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Chat Noir was acting weird.
Not like, “Let’s discuss the aerodynamics of Naruto running (and if you don’t take it seriously I will pout)” weird. Or, “Hey, how long do you think it would take Ladybug to notice if I showed up to patrol without my tail?” weird. Or even, “I will literally eat dirt if you dare me” weird. That was pretty standard Chat behavior, honestly.
No, he was being weird in a totally un-Chat-like way. He was stiff. Jumpy. Flustered. Nothing like the smooth-talking cool cat he usually was—or thought he was, at least. (He may have fooled half of Paris, but he couldn’t fool Marinette. She knew that underneath it all, he was just a big, soft nerd.)
She lowered her playing cards and frowned. “Chat, are you okay?”
His head snapped up, a blush spilling out from underneath his mask. “I—of course I’m okay! What makes you think I’m not okay?”
“Uh, maybe the fact that half your cards are inside out so I can see your hand?”
“Oh. Oops.”
“Seriously, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing!” He grinned too widely, showing all his teeth.
“Then why are you acting so weird?” she demanded.
“Weird? Pffft.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Name one weird thing I’ve done.”
“You haven’t made a single cat pun all night.”
“That’s not weird.”
“For you, it is.”
“I … I don’t pun all time.”
She snorted. “Oh, really? Then why did I have to make that?” She pointed to the pun jar on her desk. “Are you just refusing to crack jokes now because you don't want to owe me a pizza?”
“Of course not,” he grumbled. “I would bring a thousand pizzas to make you happy.”
“Bold words for someone who didn’t bring one single, solitary pizza.”
“Fine. I’ll go get one right now.” He scrambled to his feet.
“Hey, stop! I was kidding.” She grabbed him by the tail and tugged him back down. “Really, what’s going on? I mean, maybe you can’t tell me everything, but you can still talk to me. You know that, right?”
“Of course. I just—I need to tell you something.” He swallowed. “Something important.”
Oh. If Chat was being this serious, it had to be big. And probably bad.
“I should’ve told you this a long time ago, but I just didn’t know how,” he went on. “I still don’t. But I know I have to tell you because—because I can’t keep going like this.”
Marinette’s hands suddenly felt kind of sweaty. Had he figured out she was Ladybug? And if he did, would she have to take away his miraculous? Wipe his memories with one of those flashy things from Men in Black, maybe? Give up the Guardianship? Her blood ran cold at the thought. She’d known from the beginning that it was risky to be his friend outside the suit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knew better! There had probably not been a more irresponsible Ladybug in the history of Ladybugs! Why hadn’t Tikki stopped her? Why hadn’t she stopped herself? She never could resist those big stupid kitty eyes.
“I just don’t want to screw everything up,” Chat was saying. “Cause this would change … well, a lot. Everything, maybe. And our friendship means so much to me. I don’t want to lose it.”
Okay … that didn’t quite seem to match her whole “he figured out I’m Ladybug” theory. That was a good sign, right?
She wiped her palms on the soft pink fabric of her pajama bottoms. If he hadn’t figured her out yet, maybe he was worried that she’d figure him out.
She’d worried about that a lot at first—for both of them. But over time it got easier and easier to dismiss that nagging feeling. Because she’d gotten too used to the sight of his messy blond hair peeking out from under a blanket. The sound of his laugh filling up her bedroom. The warmth of his arm pressed against hers when they sat side by side. Patrols and rooftop rendezvous weren’t enough anymore. She liked being with him here, in her space. And she didn’t want him to leave.
“Marinette …”
His eyes were wide and vibrant green. She could sense the same trembling in them that she felt deep in her gut.
She didn’t want him to disappear. Didn’t want to leave him messages he would never answer. Wait on her balcony every night for a smile that would never come. See him on patrol and pretend she didn’t miss him so much it hurt, even though he was right there with her.
“I …” He paused, then let out a sigh. “Nevermind.”
She blinked. “Really? You’re going to say something that dramatic and then not tell me?”
“I—I changed my mind.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Just say it.”
“No … not today.”
“Please.”
“Next time, maybe.”
