visiting family with her parents, Amélie Proulx. She had dark hair and dark eyes and didn't move when the blade struck her chest. Her father was just a moment too late. The second, from the same Akuma, was an American tourist, Kayla Greene, and she was pinned to a wall by her throat, eyes half lidded and blank. The third, a different Akuma, and a native Parisian, killed a teenage boy named Nathan Roux. He was discovered some minutes after the thing attacked, slicing away as it shouted for the heroes of Paris.

Each time, Marinette fretted that Lucky Charm would fail. That they would not return, and the image of Amélie, Kayla, and Nathan would haunt her at night. Amélie, tiny and small, barely six years and half as small as Manon, would remain in her head as a dead body that had collapsed already gone into her father's arms. Kayla, where her eyes bore into Marinette's as Ladybug stood stricken, her hand half raised as if she could do anything about it. Nathan, not even whole anymore.

And yet, it never did fail. Each time, they would take another breath and forgot what had happened. They didn't remember death, or it's embrace or kiss. They did not remember their welcome into the arms of the end of everything. Ladybug envied them, if only because they would never know. Ladybug also praised the heavens, thanking whomever would listen, if only because they would never know.

Each time, she would shiver on that building in Montmartre, arms coiling around herself as she sobbed quietly into Chat's arms.

"I don't understand," she whispered, after Nathan, "I don't understand how they die and they come back. How can I be responsible for this? What if they never return?"

Chat did not reply for a while, he only held her closer. They listened to the music below, soft tunes and jazz whispering up into the air and lights around them.

"I'm sorry, my Lady," he whispered back, "But the cure is a gift and… and we should be grateful it exists at all. I'm sorry if that does not help, but it is the least I can do."

"Thank you Chat," she said. She pulled herself away. They bade each other farewell and left for their own homes, their own beds, and their own thoughts.

"Hawkmoth is killing people now. There's Akuma's at least four to five times a week, I'm failing half my classes and I think my father thinks I'm doing drugs," Chat said aloud. They were on top of the tower now. His feet dangled off. Behind him, Ladybug paced around the platform.

She made no comment about the mention of his father. "Don't even mention school, I'm fairly certain I will have to repeat this year."

He paused in swinging his legs. In the distance was the Arc de Triomphe, lit up brightly in the golden lights of the city. "What if we left?" he said quietly.

Her pacing stopped behind him. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't want to hear that kind of talk."

He wouldn't mention it for another three months.

They sit on the top of a school not in Chat Noir's district. It's early evening, just after dinner, and this neighborhood has mostly cleared out. Below, there's the faint sound of voices just hitting their ears, and far away in the distance is age old music.

He leans back against a wall, facing the East and watching Ladybug as she huffed and stared over the city skyline. That morning, a death by Akuma had occurred. But unlike the others, unlike those that came before, this one could not be undone. This one had happened after the cure. A man, stumbling with his footing after finding himself some fifty feet above the ground had been reawakened and fallen to his death. Other people had found themselves on roofs, on the tops of buildings— chimneys, stairs, balconies— all attempting to help the Akuma find Ladybug and Chat Noir.

His Lady's cheeks were red and every few moments she sniffled.

"We need to find him," she said eventually, turning to face her partner. Chat's eyebrows furrowed.

"We've tried tracking the butterfly's, but they just fly off wherever," he countered, frowning.

She nodded thoughtfully, playing with one of her pigtails. The ribbons had grown longer since she'd first appeared, and gently grazed the concrete of the roof. "I know. But there has to be a better way. We need to get back, faster. Stronger."

He flexed, grinning growing on his face. "This isn't enough for you, bugaboo?"

She laughed lightly, pushing him away from where he'd leaned forward. "Unfortunately, I think I've got you beat." She winked at him.

He laid a hang over his heart. "You always do." He paused a moment, thinking. He was afraid to speak, afraid that she would reject his idea again. "Remember how I said we could leave?"

