Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Marinette stood at the edge of a towering Parisian rooftop. She shivered as the chilly Parisian air enveloped her, wondering briefly why she didn’t grab a jacket beforehand. Below, the city lay in a deceptively peaceful slumber, but something sinister was going on in the background. She glared down into the void, breath visible in the frigid air, as she watched the shadows coalesce to a central point. There, a dark silhouette stood up, eerie purple eyes focused on her figure. “Your light,” he growled, breaking the unusual silence of the night. “It’s time to extinguish it.”

“Are we done playing this game?” she asked, twirling her glimmering sword with an air of boredom. The cold steel fit perfectly in her hands, even though she couldn’t remember ever using it before. Marinette swung down, balancing on the edges of one of the windows. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, and frankly I’m getting a little tired of you.” Without warning, the figure lunged forward. The darkness swirled around Marinette in an attempt to ensnare her, but she dodged expertly. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” she teased, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Encouraged by the adrenaline, she countered the shadows with a slash. Her blade gleamed in the moonlight. The figure called back his shadows, glowering at the metal object in her hand. “Nice try, but it’s not going to be enough.” His voice echoed ominously, and Marinette had to cover her face to avoid feeling the intensity of the new gusts of wind coming from his direction. 

The figure’s form split into multiple shadow clones, and they began to surround her, each jeering and taunting her loudly. Marinette’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. She couldn’t take on all of the clones at once. Marinette looked down at her sword with the spark of an idea, maybe she didn’t have to. Trusting her instincts, she closed her eyes and leapt forward through the shadows, pushing past the odd smack of wind and dust particles all over her body in the instance she made contact with them. She landed on the cobbled road with a grunt, and before she could give the villain any time to process she picked up her sword. Using the moon as her guide, she used the sword to direct the beam of light directly onto each clone, gripping the hilt fiercely. One-by-one, the shadows burst outward until she was left with just one figure. The original, she presumed. But before she could finish her act of heroism, the figure vanished and reappeared in front of her. He grabbed her sword with his hand, preventing her from moving it. “Night’s over, darling. It’s time to wake up.”

“Huh?” The world around her began to fade and she blinked confusedly. “What’s going on?”

“You’re going to be late for school.” The road beneath her was giving out, sounds of wind replaced by the familiar creaks of her… 

“Marinette? Marinette!” Marinette jumped out of bed, hands flying around in vaguely threatening chopping motions. “I’m not done with you, shadow demon!” When she blearily opened her eyes, she saw, much to her embarrassment, that she wasn’t alone or anywhere near the crafted world she had been in moments ago. The sunlight from her window glinted off the pins in her bedroom bulletin board, almost mockingly. Marinette frowned and rubbed her eyes, the dream still lingering. She stepped towards the other inhabitant, rubbing faster to focus the world more quickly. 

Sabine Dupain-Cheng cleared her throat loudly, hurriedly setting aside the cup she had been holding. “Good mor ning, Xiǎo Bǎo. I’m glad to see you’re using your karate lessons, but I’d prefer to not be in the line of fire.” Marinette rolled her eyes playfully, before her gaze caught on the cup. She gasped indignantly, “You were about to pour water on me!”

“Desperate times called for desperate measures.”

“Mom!”

“No time to argue, sweetie! I’ll go and make your breakfast portable, you just get dressed quickly so you aren’t late.”

“La—?” Marinette paused as she remembered the words from her dream, glancing in horror at the time displayed on her analog. “Shoot!” While Sabine retreated through the trap door, Marinette dashed to her closet to search for an outfit. Marinette wanted to wake up early to pick the perfect one, maybe do some makeup while she was at it. Unfortunately, the seconds were ticking away quickly, and she resigned herself to a pair of jeans and a simple flower shirt. Before she could follow after her mother, however, Marinette caught a glimpse of her unfinished project flung over the desk chair. The jacket itself was sewn alright, but its color was uninspiring. 

Marinette looked down at what she was already wearing and frowned at the worn and old look. This was supposed to be her year. Designers like Gabriel Agreste, those who start their careers late, come once in a lifetime, and even then his successful empire wasn’t started by him. More often, designers were sought after in high school to give them a chance at interning before their studies started in full swing. If Marinette wanted to attract the right attention she would need to exhibit her fashionista sense; this outfit certainly wasn’t going to cut it. She huffed and grabbed the jacket off the chair, flinging it over her shoulder and grabbing her clutch. At the very least , she thought. I can cover up these old clothes with it . 

After making her way to the kitchen, Marinette sniffed the air and hummed with delight. “Is that what I think it is?” Her dad looked back to grin at her, secreting the box in his hands into a plastic bag. “I had just enough time to pack them before you leave. They’re really hot, but should cool by the time you get to school.”

“Papa, you’re the best!” Her dad set the bag on the counter before hugging his daughter tightly but swiftly. “Your mother had to open the bakery, but she left your breakfast beside your bag. If you run, you could probably eat it before homeroom?” Marinette glanced at the kitchen clock as she pulled away from the hug, grimacing at the displayed time. “Running and avoiding traffic laws… I’ll see you later!” Marinette picked up her bag and the packet containing what smelt like piping hot bread, but before she could make a mad dash out the door she heard her dad’s throat clear from behind her. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“Oh, oops! She smiled sheepishly, swiping the bag of macarons from the counter. “I’ll text you when I get there!” Tom leaned against the counter, smiling when he saw his wife enter. “Marinette just left, she said she’d text us when she gets there. Hopefully, it’s on time.” Sabine furrowed her eyebrows, holding up the object she was carrying. “With the phone she left downstairs?”

“Ah.” Sabine chuckled softly, gently grabbing her husband’s hand to lead him down the steps. “She’ll figure it out soon, but for now we really need to restock.” 

“We’re out of stuff already? The morning rush hasn’t even started—”

“We need to make extra so we have enough testers for Mari’s bake sale. Did you remember to ask her for the list of what she wanted?”

“Ah.”

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“Feeeeeeelix. Fel. Feef. Fe. FELIX!”

“Christ, can you shut up?!” Felix groaned and rolled into his pillow, pulling up the sides to cover his ears. Adrien sprung up from his side of the room, cheerfully pushing down part of Felix’s pillow. “You told me to wake you up at 6 am, it’s 6:20.”

“Why is this the one time you pay attention to something I said?” Felix grumbled. Adrien gasped indignantly.

“I always pay attention! I’m just usually too lazy to act on it.”

“Any reason you’re acting on it now?”

“I was feeling it this morning.” Felix peeked out from under his pillow, one eye narrowed in suspicion. Adrien beamed down at him, annoyingly chipper and someone who's clearly never known the sweet, silent embrace of sleep. “You were feeling it ?” Felix repeated, voice hoarse and accusing. Adrien nodded. “Yeah! Like… the sun was rising, the birds were fake chirping on my phone app, and I thought, ‘What a great day to annoy Felix.’ ” Felix groaned louder this time, dragging the blanket up to his chin as if it could shield him from Adrien’s relentless enthusiasm. “You’re gonna be late to breakfast and you know how Dad is.” Felix flopped back against his pillow with a dramatic sigh. “He won’t actually say anything. He’ll just glare at me like I’m gum on his designer leather shoes.” Adrien smirked, already rifling through Felix’s closet with the entitlement of someone who’d clearly done it before. “You forgot the part where he spends the entire meal adding new jobs to your schedule. You’ll wither under pressure mid-baguette.” Felix rubbed his temples. 

“Why are you like this?”

“Because,” Adrien said, tossing a sweater onto Felix’s lap, “I’m supposed to be the ‘functional’ twin.” Felix stared blankly at the sweater. “This is yours!”

“Yours is wrinkled–”

“Ugh, this is so not my color.”

“We have the same colors!” Felix held the sweater at arm’s length like it might bite him. “Yeah, but you’re okay with looking like a traffic cone.” Adrien rolled his eyes and yanked open the curtains with a dramatic flourish, flooding the room with morning light. “You’re currently ten minutes from a passive-aggressive parental interrogation, and I need to get to school.” Felix hissed at the sunlight like a vampire. “Fine.” Felix shoved himself out of bed, grumbling as he tugged on the sweater. He barely had time to run a hand through his hair before Adrien grumbled. “Dude, I really need to get to class on time.” Despite Felix’s bedhead already at feral raccoon levels, he sighed and obliged Adrien. The steps creaked softly beneath them as they made their way down, Felix blinking blearily against the light. Adrien moved quickly, used to the rhythm of rushed mornings and half-finished breakfasts, while Felix dragged his feet just enough to make a point.

Their father was already seated at the table, black coffee in hand, tablet angled just so. He didn’t look up. “You’re late,” he said flatly. Adrien slid into his seat, murmuring a quick “Sorry,” while Felix hovered for a second before sitting down, still smoothing his hair with one hand. “Felix, you have a photoshoot later today,” their father said, still reading. “Do me a favor and try not to be stiffer than a piece of wood.” Felix didn’t argue. He just nodded, reaching for a piece of toast. He wasn’t sure why his father insisted on keeping him on the same schedule as Adrien. If he had it his way, Felix would get the same level of choice in the matter as his brother. School in the morning, the occasional press event and rehearsal in the evening, and some photoshoots on the weekend. At least then he could choose a career outside of the one his father handpicked, a choice that Adrien seemed to squander with every missed assignment or late arrival. Speaking of which, “Adrien, get to school, I don’t want another tardy on your record.” Adrien looked up, just for a second. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but he closed it again. Instead, he gave Felix a quick, half-hearted smile and mouthed sorry before getting up from the table and following their chauffeur out the door. 

Felix took another bite, eyes already drifting toward the clock. The day had barely started, and it already felt like a checklist. Across the table, his father was back to scrolling, eyes flicking through headlines and calendar entries with the same detached efficiency he applied to everything. Felix set down his toast and wiped his fingers slowly on a napkin. 

The photoshoot wasn’t until noon.

He glanced at the empty spot where Adrien had been sitting just moments ago. His father had barely paid attention to where Adrien went just now, if he could just…

He pushed his chair back slightly. Not enough to draw attention, just enough to test the moment.

No reaction.

“I’m going to review Nathalie’s notes on my last photoshoot in my room,” he said, standing. His father gave a short nod, barely listening. Felix turned and walked out, quiet and unhurried. But instead of heading upstairs, he slipped past the staircase, down the hall, and out the side entrance. Luckily, his father’s second car was still parked. The car meant for errands or backup transit was now his one way out. He already had Adrien’s clothes on, and if Adrien could waste the privilege of school, Felix figured he might as well try using it. Just for today. Just to see what it would feel like. To choose .

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Marinette skidded to a halt just outside the school gates, clutching the still-warm bag of bread against her chest like a precious artifact. Her breath came in sharp bursts, cheeks flushed and hair slightly haphazard from the chaotic sprint. She barely had time to wave at Mme. Bustier as she slipped through the doors and bolted up the steps, muttering frantic apologies as she brushed past other students. “Girl, finally! ” Alya called the moment Marinette stumbled into the classroom. She was leaning over Marinette’s desk like she owned it, waving a copy of Masked Marvels Monthly with the smug triumph of someone ready to cause problems. How do you always get here so early?” Marinette panted, collapsing into her seat. “Teleportation?”

“I wake up on time,” Alya said, grinning. “But more importantly, please tell me you read the new issue?!” Marinette perked up, momentarily forgetting her near-death jog. “Uhm, duh. Okay but before you spout your incorrect opinions at me, there is no way Stormy Weather is losing to Stoneheart.” Alya gasped dramatically. “Okay, no. I’m not letting you get away with that slander.” 

Marinette held up her hands. “Stormy Weather can fly, control temperature, create actual lightning storms. Who’s Stoneheart? He’s literally just a rock with anger issues.” 

“Exactly,” Alya argued. “He’s made of stone, Marinette. He’s literally invincible.” 

“Are you aware that weather patterns beat rock?”

“Girl, she got defeated with an umbrella. An. Umbrella. That’s the tactical genius you’re pitting against Stoneheart?”

“Are we talking hypothetical villain battles again?” Nino asked, sliding into the seat beside Alya with his usual grin. “She thinks Stormy Weather could take Stoneheart!” Alya said, gesturing wildly toward Marinette like she was announcing a scandal. “I dunno,” Nino said, rubbing his chin. “Stormy Weather’s cool and all, but Stoneheart’s kind of a tank. It’s like, yeah Tony Stark is a genius dude with billions of dollars of tech but if Hulk smashes it, it’s unusable.” Marinette let out a groan and dropped her head to her desk. “ Nino . You’re supposed to be on my side.” Alya reached over and patted her shoulder solemnly. “Sorry, girl.”

“Whatever,” Marinette muttered into the desk, hiding her smile. “You’ll both be sorry when the results drop next week.” Before Alya could argue further about brawn over brains, a sharp tap-tap-tap of heels approached their desks like a warning bell. “Dupain-Cheng,” came a crisp voice from behind. Marinette stiffened slightly before turning in her seat to face Odette Bourgeois: student council president, noted control enthusiast, and professional distributor of unsolicited tasks. “Good morning, Odette,” Marinette said stiffly, the way one might greet a predator. Odette was dressed to impress with a perfectly ironed blazer, her pin-straight hair tucked behind one ear, and a clipboard held like it was forged from divine authority. “I need you to write up an invoice,” Odette said, already flipping to a specific page. “Address it to your parents’ bakery. I submitted an order for the council’s welcome bake sale. Itemized. You know the format.” 

Marinette blinked. “Okay, but… wouldn’t that be Mylène’s job? She’s the treasurer.” Odette paused, looking up from her clipboard with the serene expression of someone about to say something devastating. “I don’t trust her to do it right.” Alya and Nino let out a simultaneous “oof” from behind her. Marinette sat up straighter, confused and a little annoyed. “She’s been treasurer for three years.”

“Yes, and every year she gets temporary amnesia and forgets what the word ‘itemize’ means. Plus, she adds emojis,” Odette wrinkled her nose. “I need it clean. Professional. You.” Odette gave her a pointed look, as if Marinette’s competence was both a compliment and a burden. Marinette sighed, reaching for her planner. “Fine. Are we ordering the same thing?” 

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” Odette added, completely ignoring Marinette’s question, “I need you to bump the price of goods up by twenty percent for day-of purchases.” Marinette’s pen stopped mid-scribble. “What? Why?” Odette waved a hand with a mysterious smile. “I have my reasons. Don’t worry, it’ll sell out.” “That’s not how pricing works,” Marinette muttered, half to herself, half to Alya. Odette didn’t seem to hear, or care. “I’ll check back at lunch for the draft. Merci!” she said sweetly, already turning on her heel and walking off. “She is so lucky we’re not allowed to vote her out,” Alya muttered. 

“I think she runs unopposed on purpose,” Nino added. Marinette slumped back in her chair. “That’s so random that she bumped up the prices, though. Does she really think people are gonna buy our pastries? They’re already at a pretty significant markup.”

“Does it matter, girl? If the sale fails it’s not like it’s something you planned.” 

“I know, I just… she seemed so confident? Odette’s not the type of person to make changes like that on a whim, which means she’s really confident that people are gonna pay 7 euro for a mini croissant. I don’t even think the most famous bakery in Paris could charge that much.” Alya shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe she’s trying to launder money through baked goods.” Nino raised an eyebrow. “Honestly? I wouldn’t even put it past her. Girl’s got ‘corporate villain origin story’ energy.” 

Marinette giggled, finalizing her itinerary. Before she could close her planner, Marinette noticed a commotion in the hallway. A beat later, a familiar blonde stepped into the classroom. Alya waved at the boy. “Oh hey, Adrien’s actually on time for once.” 

“A miracle,” Nino laughed. Marinette squinted. Something was… off. ‘Adrien’ moved too smoothly, too precisely. No smile. No ‘sorry I’m late!’ Not even a shy wave to his classmates. Just a calm, calculating gaze as he surveyed the room like he owned it. And then, instead of heading toward his usual seat by Odette, he slid into the one right next to Marinette. She stared at him confusedly. “Uh…” she tried, slowly turning to face him. “You’re sitting here?” ‘Adrien’ gave her an unreadable glance and adjusted the sleeve of his sweater. “I am.”

“No one usually sits there.” He tilted his head slightly, feigning interest. “And yet here I am. Sitting.” Marinette sighed. “Okay but, Adrien, this seat’s kinda unofficially mine. Like, I use the extra space for my planner, and my sketchpad, and sometimes my emergency snacks. It’s a whole system. Plus, you usually sit by Odette.”

He shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Did you get amnesia?!”

“I’m a free agent,” he said dryly. “Unburdened by routine. Also—” he glanced around the room, hands folded neatly, “I don’t see a seating chart.” All of a sudden, Felix calmly reaches over and plucks the wax paper bundle from the middle of the desk. He unwrapped it with delicate precision, like he was doing her a favor, and took a slow, deliberate bite of her croissant. 

Marinette gaped at him. “Did you… that was mine?!” she spluttered. “Dude, what’s gotten into you?” This had to be a prank, right? Adrien didn’t steal food, or antagonize people over seating. He apologized for breathing too loudly. 

What was happening?

She glanced at Alya, silently pleading for backup, but her best friend was way too entertained to help. Alya had fully leaned back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold with a delighted smirk. Right on cue, the classroom door creaked open again. The real Adrien stepped in, breathless, hair windblown from his usual dash through the courtyard.

Marinette turned her head so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. “ADRIEN?!” Adrien paused mid-step, staring directly at the person still sitting next to her. “Uhm… Felix?” The boy beside her didn’t even flinch. “Morning,” he said, annoyingly casual. 

“You’re at school ? ” Adrien asked, voice pitching upward like the concept physically hurt him. “Thanks for noticing,” Felix replied. Adrien blinked rapidly. “You don’t go to school. What are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to see what it was like,” Felix said with a shrug, as though that explained anything. “I mean, don’t you usually ditch?”

“I’ve never ditched!” Adrien hissed. “Dad said you have a photoshoot today.”

Felix glanced at the clock. “At noon, which means I still have a few hours.” Adrien opens his mouth to retort but before he could, Madame Bustier walks into the classroom. “Is there a reason,” she said calmly, “that my classroom sounds like a debate club full of over-caffeinated pigeons?” Every student went rigid. Her eyes swept the room and landed, unsurprisingly, on the two blondes causing all the chaos. Felix, completely unfazed, straightened in his seat. “Apologies, Madame. Adrien was planning to skip class today and switch places with me, but clearly changed his mind.” Adrien’s entire body snapped upright. “Excuse me?!”

Madame Bustier closed her eyes for a long, painful moment. “Alright. I’m going to call your father.” Felix didn’t flinch, but Marinette saw Adrien turn as white as flour. Before she could ask him if he was okay, Madame Bustier had already turned toward the hallway. “Both of you. Office. Now.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Adrien protested, trailing after her.

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Felix had expected the silence in the office to feel boring. Instead, it was taut. Not tense, exactly, but focused. Principal Damocles shuffled papers with the kind of urgency people used when trying to look very busy and very calm at the same time. He sat with one ankle crossed over his knee, gaze fixed vaguely on a motivational poster behind her desk. Believe in yourself. Hm. Questionable advice. The door opened. Gabriel Agreste stepped inside, and Principal Damocles stood immediately. “Monsieur Agreste, thank you for coming on such short—”

“Get to the point,” Gabriel said. 

He cleared his throat. “It appears Felix arrived at school this morning in place of Adrien. There was some confusion.” Felix opened his mouth to explain, but Adrien stepped forward first. “I asked him to come,” Adrien said.

Gabriel turned his head towards Adrien slowly. “You did.” Adrien didn’t flinch. “I thought it might be good for him. He hasn’t had a chance to be around people his age. I figured he could test it for just a day… I forgot to give him the correct instructions.” His voice stayed even. Gabriel considered him in silence. “And what exactly do you imagine this accomplishes?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said softly. “But I thought if he liked it, he could stay.”

Stay.

Felix blinked. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Gabriel's gaze sharpened. “And you’re prepared for what that means?”

Adrien’s nod was small, deliberate. “Yes.” Gabriel’s expression was unreadable. He didn’t turn to Felix. He didn’t ask him what he wanted. He just looked back at Principal Damocles. “If there are no further complications, I don’t object.” Felix furrowed his eyebrows. That was it? He expected more of a fight, a dramatic exit. Gabriel’s voice cut again, quiet and thin. “But if I hear so much as a whisper of disruption, this is over. Understood?”

Adrien nodded again. “Of course.” Gabriel nodded to Principal Damocles. “Have him shadow Adrien today, I’ll have Nathalie send the enrollment paperwork by tomorrow.” Before Felix could ask any questions, his father had turned around and left.
Felix remained seated, watching the door swing shut behind him. He should’ve felt victorious. Instead, something sat uneven in his chest. Adrien wasn’t looking at him. And he hadn't argued, either. Whatever that conversation was, Felix had the distinct feeling it hadn’t been about him at all. 

Principal Damocless sighed heavily. “Alright boys, get back to class.”  Adrien was already moving, expression composed. He didn’t say anything as they left the office, just held the door open and gave the principal a polite, practiced smile. The hallway was quieter than it had been earlier, most of the students in their homeroom. “You didn’t need to do that,” Felix said, voice low. Adrien glanced sideways. “Do what?”

“Take the blame. I-I panicked, but it should have been easy for you to prove I was lying. Father knows what happened this morning.” Adrien shrugged, adjusting the strap of his bag. “It didn’t matter.”

Felix grabbed his arm, “Didn’t matter?” Adrien looked ahead again. “You wanted to try school. You’re here now.” He said it lightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if Felix hadn’t upended Adrien’s schedule, reputation, and whatever rigid balance he maintained with their father. Felix narrowed his eyes. “You’re really okay with this?”

Adrien’s smile didn’t fade. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He said it like he meant it. Felix followed after him. No use tugging at threads when the whole thing looked neatly hemmed, he supposed. God, he really needed to stop thinking in clothes analogies. They reached the top of the stairwell, the muffled sounds of the classroom just ahead. Adrien pushed the door open and Felix tried to ignore the head turns and stares. At least no one was saying anything. Not yet. 

Adrien gestured vaguely toward the front of the room. “You’ll have to sit where you did earlier. I think someone might have left you a death glare to keep it warm.” Felix’s eyes flicked across the room. The girl from earlier glowered at him, still seated at her desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was warding off evil spirits.