“No, now.” She let out a huff. “If you don’t tell me right now, I’m just going to worry about what the heck you could possibly be talking about, and I’ll be all distracted at school, and I won’t be able to sleep, and—”
“Fine! I like you!”
Marinette froze.
“You—you like me?” she stammered.
He nodded slowly, his cheeks flushed under the mask. “Yeah. In, like, a romantical sense.”
“Um.” Well, that was definitely not what she expected.
She stared at him. And stared. Apparently that’s all she could do. Her face felt hot and her hands felt numb and her tongue felt like a brick in her mouth. She silently screamed at herself to say something else, anything else, but somehow she’d forgotten how to move her jaw. The seconds stretched between them, and she sat in frozen horror while her very last brain cell sputtered and died.
“I’m sorry—forget I even said anything!” Chat said in a rush. “That was so stupid and I don’t want to ruin things because you’re my best friend and besides, you already know I was in love with Ladybug, and honestly I think I still kind of am? I don’t even know what I feel for her anymore but what I do know is that I really, really like you, like a whole, whole bunch, ’cause you’re so kind and smart and funny and pretty and amazing and honestly I think about you all the time. But wow, now I probably sound creepy and maybe I am? I mean I literally crawl through your window at night. Ugh, that sounds so weird. Forget I said—forget literally everything, please, this was such a bad—”
“I like you too!” Marinette blurted.
Chat went still.
“Like, as a friend?” he asked.
“Well, um, yeah.”
His shoulders drooped.
“But also as, uh … more than that.”
He peeked up at her from under his lashes. “Like … romantically?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool,” Chat said.
“Cool.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “So … what do we do now? Should we, like, fist bump or something?”
“Yeah, probably.”
He lifted his fist. So did she.
This is stupid, a corner of her brain had the sense to realize. But the rest of it was still just screaming, so it didn’t help much.
Their fists connected.
“Pound it,” she said, voice cracking.
He flashed her a heart-stopping smile, and then his eyes darted to the floor.
She dropped her hand and stared down at the pink rug underneath them. There was a little green stain near the edge, from when she’d once tried to paint Chat’s nails. (It hadn’t worked out very well.)
“So … if you like me, romantically …” Chat said slowly, “does that mean you think about … holding hands with me and stuff?”
She looked up. He was watching her, looking half sheepish, half hopeful.
She cleared her throat. “And stuff.”
His eyes widened. “Stuff?”
“No! No.” She waved her hands frantically. “Not like stuff—I mean, like … you know … k-kissing …”
A pause.
“On the lips?” he whispered.
She clenched her teeth to keep herself from exploding with embarrassment. “Well, yes, of course on the lips! What else would I mean?”
“I don’t know … maybe … like this?” He scooted forward, scattering playing cards across the rug. Then he placed his hands gently on either side of her face and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Was that okay?” he asked softly.
Something fluttered in her stomach. She nodded.
His thumbs trailed over her face, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. He pressed his lips to her cheek.
“Was that okay?” he asked again.
The fluttering rose to her chest. She nodded.
He leaned in slowly and then hesitated, hovering so close that his breath made her shiver. His lips touched the corner of her mouth, feather light.
“Was that okay?” he breathed.
The fluttering had quickened now, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wing. A glowing heat spread through her chest, up her neck and to her face, her lips, where Chat Noir still lingered, his warm breath shimmering over her skin. He smelled like roses, and rain, and moonlight (and maybe just a tiny bit like camembert).
She nodded.
He pulled back just enough for her to see his eyes flicker to her lips. “What about—”
“Yes,” she said, and she launched herself at him.
As her lips collided with his, she only half registered his muffled squeak of surprise. Mostly she was focused on discovering just how soft those lips really were. With her eyes closed, she angled her head and draped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him into some kind of awkward hug even as she kept their lips smooshed together. She probably looked very stupid, but she didn’t care, because his lips were, in fact, very soft, like he applied lip balm regularly and maybe even did an exfoliating sugar scrub once in a while.
She parted her lips slightly to let his bottom one slip between hers. She felt his body relax around her as he breathed out a sigh against her mouth. His hands trailed up her back, claws tickling her through the fabric of her shirt, until they came up to cradle her face.
Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, sending waves of tingling heat through her entire body with every beat. His kisses were electric and he tasted like strawberries and she thought she might drown in him before she ever wanted to surface.
Her hand wandered to the nape of his neck, where she threaded her fingers through his hair. It was soft. Silky. Like his lips. A thrill ran through her, and almost without her permission, her tongue came up to gently swipe the inside of his lip. Chat gave a tiny jolt at the contact.
Wait.
She wrenched backward with a gasp, heart pounding and face burning.
He blinked. She blinked back. For a second they just stared at each other. He was still leaning toward her, his mouth hanging slightly open. His hair was even messier than usual now. Golden locks fell into his eyes, which shone in the soft glow of her fairy lights, and the edge of his mask was lined with a brilliant blush.
He looked so stupidly, adorably, irresistibly kissable.
She tore her gaze away and spotted Tikki peeking out from behind the pencil cup on her desk. A fresh wave of heat spread over her face. She gulped in a breath of air to clear her head, but she was still so close to him, his arms wrapped loosely around her and his rosy scent filling up her lungs, making her dizzy, making her want to sink back into him again.
“Doyouwannaplayavideogame?” The words spilled out of her in a rush, garbled and loud.
“What? Oh—um, y-yeah, okay. That would be … groovy …”
The fact that he had just used the word groovy was not a good sign. And the fact that neither of them commented on it was an even worse sign.
She disentangled herself from his arms and scrambled off his lap (how in the world had she ended up there, anyway?). As she picked a random game with fumbling fingers, she could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to meet his gaze.
She passed him his controller. His gloved hand brushed hers as he took it, and she tried not to think about how even that brief not-actually-skin-contact managed to send a soft crackle of electricity through her fingers.
The startup music played. She mindlessly smashed random buttons, desperately trying to tamp down the panic twisting in her stomach.
She’d kissed him. Chat Noir. Her partner. Her best friend. And not just because of an akuma. She’d kissed him on purpose, because she wanted to, because she meant it.
It wasn’t like any kiss she’d had before. Definitely not like the other one she’d had with Chat (the one she could remember, at least). It wasn’t like the ones she’d shared with Luka either. Not even those had left her feeling like this—her chest both full to bursting and aching with want.
She wasn’t even sure why she was panicking so much. He said he liked her. He kissed her back. That was good, right? But she couldn’t help but think back to what he’d said about it changing their friendship. What if everything was just awkward now? What if everything was ruined?
She startled when “GAME OVER” flashed across the screen. They had lost horribly. She glanced down and realized that her controller wasn’t even connected.
For a second, they sat in silence. Then she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I’m sorry!” they said in unison.
She blinked. “Wait, why are you sorry?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you pulled away really fast and I thought that maybe I did something wrong.”
“No! You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”
“But do you …” He swallowed. “Do you regret it?”
Her eyes found the green stain on the rug again. “No. I guess I was just a little worried that I came on too strong.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Is that it? I told you I liked you.”
“Yeah, but you probably didn’t expect me to, like, attack you.” Her cheeks blazed with heat, but she forced herself to look up as he chuckled again.
“Definitely didn’t expect that,” he said. “But it’s fine. I mean … it’s more than fine. It was kind of my best-case scenario, to be honest.”
“Really?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Trust me, Marinette, I am more than happy to make out with you. Within limits, of course! After all, I am a gentlecat.”
Her eyes bulged. “M-make out? We didn’t make out. It was just … just regular kissing …”
“Is that so, princess?” He leaned in close so their noses were almost touching, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Then why did I feel tongue?”
He was close enough that he could probably feel the heat radiating from her face. She swallowed. “It was just a—a muscle spasm.”
“In your tongue?”
“I—I have a condition.”
“Sure. That makes sense. A chronic tongue spasm.”
He was still wearing that teasing, infuriating smile. She let out a huff and pushed him back by the nose. “Okay, no. You do not get to make fun of me and play all suave and sexy when you literally offered me a fist bump because I said I liked you back.”
“Hey! You accepted it.”
“I know, but—”
“Wait, you think I’m sexy?” he asked eagerly.
“Shut up.”
“Ha! You think I’m sexy.” He made a show of flexing his biceps.