Her smile disappeared and she looked at him sharply. A wind breezed past them, brushing her hair around her face.

"I didn't… I didn't mean that we should leave or abandon Paris. I meant, what if we left behind our civilian selves? Dedicated ourselves wholly to defeating Hawkmoth?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid the faint faceless voices of those below would listen and hear what he was saying.

For a long time, she did not reply. She'd turned her face away, squinting as the sun faded over the horizon toward the west. The world was lit of gold now. A brilliant orange and red streak burst across the sky, and then in the next minute it disappeared. Lights began to flicker on, and around them the sounds of the city grew almost stiller.

"And leave behind our families?" she asked suddenly, voice soft.

"I wouldn't be leaving behind much," he tried to joke, but it fell flat at her pained expression.

"You don't have anyone?" she said quietly.

"No one that matters to me, at least in my family," he answered truthfully, "Friends, I have. But I'm willing to give it up if it means we can end this."

"Where would we go? Where would we get money? What would our income be? Our housing?" she demanded, voice stern as she shot off questions. She rubbed her hands over her face.

He leaned forward, pulling his knees close. "I have a job, an income. It's not mine for another year, but I can start funneling it into an account that my fa— that can't be traced. And the money I've already gotten can be transferred securely. I know it. We could buy a place to live, our place of operations. Out of the way, nondescript, where we could easily enter and exit with no one seeing."

She paused then, peering around her fingers. "You've thought a lot about this."

He nodded, not afraid to admit anything to her. "I have."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She bit her lip, hand reaching to rest on his knee. "I'm sorry it's come to that for you."

He shrugged a little, heart thumping, and then smiled. "It's okay. Honest. And… and I would do it. In a heartbeat. Just say yes."

"You'd have to dye your hair, and I'd cut mine. We'd go missing, We would need to blend in completely, look as bland and as French as possible," she said, "and we'd have to let everyone go."

"I never thought bland and French would go in the same statement," Adrien joked. She smiled this time, her eyes flickering up to meet his. "But… but yes. We would."

She stared out over the city. "How long would it take for you to get everything ready?"

"A year," he said with certainty.

It did not take long for Adrien to realize how difficult it would be. Going around his father would be easier than going around Natalie, who managed everything in the Agreste house. He had connections, and not everyone in the fashion world was the best about keeping things completely legal. But most people were clean cut. His name did get him places though, and he found himself standing in a torrential downpour outside a ragged house in southern Paris.

Inside, supposedly, he would find a man who could help him create a new identity. A passport, an ID, a new life.

Getting there had been a nightmare. A model friend that Adrien worked with and had done several shoots with had mentioned, on a break down by the dressing rooms, that she would soon need a new fake when she returned to America. France had given her a cushy opportunity to drink while she was there, but she was only seventeen, and the age to drink was twenty-one back home. Adrien had hung back around the corner, back pressed intently against the wall. There were places she could go, and her French was decent, but she wanted a native French speaker to help her make sure she wasn't being ripped off.

Adrien straightened himself off the wall and picked his shoulders, rounding the corner.

"Johanna, hi," he greeted in English.

The girl froze, black eyes widening. "Adrien, bonjour."

He leaned against the wall, smiling down at her and the other model, Elise. "I heard what you were talking about. Is there any chance you could slide me that address?"

Johanna paused, glancing at Elise, and replied slowly in English, "Oh. I see. But, why would you need a fake ID?" There was legitimate confusion on her face, and she tilted her head to the side, brow furrowing.

Adrien shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "Well, my father is interested in sending me to America to model. I'm quite used to our lifestyle here and I hear the parties in America are wild. I'd like a chance to enjoy myself the way I'm used to."

The girls both nodded, as if it made perfect sense. "I could let my guy know and send you the address. How does that sound?"

He picked himself up, smiling broadly. "Fantastic, thank you Johanna!"