Oh. Right.

“Perfect,” he muttered. Adrien clapped him on the back sympathetically, though he very poorly hid a smile, and slid back into his usual seat. Meanwhile, Felix made the long, quiet trek to the desk he originally sat at, every step somehow echoing louder than the last.

She didn’t say anything when he sat down. Didn’t look at him, either. But her pencil snapped the moment he opened his notebook. He glanced sideways with a raised eyebrow. “What?” She turned her head just enough to glare at him from the corner of her eye. “You owe me a croissant.” 

“Fine, bill it to my father.” Felix opened his borrowed notebook and leaned back slightly in the seat, trying to ignore the very pointed inch she inched away from him. A girl with brown hair, a few seats over, didn’t even pretend not to be watching, eyes sparkling with barely concealed amusement. The boy sitting next to her leaned across the aisle toward Adrien and whispered something, probably a question. Maybe a joke. Adrien just laughed softly and murmured a reply. 

It was seamless. Effortless. Could Felix really fit in?

Felix folded his hands over the desk, gaze flicking to the side again, back to the girl, who gave him a massive stink eye in return.

This was going to be a long day.

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“ —‘Bill it to my father,’ who does he think he is?! The mayor’s son?”

“Well, Agreste practically runs our economy so in a sense?” Nino said, raising an eyebrow as he bit into his sandwich. Marinette stared at him like he’d committed treason. “You’re not helping.” 

Nino held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying, technically the man probably could fund half of Paris’ infrastructure with pocket change.”

She groaned into her tray. “I swear, I don’t know how Adrien came from that same family. He literally apologizes to the chairs he bumps into.” Marinette leaned back, arms crossed. “There’s no way Satan is his twin.”  She glared at the figure across the courtyard. Felix was sitting on a bench under the tree, delicately picking apart a salad like it had personally offended him. He didn’t look up, didn’t mingle. Just sat with his ankles crossed, as if the grass was beneath him. Alya took a seat next to Marinette with her tray, catching the tail end of the rant. “Still mad about this morning?” 

Marinette gestured wildly with her fork. “He ate my croissant, claimed my desk, and then had the audacity to make it sound like I was being unreasonable.” 

“He does have a very punchable calmness about him,” Alya mused. “Exactly!” 

Nino nodded slowly. “Okay but, Adrien told me in class that Felix has never been outside for anything other than work, let alone a real school. Maybe give the dude some slack? I’m sure he’s just having his ‘Jasmine-in-the-street-market’ moment.”

Alya snorted into her juice box. “As amusing as I find the Felix in a blue dress vision, Jasmine was at least likable in her privilege.”

“I didn’t say the metaphor was perfect.”

“Hey, Marinette?” a voice interrupted.  She looked up. Adrien stood there, hands sheepishly in his pockets, Odette beside him like a perfectly-tailored second thought. Adrien offered her a soft smile. Odette didn’t smile, but at least she wasn’t glaring at Marinette, which was a nice reprieve from her usual ‘no-funny-business’ mood. “I just wanted to say sorry,” Adrien said. “Again. About this morning. Felix isn’t very social? I probably should’ve warned him about the nonexistent but implied seating contract.” Marinette opened her mouth, then closed it again. It was hard to stay annoyed at Adrien when he looked so sincere. “It’s alright.” 

“For what it’s worth, I know you like to use more desk space, so I’ll ask Felix to leave you like ⅔ of the table?”

“That actually sounds like a good compromise, thanks,” Marinette admitted, still a little wary, but grateful nonetheless. Odette gave a short nod, arms folded. “I have to say, I’m impressed you didn’t let him steamroll you.”

Marinette blinked. “Wait. Was that… a compliment?”

Odette shrugged, casually sipping her smoothie. “You handled yourself. That’s more than most.” Marinette had no idea what to do with that, so she settled for blinking again. “But,” Odette continued briskly, already returning to her default tone, “don’t forget to send me that invoice by the end of today. I don’t want this bake sale to clutter my to-do list.” And just like that, the brief truce was over. “Come on,” she added, turning to Adrien. “Your brother looks like a painfully lonely puppy, it’s making me sad.” 

Adrien gave Marinette an apologetic little smile. “See you in class.” Marinette watched the two of them go, Odette leading the charge with clipboard energy even without a clipboard. Felix was, in fact, looking a little lost with the big student crowd around him. It wasn’t like Marinette cared about his social circle, though. She looked back at her friends and muttered, “I don’t know how Adrien ended up with that friend group.” 

Alya didn’t even look up. “Well, him and Odette are kinda a thing.”

Marinette and Nino gasped simultaneously. “ Since when?! ” Alya leaned her elbows on the table like she’d been waiting for this moment. “Okay, so. They’re not, like, label-label official, but they’ve been orbiting each other for months. They have weird inside jokes, she brings him coffee before class, he brings her snacks before council meetings. Also, they’ve kissed.”

“Are you serious?!” Nino asked.

“I wasn’t spying,” Alya interjected, not sounding convincing at all. “It was after the spring gala ended last year. He walked her out, she laughed at something, and then bam , kiss. Very movie cliche.” 

“And she didn’t explode? Or vaporize him? Or report him to the principal?” Marinette gasped.

Alya leaned back, smug as ever. “Nah, they’re slated to marry each other either way, so I think this way is cuter.” 

“I think my brain just popped,” Nino groaned.

“They’ve been family-arranged since they were kids. Political, legacy, power couple vibes, all that. But I guess they didn’t hate the idea, and now it’s just kind of working? You know, Odette does the ‘my person, my problem’ thing, and Adrien looks at her like she hung the stars. It’s weirdly soft, if you’re into that.” Marinette stared into the void, also known as the last few bites of her sandwich. The gossip about Adrien and Odette still buzzed in her ears, but it was beginning to take on the fuzzy, exhausted quality of background static. She didn’t know what annoyed her more, the fact that Odette was in a maybe-sort-of relationship with Adrien, or the fact that it was Adrien who had a love life. I mean, she wasn’t that jealous, she tried to tell herself, she had gotten over her young crush on the Agreste years ago. But seriously? Odette?

Her brain hurt.

“As much as I’d like to stay,” Marinette said, standing up. “I’ve got other peoples’ jobs to finish.”

“You know she probably just trusts you more than the rest of us, right?” Nino added. “I mean she directly said she doesn’t think you’ll screw it up.”

“That’s great and all,” Marinette groaned, pulling out her planner again. “I’d still rather not calculate bakery markup percentages while still emotionally recovering from pastry theft.” Alya winced dramatically. “May that croissant rest in flaky, buttery peace.” The bell rang out signalling the end of lunch and the courtyard began emptying as students went back to class. From her peripheral vision, she saw Adrien hand Felix something under the tree. It looked like a juice box? A second lunch? Felix didn’t react much. Just gave a slow nod and pocketed it like Adrien had handed him a dossier full of espionage secrets.

Weird.

Marinette shook her head. Not her problem. What was her problem was the order form she still hadn’t formatted. Having a free period, she made her way quickly to the library, where she could at least work without distractions. Time seemed to move slowly, but after a bit of work Marinette stared at her screen filled with an invoice that was clean, color-coded (but not too color-coded, because professionalism), and even included Odette’s last-minute price bump. She saved the file twice, then emailed it off with a dramatic flair only visible in her mind.

Subject: RE: Bake Sale Invoice

Attachment: pain_and_pastries.pdf

Message: Odette, please find the invoice attached. It is 

itemized. It has no emojis. You’re welcome.

This day had been… a lot.

At least it was almost over.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

The afternoon sun hung low, golden and half-lazy, casting sharp shadows against the stone path outside Collège Françoise Dupont. Felix leaned back against the fence near the gate, arms crossed, watching students trickle out with a practiced sort of detachment. The air smelled faintly of summer: pollen, warm pavement, overpriced perfume. Somewhere behind him, a teacher was shouting at someone about a late homework assignment. Ahead, Adrien was laughing about something with Nino and that big guy, Ivan? The one who interrogated him about some evil plot to dethrone Adrien from his gala king title, whatever that meant. 

Felix didn’t care.

He had bigger problems. Namely: no driver, no second car, and no intention of asking Adrien for help. His phone buzzed.
Nathalie: Still in meetings. No vehicle until 5:30. Wait inside.

He didn’t respond. He wasn’t going back inside. The school smelled like pencil shavings and stress, and he’d had enough passive-aggressive glares from croissant girl to last a lifetime. Instead, he drifted toward the edge of the sidewalk, eyes scanning the crowds. The end-of-day energy was frenetic, with the occasional pigeon dive-bomb of someone’s food. Felix stepped to the side to avoid a very public display of PDA. Disgusting. And then he saw it. 

A flicker. 

Out of the corner of his eye, something disappeared. He turned. Across the street, near an alley shaded by a crooked apartment building, stood a man. He was tall and gaunt, dressed like a walking antique. His outfit consisted of suspenders, a button-up, and a long tan coat. But it was the camera that drew Felix’s attention: large, boxy, with a brass lens that glowed faintly even in daylight. It glinted ominously at him.  The man didn’t move. Just lifted the camera, calmly, and clicked the shutter. 

FLASH.

A teenage girl across the street froze mid-laugh. Her phone slipped from her hand. Her mouth was still open, frozen in expression, but her eyes didn’t blink.

Felix blinked for her. “What the hell—” he muttered. Another FLASH. A boy on a scooter slammed into a lamppost and stayed there. Like a paused movie frame. Felix felt his breath catch. His fingers curled tightly around his sweater sleeve. Something was happening. And Felix Agreste, inexplicably, was one of the only people who’d seen it. “Okay,” he muttered. “No big deal. Creepy camera man. Turning people into museum exhibits. Definitely a normal Parisian afternoon.” 

FLASH.

A teacher mid-step froze, still holding a stack of papers. The papers fluttered to the ground like leaves.

That’s when people started noticing.

Students bolted. A man dropped his baguette and ran. Someone screamed and that was apparently the only confirmation needed for the entire sidewalk to break into hysteria. Felix’s brain was still catching up, dragging against the absurdity of it all. What kind of tech could do that? Was it a chemical weapon? Experimental government prototype? Maybe a practical effects crew having a catastrophic PR day?

None of it made sense. He reached for his phone to… do what? Call the police, maybe? But what would he even say? “Excuse me, there’s a man freezing civilians with antique photography equipment”? They’d hang up on him. Another FLASH. This one was close. A mother trying to escape a few paces away gasped then stiffened mid-reach, arms out toward a stroller. The baby inside it started crying.

Okay. That wasn’t special effects. 

He started backing up, feet automatic now. He needed to get out of here, far away from this maniac. He needed to find Adrien and Odette and drag them both home. Before he could search for them, the cry of the baby, still sitting alone in a stroller, pierced the air. 

Felix took another step back. He could leave. He should leave. He wasn't a hero. He was a seventeen-year-old with one functioning emotional support sibling who he couldn’t find.

And yet.

He moved quickly toward the stroller, head ducked low and eyes flicking between the frozen mother and the alley where the man was still methodically advancing. The camera whirred faintly like it was winding up for another shot. Felix’s hands tightened on the stroller handles. “Yeah, no,” he muttered. “You’re not adding a baby to your sepia-toned collection.” He turned the stroller sharply and pushed it down the sidewalk. He could feel the air crackle with an unfamiliar energy, but he pushed on carefully hoping the antique man was focused elsewhere. He stopped behind a delivery van, out of the line of fire. The child hiccupped in the seat, sniffling, but still very much alive. Felix crouched beside it, hands braced on his knees. His heart pounded. Then something darted past his shoulder.

He whipped around just in time to see a small, black blur fly up in front of his face. He yelped and nearly punched it, but an invisible force field held his hand back.

“Finally,” the thing said, folding its arms like he had kept it waiting.

“What… what are you?”

“I’m Plagg. I’m the reason you’re not dead yet,” the creature said breezily. “Well, me and your stunning reflexes. Nice stroller save, by the way. Very dramatic.”

Felix blinked. “I’m hallucinating.”

“No, you’re wasting time,” Plagg said, zipping closer. “ You want to do more than stroller duty today? You’re going to need this.” A small object dropped into Felix’s palm. A ring. Matte black. Warm.

Felix stared at it. “What does it do?” he asked carefully, turning it over between two fingers. Plagg floated backward, eyes gleaming. “Let’s call it an upgrade.” 

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Is it a weapon?”

“Sort of.”

“A shield?”

“Nah, not yours.”

“Then what, exactly, am I supposed to do with it?”

“Put it on,” Plagg said, maddeningly vague. “And say ‘Claws out.’ Simple.” 

Felix’s gaze flicked up. “That sounds incredibly stupid.” 

“You have Mr. Charlie Chaplin back there turning people into statues and ‘stupid’ is what you’re concerned about?” Another FLASH rang out and a student a few feet away froze mid-sprint, mouth open in a silent scream.

Felix stopped arguing. He slipped the ring onto his finger and it locked into place with a faint click. “Claws out,” he muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette was having some horrid luck. After finishing the invoice during lunch, her laptop had the audacity to die midway through Madame Mendes’ lecture. Not crash. Not freeze. Die. Like it had absorbed her stress and decided to make it a shared experience. She'd whispered her goodbyes to Alya and Nino and left early to run home and charge it. The walk back to her family’s apartment was short, but made longer by Marinette’s forced return to school upon realizing she didn’t have her phone and she probably left it in her locker.

She tried not to let it get to her. After all, she’d survived Felix. She’d filed the invoice on time, even if the subject line was passive-aggressive. It was hard not to let the smaller things pile up, is all. She adjusted her bag and crossed the street at the light, her shoes scuffing slightly against the uneven cobblestones. The afternoon sun filtered through the clouds. At least that was nice, feeling the sun on her face. 

She stopped as an emergency warning flashed on an impromptu sign set up.

WARNING : Police have blocked off this road for a street performance

Marinette frowned. Street performance? There was nothing on the neighborhood calendar. And blocking a street for it seemed dramatic, even by mime standards. As she looked up, her eye caught on a shape rounding the next corner. A young man with slicked-back hair and a sweeping trench coat. He was holding something large and square. A camera? 

Her pace slowed. This must be the street performance, but it was hardly anything worth shutting down for. He seemed a little decrepit, if she was being honest, but far be it for Marinette of all people to judge a book off its cover. However, she couldn’t disagree that something about him felt off. Not just the clothes, or the weird glint of brass around his neck. The street was eerily quiet, and surely more people would have been lining up to see such a performance? It was peak rush hour, too. Marinette followed her instincts and ducked behind a parked car. 

That’s when she saw the statues. People were frozen mid-step. Mouths open. Eyes wide. One woman mid-wave. Another crouched by a fallen purse. A child reaching for a balloon that never left their hand.

Marinette’s heart jumped into her throat. This ‘performance’ was quite macabre. She ducked lower behind the car, clutching the strap of her bag nervously before she peeked out again. The man hadn’t noticed her. He was slowly turning in place, adjusting the brass-framed camera at his hip. Like he was scanning for something.

FLASH.

A passerby in jogging gear halted mid-stride. Legs still bent, earbuds dangling from frozen fingers. Marinette had to cover her mouth to stop from screaming. Her legs itched to run. The bakery wasn’t far. She could hide. Call someone. Let someone braver, more trained, handle this. But her feet couldn’t move. Not when she saw him.

A boy was standing in the middle of the road. Maybe nine years old. He was gripping a scooter and staring at the frozen jogger with wide eyes. The man raised his camera.

No.

Marinette didn’t think. She launched herself out from behind the car, bolting across the street. “Hey!” she yelled, waving her arms. “Over here!” The man turned.

FLASH.

She threw herself to the side, skidding behind a bench just in time. The flash hit the sidewalk where she’d been. Her vision blurred with afterlight, but her legs kept moving. She ducked down, grabbed the kid’s wrist. “C’mon, we’re playing tag,” she said, voice high and falsely bright. “I’m gonna win.” The boy stared at her, startled. “Huh?”

“Tag,” she whispered, tugging him behind the next parked car. “You’re it. But you have to run. Got it?” He nodded slowly in understanding, then bolted.

Good. He was safe.

Marinette leaned back against the car door, chest rising and falling fast. Her palms burned from where she caught herself on the pavement, but she didn’t look at them. She didn’t dare move yet. Marinette kept her back pressed against the door, trying to breathe. Then she felt it, a strange warmth. A voice, small but unmistakable, spoke from above her.

“Marinette.” She flinched. There, perched on the car hood just inches away, sat a tiny red creature with wide blue eyes, a glowing body, and delicate antennae that twitched faintly in the air. “AH!” Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth. “Wh—what—?! Mouse? Bug… mouse?!” she hissed. The creature smiled at her softly. “It’s okay. My name is Tikki.” 

Marinette blinked. “Am I hallucinating? Oh god, did I hit my head?”

“No,” Tikki said gently. “You’re just ready.”

“For what?!” Marinette whisper-shrieked, glancing nervously back toward the alley. “No more freaky villain-y dudes.”

“No more,” Tikki agreed. “But for that, I need you to be the Ladybug miraculous.” 

Marinette froze. “Ladybug what now?”

“It’s a symbol. Of creation. Of restoration. Of balance,” Tikki explained, gliding closer. “You saw someone in danger and didn’t hesitate to help. Even when you were scared.”

“That’s just being decent,” Marinette said, baffled.

“Exactly,” Tikki replied. “And very few people choose it anyway.” Marinette stared. Somewhere distant, another FLASH crackled through the air. More screams. Tikki held out a glinting red and black object, a pair of earrings, glowing softly in her paw. “In order to save Paris, take these,” she said, “and say: spots on . ” Marinette’s hands shook. “You want me to fight that?”

“Not alone,” Tikki said, her voice steady. “There’s someone else already out there. You’ll feel it when you meet him.” Marinette’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, feel it?” Tikki just smiled. Marinette took a breath. She reached up with shaking fingers and clipped them in, one by one. There was a beat of stillness. 

“Spots on,” she whispered.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

The world exploded. 

Or maybe Felix did.

Heat and light tore through his chest like a supernova, black ribbons of energy snapping tight around his body, wrapping him in something heavier than fabric, lighter than thought. There was a pressure behind his eyes, a jolt in his limbs. It was like being stretched and compacted at the same time, like growing into something with claws and teeth.

Then it was over. 

Felix stood and the crying had stopped. No, he realized, not stopped. Muted. Distant. He looked down. Black leather gloves. Steel-capped boots. A tail. A tail?! He could hear Plagg’s voice echo around his mind. “Told you. Upgrade.” Jeez, he could hear the smug smirk. Felix blinked against the light, forcing himself to move. His balance was sharper, yes, but his heart was hammering in a way that made him feel like he’d been wired into an alarm system.

He ducked low behind a mailbox and peeked out. The camera man was walking slowly down the boulevard, his coat swayed with each step, and the absurd boxy camera glinted with brass and menace. Every few paces, he stopped, lifted the camera, and— 

FLASH.

A man in a car froze mid-turn, half-smile still etched across his face. Felix’s jaw tightened. He adjusted his baton, gripping it like he’d been born with it. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s see what this thing can do.” A flick of his wrist and the baton snapped open, extending to its full length with a hum of energy. He nearly dropped it. “Right,” he murmured, trying to steady his grip. “Magical physics. Sure. I can work with that?” He crept forward along the rooftops, trying to stay above the fray. The villain kept talking to himself as he moved, muttering something about stolen time, ungrateful critics, "letting the art breathe." It was hard to hear clearly.

But something about the cadence… the voice… Felix was remembering something.

FLASH.  

A woman froze mid-step, purse slipping from her fingers. The villain didn’t even look back. “You are not a performer,” he muttered, lowering the lens again. “You’re a parasite. And you’ll stand still like the rest.” Felix frowned. What was he talking about? 

FLASH.

A man shielding his child froze, body caught in motion. The child began to cry, before he was frozen mid-wail too. Felix inhaled sharply. His grip on the baton tightened. “You’re not solving anything,” he whispered. “You’re just punishing people for something they didn’t do.”

No answer.

But the villain paused mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head and Felix could finally get a good look at this guy’s face. Felix’s blood ran cold. He crept closer, gaze locked on the man. Same trench coat. Same camera. Same clipped, theatrical way of speaking. He’d spent hours hearing it. On set. In fittings. In too many shoots where the lighting was “never quite right.” Jacques Morel , his brain supplied. 

Felix had worked with him frequently. Stillness is timeless, Morel had once said, adjusting a lens. Don’t move until the moment feels sacred. Felix had thought he was just being dramatic. “They don’t respect art anymore,” Morel muttered, scanning the street through his brass lens. “Now that they’re stuck here they’ll see how much I’m worth . ” The man faced Felix’s direction and he ducked behind a car. His pulse roared in his ears.

“You have a photoshoot today. Try not to be stiffer than a piece of wood.”

Felix let out a sarcastic laugh.  “Well. No problem there.” He pressed his back to the car, fingers curled so tightly around the baton his knuckles ached. His brain was spinning, calculating, dissecting, trying to make sense of what he could possibly do to stop his rampage, what this man’s motivations could be, where his powers even came from—

A blur of red shot across his peripheral vision.

Felix’s head snapped up just in time to see someone leap from a balcony, vault off a lamppost, and kick Jacques Morel squarely in the chest. He stumbled back with a howl of fury, skidding across the cobblestones. Felix blinked, stunned. What had he just witnessed? “Hey, psycho!” a girl’s voice shouted. “If you like statues so much, work at a museum.” The red blur landed in a crouch. She flipped up into a standing position, black-spotted yo-yo already spinning in one hand. She was small, fast, angry, and apparently completely unbothered by the fact that she’d just drop-kicked someone in the face.

Felix stared. “Ah, your partner is here!” Plagg chuckled. “Who—” She whirled around mid-spin, planting herself between Morel and the nearest frozen civilians. “You’re done hurting people,” she snapped, “I would suggest you back off.” Morel hissed, adjusting his camera. “You don’t understand my vision!”

“Dude,” she interrupted. “I just watched you flash-freeze a child. I think we’re past creative differences.” Felix was too stunned to move. His heart hadn’t stopped hammering, but now it was doing something worse. Skipping. Lurching. Who was this girl? And why did it feel like the room had shifted just because she’d entered it? 

Morel snarled, “You want a museum?” he hissed. “I’ll give you one.” He raised the lens.