She rolled her eyes. “Just because you won ‘Paris’s Sexiest Young Bachelor’ doesn’t mean you’re actually sexy.”
“Yeah, but I beat Adrien Agreste. That has to count for something, right?”
Marinette pursed her lips. She remembered how annoyed she’d been when Adrien lost that contest, especially because she had voted for him 52 times. But even then, she reluctantly admitted that if Adrien had to lose to someone, well … Chat Noir wasn’t a bad alternative. (Not that she would ever give him the satisfaction of hearing her say it.)
“I can’t believe you’ve managed to convince everyone that you’re so smooth when really you’re just a dorky mess,” she said.
Chat grinned sheepishly. “Your dorky mess?”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Your. He wanted to be hers. And even after everything, they could still tease each other, and laugh, and have fun. Maybe their friendship didn’t have to change that much after all. Maybe it would just grow to make room for something new (and strange, and exciting, and wonderful, and perfect).
She smiled back. “Yep. All mine.”
He leaned in close again, bringing that heady, rosy scent that made her head swim. “So, does that mean I get to kiss you again?” he murmured. “Unless you’re too concerned about your … medical issue.”
She wet her lips. “I’m not concerned about it if you aren’t.”
“Not a bit,” he said, and slowly, gently, he captured her lips with his.
Chat’s approach was a lot less clumsy than hers. He started out softly, carefully, but when she pushed more firmly he didn’t hesitate to meet her. She melted into the kiss like she was sinking into a warm bath. With her eyes closed, it was like Chat Noir was the only thing to exist in the world. His warmth filling his arms, his breath filling her lungs, just him filling her up from head to toe—he was everywhere, and he was everything.
“Marinette?” he whispered against her lips.
She hummed in answer, cupping his face with one hand.
“I was lying earlier. I don’t like you.”
She pulled back with a jolt. “What? You—we’re kissing! Currently!”
“I know!” he said quickly. “What I mean was that … I’m actually in love with you. I was just trying to, you know, play it cool.”
She couldn’t help the quiet gasp that hitched in her throat. A shimmering glow flooded through her like liquid starlight. He loved her. He loved her. Here. Now. Again. When she couldn’t say it back all the other times before, he’d fallen for her again, another way, and offered her another chance. The words almost spilled out of her right then, but she bit her tongue just a little longer, hiding behind a smirk.
“Well, you played it very cool, Mr. Cool Claws.” She jingled his bell with a finger.
He grinned. “So, is it okay?”
“Is what okay?”
“That I love you.”
“Yeah.” She trailed a finger up the arm of his suit. “Yeah, it’s okay. Because …" Her gaze flickered back to his. “I love you back.”
His eyes went wide. “Really?” he whispered.
She kissed her answer to his lips. “Really.”
“You love me?” he asked.
Another kiss. “I love you.”
“Are you sure?”
Another kiss, and this time, she laughed against his lips. “Yes, I’m sure. Is that so surprising?”
“Kind of? I mean, I had no idea how you’d react to anything I said tonight. And this is the first time that someone’s … said it back.”
She offered a teasing smile. “Do you go around declaring your love to a lot of people?”
“Nah. Just the two,” he said. "And hey! One of them loves me back! Fifty percent is not a bad track record, right?”
“Fifty percent is failing,” she pointed out. (Even though it was technically a hundred percent. Not that he could know that.)
“Yeah, but how can I be failing when Marinette Dupain-Cheng is in love with me?” He waggled his eyebrows under the mask, offering his most dashing grin.
She shook her head with a smile. “Silly kitty.”
“I prefer ‘smitten kitten.’”
She giggled as he peppered her face with gentle pecks, over her nose and across her cheeks.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he mumbled between kisses. “Your freckles are so cute they drive me crazy.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to do this.” She swept back his messy bangs and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “And this.” She grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips.
“Hey, that’s my move,” he said.
She leaned in close to his face with a smug smile. “Not anymore, purrr-incess.”
His cheeks went pink, which made him much too adorable, and she had no choice but to yank him by the bell to bring their lips crashing together yet again.
(It turned out she wasn’t the only one with a chronic condition.)