And now he was standing outside the home, some several hours into the night, two weeks later. He and Ladybug hadn't talked about their supposed plan since that night. He wore the most nondescript clothing he could, headphones around his neck, a t-shirt, hoodie, black pants. His hair, long enough now to be pulled back, was in a small short ponytail behind his face. A few strands framed his face and he annoyingly pushed them back.

It hadn't been easy to escape from the Gorilla, and even then Adrien had had to wait to wait it out and disappear at Chat Noir. Plagg was being quiet about the whole deal, but did not advise against it in one of his few moments of unreliable wisdom. He had allowed Adrien to transform, gather the bag he'd stowed behind a roof, and detransform to change.

He stepped up onto the stoop and pressed the button for "Alexandre" on the fifth floor apartment. Three seconds passed before the door buzzed and unlocked. Adrien quickly swung it open and stepped inside, peering up the long winding stairs that would bring him to the man Johanna had recommended him. He paused to look down at Plagg.

"Am I doing the right thing?" he asked, voice low and nervous.

Plagg gently floated up to Adrien. "Make it rain, kid."

Adrien nodded and signed, opening up his pocket again, and then pulling out a ski mask. He pulled off the hood and slowly slid it over his head, uncomfortable with the way he knew he would appear to anyone who might find him. He began to take the steps slowly but deliberately, hoping that no one would leave their doors or happen to be peering out of the peep holes. He reached the fifth floor after only a couple of moments and, after one final long breath, rapt his knuckles across the door. He slid to the side and waited.

After only a few moments, the door unlocked and opened.

Adrien threw his elbow out. Alexandre yelped, his head snapping back as he stumbled into his own foyer. Adrien rounded the corner and threw his foot out into a kick. Alexandre stumbled back, his nose already bleeding from the first hit. Behind Adrien, the door slammed shut and he bent down to pick the man off the ground and slam him into the wall.

"Who are your contacts?" Adrien growled in English.

"Who are you?" Alexandre shouted, his hand grasping at the door behind him.

Adrien hooked his ankle around the man's leg and pulled it out. Immediately he fell down onto his knees, his legs crooked under him but not broken. His arms hung limply at his side while his collar was tight in Adrien's fists. The superhero hefted him up slightly, pulling onto his unusual strength, so that his knees and shins barely scraped the top of the floorboards. "I asked you a question," he said again in English. "Who do you know in the business? Who do you talk to?"

Alexandre, finally realizing he was not getting up anytime soon, scowled up at Adrien. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't lie to me," Adrien snapped, "I know you already had a girl in here earlier this week. American, pretty. Dark eyes and skin, light brown hair. She's tall. You've seen here?"

Alexandre, knowing he couldn't deny it, nodded. "Yes, yes, I helped her out. She made a request for an ID! That's all!"

"You're not the only one, people like you know other people like you. So tell me, who's the best guy you know? Answer or your face will become well acquainted with my knee," he threatened, even though it held no merit. Alexandre didn't know that, and the look of fear in his eyes told Adrien that.

"Nikolai," he said breathlessly, "he's a supplier, but he deals too. Mostly foreigners like you. German, he lives in 19th arondissement. Porte da la Villette. He hangs around a street corner, Bastille Boulevard. I can show you!"

"No," Adrien said, "anyone else?"

"Jean-Luc and a British man, Daniel Whitmore," Alexandre said, his voice desperate. "I can give you all the information! Do not hurt me!"

Adrien shoved the man to the ground. "If you know what's best for you, leave before I turn you in. And don't give that girl her ID. She'll manage without one."

He stalked past Alexandre, who collapsed onto his hands and knees on the floor. The door swung open and Adrien paused. "And don't speak a word of this to anyone."

He closed the door and walked calmly down the stairs.

Nikolai had been surprisingly easy to find. Adrien had trailed manage to pin point one of the many German speakers, one who seemed to meet with several people on his corner on Bastille Blvd. It wasn't easy but Adrien stood across the road, in a large jacket and hat on, staring at Nikolai with a neutral face. The German clearly noticed him there and it wasn't until midday that he stalked across the road to stand in front of Adrien.