FLASH.

The girl dove into a roll, narrowly avoiding the burst of golden light that cracked the sidewalk behind her. The air sizzled.

FLASH.

She tucked into a leap, vaulting over a parked bike. “Ow, rude!”

FLASH.

She whipped her yo-yo around, snagging the camera for a second, but Morel yanked it free with a snarl and ducked into cover. She was fast, but reckless. The next shot was going to hit her. Felix’s body moved, all instinct and muscle memory that wasn’t his own. He landed behind Morel in a crouch and swept the baton low, knocking the man’s legs out from under him. “Seriously?!” the girl yelped, catching herself mid-sprint. “Who are you?”

“Backup,” Felix muttered, eyes still on Morel. Morel snarled, aiming the camera again. 

FLASH.

Felix ducked instinctively, but the shot fired straight at the girl. She spun, barely catching the light out of the corner of her eye, and dove again behind a newspaper stand. “Okay,” she called out. “That thing has range. Noted!” Felix pivoted, baton raised, watching as Morel scrambled upright again. The girl deflected another blast with her yo-yo. “That’s the akuma, right?”

Felix blinked. “The what?”

“The akuma! It’s where the butterfly thing lives, did your kwami not explain how this works?”

“I got this suit ten minutes ago! And what’s a kwami?” Felix snapped. Morel fired again. They split in opposite directions. “I thought you said you were backup!” she shouted. From somewhere deep in his brain, Plagg’s voice chimed in. “I’m the kwami, and yeah, I kinda forgot to mention it.”

Felix froze. “You what?! ”

“Sorry,” Plagg added breezily. “There was a baby! You seemed busy!” Felix whipped his baton out in a sharp arc to block another shot, only for the impact to jolt up his arms like an electric shock. He hissed and backed off, ducking behind the splintered remains of a café umbrella stand. “You’re acting kinda useless for some power vessel,” he snapped under his breath.

“Hey, you’re not dead!” Plagg replied. “I’m plenty useful!” Felix peeked out again. He watched the girl leap straight into the path of a blast, twist in midair, and deflect it with the metal edge of her yo-yo. Impressive, but still unpredictable. She was playing with fire. “I swear,” she yelled, “you better not be arguing with your floating raccoon while I’m doing all the work!”

“I’m being shot at!” Felix shouted back.

“Oh, just you?”

He groaned. “Shut up!”

He spun behind a bench and narrowly avoided another FLASH . The whole plaza was scorched concrete and frozen people and bad lighting angles. Morel was relentless. Even the air felt hot with fury. This was impossible. The villain wasn’t slowing down. They didn’t have a plan. And Felix was still, somehow, the least informed person in the room. I’m in way over my head, he thought, jaw clenched. We’re gonna die.

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

She hit the ground hard and gritted her teeth as another FLASH scorched the air above her. Okay. Nope. Nope, this was not going according to plan. Not that she’d had a plan. Unless “blind heroism and mild screaming” counted. The guy in black, whoever he was, seemed to be glancing around the plaza as if he’d see something, anything, he’d missed, except he was taking forever . The camera guy was still going strong.

Marinette was cornered.

Her hand clenched around the yo-yo, instinct buzzing somewhere between panic and stubbornness . She didn’t know what she was doing, but something told her she could do something. “Think of something, anything, and say: lucky charm.” She barely registered the voice but obliged. “LUCKY CHARM!” The sky sparked. A glowing red-and-black light spiraled above her and came crashing down in a flare of sparkles. A… traffic cone?

“Okay,” she panted, blinking down at it. “Cool. Fun. We love street infrastructure.” Why couldn’t I think of something more useful?! She turned it over in her hands like it might reveal a hidden laser. No buttons. No instructions. Just… cone. She’d probably have to get more imaginative in the future. “It’ll take something and transport it to you,” Tikki had said. Maybe the bomb was hard to get security clearance for?

Another blast rocked the pavement.

Marinette flinched behind cover. Her grip tightened. This wasn’t working.

She wasn’t working.

Marinette glanced toward the boy in black again. He was moving tactically, like he actually knew how to calculate a pattern, how to analyze. Probably had a whole spreadsheet running in his head or something.

Marinette had a cone.

She blew out a sharp breath. “Ugh. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” She stood, hoisted the cone in the air like a trophy, and yelled across the plaza. “HEY! LEATHER GUY!” He turned, eyebrows raised mid-fight. “YOU’RE A STRATEGY PERSON, RIGHT?!” she shouted. “I GOT A TRAFFIC CONE! WORK WITH ME!” The guy stared at her like she just grew a second head.

“Did you just—?” he started, but Marinette barreled on.

“I don’t know what this is for, I just know it matters, and you look like you read user manuals for fun, so please, make the cone make sense!” He hesitated, just for a breath, but then he was moving. Sliding across the pavement with that annoyingly graceful speed, ducking another FLASH before landing behind her with a sharp exhale. He took the cone out of her hands like it was a puzzle box. Turned it over. Tapped it once. Eyes narrowed. “You summoned this?”

“Yes!”

“Intentionally?”

“Uh, I just don’t know with what intentions?”

He gave a tight, annoyed sigh. “Of course.” Another blast hit the sidewalk near their feet. They flinched in unison, then scrambled back into cover. “It’s not the cone,” he said, more to himself than her. “It’s why you thought of it.” Marinette grumbled. “My subconscious is not that deep.”

“Apparently, it is.” He peeked around the edge of the bench. “This guy’s rhythm is predictable. You must’ve sensed that.”

“I sensed a traffic cone.” 

He looked at her. “Which is used for blocking paths . Redirecting.” 

Marinette made a face. “Okay, so you’re like… super intense.” He didn’t dignify that with a response. “I’m going to draw him toward that sculpture. When he stops to shoot, we flank. You distract him, I break the camera.” Marinette raised an eyebrow. “With what, sarcasm?”

His ring pulsed dark.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. They shared one last look. Not trust, exactly, but understanding. The kind you get right before doing something really, really stupid. They ran, and the photographer’s head snapped toward the motion.

FLASH. FLASH. 

Marinette vaulted up a bench, spun the yo-yo midair. “Hey! Your portfolio’s boring and your lighting’s overexposed!” He turned, snarling as he tried to freeze her.

FLASH. 

Marinette twisted mid-air, the light barely grazing her heel as she flipped over a planter. “You know this is why no one hires you anymore, right?” she shouted. “It’s not the market, it’s you! ” The villain howled in frustration, camera jerking toward her like it wanted to bite. She could feel the shots getting more erratic. He was off-balance.

Good.

Across the plaza, Leather Guy (seriously, he needed a name) slipped through the chaos like it was routine. He was almost in position.

FLASH.

She ducked, rolled, and came up behind a newsstand. The camera tracked her. Predictable, just like he said. She risked a glance at her teammate, who was now flanking from behind the statue.

Their eyes met. He gave a small, sharp nod.

Marinette darted out again. “Seriously! My elementary school photography had better composition than this!”

That did it. 

The villain turned fully toward her and raised the camera for a clean, centered shot, and that’s when Leather Guy moved. One gloved hand snapped up, black energy exploding outward from the ring on his finger like ink in water. He slammed his palm against the camera’s base just as the lens flickered to fire. “Cataclysm!” he shouted. The word hit the air like a spell breaking. The camera rotted instantly,  metal curling, lens decaying, leather strap splitting into ash. The entire machine collapsed into itself with a low, crumpling groan. Something dark and fluttering erupted from the wreckage, a twisted butterfly, pulsing with corrupted light. Marinette’s yo-yo snapped forward like lightning, catching the akuma mid-flight. White sparkles bled into the air, soft and brilliant, erasing the shadow like it had never been, and the statues unfroze becoming people once more. 

The villain collapsed to his knees. His coat hung in tatters. The mangled remains of the camera lay at his side like a carcass. His hands trembled, fingers twitching through invisible gears. And his mouth… his mouth was still moving. “Gotta get them,” he rasped. “Miraculous… the Miraculous… he said if I just got them…”

Marinette froze.

The words didn’t feel like his. Not really. They were borrowed. Echoed. Spoken like he didn’t understand them, only remembered them. “Miraculous…” he repeated, eyes glazed over, voice paper-thin. “It was supposed to fix it. Make it right.” She took a step back, heart twisting. This man had nearly turned half the city into sculptures, and now he looked like he was crumbling himself. Not evil, just used. “Who told you that?” she asked, voice quiet.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even seem to hear her.

The guy in black approached slowly from the other side. His hand no longer glowed, but his posture was still sharp, guarded. “He’s not going to remember this, is he?” she asked.

“I doubt it,” he murmured. They stood there for a moment, in the shadow of flickering traffic lights and gently settling dust, as police sirens wailed somewhere distant. Marinette looked at the man again. 

A victim of something bigger. 

She felt her stomach turn. “Should we stay?” she asked, barely above a whisper. He shook his head once. “We’ve done enough.” She nodded slowly, and gave her partner a smile, extending a hand to fist bump. “Thanks for being there.” For a second, she thought he might ignore it. His expression twitched, somewhere between confusion and calculation, but then, slowly, he raised his hand and bumped hers. And smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a grimace. A real, tired, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. “Oh no,” she muttered. “You do have a face under all that brooding.” He huffed, an exhale that might’ve been a laugh, if he weren’t trying so hard to pretend it wasn’t. Marinette grinned, stepping back. “We should probably get out of these clothes.” He nodded, mask already shifting subtly at the edges, like whatever magic held it together was starting to fade.

She ducked into the alley behind a boarded-up florist’s shop, heart still beating like a bass drum in her chest. She crouched low behind a stack of delivery crates and finally whispered, “Tikki, spots off.” The magic peeled away in a soft, warm ripple. Her earrings dimmed. Her breath shuddered out of her chest like it had been waiting this whole time to be released. Tikki floated beside her, silent and kind.

Marinette leaned back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold concrete. “I kicked a grown man in the face,” she whispered.

“You saved people,” Tikki murmured.

“With a traffic cone. ” Tikki only smiled. Marinette buried her face in her hands. “…This cannot be my life now.” But somehow, deep down, she already knew it was.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The rain started the second Marinette stepped out of the school. Not the cute cinematic kind that made everything look sparkly and dramatic. No, this was Paris’ favorite kind: cold, mean, and sudden. Within five seconds, her jeans were soaked from the knees down and her hair was sticking to her face like wet confetti. “Of course,” she muttered. “Perfect ending to a perfect day.”

She reached into her clutch to grab her phone and let her parents know she was okay only to remember, once again, that it was very much not there. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

The weight of it hit her fast: the akuma attack, the streets full of frozen people, the empty locker when she searched, and now her phone was still sitting at home, maybe still plugged in next to her bed, completely useless. She could hear her parents’ voices already.

“Mari, we didn’t know where you were!”

“There was an attack, xiǎo bǎo, you didn’t answer!”

“Did you lose track of time again? Were you sketching? Did you fall into a sewer?”

She pressed a hand over her face. “They are going to kill me.” Raindrops hit her eyelashes. She squinted up. Great. No bus stop cover in sight. The streets were half-empty, ghosted with leftover panic and blocked-off intersections. The last thing she wanted was to walk home soaked and anxious with no excuse. Marinette exhaled and leaned her head against a streetlamp. “Okay. Think. Cover story. Maybe I went to pick up more ingredients? No, they’d ask what kind. Maybe I got stuck at Alya’s? But then Alya would cover for me and she’s terrible at lying—”

A shadow shifted beside her. She turned just in time to see an umbrella, black, sleek, unmistakably expensive, slide into her field of view. “I can’t believe you’re this noisy outside of class too,” a dry voice said, “What are you doing here?” 

Marinette blinked. “Felix?”He didn’t look at her. Just adjusted the umbrella slightly, enough to cover her without seeming like he cared. “Are you rehearsing a monologue? Having a public breakdown? Please, do not use me as a character witness in court.” She squinted at him through dripping bangs. “How are you dry already?”

“I plan for weather. Unlike you, evidently.” Marinette crossed her arms, ignoring the squish of her soaked sleeves. “For your information, I had a very complicated day.” 

Felix tilted his head. “Let me guess: you turned into an art sculpture?”

“I was hiding in the school and left my phone at home, okay?” she muttered. “Which means my parents think I’ve been kidnapped. Or exploded. Or still a sculpture. Their poor baby girl.”

Felix hummed. “The horror.”

She glared at him. “Not everyone has a private driver and enough umbrella backups to start a boutique.”

“And not everyone forgets their phone during a citywide attack,” he said evenly. “But we all have our burdens.” Marinette made a strangled noise in her throat. “I was going to make up a story, okay? I had one. Sort of.” 

“Oh, I know,” he said. “It involved flour and your friend being a bad liar, I think?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How long were you listening?”

“Long enough to know you shouldn’t improvise unsupervised.” 

Marinette scowled, hugging her damp bag. “Well, what’s your excuse, then?” 

Felix didn’t miss a beat. “Delayed meeting. Took a side exit. Saw a drenched classmate arguing with municipal infrastructure and felt obligated to intervene for the sake of dignity.”

“That’s disturbingly accurate.”

“Thank you. I try.” The rain came down harder. He angled the umbrella without comment. “You’re not that bad, you know,” she murmured. Felix didn’t look at her. “I’m aware.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “No wonder you don’t have friends.” 

“I have friends,” he replied. “Adrien counts. Odette sometimes counts.”

“Wow. That’s a real glowing circle of warmth.”

“I’m selective.” She huffed out a laugh. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “About the croissant.” Marinette turned her head, eyebrow raised. “You’re actually bringing that up?”

“Social expectations would demand I acknowledge it.” She squinted at him. “That sounded dangerously close to an apology.” Felix adjusted the umbrella slightly. “Whenever I annoyed Adrien, or he annoyed me, we’d take something from each other. It would force us to talk and… ugh, I can’t believe I’m using his words– ‘ communicate .’” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Okay, that was “…kind of cute,” she muttered before she could stop herself. Felix turned to look at her, startled. “Not in a you way,” she backtracked instantly. “Just in a ‘wow, you really missed the human software update.’” 

He gave a faint, unimpressed look. “Charming.”

“No! I mean—not that you’re—ugh, whatever.” She waved a hand, flustered. “Point is, I’ll let this umbrella thing work as an IOU for the croissant, deal?”  Felix gave a small nod, like he was signing off on a merger. “Acceptable terms.” They stood in relative silence, the rain ticking steadily against the umbrella overhead. Then, without looking at her, he pulled a phone from his coat pocket and held it out. “Call your parents.” Marinette stared at it like it might explode. “I can’t just use your phone.”

“Yes, you can,” he said flatly. “Unless your pride is waterproof.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “What if they don’t pick up because it’s an unknown number? Or they think I got kidnapped and this is the ransom call?”

“Just take it, Marinette.” Her eyes flicked to his face. He still wasn’t looking at her, just watching the traffic light blink red in the rain like nothing had happened. “How did you know my name?” she asked slowly. Felix exhaled. “Adrien told me I ‘made the nicest girl at school mad.’”

“He called me the nicest girl at school?” She definitely didn’t internally squeal, then backtracked on the squeal because Adrien was with Odette. Right. Felix shrugged, “Yeah, are you going to take the phone now?” She took the phone slowly, careful not to brush his fingers. Marinette turned slightly away and hit the contact key, pressing the phone to her ear. It rang once. Twice. “Marinette?!” her mother’s voice burst through, frantic and bright with worry. “Is that you? Where are you? Are you okay?!”

“Hi, Maman,” she said quickly. “Yes! I’m fine, I swear. I just forgot my phone at home, but I’m totally okay. I’m going to wait for the rain to stop then head back. I wasn’t outside for the whole thing or anything, I was safe.” 

There was a pause. “We’re going to have a very long talk when you get home.”

“Understood,” Marinette said, already bracing for it. “Love you!”

“Love you too.” She ended the call and handed the phone back like it was made of gold. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Felix slid it into his pocket without fanfare. “You’re welcome.” They stood there for another moment, the silence not quite awkward, just damp and vaguely competitive. Then Felix said, “You know, you don’t have to wait out the rain.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “I don’t?”

“My car’s going to be here soon.” He said it like he was offering her a business card. “I’m going home. You’re headed to the bakery on Hoche, right?”

She blinked. “Wait, are you offering me a ride?”

“I’m offering you shelter from hypothermia,” he replied. “Don’t make it weird.” She stared at him for a second too long. “You’re not worried about me getting your car seats wet?” 

“I think I’ll survive,” he said dryly. 

She hesitated. “What about Adrien?”

Felix tilted his head. “What about him?”

“Isn’t he getting picked up too?”

“He’s going with Odette,” Felix said simply. “Stressful mayor meeting, I think. Or maybe she just wanted an excuse to keep him for five more minutes. Either way, I’m solo.”

“Oh.” She hesitated, then adjusted her bag and sighed. “Okay. Fine. But only because my socks are already crying.” Felix gave a faint, satisfied nod and nodded toward the car pulling up. “Come on, then. Before your mom sends a retrieval party.”

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix had never expected silence to feel so loud. Not in a car. Not next to Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Not with the memory of a collapsing villain and the weight of a fist bump still echoing through his hand. He kept his gaze angled toward the window, watching rain smear down the glass in crooked rivulets. She didn’t say much during the ride, just muttered a soft “thanks” before stepping out into the bakery's glow. But her voice lingered, somewhere behind his ribs. Warm. Uncomfortable. Like he’d swallowed sunlight and couldn’t cough it back up.

By the time the car pulled back into the Agreste estate, he was half hoping Adrien would be too distracted with Odette and municipal dysfunction to notice him at all.

No such luck.

"Felix?!" Adrien’s voice called from the hallway, and then Adrien himself appeared, wet curls clinging to his forehead, expression bordering on frantic. "There you are! Where the hell were you?!"

Felix huffed, unbothered. "Out."

" Out ? That’s your answer? You disappeared during some villain attack, didn’t answer your phone, and everyone thought you got statue’d! I thought you were going to be part of the cobblestone collection, Felix!"

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Adrien followed him up the stairs, gesturing wildly. “Barely! You didn’t text, you didn’t call, Nathalie said the car didn’t get you until six ! Do you know how long it took me to convince her not to call the police?!”

"I was busy."

“Busy doing what ?! Evading the entire concept of safety?!” Felix pushed open the door to their shared room. "I had it handled." Adrien stormed in after him. “You can’t just—! Felix. Where were you?" Felix hesitated, one hand on the back of his chair. His voice dropped a little. “Don’t do it, dude,” Plagg murmured from inside his pocket so that only he could hear. “Your identity is supposed to be a secret.” 

Felix ignored him. Adrien was still staring, soaked and furious and worried down to the bone, and Felix didn’t want to deflect. Not with him. Not with his twin. “I wasn’t a statue,” Felix said finally. Adrien’s frown deepened. “Then where—”

“I was fighting.”

A beat.

Adrien frowned, “…Fighting what?” Felix didn’t move from where he stood, hand still resting on the back of his chair like it might keep him tethered to the floor. “The guy. With a baton.” Adrien stared. Felix cleared his throat. “The… I don’t even know if the news captured it. I probably sound stupid.” Adrien took a step forward, water still dripping from his jacket. His expression was unreadable. “No way,” he repeated, quieter this time. “The guy in black?”

Felix looked away. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“You were the one who took down the guy with the camera?” Adrien’s hands flailed. 

Felix gave a stiff shrug. “I didn’t know what else to do. Some…  thing showed up and gave me a ring and said ‘Claws out,’ which, by the way, I thought was metaphorical until I had a tail—” Adrien gaped, eyes wide with something like awe. “Felix… you’re a superhero.”

“I think that might be a bit generous.”

“You killed the villain-y from him . ” Adrien looked like he was physically holding himself back from shaking his twin. “You saved half the city !”

Felix frowned. “You’re not mad?”

Adrien shook his head. “Mad? No, I’m—Felix. You could’ve been hurt.” He broke off, stepping forward and pulling Felix into a brief, hard hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Felix stiffened, surprised. Then relaxed, just slightly, enough to return the gesture. “Also,” Adrien added, pulling back, “you really need a name.”

“No,” Felix said immediately.

“Mister Meow?”

“I will throw myself into the Seine.”

“Count Clawcula?”

“Adrien!”

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The first thing Marinette heard at lunch was Alya saying the word “hero” like it was about to get trademarked. “No, but seriously, there’s no way that was staged,” Alya was saying, phone open on her tray, thumbnails already lining the top row of her new blog. “Half the street was frozen. People are calling it an art stunt but like, tell me that didn’t scream supernatural conspiracy?”

“Conspiracy?” Marinette repeated, a little too high-pitched. “That’s… dramatic.”

Alya grinned, sipping her juice. “Drama sells. And people are eating it up. Twenty-three reposts and I haven’t even named them yet. But ohhhh, I will. The red one had a yo-yo, so I’m thinking Crimson Spinner? No, that sounds like a laundry cycle—”

“Maybe don't name vigilantes based on household appliances,” Nino offered, completely relaxed as he peeled the wrapper off his sandwich. “But good hustle, Alya.”

Alya gave him finger guns. “Thanks, man.” Marinette smiled nervously and stabbed her pasta like it might reveal her secrets. “You guys really think they’re, like, real heroes? And not just… cosplayers with timing?”

Alya raised a brow. “Girl. One of them kicked a grown man into a parking meter and the other evaporated a camera with his bare hands.”

“Right. Haha. Totally wild,” Marinette said. Her left eye twitched. Tikki whispered from her pocket “I don’t know if you’re throwing them off your scent.”

“I’m doing my best,” Marinette muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Nino asked.

“Nothing! Just… chewing.” Thankfully, that was the moment Adrien dropped into the seat across from them like sunshine in human form. “You guys talking about the superhero thing?” he asked eagerly. “It was crazy, right?! I didn’t even see it live, just caught the aftermath.”

“Dude, sit down and tell us everything,” Nino said.

Adrien perked up. “Oh! Wait, let me grab Odette and Felix, they’ll want in.”

“No they won’t,” Marinette whispered to the gods. The gods ignored her. Adrien was already gone, weaving through the courtyard like an enthusiastic golden retriever. Marinette groaned into her pasta. Alya gave her a look. “Please tell me this isn’t about Adrienette.”

Marinette sat up, very dignified, very serious. “I have moved on.”

Alya sipped her drink, unimpressed. “Uh huh. Moved on like you deleted his photos or like you put them in a hidden folder named ‘taxes’?”

“I’ve moved on,” Marinette repeated, too loud. “Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.”

“Sure,” Nino said. “And I’m in a committed relationship with Beyoncé.”

Alya smirked. “Still too high a probability, maybe Shakira?” Before Marinette could protest once more, Adrien came back to the table with his people in tow. Felix looked like he’d been dragged to the table under mild duress. Odette sat like she owned the whole bench. “Hi, Marinette,” she said with a pleasant smile that felt like a trap. “I got your invoice, I was pleasantly surprised by how professional it looked.”

Marinette gave her a thin smile. “I should start adding disclaimers. ‘ Warning: Competence Inside .’” Odette blinked once, then adjusted her blazer like she was brushing it off. “Well, it made the bake sale paperwork easier. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Marinette said, stabbing a piece of pasta aggressively. Adrien, blissfully unaware, piped up. “I still can’t believe how fast everything happened yesterday. Oh, Alya, how did you even get those shots?”

“I was in the library,” Alya said. “Best view in the building. I could have taken more but my phone completely glitched out. Marinette sure is lucky, though.” 

Marinette froze mid-bite. “Lucky?”

Alya nodded. “You missed the whole thing, right? Something about charging a laptop?”

“Yep!” Marinette said way too fast. “Yep, that’s… that’s what I was doing.”

“You didn’t notice any of the screaming?” Adrien asked, brow furrowed.

“I have noise-cancelling walls,” she said quickly. “Thick concrete. Good insulation.”

Nino raised a brow. “Wait, but weren’t you at school during the attack? Your mom called mine to ask where you were.”

Marinette blinked. “Uh. No? I mean. Not exactly. I was on my way home. I got stuck in the rain.” There was a short pause. “I forgot my phone,” she added. “So I had to go back to school, but by the time I got here I missed everything.” She laughed unconvincingly. Alya gave her a weird look, but didn’t press. “That’s so Marinette,” she said, tossing her a half-smile. “You have one crisis and immediately turn it into a side quest.”

“Did you end up finding it at least?” Adrien asked, cheerful as ever.

Marinette gave a weak thumbs-up. “Yup, turns out I just left it at home, haha.”

“Well at least your tech is safe, unlike that camera guy’s lens,” Nino muttered. “What kind of weapon melts metal like that? Like, leather guy went all ‘roar’ and then bam, metal gone.” Felix, who had been very focused on peeling a clementine with the intensity of a bomb tech, finally chimed in. “It’s probably some kind of kinetic decay energy. Accelerated entropy. Magic, but with rules.”

Everyone stared.

“What?” he said blandly. “I read.”

“Okay,” Nino said, pointing his sandwich at him. “What does that mean in stupid child terms?” Felix shrugged and pulled apart another segment of his clementine. “It means he made time skip forward but just for that object. Like those timelapse things of rotting bananas”

Adrien looked vaguely horrified. “Dude, who sees metal melting and thinks about moldy bananas?”

“I still say it was magic,” Nino said, waving his sandwich like a wand. “No way a camera just freezes people unless it's cursed or something.” Odette, who had been scrolling through her tablet with one manicured finger, finally looked up. “Or he was unwell and got his hands on black market tech. It’s not exactly hard to find chaos in this city.”

Alya furrowed her eyebrows. “You think that was just tech? Even with the whole glowing butterfly vibe?”

“I think people will believe anything when they’re scared,” Odette said, calm and clinical.

“Okay, but what about the heroes? Their powers were definitely magic.”

“I saw someone dressed like a dominatrix fling a yo-yo at it and yell about ‘akumas,’” Odette said dryly. “Panic wants a symbol. Doesn’t mean it’s a savior.”

Adrien laughed nervously. “To be fair, they couldn’t exactly hold a press conference after all that.”

“Exactly,” Odette said, flicking a crumb from her blazer. “No names, no statements, no coordination with law enforcement. They vanished after causing widespread damage and mass confusion. If this is supposed to be our first line of defense, we’re screwed.”

Felix raised his brows. “So what, you want them arrested?”

“I want them vetted,” Odette replied. “For all we know they’re two more people with dangerous powers and decent PR.”

“Still better than no one doing anything,” Adrien said, trying to defuse the tension. “I mean, someone had to step up, right? What if they hadn’t?” Odette didn’t respond right away, but her mouth tightened like she was filing that thought away for later. Marinette twirled her fork, eyes fixed on the middle of the table. Alya tapped her screen. “Well, whoever they are, they’ve got guts. I’d love to know how they got involved. Do you think they were chosen? Like, did a cosmic pigeon show up and hand them a magic license?”

Marinette made a choked noise. “Maybe they… stumbled into it?” she said quickly. “Right place, right time?”

“Could be,” Nino agreed. “Or maybe they’ve been around longer and we’re just now seeing them in action.”

“Feels weird that no one’s claimed it,” Alya mused. “No TikTok, no manifesto, no dramatic rooftop monologue.”

“That’s what makes them interesting,” Adrien said brightly. “They don’t want attention. They just helped and left.” Felix gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes on his tray. “I don’t know if they deserve that many accolades. They probably just did what felt right.” He finished his clementine, flicked a peel into a napkin, and finally looked up. “So are we done dissecting strangers, or do we need to assign code names next?”

“Oh, we already did that,” Nino said. “Laundry Cycle and Safe Word.”

Felix stared.

Adrien burst out laughing.

Odette, for the first time all lunch, cracked the tiniest smile. The bell rang ending the moment once and for all. Chairs scraped back. Marinette stood, and Felix moved to get up at the same time, smoothing his sleeves with quiet precision. They reached the edge of the table almost in sync. Marinette hesitated, then glanced over. “You’ve got English next, right? There’s a seat open next to mine. Unless you’d rather roast by the window heater again.” Felix didn’t smile, but there was something faint in his expression, approval maybe. “I suppose that’s tolerable.”

⊱.✧° [◎] °☍° ✎ °✧.⊰

Alya watched them go, one brow arching slowly above her glasses. “…Huh.”

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix was not built for exhaustion.

He’d spent the night jumping across rooftops, testing the baton’s limits while his ring blinked like a hazard signal and Adrien yelled instructions from the balcony. Loudly, and with zero concern for subtlety. Now, every part of him ached, and his brain felt like it had been left out in the rain.

It was 7:58 a.m., and he sat slumped in his homeroom seat with a half-finished physics worksheet, a dull pencil, and the growing realization that perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen a career in heroism. Across the room, the door clicked open. Felix didn’t bother looking. He was too busy pretending to read the same sentence for the third time. But then, a bag dropped into the chair beside him. A low sigh. Paper rustling. A distinct groan that could only be described as fashionably despairing.

Marinette.

She looked as bad as he felt. Hair in a rushed braid, dark circles under her eyes, a purple ink stain across her wrist like she’d been in a duel with her own sketchbook. She flopped into the desk beside him and pulled out a tangle of colored pens, two notebooks, and what might have been a snack wrapper. He couldn’t tell with all the wrinkling. “Don’t say it,” she muttered without looking at him.

Felix blinked. “Say what?”

“I know I look like I wrestled a sewing machine in a blackout. True story. Just let me suffer.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say ‘good morning.’ But noted.” They worked in silence after that, the sleepy kind of truce that only forms when two people are equally too tired to be annoyed. Pens scratched. Felix yawned once, then again, trying not to smear graphite across the margin. Marinette muttered something about pleats under her breath and aggressively highlighted the word “formline.” After a few minutes, she sighed again. “This is stupid.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. School. Morning. Dresses.”

Felix hummed in vague agreement. “I’ll grant you the last one. What are you working on?” Marinette pushed her pencil an inch to the left like the distance might make the assignment less offensive. “Design class debut is next week,” she said. “I have four concepts and zero final pieces, and one of them looked better in my head but now it just looks like I had a nervous breakdown and ripped apart my clothes.”

Felix glanced sideways at her sketchbook. “Is that the one with the asymmetrical sleeve?”

“You looked at my sketchbook?”

“I sit next to you,” he said flatly. “You hold it like a billboard.”

Marinette opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. “Fair.” Marinette flipped to a page filled with frantic lines and overlapping notes. “It’s supposed to be structured but soft,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the paper. “Like… architectural chiffon.” Felix leaned over slightly, scanning the sketch. “Move the seam here,” he said, tapping the shoulder line. “It’ll balance the shape. And if you switch to a fabric with more weight, the drape won’t bunch so much.” Marinette stared at him. “What?” he asked.

“You just gave me actual advice. Like, helpful advice. Without any snide commentary.”

Felix rolled his eyes.  “Do you want me to add snide commentary?”

“Ugh, don’t ruin it.”

Felix leaned back in his chair with a faint sigh, “You’re no fun.” 

Marinette chuckled, but didn’t look up from her page. “You know more about this stuff than I thought.”

“I pay attention,” he said. “They wouldn’t hire a model without the basics. You’re probably better at actually designing things, though.”

“Is it bad I kinda want to see you try?”

“Only if you want to watch someone have a mental breakdown over threads.” They fell back into a quiet rhythm. Marinette flipped to another page and began adjusting her sketch with more confidence. Felix turned his worksheet over, reworking an equation that had been haunting him for the last ten minutes, groaning when his pen ink supply ran out mid-page. Marinette pulled a second pen from the tangled mass on her desk and wordlessly passed it to him. He took it without comment. Another five minutes passed like that. Just pencil scratches, the occasional sigh, and the low hum of the school heater sputtering to life. “You spelled 'momentum' wrong,” Marinette said absently, still looking at her notes.

Felix didn’t even glance up. “So did the textbook. I’m just following the flawed system.” That earned a quiet snort. By the time the bell rang, they’d both managed to get through most of their homework. Marinette shoved her pens into a zippered pouch, then paused. “Thanks, by the way. For the seam thing.”

Felix shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

“Perish the thought.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder and wandered toward the door without another word. Felix followed a few steps behind, expecting her to say something else. Perhaps a remark about still not liking him. She didn’t. She just gave a half-wave over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway flow. Felix stared at the space she’d just vacated, then looked down at the pen still in his hand.

Huh.

He forgot to give it back.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette had gone exactly 12 days without using the earrings. Twelve glorious, peaceful, semi-normal days. Sure, she was still behind on homework. And she hadn’t finished hemming the pants for her new line. And Odette was hounding her about the upcoming bake sale. And her mom thought she was “hiding from responsibility” by taking on last-minute babysitting jobs. But still. Twelve days of no magical threats, no citywide chaos, and, most importantly, no reason for Alya to interrogate her about an akuma attack. She deserved a medal. Or a nap.

Instead, she got Manon, age seven, armed with a juice pouch and more energy than the sun. “I wanna go to the park!” she whined, already halfway into her sneakers. “It’s the Fall Festival! There’s music and funnel cake and face paint and everything!” Marinette, curled on the Dupain-Cheng couch like a regretful noodle, groaned. “You promised me a quiet afternoon with cartoons.”

“I was seven when I said that.”

“You’re still seven.”

“Exactly!” she said triumphantly. “And seven-year-olds go to festivals!” Marinette squinted at the ceiling like maybe an akuma would blink into existence and save her from responsibility. No luck. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But if I lose you in a crowd of leaf-themed balloon hats, I’m leaving you there.” Manon cheered, jumping up and down before dragging Marinette to the door. “Hurry up, Mari! The performances are about to start.” 

“Alright, alright. Let me text your mom where we’re going first, the park’s just a block away.” Manon continued to pull Marinette down the stairs, and she sighed dramatically as she tugged on her jacket. “I can’t believe I fell for the cartoons lie,” Marinette muttered, pulling her jacket tighter as the breeze chased fallen leaves down the sidewalk. “You weaponized nostalgia.” Manon skipped beside her, completely unbothered. “You said we could watch the princess special, and guess what? There’s a princess costume contest.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Sure it is!” Marinette exhaled through her nose. The streets were bustling in that early-autumn, Saturday-morning kind of way. It smelled like warm pastries, plenty of parents were pushing strollers, couples held their novelty coffees close to their chests to chase some of the warmth. Someone had hung fabric garlands across the trees on Avenue des Tilleuls, and orange maple leaves fluttered above them like confetti. They turned the corner toward the neighborhood park, and Marinette slowed slightly. From a distance, it looked like someone had exploded Pinterest across the entire green. Striped tents lined the grass, decorated in reds, browns, and golds. There were booths for cider, caramel corn, and one suspiciously aggressive candied nut vendor shouting about “flavor epiphanies.” A small stage had been set up near the community garden, and a warm buzz of music filtered through the trees.

It was, objectively, charming.

Marinette paused at the edge of the green while Manon launched herself into the crowd like a very small missile. “Wait, Manon! Stay where I can see you!” she called, pushing past a trio of moms in matching fall vests. “Don’t let the funnel cake lady bribe you!”

“I’m not a baby!” Manon yelled back, which, in Marinette’s experience, meant she was about to do something really reckless. Marinette sighed, stuffing her phone in her coat pocket and weaving through booths, doing her best to scan for pigtails. She finally caught up with Manon at the stage. She was moving back and forth on her heels, buzzing with excitement. “I heard Jagged Stone was going to show up later.”

“How do you even know who Jagged Stone is?” Marinette settled next to her, watching the stage with piqued curiosity. An announcer came on stage and cleared his throat into the mic to get the audience’s attention. “Thank you to everyone who showed up to make this Autumn festival a special occasion!” The crowd screamed in approval. “Without further ado, let me welcome our first performer, Arlene Beaumont!” The announcement was followed with the arrival of ostentatious personified. The man on stage was in a frilly shirt with roses sewn into the cuffs. He looked like someone had shoved a romance novel cover into a cotton candy machine. A glowing microphone hovered near his mouth. “Woah, those special effects are so cool!” Manon remarked. 

“Indeed,” Marinette mumbled suspiciously. I didn’t know they made special effects that smooth . The man gave a flourishing bow. “Bonsoir, mes amours,” he cooed, voice curling like velvet over the crowd. “Tonight, I bring you a ballad of heartbreak, beauty, and the cruel betrayal of romance.” The violin appeared out of nowhere. One second his hands were empty, the next it was cradled in his arms, shimmering like moonlight over frost. Before Marinette could react, he drew the bow across the strings. 

The first note rang sweet and soft. The second shivered with something else, something wrong. Marinette gasped and plugged her ears. The stage pulsed. A shockwave of sound rippled outward like a heartbeat. Around Marinette, people swayed once, twice, then began to move. No, not move, dance.

Everybody from children to adults turned toward each other in slow, synchronized steps, hands reaching, eyes glassy. Couples spun across the grass as if strings were tugging them from the sky. Manon was already gone, and Marinette had no clue where she went. She shoved her way through the forming pairs, dodging a couple in leaf crowns and nearly tripping over a stroller. The air around her was syrupy, thick with the violin’s pull. Each note tugged at her limbs, slow and coaxing.

She gritted her teeth and pressed forward.

There!

Manon was smiling widely, too widely, and suddenly dipped into a curtsy so perfect it could’ve been rehearsed. The boy she was paired with, some kid in a fox hoodie, spun her under one arm like they were the stars of a tiny period drama. It would’ve been cute, if not for the fact that neither was blinking .

The violinist on stage lifted his chin, eyes glittering with theatrical flair. “Oh, Paris,” he sighed. “You’ve always danced on heartbreak. Let me give you the rhythm for it.”

“Nope,” Marinette muttered, hands checking to see if her earrings were still in place. After a quick cursory glance, she confirmed that no one was paying attention. She ducked behind the funnel cake booth, ignoring the vendor’s hypnotized shuffle as he stirred powdered sugar in rhythm to the violin’s beat. “Tikki, is this another akuma?”

“Afraid so,” Tikki floated up, frowning at the hypnotized people around them. “Welp, there goes my streak,” Marinette sighed. “ Tikki? Spots on!”

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix stood near the sponsor pavilion, half-shaded by a branded canopy stamped with the Agreste logo. He already regretted not fighting his father about representing the family brand. “Boost local culture,” Gabriel had said. “Smile once. Stand near a camera.” All things Felix despised in equal measure.

Still, the Fall Festival had its merits. If nothing else, it provided a fascinating sociological study in people-watching. There were toddlers wielding caramel apples like clubs, teens performing grand romantic gestures with cider in hand, and one particularly determined man trying to convince passersby that roasted almonds could solve their existential malaise.

Felix shifted on his feet, eyes flicking toward the main stage. He hadn’t meant to linger. But the man performing next had caught his attention. Not because of the frills, though the outfit did look like a soap opera had vomited on a ballroom. It was the air about him. Grandiose. Theatrical. Way too much, even by festival standards.

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“Plagg,” he muttered, barely moving his lips. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” The kwami poked his head out of his pocket. “Yeah, look at all this food! How come you don’t get something for me, do you take pleasure in starving your guardian?”

Felix ignored that. “The performer. Look at him.” Plagg floated a little higher, sticking to the shadows for the sake of onlookers. Plagg frowned, “That guy’s aura smells like burnt espresso. Ugh, I see what you mean. Don’t like him already.” Felix studied the performer’s face. No twitching, no hesitation, barely any sign of human folly. 

Then came the violin. 

The first few notes washed over the crowd like perfume. Felix didn’t feel it immediately, but as the music got louder, his eyelids began to feel heavy. I feel so tired…

Something cold and sticky splashed against his neck. Felix’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, for god’s sake.” Plagg floated above him holding an abandoned cider cup like a war trophy. “You’re welcome. Now get moving, sleepyhead. Paris isn’t gonna save itself.” Felix swiped at the cider dripping down his collar with a grimace, but didn’t argue. The crowd was worse now, spinning across the grass like puppets on invisible strings. It didn’t look like anyone was conscious enough to notice him, he better not waste more time. “Plagg, claws out.” 

The second transformation wasn’t as violent as the first, but it was still a rush of heat and pressure. Black ribbons snapped around his arms and chest, locking into place faster this time. The claws came last. Felix landed hard, boots skidding against the cobblestone as he dropped straight into the chaos.

The girl in red was already mid-fight. “Lucky charm!” she yelled, flinging her arm upward. A burst of red light exploded in the sky. An umbrella clattered at her feet. “What am I supposed to do with this?!” she barked, hurling it like a spear.

It clattered harmlessly off the stage. The akuma barely shifted his stance. A low, pulsing note hummed from the violin. Two teenagers mid-waltz froze in place, then turned in perfect unison toward the girl.

Felix sprinted into the plaza. “Get back!” She glanced over, startled, but just in time to duck as one of the dancers grabbed for her arm. “They’re coming after me?” she gasped, rolling under a cart. “They’re synced to him,” Felix said, pushing his baton against another dancer. “He’s redirecting them.”

“Lucky charm!” she shouted desperately. A bright red flare exploded overhead once more. A plastic hanger fell into her hands. “I am going to lose my mind,” she said, chucking it like a frisbee. Felix slammed the baton into a light pole to create a barrier around them. Angled, careful, trying not to hurt anyone. “Can you stop summoning useless objects and help me?!”

“I am helping!” she snapped, holding her hands up to block a florist wielding a particularly thorn-y bouquet. “I’m just getting garbage!”

“Maybe stop throwing everything you get?” 

“Oh, like you have a better use for a plastic hanger?” she yelled, diving to avoid a kid in a tutu lunging like a linebacker. “This is what I’ve got!” Felix blocked a teenager mid-spin with his baton, guiding her sideways without hitting her. “You’re overusing it. The system’s clearly throttling you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the magic is done playing along.”

“Lucky charm!” This time, a salad spinner dropped at her feet. She stared at it like it had insulted her family. “Great. Now I can make lunch,” she muttered sarcastically. Felix flinched as a violin note rang out, sharper than the others. It thrummed in the pit of his stomach, enough to make his vision tilt. Around them, dancers paused.

Then turned. Felix’s grip tightened. “Here we go.”

“They’re coming again?”

“No,” he said. “They’re attacking.” One dancer grabbed the corner of the girl’s outfit. Felix launched himself between them, slamming his shoulder into the civilian just hard enough to knock them off balance. “Don’t hurt them!” she cried.

“I’m not!” he growled back. A sharp creak split the air. Felix looked up, there was a stage light rattling loose above them. He sprinted without thinking. “Cataclysm!” He was aiming for the light itself but his hand hit the vertical support, instead. The metal decayed in a wave of black, the fixture crashing to the side as his partner rolled out from under it. She shot him a wide-eyed look. “You did not just almost drop a spotlight on me.”

“Would you rather it be a surprise when it drops?” he said. His hand still thrummed with energy, but it was pulsing slower now. She scrambled upright beside him, breath ragged. “Lucky charm!” she shouted again, arm flinging skyward.

Nothing happened.

She blinked in surprise and tried again. “Lucky charm!”

Still nothing. The air didn’t even stir. Felix’s eyes narrowed. “It stopped responding.”

“No, no, no, come on!” she shouted. “It has to work!”

“It doesn’t,” Felix said. “You’ve hit your limit.” She shook her head, backing away from another advancing dancer. “It’s never just stopped.” Another violin note rang out. This one was rich and disturbingly triumphant. The sound rippled outward like heat off pavement. The crowd surged forward again. Felix stepped in front of her. “Plan B.” He activated Cataclysm and slammed his hand into the sidewalk. The energy sparked, the sidewalk hissed, and cracked.

A single fracture down the side. Barely visible. Felix stared. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“That’s it?” the girl choked out. He pulled back, hand still glowing faintly, but the edges of the light were flickering. Unstable. “It’s degrading.”

“Your power’s gone too?”

He nodded grimly. “I guess I had a lower limit than yours.” The dancers were almost there. Felix didn’t have time to think, only to react. He yanked her back by the shoulder just as three of them lunged. An outstretched hand grazed his arm, another grabbed for her ankle. She kicked free with a choked breath. “Go!” he barked, twisting to wedge his baton between two charging civilians, redirecting their momentum just enough to slip through. She stumbled back, spinning her yo-yo to try and block the space behind her, but they were closing in faster than she could move. “I can’t, there’s too many!” she gasped. Felix turned, his power still flickering faintly at his fingertips. “Cataclysm!” he tried to channel all the energy he possibly could into this last hit. He could feel his head pounding as the energy leaked from his body. There was no time. 