"You," the man said in sorry French. "You keep staring at me, yes? Bist du die Polizei?"

"Police?" Adrien asked in German, "No, not police. Kunde."

The man smiled at Adrien's German, seemingly pleasantly surprised.

Nikolai rolled back on his feet, looking Adrien up and down. He wore typical men's fashion from Berlin, and Adrien only knew what that even looked like because of his father. The German man had a long nose and face, his eyes dark and his hair a deep blonde. His hands were shoved in his pockets. "You want to buy something from me? Schiesse, du bist ein Kind."

"Doesn't matter what I am, can you do a job for me?" Adrien asked, heart heavy with worry.

Nikolai paused and then shrugged. "You clearly have money. I don't care who you are or where you come from. What do you need?"

Adrien leaned forward, pulling his hat down. "Can we meet somewhere else? More secure?"

Nikolai glanced around them. "Ja, komm mit mir."

In the end, there would be no questions asked. Adrien was promised an ID, a passport, and new papers from the man. He handed Nikolai a small bundle of cash some several weeks later with a promise to return.

It was a good test.

Marinette curled up under her blankets, staring wide-eyed at Tikki. "If I cut my hair," she said suddenly, "will you be able to keep it longer when I transform?"

Tikki's blue eyes caught Marinette's, and the young girl was reminded that Tikki was much older than she appeared. "I can," she replied.

"Do you think what Chat Noir and I are doing is right?"

"Well," Tikki sighed, floating down to sit on Marinette's pillow. "What are your reasons?"

Marinette bit her lip, sitting up a little to get a better look at the Kwami. "For Paris. For France. To protect the people and to defeat Hawkmoth and recover the Butterfly miraculous. But I'm worried about… about my parents, and Alya and Nino." She paused. "Adrien. I'm scared that I'll leave and can't protect them even though that that's why I'm leaving."

Tikki nodded. "I don't think you're being selfish Marinette. Hawkmoth was already dangerous, and he's only getting even more so. I think what you're doing is selfless."

"Have other Ladybugs had to do this?"

Tikki flew up to Marinette and gave her a kiss. "Many have had to make sacrifices before."

"Yes," the girl replied, "Yes I know. I'm scared."

"That's okay," Tikki said sternly, "It's okay to be scared. If you weren't, I'd be concerned."

When she met with Chat Noir next, he handed held up a small brown package. "A new identity, a fake one. We'll need new everything. I have a guy we can go to now. He's… nice, pleasant. I think he knows something's wrong and he wants to help."

Chat handed the package over and Ladybug held it gingerly in her hands. She peered up at him. "And our identities?"

His eyebrows shot up behind the mask. "The ones we have now? Safe. I'll need all your information though. A new name you want, new pictures. I'm sequestering money away from one of my accounts, slowly, so that no one in my house will notice. It'll take some time to build it up but I have enough to get us a place."

Ladybug's shoulders dropped. "This is real." She looked up at him. "We're doing this."

"Yes," he answered immediately. "We are. Do you not want to?"

"I do," she replied, her voice shaking. She paused, closing her eyes, and breathed.

"I do," she said, voice strong. "We're doing this. This is for Paris."

"For Paris," he echoed, reaching out a hand to pull the package back. She let him take it.

"I'm going to cut my hair," she said slowly, "in my civilian identity. How soon do you need new pictures and… and everything. How close is this all happening?"

Chat Noir paused. "It will be a while. Keep your hair long for now, longer than you have it now."

"We're doing this," she said again, eyes meeting his.

"We're doing this," he confirmed.

In the end, it took Adrien ten months to move his money into a bank account that wouldn't ask questions and trade it all. Natalie asked no questions, assuming that, once he reached of age, he planned on separating himself from his father. Though, her not saying anything was unlikely, and Adrien figured his father was simply allowing this to occur. The account couldn't be traced back to him, though, so he knew it would be safe.