He slammed his palm into the remnants of a toppled vendor cart. The wood hissed and buckled, collapsing into a smoking pile between them and the oncoming crowd. Not enough to stop them, but just enough to escape. He caught her eyes. “Now. Split.”

“We can’t leave the akuma here!”

“We have to, we’re too weak to fight off his hypnosis for long. Couple more minutes and we’re out.” One of the dancers grabbed his coat sleeve. He spun, ripped free, and shoved the girl toward a narrow break between two booths. “Go!” She ran and Felix bolted the other way, barely dodging a swinging arm and nearly colliding with a kid holding cotton candy. 

He didn’t stop running until he reached the alley, where his knees finally buckled as he knelt against the cold stone. “Claws off,” he gritted. The suit vanished in a flicker of black.

The music was still playing.

Felix couldn’t believe it, they’d lost.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

“Dude,” Plagg whispered, floating just behind his ear, “for someone who refuses to sneak downstairs for a midnight snack, breaking into City Hall seems a bit much.” Felix didn’t look up from the keypad. “I think there’s a big difference in impact between cheese and answers.” Plagg floated in slow circles above the door frame. “Yeah, but my crimes are charming and dairy-based. Yours have felony charges.”

“Relax,” Felix muttered, checking the access panel for a thermal sensor. “They still use decade-old security firmware. I could do this in my sleep.”

“I’m reminding you of this next time you refuse to ditch a photoshoot,” Plagg said, though with less conviction this time. The panel clicked. Felix opened the side service entrance without a sound, slipping inside and pressing the door shut behind him. He didn’t turn on the overhead lights, just pulled out a small flashlight and clicked it once, sweeping the hall. File cabinets lined the walls like sentinels. The reception desk blinked sleepily in the corner, its monitors on standby. The building was empty, closed for the weekend.

Perfect.

Plagg hovered beside his shoulder. “You know you could’ve just asked someone who works here. You’re an Agreste they wouldn’t have batted an eye.” Felix moved down the hall quietly, scanning room numbers. “That risks media intervention, if I start asking questions they’re gonna wonder why. Plus, I’ve always wanted to practice lockpicking.”

“You ever just… act like a normal teenager?”

“Not if my father can help it.” He stopped outside the Records Office. The door was locked, but not alarmed, just a badge reader. Felix pulled a universal override card from his suit’s pocket. Odette had given him one for “emergencies.” He doubted this counted, but whatever. The reader blinked green. The door clicked open. “Not even trying to be subtle anymore,” Plagg muttered. Felix stepped inside and shut the door behind them. It was cold. The kind of institutional chill that only government buildings and underfunded libraries could maintain. A row of city terminals blinked in the dark, and rows of labeled files sat in drawers so old their corners curled like old paperback covers. Felix made his way to the nearest terminal and booted it up, tapping at the keys with practiced efficiency. “What are we even looking for again?” Plagg asked, watching a screensaver disappear. “City declarations for evil violin guys?”

“Festival permits. Performer registration logs. Vendor complaints. Noise violation reports. Anything linked to the stage, the name Arlene Beaumont, or musicians with formal grievances against the festival this year.”

Plagg stared. “Wow. Okay. So you’ve got it figured out.” Felix didn’t answer. He was already scanning the search bar, fingers flying. “Let me guess,” Plagg said. “This ends with a perfect lead, a dramatic phone call, and you stalking off like a moody Victorian orphan?” 

Felix clicked into a public performance registry. “Now you’re just making fun of me for being an orphan.”

“Uh, you’re not an orphan, firstly. Secondly, I really think we should have discussed a rendezvous point with your partner, how are you gonna get this information to her?”

“I’m not?”

“What do you mean you’re not?!” Plagg hissed. Felix didn’t look up from the terminal. “She doesn’t need it.” 

“She definitely needs it. She can summon something to distract him, or something that targets his weaknesses.” Felix paused only long enough to skim through a cluster of permit entries under the festival’s cultural arts coordinator. “She’s reactive. This is investigative. It’s not her domain.”

“So what, you’re gonna take on this guy solo?”

“If I have to.” Plagg gave a long, theatrical sigh. “Cool, cool. Love that. Nothing says great teamwork like splitting the party and withholding vital intel.” Felix ignored him. A flagged application caught his eye.

Performance request denied: R. Duval / Street 

Violinist—Noise complaints, prior conflict with Event

Director.

“Hello,” Felix muttered, opening the associated file. “There you are.” The listing was sparse. One name, one rejected permit, and a note in red: See Council Meeting Archive, Session 2487-B. He bookmarked it and moved to the adjacent console, booting it up. Plagg floated in slow, annoyed loops. “You do realize you’re not actually in a spy movie, right?” 

Felix kept typing. “This akuma already knows our powers from last time. He has a whole army of people behind him, I may as well be diligent.” Felix pulled up the council session audio file and hit play. A woman’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Mr. Duval, this isn’t appropriate. I went on one outing with you, that hardly constitutes us being together.”

“You’re just like her. You just want to marry a rich man and call it ambition!” 

Felix paused the audio. “Of course,” he muttered. “Ego bruised, everyone else to blame.”

Plagg hummed. “Yeah, that’s enough resentment to hatch an akuma.” 

Felix leaned back. “How does that even work? The butterfly thing.”

Plagg blinked. “You’re asking now ?”

“I prefer knowing what kind of enemy I’m facing. The other girl’s kwami told her!”

Plagg sighed. “Alright, if you really want the breakdown. The power you’re talking about comes from the Moth Miraculous. Back in the old days, it was used to grant civilians temporary powers, feeding off their strong desires to protect the innocent. Now it’s corrupted, and whoever’s holding it figured out how to weaponize the process.”

Felix turned back to the terminal. “So now this guy is exploiting people. Find the resentment, give it a mask, wind it up like a toy soldier.”

Plagg hovered lower. “That’s one way to put it.”

Felix’s fingers froze mid-keystroke. “Wait, there are more miraculouses?”

“Is that really important right now?”

Felix spun in his chair. “Uhm ye—”

Before he could finish, Felix heard footsteps running down the hall. “Claws out,” he called instinctively. Just in time, in fact, because—

SLAM.

The door swung open with force. Overhead lights snapped on. Felix’s breath caught.

Odette.

Her voice cracked across the room. “You have ten seconds to explain how a vigilante got into City Hall using my override card before I pull the trigger!” The transformation had settled just in time: mask in place, claws sharp, his silhouette half-lit by the glow of the terminal behind him, but now he was presented with a separate obstacle.

He raised his hands slightly. “Let’s not be dramatic.” She glared. “You impersonated a member of the Bourgeois family during an active threat. That’s not dramatic. That’s criminal. ”

“I didn’t impersonate you,” he said evenly. “I just used the access.”

“Oh, good,” she snapped. “So instead of fraud, it’s just high-level trespassing. That makes me feel so much better.” Felix didn’t respond. His stance stayed relaxed, but his mind was panicking. How had he overlooked the key step in his break-in? How long would it take her to call backup if she hadn’t already?

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Odette continued, stepping toward the screen, “but if you think you can hijack government infrastructure and walk away like it never happened—”

“I didn’t do this for fun.”

“Then what?” she demanded. “A personal investigation? Another setup? You disappeared and left the festival in shambles, and now you’re crawling through city systems?”

Felix didn’t blink. “I’m tracking the next attack. You’re standing in the way of stopping it.”

“You’re standing in the way of the rule of law.” He took one step forward. She didn’t back down. “I’ve already reported the badge activity,” she said, voice quiet now but just as lethal. “There are three security checkpoints in this building. You won’t make it out before they reach you.”

“For the record,” Felix sighed. “I’m sorry about this in advance.” Before Odette could react, he moved. A flick of his baton, not enough to injure devastatingly but just enough to hurt. The handle hit the side of her head, and she crumpled to the tile with a sharp gasp, unconscious before she hit the ground. Felix caught her halfway down and eased her to the floor.

Plagg groaned loud enough for it to fill up his brain, “Did you just—”

“She’ll be fine,” Felix said, already moving to the exit. “She’ll wake up in five minutes and be furious.”

“Yeah,” Plagg said. “Furious and armed with political clout and surveillance footage.”

“I disabled the cameras on my way in.”

“You say that,” Plagg muttered, “but I’m pretty sure the mayor’s daughter is a strong enough eyewitness for conviction.” Felix adjusted his collar and glanced once more at Odette’s motionless form. “I don’t think she’ll snitch just yet, she’ll want to see where this goes.” With that, he sprinted out of the building before the security guards could arrive. 

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette didn’t know how she got home. One minute she was sprinting through market stalls, lungs burning, trying not to trip over hypnotized feet or her own panic. The next, she was laying face-down on her bedroom floor, knees scraped and fingers raw from gripping the yo-yo too tight. Tikki floated above her silently while Marinette stared at the rug. Everything ached. Her arms. Her legs. Her pride.

Seven Lucky Charms. She’d never expected to fail like that before. She rolled onto her back and covered her face with both hands. “I’m not cut out for this,” she whispered.

Tikki drifted lower. “You did everything you could, Marinette!”

“No, I didn’t,” Marinette sighed. “I panicked, I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You were overwhelmed.”

“I froze, Tikki. He hypnotized everyone against us and I froze.” She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and forced the breath out of her lungs. 

He’d figured it out so fast.

Cataclysm? First try. He just knew what to do with it. Even when it started to backfire this time, he adjusted. Thought ahead. Made it work. “Maybe the magic didn’t run out,” she muttered. “Maybe I’m just bad at it.”

Tikki floated closer. “You’re not—”

“Then why does it keep giving me things I can’t use? Why can’t it pick up what I’m asking it for?”

“Because you’re still learning,” Tikki said gently. “You’re not supposed to get it all at once.”

“ He did . ”

Tikki didn’t answer. Marinette stood up and began to pace. “I can’t just sit here,” she muttered.

“Your powers aren’t working. Going back out there isn’t going to change that.”

“Then I won’t use them.”

Tikki blinked. “What?”

Marinette grabbed her coat. “I’ll go as me.”

“No. No, absolutely not.”

“I’m not going to fight him,” she said, stuffing her phone and earplugs into her bag. “I just want to see. Maybe he left something. Maybe I missed something.”

“You almost got hypnotized, Marinette.”

“And my partner left!” she snapped. “He didn’t say a word, just disappeared. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, but I can’t sit here doing nothing. ” 

Tikki hovered closer. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I don’t have to be,” she said, yanking the zipper on her coat up. “I just have to be useful.” Before Tikki could argue, Marinette was already climbing out the trapdoor. 

The walk to the park was short, but every step felt heavier than the last. She stopped just before the barricades and slipped the earplugs out of her bag. They were cheap foam ones, barely good enough for sleeping through Mylène’s cousin’s snoring at a sleepover, but it was all she had on short notice. Marinette stuffed them in her ears. The music dulled instantly. Still there, but muted.

It would do.

She adjusted her hood and ducked past the barrier. The dancers were still moving, swaying slow and syrupy to the music that pulsed through the air.  Marinette crept behind a toppled cider booth and scanned the square. The akuma stood on stage, spinning slowly beneath the garland-strung lights. He wasn’t playing now. Just pacing. Waiting. For the heroes to come back? She wasn’t sure, exactly.

She slipped past the side of the stage and crouched behind a column of stacked crates. The cords were still connected to the old stage lights. Most of them hung crooked now, but it didn’t look like any of them would fall onto her, which was good. She swiveled her head around the area a few times, but nothing was apparent. Just when she was about to give up and move someplace else, something shiny caught her eye in the grass.

Marinette crawled closer. It was a heart-shaped locket, very old and worn. She opened it with a soft click. Inside was a faded photo of an elegant woman with soft eyes and a formal smile. Marinette didn’t recognize her, but she noticed that the image was smudged like it had been opened a hundred times. She stared at it for a second too long. “ YOU! ” The voice cracked like thunder. The akuma stood above her now, eyes wide, arms trembling with fury. “ You touched it! ” he roared. “ You defiled her memory! ” Marinette scrambled backward, trying to slip the locket into her coat. Her foot hit a crate and she lost grip, staring helplessly as the locket clattered across the ground.

The music swelled. The crowd turned. She had no time, she bolted for the exit, but it was too late. Half a dozen dancers lunged at her with their arms outstretched and fixed smiles. She jumped out of the way, but one caught her coat, another her wrist. She hit the grass hard, earplugs jarring loose. Hands grabbed at her arms. Her ankle. Her hair. She twisted, kicked, but it was like fighting underwater. The music was getting to her now, sinking into her ears, her chest, her thoughts—

Someone dropped beside her in a blur of black. A staff hit the ground with a sharp thunk , knocking three dancers aside in a single arc. A gloved hand reached for hers, “Are you okay?” She gasped, barely processing the voice, but she felt it. Leather Guy was back. He crouched beside her, eyes scanning her quickly. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she managed, covering her ears with her hands.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, steadying her with one arm as he pulled her out of the dancers’ reach.

“I had to see,” she said breathlessly. “I found something. A locket.” She pointed toward the grass near the stage, where it had skidded to a stop near a lighting cable. He let go of her just long enough to retrieve it. She watched him open it, and she saw his entire body tense. Just for a second. It was different from the combat tension she’d seen in him before, he seemed surprised. Marinette frowned. “Do you recognize her?” He didn’t answer, just shut the locket. “She probably mattered to him,” he said. “I think we can use this.” His voice was lower now. Strained, maybe. But she couldn’t tell why. “Thank you,” he added. And then: “You need to get to safety.”

“But—”

“I mean it.” He turned fully now, placing himself between her and the oncoming crowd. “I’ll hold them off.” She hesitated, heart pounding. “Christ” she heard him mutter to himself. “I wish the other girl were here.”

She didn’t wait another beat before she ran.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

This was going poorly. Felix ducked as a metal chair came swinging toward his head, twisted, and kicked it clean out of a hypnotized waiter’s hands. It clattered uselessly against a cider barrel. Three more dancers immediately stepped in to replace him. Felix spun his baton and blocked a punch aimed at his ribs. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, dodging another. “They’re not even coordinated anymore.” He leapt backward onto a broken table and vaulted over a crowd of swing-dancing teens now attempting a vaguely choreographed takedown. He tried to ignore the weight of the locket tucked into his belt. Emilie’s face burned in his mind, unspoken and unanswered. He couldn’t focus on that now. He narrowly avoided getting hit with a leg to the face and slammed the butt of his staff into the pavement to create space. It barely helped. “Did ya miss me?” a voice called.

Felix twisted. The red superheroine landed beside him in a blur of red and confidence, yo-yo whipping around to knock a leaping attacker out of mid-air. “…Honestly?” he said, breath short. “Yes.” 

She grinned. “Well, I’m here now.” She ducked low, swept the feet out from under two dancers, and popped up beside him. “What’ve we got?” Felix jumped backward to avoid a flying elbow. “Council records confirm the akuma’s name is R. Duval, rejected street violinist with a grudge against the event director. Romantic delusions. Believes he was in love. She declined. Now he’s making it everyone’s problem.” Ladybug’s eyes flicked toward the stage. “Makes sense. I noticed he only started singing after I… triggered something.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Triggered?”

“Long story,” she said quickly. “Point is, he’s not improvising. This whole thing? It’s a performance. He’s playing out some rewritten fairytale.”

Felix nodded once. “And the audience is trapped in the story.”

“Exactly.” She paused, watching the movements. “And if I’m right, I think I have a plan to crash the ending.” She turned to him, eyes sharp. “But I need you to trust me. Just this once.” Felix looked at her, really looked at her. She looked exhausted, but she wasn’t backing down. “…Alright,” he said. “Hit me.” She winked at him before she vaulted up onto a tipped-over table, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted toward the akuma. “Hey! Still rewriting your tragic little love story, or are we past the musical number?”

The akuma turned slowly. His expression was cold. Injured. “You don’t understand what she meant to me.” Ladybug crossed her arms. “Maybe not. But this?” She gestured around the park. “This isn’t love. It’s theater. And it’s a bad one.” That did it. The akuma lifted his bow. “You mock romance,” he said. “But you don’t understand heartbreak. Not like this.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?” As if on cue, the akuma began to sing. “Years ago, when I was younger…” The crowd jolted into motion like marionettes on strings. The girl stepped back down beside Felix. “Here we go.” He winced as two teens passed, jazz hands flying. “What is happening.”

“You’ll see. Lucky Charm!” The red energy burst overhead. A pair of silver ballroom dance shoes dropped into her hands. Felix blinked. “Did you mean to summon those?” 

She grinned as she held a pair out. “For the first time, yes! Please tell me you know some dancing?” 

Felix hesitated. “I might have some… experience.”

“Great. You’re taking lead.”

He groaned quietly. “Of course I am.” They slipped on the shoes and took each other’s hands just as the crowd surged again, this time into swing formation. The girl leaned in. “If this doesn’t work, we are never speaking of it again.”

“Deal.”

They spun into the rhythm, ducking and weaving through dip-locked couples and triple-steps. Felix led them closer to the stage, rock-steps and fast swings somehow not knocking either off-balance .

Up ahead, the akuma belted into the climax. “ I'm in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts! ” Felix’s hand tightened. “We’re close.”

She nodded, “Distraction, coming up!” She let go, spun once, and flung a dance shoe straight at the akuma’s head. It hit him square in the forehead. Felix took the chance to jump, baton collapsing mid-air. He remembered the moment from earlier, once again channeling all his destructive energy from his body into one source. “Cataclysm!” His hand slammed into the violin. The strings shrieked and then disintegrated in a burst of violet and ash.

His partner leapt forward and caught the darkened butterfly between her palms. “No more evil-doing for you, little akuma.” The wave of energy pulsed out across the square, the music died, and the spell broke. The plaza was mostly quiet. People were blinking, shifting, muttering to each other like they’d just woken from a shared dream. No one seemed hurt. A few were still clinging to their makeshift dance partners in confusion. Felix’s own dance partner stood center-stage, winded but steady. Her hair was frizzed slightly at the edges, one of the ballroom shoes was still clipped to her belt. She let out a breath, adjusted her yo-yo, and turned toward Felix.

His breath caught slightly as she made her way over.  “…Well,” she said, a little winded. “That was dramatic.” Felix rolled his shoulder and gave her a sideways glance. “We threw shoes at an opera reject. I think that counts as thematic accuracy.”

She huffed a laugh. “Thanks for trusting me.”

“You were right,” he admitted. Then added, quickly, “Let’s not jump into battle immediately next time.”

She grinned. “Noted.” They both turned, ready to disappear before the crowd got any more lucid. “CRIMSON SPINNER, A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME?” They both froze.

Alya.

Standing just outside the ruined cider booth with a phone in one hand, mic in the other, practically vibrating with journalist energy. Nino hovered just behind her, looking like he wanted to be helpful but also kind of wanted to be literally anywhere else.

“…Crimson Spinner?” she echoed.

Alya gave her a hopeful look. “You wear red and spin things. I’m workshopping.” The girl blinked. “Okay. Uh—why don’t we go ahead and call me Ladybug ? I have the spots, after all.”

Alya beamed. “Ladybug. YES. That works so well. Can I get a photo with you? For social media?”  Felix tensed the second the word ‘media’ left her mouth. He could already feel the press framing this. Paparazzi digging into government records, potentially the City Hall stunt where he isn’t 100% certain the cameras were fully disabled by the time he entered the building. His father’s wrath. Headlines he didn’t want, questions he couldn’t answer. He didn’t even like having his picture taken when he wasn’t saving hypnotized civilians in a catsuit.

Nope.

He started inching back. Ladybug was still laughing. It was irritatingly endearing, but Felix had other things to worry about. He took one step toward the shadows. Then another. He was almost gone when he heard the voice. “Leather Guy!”

He flinched, time for Plan B. He ran, springing over bushes and bounding up buildings until he couldn’t hear Alya shouting anymore. He finally sat down a few rooftops over, tucked behind a water tank and a rusted chimney stack. The sky was a dull slate blue now, the kind of color that meant the sunrise wasn’t far off. The park was out of view, the crowd was dispersing. He sat with his back against the metal and let the cold settle in his spine.

Good. Safe. “Claws off,” he muttered. The suit peeled away in a ripple of heat and black silk. His boots vanished. The mask faded from his face. What was left was just Felix: rumpled, scraped, and blinking against the cold. He rubbed the corners of his eyes and yawned. “You okay, kid?” his kwami floated beside him, examining his face carefully. Felix exhaled slowly. “Still breathing. No limbs lost. Minimal public humiliation. I’d call that a win.” He let his head rest back against the water tank. “Even managed not to strangle my dance partner. Personal growth.” He was expecting this to elicit a chuckle, but Plagg didn’t laugh, didn’t even smirk. He was staring past Felix now, eyes wide like he was watching something out of a horror movie. Felix squinted at him. “Unless she’s behind me holding another shoe, I’m not sure what warrants that look—” Then he heard it: a sharp inhale behind him. Felix turned quickly, eyes widened in fear. 

Nino. Standing a few feet away at the edge of the rooftop, frozen like he’d stumbled into a crime scene. Felix’s blood ran cold. Nino gawked at him. His mouth opened once, then shut. Then opened again. “Holy sh—” Felix was on his feet before the sentence could finish. “Don’t,” he said, voice low and sharp. Nino held up his hands instinctively. “I—I didn’t know you were up here. I swear. I was just—” He glanced behind him, like he wasn’t sure if there should have been a witness or not. “I thought I saw you land. I didn’t mean to—” Felix backed up a step, mind racing. His heart was pounding in his throat. “You can’t tell anyone,” Felix said. It came out too fast. Too raw. “You can’t. ”

“I won’t,” Nino said quickly. “Seriously, man. I won’t.” But that didn’t make the air any easier to breathe. Nino took a careful step forward. “You’re a superhero?” Felix’s jaw clenched. “Dude,” Nino said softly. “You literally just saved like half the city.” Felix turned away, suddenly too aware of his scraped hands, the way his jacket stuck to a patch of dried sweat at his back, the exhaustion still threading his bones. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t,” Nino said. “I swear. Alya just—she was worried someone would chase after you, or a civilian would do something stupid. I came to check. That’s it.” Felix stayed quiet. After a pause, Nino added, “I’m not gonna out you. I’m not even gonna tell Alya. I won’t bring it up again.” Another beat passed. Nino didn’t move. Felix finally spoke up, “I don’t want to be thanked,” he said, voice flat. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Nino raised both hands in a surrendering shrug. “Noted.” He turned, heading for the ladder. But just before his foot hit the rung, he paused. “You’re really good at it,” he said. “Just… thought you should know.”