He found a small apartment not far from the outskirts of the city, one room with a small balcony and a space for an office. He stood in the center of it. It was dark, but decent, and it would be the hub of their operations. He told Ladybug about it and she agreed to visit it later when she got the chance. Distance didn't matter that much— they could travel anywhere in the city in under fifteen minutes they didn't stop.

"This is it," he whispered to himself.

The room was in an old building that had been mostly abandoned. Four floors, three of them abandoned. Adrien had purchased the building, left the bottom floors and resigned the two top ones for themselves. It was in a neighborhood that was bright with culture and people, but not determined to be a tourist stop by the rest of the world.

He looked around the room. It would do.

The building was paid for, he had his new identity lined up and ready to go. Nikolai was more than willing to cooperate when he realized that there was more to this than his general understanding. Adrien's money was gone into the separate account. Natalie had expressed concern over it, saying that his father was concerned over Adrien suddenly emptying his accounts.

He knew it wouldn't be able to go undetected.

And that was how he found himself in his father's study, standing rigidly as the man woefully argued and asked "what in the world was he thinking?"

"I want to be able to manage my own finances, father," Adrien said slowly, his voice neutral. "How am I going to be learn to run the business if I don't even know how to save and spend. Invest."

Gabriel pursed his lips. "University is a perfect place to begin learning how to manage a business. You know I expect you to make top marks and enter a business major, Adrien, you don't need real-world practice. How you even managed to get the money out is beyond me."

He'd created a new account under a new name and transferred out money, paying off the bank and teller to not say anything.

"I understand, father."

"You've clearly undermined my role as your father. You do not have control of your account. You do not make these decisions. I will decide what is best for you. Dismissed. Return the money to your account by the end of week. You're not to open anything new without my permission."

"Of course, father," Adrien said.

Fine by him. He'd be gone before Wednesday.

Marinette packed her bag and her computer. Most of her clothes she wasn't taking. Nothing that was indistinguishable and identifiable to her. She brought a couple of pillows, her blankets, and some shoes. Her desktop was packed carefully away and a small note was left on her desk. She stood in the center of the room. It was still full, still alive. She expected to never see it again.

It was dark out. Her hair was cropped short, barely brushing the nape of her neck. She'd pushed it back with a headband.

"This is it," she said aloud to Tikki.

"I'm sorry, Marinette," Tikki whispered.

"I still don't have a name," the girl replied breathlessly, "Should I go old-fashioned? Cosette? Or maybe modern, or American? I like the name Sarah."

"You'll figure it out," Tikki said.

"I know," Marinette breathed. "Are you ready?"

The Kwami nodded sadly. Marinette gave her a grim smile and then climbed up to her, now old, bed, and through the hole onto her balcony.

"Adieu," Marinette whispered, shutting it for the last time.

The room wasn't so bad that Marinette felt like it couldn't one day become home. She was alone with only Tikki. She dumped her bags on the floor and sat on the long couch that Chat Noir must have brought in. The rolladen were down, shutting out any light that might have come in from the streets of Paris.

The door behind her opened.

"Ladybug?" a voice asked.

"I'm here," she said, voice strained. "I'm here."

She heard footsteps by the kitchen, something dropped onto the counter, and then footsteps closer to her.

"Are you…—."

"No," she said. "You?"

"No," he breathed. "I didn't look at the pictures you gave me. I haven't gone to him yet. I'm going tomorrow. Do you have a name?"

She stood up and turned on him abruptly. She could only see the bare outline of his figure, shaggy hair still long. He had a bag clutched in his fist. Hair dye for himself.

"I need to know who I'm staying with," she whispered. "Before we do anything else."

Chat paused, and hesitated. He slowly lowered his bag to the ground and backed up to a light switch. "Ready?"

She nodded. "Ready."

He flicked it on.

Her eyes widened. His shoulders dropped.

"Adrien," she breathed.

His eyes softened with love. "Marinette."

Fin.