Felix didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

“No.” Felix didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Felix.”

“No,” he said again, sharper this time. Odette sighed from across the room. “It’s lunch. Not war.”

“Debatable.” Adrien, ever the peacemaker, poked his head out from the bathroom with a towel still slung around his neck. “It wouldn’t kill you to try. Might even be nice to, you know… integrate yourself into this school?”

Felix looked up, deadpan. “Adrien, are you trying to set me up on a friendship blind date?”

Adrien blinked. “I didn—”

“I invited them,” Odette cut in, arms crossed. “I got free passes to this burger restaurant and wanted to share. By the way, it’s across town and Alya says she and Marinette are already on their way.” 

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “What about Nino? Do we have to pick him up?”

“No, he lives right next to the restaurant. He said he’s fine walking over whenever we’re close.”

Felix stared in surprise. “You invited them ?” Odette didn’t even look up from where she was buckling her boots. “Yes.” 

He stared. “You invited Alya. ”

“She has a food blog.”

“ Marinette?! ”

“The design class has been in the studio for six days straight. She needs carbs.”

“And Nino?” he said, voice flattening.

Odette shrugged. “He said he liked the place. I said sure.” The name echoed like a curse. His hands stayed perfectly still. His spine, perfectly straight. But inside, his thoughts were shattering like a glass pane under pressure. 

Nino knew.

What had he said to Alya? Had he said anything ? He didn’t think so. If Alya had known, she would’ve been at his window by sunrise with a list of questions and a backup mic. But what if Nino had told her something vague? What if he’d hinted at it, or let something slip? What if she asked during lunch and Nino panicked and said too much? Worse, what if he said nothing and then suddenly said everything ? Did Adrien know Nino knew? No. Felix hadn’t told him. Adrien would have folded into one of his guilty-spiral monologues the second he found out someone else was in on the secret. He would have offered Nino a friendship bracelet . Or a fruit basket with an apology note signed, “Thanks for keeping my brother’s trauma under wraps <3” Felix exhaled sharply through his nose. Odette, still lacing her boots, squinted her eyes at him. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“I’m just marveling,” Felix said tightly, “at the social roulette you’ve constructed.”

Adrien smiled like a labrador. “Come on. It’ll be good for you.” Sure. Let’s sit down with the most obsessive journalist in school, a girl who he still wasn’t sure liked him, and a boy who now holds the most volatile secret of Felix’s life and has the moral backbone to probably not weaponize it, unless pressured. Or awkward. Or distracted. Or just too kind to lie effectively. Felix smiled back. It did not reach his eyes. “Yes, nothing says ‘good for me’ like public interaction under psychological threat.”

Odette stood and threw a hoodie at him. “You’re going, end of discussion. Adrien pulled on his clothes and went over to Felix, smiling sympathetically. “Give them a chance? They seem to like you a lot, and I think more group hangouts could be really fun!” Felix didn’t move. Adrien added, softer this time, “I just think it might be… good for you. To be around people. People who aren’t, you know, us.”

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but Adrien hit him with the look. The stupid, earnest, golden-retriever expression that made it physically difficult to say no without sounding like a sociopath. Curses, he supposed he’ll deal with the Nino situation as it came.

“If I go, there’s no guarantee I’m talking.”

Odette rolled her eyes. “Fantastic. No one wants you to.”

“You’re both insufferable.”

The burger place was called "Grillzilla," which Felix found both deeply alarming and somehow fitting. It smelled like oil and onion rings and came with a giant fiberglass dinosaur over the entrance that made Odette laugh for a full thirty seconds. Inside, the booths were cracked red leather and the music was something vaguely retro. The kind of place you took friends to at midnight after making life-ruining decisions. It was 12:37 p.m. Marinette and Alya were already seated near the window, arguing over a laminated menu and a half-filled notebook. Alya looked up first. “There they are!” Felix felt his whole body tense as Nino appeared from around the other side of the booth, drink already in hand. He nodded casually. “Hey.” Felix gave a noncommittal hum and dropped into the furthest corner. Adrien slid in beside him like a ray of sunshine. Odette grabbed the seat next to Alya and opened the condiment tray like she was evaluating her options in a game of political chess. “Okay,” Alya said brightly, “I need at least two of you to order wildly different things so I can compare sauce textures.” 

“No,” Felix said immediately.

“Be nice,” Odette goaded.

“I’ll get the garlic shake,” Adrien offered. Marinette looked up, horrified. “There’s a garlic shake ?”

“Is there now?” Alya muttered, scribbling fast. “That’s going in the blog.” To Felix’s surprise, things settled. Sort of. Alya kept talking about how many different things she wanted to try, Marinette got distracted drawing cats in ketchup on her napkin, Nino mostly stared at his fries like they were revealing the secrets of the universe. Every so often, his eyes darted to Felix, just a second too long. Felix didn’t react. If he acknowledged it, it became real.

But then Adrien… sweet, utterly unaware Adrien, decided to casually destroy his afternoon. “So,” he said, taking a bite of his burger, “you still think that cat superhero’s name is Leather Guy?”

Alya chuckled. “The name’s kind of a vibe, but we’ve resorted to calling him Chat Noir.”

Marinette looked up. “Ooh, Chat Noir? That actually sounds kind of cool.”

Alya nodded enthusiastically. “It totally is, but I can’t take all the credit. Nino is the one who came up with it.” Felix stiffened. Across from him, Nino dropped a fry. “Is that so?” Felix smiled menacingly. “Do tell, Nino. What prompted the naming inspiration?” Nino looked up like a man who had just remembered he left the oven on in another country. He gave a laugh two octaves too high. “I mean, he’s a cat. Noir means night. It just… felt right?”

Felix tilted his head. “Did it?” Adrien, bless him, was obliviously chewing on a pickle spear. “I think it suits him! I mean, black suit, claws, mysterious energy…”

“Mysterious,” Felix repeated, still watching Nino. “That’s one word for it.”

Nino didn’t blink. “Yup. Super mysterious. Definitely no idea who he is. Not a single clue.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “You sound weird.”

“Do I?” Nino shoved three fries into his mouth. “Weird is subjective.” Marinette looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nino and Felix said at the exact same time. Marinette frowned. Alya stared. Adrien, mercifully, broke the tension. “Anyway, I still think the garlic shake is worth trying if we split it.”

“Adrien, if you order the garlic shake, I will physically leave this booth,” Odette said.

“Oh no,” Alya grinned. “Now you have to.”

“Do not,” Odette warned, pointing a fry like a dagger. “Adrien, I will refuse to be near you for a week.”

“I’m doing it, for the plot.” Adrien said cheerfully, waving the laminated menu in the air to catch the waiter’s attention. “Excuse me? Can we get one garlic shake? Extra garlic, if that’s an option.”

The server blinked. “You sure?”

“No,” Felix said immediately.

“Yes,” Adrien insisted, ignoring him.

“Just so you know, if a vampire attacks us you’re first cut,” Marinette huffed, now attempting to sketch a giraffe in barbecue sauce. Nino gave a low whistle. “Man’s got no fear. None.”

Felix sighed. “He’s got no palate either.”

“Hey!” Adrien said with mock offense. “You haven’t tried it.”

“I’ve tried breathing. I assume it’s incompatible.” Alya snorted, “Please put that on a hoodie.” Things slipped into a rhythm again. Easy, stupid, warm. Nino finally stopped glancing at Felix like he expected him to explode. Adrien shared his fries with literally everyone, even though no one asked. Alya grilled Marinette about her BBQ Burger like it contained the secrets of the universe. Odette kept one foot tapping under the table to keep time with the music. It almost felt… fine.

Which was why Felix didn’t see the question coming. 

Odette leaned back with a sip of her soda and fixed her gaze on Alya like she was zeroing in on something. “So,” she said. “Do you really not know who the cat superhero is?”

Alya blinked. “What?”

“You named him,” Odette pointed out. “Chat Noir. Sounds like you’ve been following him pretty closely.”

Alya tilted her head, suspicious but intrigued. “Sure. So have you. What’s your angle?”

Odette shrugged, all casual. “I intern at City Hall. We keep tabs on people who break into government systems during a crisis.” Felix nearly choked on his fry. Marinette leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait, what? He broke into City Hall?!”

Odette smirked. “Indeed. Surveillance almost got him during the Fall Festival attack.”

Alya’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” She glanced sideways. “But don’t tell anyone. Technically, that’s classified.” Felix locked eyes with Nino across the table. Nino looked like he wanted to throw himself into the fiberglass dinosaur. Marinette, of all people, shrugged. “Honestly? I get it.”

Felix stared in shock.

Odette raised an eyebrow. “You get breaking into City Hall ?”

“Well, I mean,” Marinette said, waving a hand, “if it helped stop the akuma faster? Maybe he found something. Maybe the city wasn’t giving him what he needed. Sometimes you just gotta do things your own way.” She smiled. “Worked out, didn’t it?” Felix had expected a lot of responses, but not that. Not her .

Marinette was casually sipping her milkshake now, as if she hadn’t just unknowingly defended his most impulsive, borderline-criminal decision in the last seventy-two hours. Her foot tapped against the booth leg in time with the jukebox music, and she was poking her straw through the top of her drink like she hadn’t just thrown him off-balance with one sentence. “Oh, don’t encourage him,” Odette muttered, but even she sounded slightly amused.

“I’m not encouraging him,” Marinette protested. “I’m just saying sometimes the system’s slow. And if you’ve got the tools, and the goal is to help people…” She shrugged again, then caught Alya’s expression and added quickly, “Not that I’m saying it was a good idea. Just. You know. Sometimes bad ideas wear good hats.”

Alya laughed. “Girl, what are you saying?”

“I don’t know!” Marinette said, flailing slightly. “I just think Chat Noir did what he thought was right, and it helped, and that’s… cool?”

Cool. Chat Noir was cool.

Felix dragged a fry slowly through a pile of mustard, if only to give his hands something to do. Across from him, Nino mouthed something that looked suspiciously like dude , but Felix refused to look at him. He refused to look at anyone . His stomach hadn’t twisted up like this since the last time Adrien suggested they go to Disneyland. Odette raised an eyebrow at Marinette. “You’ve got a lot of opinions on a guy you’ve never met.”

“I’ve met him!” Marinette said instantly, and then seemed to regret it just as fast. “I mean. Not met-met. But I’ve seen him around.”

“You make it sound like he’s a cryptid,” Alya chuckled. “‘Chat Noir spotted, eyewitness claims he’s wearing good hats.’”

“With bad ideas,” Nino added, trying for normal.

Felix raised a brow. “I’m sorry, do you want him to hear you?”

Alya grinned. “What, you think he’s spying on us?”

“I think,” Felix said evenly, “you don’t need to bait the vigilante with street-parkour capabilities.” Marinette snorted into her drink. “Okay, okay,” Adrien laughed. “Let’s not summon Chat Noir through sheer mockery.”

Odette rolled her eyes. “If he shows up just to yell at us for our burger opinions, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” Adrien said. “I did order the garlic shake.” Marinette visibly shuddered. “You drank the garlic shake.” Alya pointed her straw. “And that’s when society crumbled.” The table burst into laughter. Even Felix cracked a tiny, involuntary smile. He didn’t know what to do with this. With this new group that made him feel like he was fitting in. With Alya and her appreciation of his humor, and Nino and his kindness in sparing the world his identity.

With Marinette and her unknowing defense. He definitely didn’t know what to do with the way it made his chest feel like it had been sat on by a moderately affectionate elephant. “You okay?” Adrien nudged him under the table. Felix poked him with a fry in response. It would do for now.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette had barely finished taping the last price tag to a tray of croissants when she heard the sharp click of Odette’s heels behind her. She had been chaotic all morning, completely unlike the calm and composed version she usually presented. Honestly, it was starting to feel like working next to a shaken-up soda can. “Do you think I should lower the price now? Be honest. Eight euros is too much for a cupcake, right? I was so sure those girls would stop by but I haven’t seen any mention of it yet on social media. And what time is this thing officially starting? Because the posters say eleven, but the email said eleven-thirty, and your mother told me she’s dropping off the mille-feuille at… wait, what time is she dropping those off again?”

Marinette sighed. “Good morning to you too, Odette.” “Marinette,” Odette’s voice was tight. “We’re fifteen minutes behind schedule and we haven’t even arranged the signage.”

“Because you rewrote the signage this morning, ” Marinette pointed out, struggling to keep the corners of a plastic tablecloth from blowing in the breeze. “Which is not a criticism!” she interjected after noticing Odette’s face twist. “Just an observation. A very calm, un-panicked observation.” Odette made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a low growl. “I had to rewrite the signage. The font on the original flyers looked like it was designed by a sleep-deprived clown.”

“It was Comic Sans,” Marinette said dryly.

“Exactly.” Marinette pinned the last corner of the tablecloth under a crate of madeleines and stood. “Okay, deep breath. The tables are set, the pastries are arriving, and no one’s going to riot over signage right now.”

“You’re dangerously underestimating how many bored girls on student council live for that kind of thing,” Odette muttered, flipping through her clipboard like the answers to all her problems might be hidden between the pages. “You’ve survived worse,” Marinette said. “Remember the Winter Formal? The caterer canceled two hours before and you still pulled it off.”

“I cried in the janitor’s closet,” Odette admitted. Marinette blinked. She remembered that night, Odette had taken over the whole event like a military general: handing out clipboards, rerouting tables, calling the pizza place like a drill sergeant in heels. Weird. She’d always seen Odette as kind of unshakable, but today was proving otherwise. Before she could dwell on that confession, a familiar voice chimed in behind her. “Morning,” Adrien said, approaching with a cardboard tray of drinks and an effortless smile. “Marinette, black with sugar. Odette, oat milk, triple shot, and maybe a small sedative…” Odette glared at him. “Kidding!” 

She took her cup with a distracted “Thanks, love,” not even looking up from her clipboard. Adrien didn’t seem to mind, he just leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. Marinette accepted her cup with a quiet “thanks,” trying not to feel weird about the third-wheel energy that had suddenly crept into the conversation. She didn’t want to feel weird, but it was hard not to feel displaced as she watched them. She didn’t even know why she ever thought she’d had a chance with Adrien. Not with someone like Odette in the picture. She made sense with Adrien, like they’d been curated to fit together. In a sense, she mused, they were.

“You’re early,” she remarked, sipping her coffee more for something to do than any real need for caffeine. Adrien shrugged. “Figured getting the council some drinks would be more useful than watching Max’s balloon-inator explode.”

Marinette snorted. “Smart call.”

“I thought so,” Adrien said with a grin, then turned to Odette. “Also, you were right. The latte art at that new place is shaped like tiny cats.” Odette finally looked up, face lighting up just slightly. “See? Aren’t they a gem?” They smiled at each other in that quiet, familiar way that made Marinette’s chest twinge. She looked away and started straightening a stack of napkins that really didn’t need it. “Wow,” came a familiar, flat voice from behind them. “Is this a bake sale or a Hallmark movie?” Marinette turned to see Felix approaching like he’d just emerged from a black-and-white film. He gave the decor a once-over, then let his gaze land on Adrien and Odette with the kind of expression normally reserved for traffic violations. “I see we’ve entered the ‘public displays of functional relationships’ portion of the morning. Truly, my favorite.”

Adrien beamed. “Good morning, Felix.”

“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” Felix replied, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “My inbox currently contains seventeen messages about cupcake pricing, table setup, and whether or not my ‘presence will be photogenic.’ So. No, Adrien. I am not having a good morning.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, trying not to laugh. “You got the Odette Agenda.”

“I got the Odette Manifesto,” he corrected. “And several follow-up amendments.” He eyed the disheveled stack of folding chairs behind her, then glanced at Marinette who was, at that moment, attempting to drag a metal table while balancing a tray of napkin dispensers in one hand. Felix sighed, “Do you need help?”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Wait. Seriously?”

“No, I’m just offering as a joke,” he said dryly. “Yes, seriously. You look like you’re five seconds from losing a thumb to that folding table.” She chuckled, nodding towards the other end. “When I woke up this morning, I specifically said I wouldn’t do anything altruistic until at least noon.”

Marinette grinned. “And yet, here you are. Suffering nobly.”

“I know, I’m such a knight in shining armor.” They started setting up the first table together, working in sync surprisingly well despite Felix’s running commentary on how “flimsy” the supports were and how “frankly dystopian” the concept of mini croissants felt. “Croissants aren’t made to be miniature!” Still, he didn’t complain when she asked him to move a second table.

Or a third. 

“I didn’t think you’d show up at all,” Marinette said eventually, halfway through unfolding a table leg. Felix shrugged. “I wasn’t, then Adrien texted me a photo of you carrying boxes, and guilt is apparently a thing I still have.”

She laughed. “Wow. I feel honored.”

“Don’t. It’s likely due to sleep deprivation.” They worked in silence for a moment. Then Marinette glanced across the courtyard, where Odette was now adjusting the angle of a sign that had been straight ten minutes ago. “She’s kind of falling apart, huh?” 

Felix didn’t look. “Her mom’s in town.”

“Oh.”

“Sent her a text last night. Something super supportive, like ‘Do let me know if you manage to stay on schedule this time, I have an important party I need to attend to after.’”

Marinette winced. “That’s brutal.”

“Odette’s been spiraling since sunrise,” Felix added casually. “But at least she’s still keeping her scary reputation.”

“Oh, totally,” Marinette agreed. “She snapped at Ivan this morning, and he apologized in Russian. ” Felix was about to respond when a shriek cut through the courtyard like a fire alarm. “OH MY GOD, IT’S FELIX AGRESTE!”

He froze. “What.” Marinette peered over the hedge of table setups and spotted a small crowd gathering: girls with phones and intentions . Felix turned to Odette, very slowly. “What. Did. You. Do.” Odette didn’t look up from her clipboard. “I may have submitted an anonymous tip to a magazine.”

“Odette.”

“That the Agreste company was sponsoring the fundraiser and that you’d be here.”

Marinette snorted. “I can’t—”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. “Do not say it.”

“You’re the Bake Sale Bait,” she wheezed. The fangirls were beginning to get closer, but Odette’s voice, calm and crystal-clear rose over the chaos. “Attention! If you’re here to see Felix Agreste, you must purchase a minimum of one baked good per question. Cupcakes are eight euros. No exceptions.”

Felix spun toward her, aghast. “You monetized me?”

Odette smirked, entirely unapologetic. “Brand synergy.”

Marinette just about keeled over. “You’re evil.”

“I’m effective,” Odette corrected, turning back to her table arrangement. “Speaking of, I believe it’s 11. Let the bake sale begin.”

The bake sale buzzed with life. Music played softly from someone’s Bluetooth speaker and laughter floated from the raffle table. Marinette was helping Felix replace a box of underbaked macarons when the energy around them shifted. Conversations slowed, postures subtly straightened. Marinette followed everyone’s gaze and saw a woman gliding across the courtyard in heels too sleek for cobblestones and a blazer that probably cost more than the entire pastry budget. She ignored the baked goods around her and focused her gait in one direction.

Odette tensed before she even looked up. “Odette,” the woman said, tone light and clipped like the word had been filed into shape. “It’s nice to see you so involved.” Odette turned to face her. Her face had the same expression she wore during school board meetings: polite and unreadable. “Hi, Mom.” Oh, Marinette thought. That’s the stressor. “You’re using peach,” she observed. 

“It’s one of our theme colors,” Odette replied. “It looked best during planning.” Her mother’s smile was all gloss, no warmth. “Well, it certainly makes a statement.” Her eyes swept the display, pausing at the laminated signs.

“You’ve used card stock?”

“Yes.”

“It’s… creative.” Odette didn’t flinch visibly, but she shifted, one thumb brushing the edge of her clipboard like it grounded her. “You seem to have a lot going on and,” her mother continued. “It was nice to see you, darling, but I have another event to attend.” She left without waiting for a reply. Odette didn’t move at first. Then, she turned, clipboard still in hand. “We’re short on display space. I’m going to grab another table.” Adrien nodded sympathetically, taking Odette’s place without another word. Felix looked like he wanted to follow her, but Marinette caught his eye first. She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head slightly toward the school doors, then back to him. Felix hesitated, clearly torn, then a group of girls converged on the macaron table like pigeons on breadcrumbs, one of them chirping, “Excuse me, can you sign my banana bread?” with terrifying sincerity. He gave Marinette a withering look before resigning himself to the crowd. Marinette slipped away, weaving through tables until she was back inside.

She found her in the supply hallway, yanking a folded table from the storage stack with more force than strictly necessary. The clipboard had been set down carefully, but her movements weren’t careful anymore. “Hey,” Marinette said, quiet but clear.

Odette didn’t turn. “Did something go wrong?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Marinette murmured carefully. “I’m fine.” 

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Another table leg snapped open. The sound echoed louder than it should’ve. “I’m just saying,” Marinette continued, slower now, “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me, I saw what happened.” That made Odette laugh, not especially amused. “Right. Because we’re so close.”

Marinette blinked. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I’m fake,” Odette said, finally turning around. Her expression was still composed, but the cracks were there now. A tightness in her mouth, a shine in her eyes blinked away. “You’ve always thought that.”

“I—no, I—”

“You think I’m bossy, and controlling, and that everything I do is about looking good.” Her voice didn’t rise, but each word was like a jab. “And you’re not wrong. I am all of that. But it’s exhausting, Marinette. You have no idea how exhausting it is to never be allowed to mess up.” Marinette stepped back, stunned by the honesty more than the sharpness. “I can’t fail, because if I fail, it’s my dad’s name. Or it’s favoritism. Or it’s proof I didn’t deserve anything I earned.” She took a breath, like she hadn’t meant to say all of that, but it had spilled out anyway. Then, softer, “So please, if you came here to gloat I’ve heard it already.” She turned to leave, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands.

Marinette’s voice cut through the hallway before she could reach the door. “I’m jealous of you.” Odette stopped mid-step. Her grip tightened on the table. Slowly, she turned back, brow furrowed. “…What?” Marinette swallowed. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she gripped her jeans tightly and continued. “I’m jealous of you,” she repeated. “I always have been.” Odette stared at her like she’d just suggested the sun rose in the west. “Why would you be jealous of me ?”

Marinette exhaled. “Because you're everything I'm not. People listen to you, and you never look scared even when everything’s falling apart. You know what to say, and what to wear, and how to lead. You get accolades and the appreciation that goes with it.” She hesitated, “And it makes more sense for Adrien to like you than it would for him to like me.” The silence that followed was a different kind than Odette usually gave her. Not cold, just stunned.

Odette didn’t speak for a long time. Then, finally, “You think I feel appreciated ?” Her voice wasn’t sharp this time. It was soft. Disbelieving. “I’ve been called a control freak, a legacy case, a show-off, and a nepotism Barbie , all to my face. Half the council thinks I only got elected because of my last name. The other half thinks I’m some kind of walking résumé who used connections for experience.” She let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in her chest for a while. “And Adrien… Adrien was my first real friend. He saw me as a person, not a title or position. Liking him just happened. I didn’t plan it, Marinette. I don’t win everything by default.” Marinette was the one stunned into silence now. 

Odette shifted her weight, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “I didn’t know you felt that way, about not being appreciated?” Marinette shrugged, too embarrassed now that she’d actually said it out loud. But Odette continued, gentler, “That sucks. I’m sorry. You do a lot. You’re everywhere, fixing things no one else even notices, and half the time people assume you just will .” 

“You… you noticed that?” Odette gave a soft, lopsided smile. “I don’t really know how to give praise, not without it sounding like a performance review, but you’re a good leader, Marinette. You just second-guess yourself too much.”

Marinette rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “You really think that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” Odette’s tone was matter-of-fact. “You make people feel like they belong. That’s something I’ve never been good at.” 

“You just did,” Marinette whispered. And for once, Odette didn’t have anything polished to say back. They looked at each other for a few moments before Odette broke the silence. “Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Enough emotional catharsis. Let’s go deal with the great cupcake rush before someone starts a bidding war.”

Marinette gave a shaky laugh. “I think someone already tried to trade a bracelet for a lemon tart.”

Odette picked up her end of the table. “Brilliant. We’re officially running a black-market patisserie.”

Marinette grabbed the other side, smiling. “At least the branding’s consistent.” As they stepped back into the sunlight, the courtyard was as chaotic as ever. Felix stood at the macaron table, surrounded by a group of screaming girls looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He caught sight of Marinette and immediately mouthed, help me. She gave him a chipper thumbs-up and kept walking. It took him another five minutes to escape, despite his pointing at her waiting figure.

When he finally did, he approached with a plastic fork sticking out of his breast pocket and a glazed pastry in each hand held out like peace offerings. “I have survived,” he said flatly. “Barely. Some girl tried to convince me to sign a birth certificate? I think I might have trauma.”

Marinette laughed. “You’ll be okay. Probably.”

He handed her a tart. “How’d it go?” She glanced back toward the main entrance where Odette had already re-immersed herself in clipboard duty. “…Better than I thought,” Marinette said honestly. “I think we understand each other a little more now.” Felix nodded and smiled. Just a quiet, genuine smile. “I’m glad.” Marinette’s heart did a completely unapproved little flip.

She blamed the sugar.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

He was losing his mind. Felix slumped over his desk, chin on his folded arms, watching the cursor blink on an empty Word document like it was mocking him. He was supposed to have an essay completed on the morality of vigilantism, prompt clearly inspired by the recent events in Paris. However, despite being ½ of the problem, Felix couldn’t come up with anything tangible. “Writer’s block?” Adrien asked, clearly amused.

“Existential block,” Felix muttered.

Adrien laughed. “You know, you could seek inspiration from a certain group of people who have strong opinions on the topic.” Felix shifted just enough to glare. “What are you suggesting I do? Pop into City Hall and beg for forgiveness? ‘Please, don’t arrest me! I may be morally dubious but I’m really nice!’”

Adrien snorted. “Well, if the charm doesn’t work, maybe lead with ‘I’m a minor.’ That tends to shut things down pretty fast.” Felix groaned and let his forehead thump lightly against the desk. “I hate that I know exactly what’s in the police report.”

“How did they even know it was Chat Noir?” Adrien asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you left no evidence.”

“Except for the part where I used Odette’s override card. ” Felix dragged his hands down his face. “Why did I do that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Adrien said lightly. “And a little feral.” Felix let out a long sigh, pushing himself upright in his chair like the weight of the world was on his back. “It’s fine. I’ll just rot in here forever. Maybe that’s justice. Do you think house arrest is a viable option for a punishment?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Or, hear me out, you could text our friends.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Friends is a strong word.”

“We literally sat with them at lunch all week.”

“Yes, and that’s enough social effort to last a lifetime,” Felix deadpanned. But still, he pulled out his phone. The cursor blinked mockingly again, this time on the group chat screen. He typed:

want to hang

Paused. Grimaced. Deleted.

anyone alive today

No. That sounded too clinical. Like a wellness check.

plans?

Vague. Desperate.

let’s go out

Too forward. He hadn’t even committed to going. He tried one last time.

Would anyone hypothetically be interested in a group

outing, no pressure, just putting the thought into the

universe

He scowled and deleted all of it. Adrien, menace as he was, leaned over and snatched the phone from Felix’s hands.
With alarming decisiveness, he typed a message and hit send. Felix let out an affronted noise, scandalized. “You monster. I wasn’t ready!”

“You were caught in a feedback loop. I did you a favor,” Adrien said, handing the phone back with a smug smile. It buzzed almost immediately.

Nino: yo absolutely

Alya: yesssss please, I need an excuse to bail on editing

Marinette: I’m in! 😺Anyone want me to bring food?

Odette: I’ll join later. Working on something.

Felix stared at the responses. “They responded that fast?” Adrien leaned casually against the doorframe. “It’s almost like they like you. Weird, right?” Felix scrolled back up to Odette’s reply. Working on something. The words practically oozed with ominous subtext. “She’s definitely trying to figure out who Chat Noir is.”

Adrien laughed under his breath. “You think?”

“She cornered me yesterday to ask how tall he looked in person.” Felix made a face. “I told her Chat Noir had a hunchback and terrible posture. She wrote it down.”

“Wow,” Adrien said, impressed. “You’re gonna get away with this forever.”

“I better. I broke into City Hall using her ID. If she finds out, I’ll never know peace again. Anyways, where did you say we were going?”

Adrien perked up. “ You suggested the carnival.”

Felix made a face. “Of course you did.”

“What’s wrong with the carnival?” Adrien asked, already grabbing his jacket. 

Felix began counting on his fingers. “Loud noises. Sticky food. People screaming because they paid to be spun in a circle until they threw up. It’s like willingly entering one of Dante’s circles.”

Adrien tossed a hoodie at his face. “Yes, and you’ll look great in it. Come on. It'll be fun.”

“I don’t believe you,” Felix muttered, standing anyway. “If a clown tries to talk to me, I’m setting something on fire.”

“No arson today,” Adrien called over his shoulder. “You already have one felony-adjacent incident this month.”

“One?” Felix muttered, trailing after him. “That’s cute.”

The carnival was already in full swing by the time the group arrived. Felix took one look around and immediately regretted everything. “Behold,” he muttered, “capitalism’s loudest fever dream.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Adrien said brightly, nudging his shoulder. “Look at the lights! Look at the energy!” Marinette popped up between them, nearly bouncing. “They have funnel cake shaped like the Eiffel Tower!”

“That’s a war crime,” Felix said.

“I’m getting one,” she declared anyway.

“Make that two,” Nino added, already craning his neck. “Also, can we go on the really spin-y roller coaster? I want to check my endurance.”

“Why are you like this?” Alya asked, not unkindly.

“Because I make life interesting,” Nino replied with a grin. Alya side-eyed him. “You once deep-throated a corn dog for a dare and had to do breathing exercises behind a food truck. The only thing you make interesting is emergency protocol.”

Felix hummed. “You do make a compelling case against natural selection.” 

“Speaking of poor decision-making,” Adrien said, checking his phone, “Odette says she’ll be here in thirty. She’s finishing up her latest ‘Who Is Chat Noir’ bulletin board.”

Felix sighed. “Of course she is.”

“She’s been asking really weird questions lately,” Nino added, adjusting his hat. “Yesterday she asked me if I thought Chat Noir moisturizes.”

“She asked me if I thought he had the bone structure of someone who drinks oat milk,” Alya said, blinking. “Like, what does that even mean? ”

Marinette nodded solemnly. “She cornered me before chemistry and asked if I thought he had any unresolved trauma.” Felix stared at them, visibly horrified. “You’re all joking.” They all shook their heads. “She had a clipboard,” Marinette confirmed. 

“I cannot believe this,” Felix muttered under his breath. “I’ve done nothing to deserve this level of slander.” 

“Oh my god,” Marinette cut in, spinning on her heel like a crow spotting something shiny. “ Ring toss! Bet I could win that,” she said, already marching toward the booth.

“That game is rigged,” Felix called after her.

“All carnival games are rigged,” she shot back over her shoulder. “I’m still gonna win!” Felix muttered something about statistical improbability as the rest of the group trailed after her. The booth looked like it had been assembled entirely out of regret and duct tape. Garish lights blinked at uneven intervals, and the shelf of prizes looked like it hadn’t been dusted since the early 2000s. Marinette stood on her toes, scanning the lineup with laser focus, and pointed excitedly at one particular prize. Tucked between an off-brand Pokémon and a fading stuffed banana was a very small black cat plush. Its little ears were lopsided, its face stitched in a permanent grimace, and it sat with the posture of someone absolutely done with the world. “I need him,” Marinette whispered.

“That thing looks like a factory defect,” Alya said.

“Exactly,” Marinette replied. “He’s perfect.” Felix stepped beside her, eyeing the target layout. “The rings are weighted. The bottles are too close together. The surface isn’t level. You’d have to arc it perfectly —-”

“Like this?” Marinette interrupted. She already had a ring in hand, casually flicking her wrist as if this were divine fate and not an elaborate set-up. The ring flew through the air in a smooth arc, then dropped with a perfect clink around the narrow neck of the center bottle.

Silence. 

“ I told you, ” Marinette beamed. Adrien burst out laughing. “That was the most chaotic, unearned win I’ve ever seen.” Felix staring at the bottle like it had personally betrayed him, and the laws of physics. The booth attendant looked mildly miffed but wordlessly handed over the prize. Marinette didn’t hesitate. She turned and presented the black cat plush to Felix with both hands, like a gift in a royal court. “Here,” she said. “You guys are like twins.” 

Felix looked at her, then at the plush. “…Seriously?” Felix reached out and took it with exactly the amount of hesitation one might reserve for inspecting a cactus. Nino leaned in. “Hey man, if you don’t want him, I’ll—”

“Touch him and die,” Felix said instantly, pulling the plush protectively against his chest. There was a beat of stunned silence before Alya spoke. “Aw, Felix has an emotional support doll!”

“I hate all of you,” Felix muttered. But he didn’t let go. 

“Sorry I’m late.” Everyone turned as Odette approached, cool and composed in her usual pressed blazer, a tablet tucked under one arm and her expression unreadable. “I see you’ve all already embraced the chaos,” she added, looking vaguely unimpressed by the flashing lights and aggressively cheerful music. “You missed the moment of the century,” Adrien said. “Marinette beat the ring toss and Felix adopted a gremlin.”

Odette raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations, I guess?”

“What we really want to know,” Alya said, already sidling up, “is how your manhunt is going.”

Odette sighed. “I have nothing. No height confirmation, no facial ID match, not even an estimate on his hair care routine.”

“But you asked if he moisturizes,” Marinette pointed out.

“That was part of a psychological evaluation,” Odette said without flinching. “It’s a theory. People with damaged self-perception often don’t maintain proper skincare.” Felix coughed into his sleeve. “Well, at least she’s thorough,” Alya said, impressed. “Even if she’s spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Odette replied calmly. “I’m cataloguing.”

Marinette snorted. “Okay, okay, let’s keep moving, I want to get funnel cake!” They drifted back into motion, weaving through crowds and blinking lights. Marinette led the way, cheerfully chatting with Alya about flavor options while Adrien and Nino debated which ride was most likely to cause whiplash. Odette fell into step behind them, flipping through something on her tablet. Felix walked a bit slower, black cat plush tucked protectively under one arm like it might bolt at any moment. He wasn’t smiling, exactly. But his scowl had softened into something neutral.

Comfortably annoyed, maybe.

Then, without warning, someone shoved past him from behind. “Hey!” he grumbled, stepping back just as Marinette let out a sharp gasp.

“My purse. Tikki—!” Marinette’s voice cracked with panic. Her clutch was gone. Felix turned fast enough to catch a blur disappearing into the crowd, weaving through carnival-goers with practiced speed. Felix didn’t think before running after him.

He didn’t feel when the plush hit the ground.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

The thief had bolted into the bigger crowd with the clutch in hand, slipping between food stalls and ducking under strings of carnival lights like he knew exactly where the blind spots were. Felix was still on his tail, his legs burning. “Oh my god, is that Felix Agreste?” He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid a churro cart. Three girls had turned toward him, wide-eyed. One already had her phone out. Another was pointing like she’d spotted a rare bird in the wild. “You’re, like, totally him, right?”

Felix stiffened. “No.”

“Wait, can we get a picture?” He spun on his heel and ducked into the nearest alley, heart pounding. The voices behind him faded into shrill giggles as he pressed himself against the wall and exhaled sharply. “This is exactly why I hate being recognizably rich,” he muttered. He looked down at his hand where the ring circled, unassuming. But maybe I don’t have to be recognizable. A lazy voice drifted from under his hoodie. “You’re not supposed to use your powers for anything but akuma attacks, you know.” Felix rolled his eyes at his kwami. “I’m still stopping a crime. That’s heroism.”

“Eh. Fair enough.” He didn’t wait for more confirmation. “Plagg, claws out.” Green light flashed down the narrow walls, curling like smoke. When it cleared, Chat Noir was gone from the alley floor, already mingling through the crowd. Much to his chagrin, it seemed like the thief had used Chat’s distraction to his advantage. Chat vaulted onto a nearby bench to scan the crowd, frustration coiling tight in his chest. Too many faces, and too little time. “CHAT NOIR!” His head snapped toward the voice. Marinette was running toward him, weaving through the crowd like a girl on a mission. Her hair was windblown, her eyes locked onto him with laser focus. He hopped down from the bench as she closed the distance. “Mar— I mean… you’re the girl from the park.”

She didn’t waste breath. “Name’s Marinette, I saw him turn by the carousel. He’s got my clutch.”

Chat blinked. “You’ve been chasing him this whole time?”

“Obviously,” she huffed. “Are we going, or what?”

“I usually don’t invite civilians to partake in crime watch…” Marinette was already sprinting off. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t need one!” Chat sighed dramatically, but followed anyway, catching up with ease. Together, they tore through the maze of booths, dodging balloon stands and sticky spills. Marinette pointed. “There!” The thief was ducking behind a popcorn stand, clutch still in hand, weaving toward the rear exit of the fairgrounds. Chat’s eyes narrowed. “Okay,” he said, already lengthening his baton. “If you really want to help get that bag back, here’s what you’re gonna do. Flank left, loop behind the cotton candy booth. He’s cutting right.”

“What are you doing?”

“Intercepting.” Without another word, he launched himself forward, using the canopy beams to vault ahead. His baton extended mid-air with a metallic snap, anchoring briefly on the support pole of a game stall as he swung in a clean arc above the crowd. Below him, startled fairgoers looked up, but his focus was elsewhere. He landed with catlike precision on the roof of the “Spin to Win” booth, zeroing in on the target. If he could just cut him off at the bend past the carousel…

Chat sprang forward again, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease, the world below a blur of motion and noise. His boots scraped against faded tin as he launched from the edge of the booth, baton snapping open again in a flash of silver. It caught on a tall lamp post strung with fairy lights, and he swung down. The thief turned the corner at that exact moment, and Chat let go. He landed hard, knees bent, right in the man’s path. The thief yelped, skidding back a step. “Oh no.” Chat straightened slowly, twirling his baton once and clicking it shut. “Oh yes. Drop the purse.”

“Make me.”

Chat’s eyes gleamed. “Gladly.” The thief bolted again, trying to go left when Marinette reappeared from the side path, cutting him off with a well-timed shove. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance. “Now!” Chat shouted. Marinette didn’t hesitate. She kicked low, knocking the thief’s foot out from under him, and he hit the ground with a grunt. The clutch flew from his hand and landed at Chat’s feet. The thief groaned. “This is so not worth a phone.”

“Then maybe don’t steal one,” Chat muttered, bending to grab the clutch just as Marinette ran up. Her breath was ragged from the sprint, her cheeks pink. “Did I actually do that?”

“You did,” he said, mildly impressed. “Nice timing.” Marinette stared at him for a second, still catching her breath. “You’re kind of amazing at this.”

“Well, I am a superhero,” he chuckles, offering her the clutch. She took it carefully, holding it like it was something sacred. “Thank you. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost it.”

“Don’t worry about it… Marinette, right? You should head back, I’m sure your friends are worried about you.” She gave him a small, relieved smile. “Yeah. Right. Thanks again, really.” Chat nodded once, then turned on his heel and bounded up the nearest awning. He vaulted out of sight in two clean leaps, disappearing over the rooftops before she could blink.

By the time Felix reached the shadowy side street where he’d originally transformed, he was still a bit winded from the chase. He ducked behind a dumpster, green light flickering briefly before vanishing into nothing. He slipped past the edge of the crowd and paused behind a food stall to catch his breath. The rush of adrenaline had drained out of him, replaced with an aching awareness of everything. He glanced down at his arm instinctively, only to find it empty.

The plush.

His stomach sank. He must’ve dropped it when he transformed. Somewhere in the alley, or during the run, or maybe when he hit the ground too hard. He didn’t even know. It was ridiculous to care, and yet the stupid thing had been handed to him like a gift, and he’d held onto it like it mattered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rejoined the others. Marinette was the first to spot him. “There you are!” she said, relief bright in her voice. “Are you okay?” 

Felix gave a short nod. “I, uh… I lost him in the crowd,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t get it back. Sorry.” Marinette grinned, holding up the bag like a trophy. “That’s okay! Chat Noir helped me. He got it back.” She rocked on her heels, still smiling before she perked up. “Oh, before I forget!” she added, rummaging through the tote slung across her other shoulder, “you dropped this.” She pulled out the black cat plush, slightly more scuffed now, one ear even more crooked than before, but unmistakingly his. Felix reached out carefully. His fingers brushed the matted fur as he took the plush back, curling protectively around its stubby little body. “Thank you,” he murmurs gratefully. “I apologize for dropping him in the first place.” 

Marinette bumped his shoulder playfully. “Thank you for chasing that thief, my hero.” Felix flushed, looking down like the road had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the universe. “Come on, let’s ride the ferris wheel before the carnival closes! Odette says she’s never been on one,” Nino said excitedly. The group nodded in agreement, beginning their walk towards the tall structure. Felix held the plush tightly, not intending on dropping him this time.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette stood in the middle of a moonlit courtyard, cobblestones slick with starlight. Lanterns swayed overhead like fireflies in glass jars, casting soft red light across silk canopies. The air was thick with perfume, it smelt like roses.  In front of her, a woman in crimson robes traced invisible patterns in the air with a pair of long, ribbon-like sashes. Lotus blossoms bloomed where her feet touched the ground. Her eyes shimmered like mirrors, ancient and gentle. "Do you know his name yet?" the woman asked without turning.

"Whose?" Marinette’s voice felt distant, like she was speaking through water. The woman turned, the ribbons sweeping into a perfect circle, and the petals caught on the wind like confetti. "The boy your thread is tied to. You’ve met him already, haven’t you?" Marinette frowned, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  The woman approached, lifting a hand toward Marinette’s chest. A red thread glowed there, taut, stretching somewhere far beyond the courtyard’s edge. The woman’s fingers hovered just above the glowing thread, not touching, just feeling its pull. Her gaze softened. “It’s frayed,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But strong. Woven with sacrifice. You’ll tug at it, thinking it leads one way, only to find it loops around when you least expect it.” Marinette looked down at the thread, heart thudding. It shimmered faintly, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “Who does it go to?” The woman stepped back, the motion as fluid as her ribbons. “That depends on who you choose to become.”

“That’s not an answer.” The woman only smiled. “It’s the only one I have.” Something about her face seemed familiar, like a memory she’d seen before. Her robes fluttered without wind, the patterns on them forming tiny swirling spots. Marinette squinted, trying to hold on to her features, but the dream was already fading at the edges, unraveling like a spool. "Wait!" she reached out, but her hand passed through silk and starlight. "Who are you?" The woman tilted her head, as if amused. A ladybug landed on her sleeve and turned gold. "I wish I could tell you, but you need to find that thread on your own." The lanterns flared bright, and Marinette fell backward.

She jerked awake with a gasp. The ceiling above her was pitch-black and ordinary. 2:07 a.m. glew red on her alarm clock. Of course. Tikki stared at her from the nightstand. “You okay?” Marinette ran a hand through her hair, still tangled in dream threads. “Yeah. I think I just met… someone.”

“Someone?” Tikki tilted her head.

“I don’t know. It just felt like she knew me.” Marinette sighed, laying back against her headboard. “I keep getting her in my dream, which makes her feel important. I’m probably just going crazy though, right?” Before Tikki could respond, a blur of green zipped through her window and belly-flopped onto her pillow with a groan. “Hello, Ladybug,” the kwami murmured, dramatically draped like a cat fainting in the sun. “Chat Noir wants to meet. Says it’s urgent.”

Marinette stared curiously. “I didn’t know Chat’s kwami knew about me.”

“I know about Chat Noir’s identity,” Tikki said gently. “It’s a safeguard for emergencies only .” Tikki looked pointedly at the visitor. The kwami rolled his eyes, “Sugarcube, you’ve forgotten moi. Do you really think I would sacrifice my sleep for a non-issue?”

“Is this emergency time sensitive?” Marinette yawned. “It’s 2 in the morning…”

“That’s what I said!” the kwami  grumbled, rolling onto his back. “Tried to get him to wait ‘til sunrise like a normal person, but nooo. ‘It can’t wait, Plagg, it’s important, Plagg,’ like I don’t have a beauty sleep schedule.”

Marinette groaned into her pillow. “Why is this my life.” Tikki floated over, nudging her gently. “You don’t have to go if you’re too tired, I don’t sense an active akuma.”

“No, it’s fine,” Marinette sighed, already throwing off her covers. “If it’s really urgent, I should at least see what it’s about.” Plagg shrugged, “He said it’s not like tonight tonight. Just wants to talk.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “So this is a 2 a.m. vibes check ?”

“He’s dramatic,” Plagg offered unhelpfully. Marinette dragged herself upright and held out a hand to Tikki. “Let’s get this over with. Spots on!” 

The rooftop was quiet when she arrived, save for the occasional flutter of pigeons settling into their perches and the distant hum of late-night traffic. Ladybug landed softly on the stone ledge, her ponytail catching the wind. The skyline stretched behind her, hazy and dark and endless. Chat Noir didn’t turn immediately. He was seated at the far end, legs dangling over the edge, one hand braced against the roof tiles. The other fiddled with a small black device in his lap. When she cleared her throat, he lifted his head slightly and said, “Hey.”

“This,” she said, tone level and unimpressed, “is an ungodly hour.” 

“Good morning to you too,” he hummed. “You look well-rested.”

“I was,” she said. “Then your feral raccoon burst into my room and declared an emergency.”

Chat tilted his head. “Dramatic delivery. I like it.”

“I don’t.” She marched over to him. “This better be serious. Because if this isn’t, I will launch you into the Seine.” She stopped a few feet away, arms still folded. “Well?” Chat held up his hand. The device was clearer to Ladybug now. Small, black, and very illegal. “Is that…” she squinted. “A police scanner?” He shrugged casually, “Picked it up from an unlocked patrol car. They shouldn’t leave this stuff lying around.”

“That’s stealing. ”

“Let’s call it reallocating government negligence , ” he corrected, flashing a grin.  “You couldn’t just, what, ask them?” Chat looked mildly offended. “Because that would go so well, a felon charged with stealing classified information asking for classified information.”

Ladybug took a deep breath. “You have work tomorrow , don’t you have anything better to do?” 

At that, he paused. “Work?”

“Yes, work,” she said, gesturing vaguely at him. “You know. Your day job. Whatever it is you do when you’re not, I don’t know, violating five laws and emotionally compromising your partner at 2 a.m.”

His mouth opened, then shut again. Then opened. “I have school ? How old do you think I am?!”

“I don’t know, 30?” 

“ 30?! ”

Ladybug made a choked noise in the back of her throat. “I cannot believe this,” she muttered. “I thought you were some kind of jaded ex-soldier or failed cop who turned to rooftop brooding as a side hustle.”

“Why would you even talk to a man like that?”

“Well it’s not like I can choose my superhero partner, and you were roguishly handsome! Who am I to question that?” Chat dropped his face into his hands, shoulders shaking. “Please stop.”

“The women are going to be really disappointed about this.”

“I’m a minor, you can’t say anything about my level of attraction . ”

“I’m a minor too, dummy!” They stood in silence for a second, the city breathing around them. Ladybug stared down at her feet like they had personally betrayed her. Chat quietly fought for composure.

“Okay, so we’re both high schoolers, now let’s stop talking before I get weirded out.” she muttered.

“You’re the one who started this,” he said, recovering. She ignored him, gesturing to the scanner in his hands. “Okay, other than your accumulating felonies, what’s the actual situation?” Chat’s smile dropped. He adjusted the frequency dial and set the device gently on the roof between them. “There’s a group using the warehouses down at the docks,” he said, voice low. “They’re not big. Small circle, but smart. They don’t leave traces, but there’s enough to suggest something big.” Ladybug’s expression shifted. Serious now. “What kind of big?” 

He tapped the scanner. “I’ve been listening in for a few weeks. One of the officers was talking off-record about a missing girl, about our age. She vanished a month ago after school. They think there’s a link.”

Ladybug swallowed. “What’s the police timeline?”

“They’re currently on surveillance and trying to get warrants. Paperwork, basically. But they’re not moving fast enough.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, more cautious than doubtful. “Maybe they’re being careful.”

“I do know,” he said, meeting her eyes. “They’re planning a ‘cargo’ drop this Friday at midnight. I tailed one of the lower members, he mentioned the girl by name . And if they move her, she’s as good as dead.” Ladybug went still. Chat lowered his voice. “I know we usually reserve our vigilantism for supernatural threats, but we could actually do something here. Something real. If we wait for the system to catch up, we’ll be too late.” 

“I’m not against helping,” she said slowly. “But we’re not trained for this. What happens if something goes wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “If things go to hell, I want you to bolt and leave me behind.” She looked at him like he was insane. “Let me finish! You’ll take the girl and I’ll continue to engage. I’ll use the radio to signal my location and cops will hopefully follow. Worst case is I get arrested and do a prison break, and the best case is they don’t know either of us are involved—not that I’m pressuring you to say yes.” 

“You’re seriously planning to get arrested ?”

“I said worst case, ” he replied, hands raised in mock surrender. “Look, I’m not trying to get caught. I’ve got a few escape routes mapped out, plus a backup disguise. But I need you to understand that if things fall apart, the priority is the girl. Not me.”

“That’s not how partnerships work,” she said sharply. “We don’t abandon each other.”

“This isn’t about us,” he said, quieter now. “This is about her. We’re lucky the police haven’t found a body yet, do you want to gamble how long that luck holds?” Ladybug looked away, jaw tight. “Okay,” she said, voice rougher than before. “I’m in.”

“You’re sure?”

“No,” she said honestly. “But if it were me, I’d want someone to be stupid enough to risk it.” A long silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Chat gave a small, solemn nod. “I’ll keep tailing them,” he said. “I’ll send updates through the kwamis, you still have until Friday to back out.”

“I won’t.” She stepped back onto the ledge, silhouetted against the city lights. “And, for the record, if you do get arrested, I’m not breaking you out.”

Chat smiled faintly. “You say that now.” She rolled her eyes and leapt into the night, vanishing across the rooftops without another word.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

She dreamed of silence, and not the peaceful kind. Marinette stood at the edge of the lake again. The sky was void-dark, no stars, no moon. Just the water, black glass beneath her, and the red thread stretching from her chest into the distance.

It pulsed faintly, trembling.

Across the lake, a boy stood in shadow. Again. His thread, dark and frayed, coiled tightly around his hand like it was all he had. He looked… small. “Who are you?” she asked, voice shaking. The thread between them gave a sudden twitch, then came the sound. Not loud. Not sharp. Just final.

The thread split in two.

Marinette gasped, her hands flying to her chest as if she could stitch it back in place. But the glow had vanished. The connection was gone. “Fate is pulling you and him apart.” She spun around. Behind her, the same woman from her usual dreams stood, except her red robes were stained with something unidentifiable. “You must be careful,” she said, almost mournful. “You’re about to lose him.”

Marinette’s breath caught. “ Who? Who am I going to lose?” Before the woman could respond, Marinette felt the ground crack beneath her. The lake shattered like porcelain. The last thing she heard before she woke up was: “Choose wisely.”

Marinette sat up with a sharp inhale, the sheets tangled around her like vines. She pressed her palm against her sternum, half-expecting to feel that thread still there. She let herself fall back against the pillows with a groan, staring at the ceiling like it might offer her an explanation. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

You’re about to lose him.

“What does that even mean?” she whispered, dragging her hands down her face. “Lose who ?” Tikki hovered out of her drawer like she’d been waiting. “Another dream?” Marinette nodded stiffly. “It’s all about the same person, ugh. I just wish I’d have more to go off of than just vague statements. I’m so tired of dreams that don’t tell me anything.” 

Tikki floated gently to her lap. “Maybe it’s not about what they’re saying. Maybe it’s about what you’re not seeing yet.” Marinette groaned. “I’m not seeing anything !”

Tikki offered her a sympathetic pat on the knee. “You could always start with what you do know. Who is the woman in the dreams?”

“I don’t know! ” Marinette cried, flopping backward again. “She just keeps showing up like some weird silk ghost with prophetic trauma. And this time she said I’m going to lose someone. But she won’t tell me who, or why, or how to stop it.” Tikki stayed quiet after that, not knowing how to answer. Marinette stayed in bed longer than she should have, dragging herself through her morning routine in a fog. By the time she made it to school, her hair was crooked, her socks didn’t match, and her brain felt like it had been through an emotional blender. “Seize the day,” she muttered under her breath, walking up the school steps.

By lunch, Marinette was running on half a granola bar and the sheer force of caffeine  energy. She shuffled into the courtyard, blinking against the sun. Their usual table was already buzzing. “—and then the speaker actually exploded,” Nino said, eyes wide, waving a baguette like a microphone.

“It sparked,” Alya corrected. “And that was your fault. You poured Red Bull into the fog machine.”

Nino pointed dramatically. “ Experimental ambiance. ”

“Reckless idiocy,” Felix muttered without looking up. Marinette dropped into her seat and sighed through her whole soul. “You look horrible,” Felix said, offering her a juice box. “More than usual, to clarify.” 

Marinette took it with an eyeroll, “I’m going to drink this out of spite.”

“Burn, Felix.” Odette said calmly, flipping through her notebook. 

“You okay?” Adrien asked, tilting his head, warm concern written all over his face.

Marinette managed a weak smile. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Good thing I have the perfect thing to cheer you up!” Alya said, already pulling out her tablet like she’d been waiting for an excuse. 

Marinette squinted at her. “Unless it’s a nap in a soundproof void, I doubt it.”

“Better,” Alya grinned. “Ancient magic and conspiracy theories.”

Felix groaned softly. “I’m begging you to touch grass.”

Alya ignored him. “So I was doing some research for a mythos section on the Ladyblog, right? And I found this obscure figure in this Chinese legend. Crimson robes, long silk ribbons, lotus blossoms. Major power-but-mortal energy.” Marinette’s heart made a weird hiccup. “She was apparently a matchmaker,” Alya went on. “Did the whole ‘red string of fate’ thingie, but eventually was recruited to help these people called the xian, which were like immortal sages, defeat some group of monsters. It looked really similar to Ladybug, and I thought it was just a coincidence, but her name was Piáo Chóng. That directly translates to Ladybug!”  Alya said, tapping the screen. Marinette’s fork slipped from her fingers, she barely noticed the clatter. “You okay?” Adrien asked again, glancing over in concern.

Marinette nodded way too fast. “Yup. Fine. Totally fine. I—uh, just… dropped my fork.”

“On an invisible banana peel, apparently,” Felix murmured. Odette elbowed him. Alya, oblivious, was still in full myth-mode. “Isn’t that crazy, though? It lines up so well. She used her ribbons to ‘bind the hearts of heroes,’ and one scroll says her steps made lotus flowers bloom, very magical. And then she and her allies were each given jade vessels for their powers. Not all jewelry, but definitely like, enchanted heirlooms.”

Nino whistled low. “Yo, that’s… kinda epic.”

“Right? I was gonna write a theory post on how the Miraculouses might be modern versions of those jade vessels,” Alya said, already typing something. “You think it’s random that the Ladybug and Black Cat ones look like earrings and a ring? Nah. Ancient fashion, baby.”

Odette looked up from her notes. “So your conclusion is that the current superheroes are unknowingly continuing a mythic bloodline?”

“I’m not saying they’re descendants,” Alya replied, “but I’m not not saying it.” Marinette didn’t speak. The name echoed in her skull like a struck bell. Piáo Chóng. The woman in her dreams. Crimson robes. Silk ribbons. Lotus blossoms. And now… a name. A name that had apparently belonged to someone real. Someone ancient. 

You’re about to lose him.

Her throat felt tight, maybe she could finally get answers.

The second Marinette got home, she dropped her bag on the floor and headed straight for the kitchen. Sabine was at the counter, kneading dough with flour-dusted hands and humming something half-familiar under her breath. It smelled like star anise and comfort. Normally, Marinette would’ve melted into the scene. Offered to help, stolen a dumpling sample, something.  But today, she hovered just past the doorway. “Maman?” she asked.

Sabine glanced up, smiling. “You’re back early! Everything okay?”

“I…” Marinette hesitated. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Sabine wiped her hands on a cloth. “Go for it.” Marinette moved closer, nervously wringing her pigtails. “This might be a long shot, and I don’t even know if they cover this story in China, but do you know about this mythological figure… Piáo Chóng?”

Sabine paused, raising an eyebrow at Marinette before chuckling. “That old story?” she said, smiling like Marinette had asked about a childhood friend. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I, um, someone brought it up at school.” Marinette shifted. “She said she was in old Chinese myths? Crimson robes, ribbons, lotus flowers?” Sabine nodded slowly, her smile fading into something softer. “Your grandfather used to tell me that story every New Year. Piáo Chóng is our ancestor.”

Marinette’s mouth went dry. “Wait, seriously?! ”

“Mm-hm,” Sabine said, turning back to the dough like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “She was a matchmaker with divine abilities, some kind of guardian of balance. Although, I always thought he was just being poetic for the sake of storytelling. Why?” 

Marinette scrambled for something casual. “For school,” she blurted. “Art history project. We’re supposed to research mythological influences on, um… fashion!” Sabine raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “And you picked Piáo Chóng?”

“She had ribbons,” Marinette said, gesturing vaguely. “Very iconic. Ahead of her time, honestly.” Sabine gave a small laugh, turning back to the dough. “Well, if you’re deadset on it, I’m sure you can ask your grandfather for more information.” Marinette smiled, already backing toward the stairs. “Is it okay if I call him right now?” Sabine gave her a knowing look but just nodded. “Of course. I’ll set the dumplings aside in case you want to eat after.” Marinette practically sprinted to her room, checking the time on the clock before she set up her phone for a video call. After all, she didn’t want to call him if he was sleeping. 12:30… so 6:30 there? I think I’m in the clear.  Marinette hit the video call button and sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers drumming anxiously against her knee. The screen rang once, twice, then abruptly cut to a dizzying shot of a ceiling fan. “Wài gōng?” she asked cautiously. A muffled “Aiyo, nǐ zhège guānjī zěnme guān?” came from offscreen, followed by some shuffling and what sounded like the clatter of chopsticks. Finally, the camera tilted to reveal her great-grandfather’s face. Crooked glasses, a few stubborn wisps of silver hair, and the kind of deeply-lined smile that made her instantly relax. “Āiyā, Zhūzhū, why you always call me when my rice is halfway chewed?” he said, mock-scolding.

Marinette giggled. “Sorry, wài gōng. You’re still eating?” 

“I’m always eating. At my age, good appetite means good fortune.” He squinted at the screen, tapping the camera with a chopstick. “Your face looks too small. Why it always so small on this thing?”

“Because you keep poking the front camera, not the screen,” Marinette said patiently. “Just… don’t touch anything.” He grumbled but obeyed, settling into what looked like a very embroidered armchair. “Hǎo ba, hǎo ba. What’s so important it interrupts my egg fried rice?”

“I have a weird question,” she said, lowering her voice a little. “Do you remember the stories you used to tell Maman about Piáo Chóng?” Her grandfather’s expression shifted immediately, his eyes sharp despite the fog of age. “Of course. Everyone in our line should remember Piáo Chóng. Why do you ask?”

“I heard the name come up in school, kind of. Crimson robes, silk ribbons, the red string of fate. Do you remember anything else about her?” He sat back, folding his arms. “Ah. Nǐ zhīdào, not many people ask that. Most just like the red string part. Very romantic. But there is more.” He leaned toward the camera again. “She helped the xiān, the immortal ones. They were sort of like protectors. Piáo Chóng was just a heart-weaver, but that’s what made her special.”

Marinette’s brows furrowed. “Heart-weaver?” Her grandfather nodded solemnly. “Mm. She could see the threads that bound people, like strings of light or shadow. She whispered names into the hearts of those whose fates could either strengthen the world or tear it apart.” 

Marinette hugged her pillow a little tighter. “Did she ever see wrong?”

Her grandfather’s eyes glinted. “Ah, you’re asking the good questions now.” He sat back with a creak. “One of the sì xiōng , the Four Perils. Qióngqì was their leader. Cunning, prideful. He begged for a whisper. Waited for it. But Piáo Chóng passed him by.”

“Why?” Marinette asked softly.

“Because love was not yet in him,” her grandfather said. “He wanted to possess , not to protect . So she stayed silent, and he hated her for it.”

She swallowed. “What did he do?”

“Tried to burn down the world. The xiān fought him and the others—Tàowù, Hún Dùn, Gǔ. But they were losing.” He leaned closer to the screen. “So they asked Piáo Chóng to join them. She had no weapons, only her ribbons. But her whisper could bind hearts. Even broken ones.”

Marinette stared at the screen, wide-eyed. “But they won?” Her grandfather was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “In the final battle, they say Qióngqì begged for forgiveness, and Piáo Chóng turned to him and whispered her own name into his ear.”

Her breath caught. “She gave him hers ?”

He nodded. “The first and only time. That’s when the ribbons unraveled. She vanished and became a lotus flower to protect the last village left standing.”

He tilted his head, gaze fond but serious. “You know why we offer lotus at Zhōngyuán Jié, don’t you?” Marinette shook her head. “It is not just for the dead,” he said. “It is for those who gave themselves for the living.”

She sat very still. “What happened to the xiān after that?”

“They lived on,” he said, voice lowering with reverence. “Or rather, their gifts did. Eight jade vessels were given to their handmaidens, jewelry mostly, to preserve their power. Some say the wearers become like them. Others say the spirits choose new vessels when danger rises again.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “But that’s just old man talk. Fairytales and ghosts.” Marinette offered a shaky smile. “Right. Fairytales.”

He raised a brow. “Zhūzhū, why are you really asking me all this?”

She hesitated. “It’s for school. An art history thing.”

He snorted. “Terrible liar. Like your mother.” But he didn’t push. Instead, he gave a thoughtful nod. “ Yī xiàn duàn, wèibì sàn .” He leaned back with a creaky sigh. “Your mother tells me there’s a girl in Paris who fights with Piáo’s name. If she has found her way back, perhaps she’s not finished weaving.”

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Chat Noir pressed himself against the rooftop ledge, eyes locked on the van below. Two men out front, he catalogued, another inside. He adjusted the zoom on his binoculars as he noticed the side door of the van slide open. A girl was pulled out, hood over her head, wrists tied. She staggered, barely catching herself before hitting the pavement. Chat’s stomach dropped. The girl was silent, but trembling with fear. The tall guy barked something at her and shoved her toward the warehouse. He gritted his teeth, something about the way they moved told him this wasn’t the first time they’d handled a girl like this. The girl was trying to stay upright, but she kept glancing at the water. He could tell she was calculating odds, just like he was. How fast could she run? Would they shoot her? Could she swim with her hands tied?

Where the hell is Ladybug?

Chat checked his communicator again, and grumbled at the blank screen. No signal, not even static. One of the men out front nodded towards the guy pushing the girl along. She was halfway to the door now. 

Damn it! He thought he had more time, believed that they’d unload something, brag, stall, not just haul her straight in! For a split second, he considered waiting a few more seconds for his partner, but then the tall one reached for the warehouse keycard.

This was it, now or never. 

Chat hit the dock with a crack. The first guy barely had time to blink before his baton slammed into his face. Chat turned, elbow colliding with the second’s gut. The guy gasped and stumbled. He heard a gunshot fire and dove behind the van as the third man shot at him. The bullet sliced through the space where his head had just been. He peeked around the fender, trying to get a good baton shot, but the man was holding the girl like a human shield. Her feet barely touched the ground as he dragged her toward the warehouse doors. Chat bolted out, deciding a risky shot was worth it. His baton smacked the man’s shoulder and sent him stumbling, grip slipping. The girl dropped to the ground with a thud. He lunged, catching the gun with his foot and kicking it down the dock. The bald man snarled and threw a punch. Chat caught it, twisted, and flipped him over his back. He landed with a crack and stayed down.

Chat whirled, breath sharp. The girl was crawling away now, hands still bound, blood trickling from her temple where she hit the dock. She was trying to get behind a pile of crates, and he moved to shield her before his ears perked up.

More voices. There was backup.

Chat turned in time to see two more men pouring out of the warehouse. One with a tire iron, the other with a short blade.

Great.

Chat met them head-on. He ducked the first swing and jabbed the baton into the knifeman’s stomach. He folded, winded but not down. The one with the iron cracked it against Chat’s shoulder and pain flared white-hot up his arm.  Chat grunted, swung hard, and knocked the man’s legs out. They both went down, grappling, fists flying. Chat slammed an elbow into his temple then rolled off and staggered back. Unfortunately for him, Knifeman was up again. He barely blocked the slash, his baton catching it mid-air with a shriek of metal. After a few minutes of struggling, the blade dropped, but the man didn’t. The guy tackled him, driving Chat back into the van. “Chat Noir!”

Ladybug.

She landed behind Knifeguy in a flash of red, already swinging her yo-yo. It wrapped around his torso and flung him a good distance away. “What the hell is happening?!” she snapped “You were supposed to wait!”

“No time,” Chat panted, pointing at the girl now trying to stand. “They were gonna get rid of her.”

“How many?”

“Too many. I’ve dropped five, maybe six, but they keep coming.” Ladybug scanned the shadows. Another figure emerged from the warehouse. This one was older and built like a boxer. He had no weapon, but his fists made an unsettling crunch when he made eye contact with Ladybug. “Grab the girl. We need to go.”

“We can’t leave them to regroup!”

“We’re here to save her, not arrest people. Focus.” Chat Noir clenched his jaw, he hated when she was right. Another man lunged at Ladybug from behind. She turned, fluid, catching his arm mid-swing. One smooth movement and he was on the ground, yo-yo pinning him by the wrist. Chat sprinted toward the girl. “I’ve got her!” She saw him and flinched back, eyes wide.

“It’s okay!” he said quickly, crouching low. “You’re safe. I’m not—”

Gunshot.

He grabbed her and shoved them both behind a crate as the bullet shattered through the wood above his head. Ladybug shouted, flinging her yo-yo again. It smacked the shooter’s hand, sending the gun flying. Chat was at first relieved, thinking the gunfire was over, but then the warehouse doors opened wider. Felix’s breath caught. Seven total men now, including the one still standing, all armed and confident. “We need a Lucky Charm,” he hissed.

Ladybug shook her head. “Police can trace us, we need to retreat now .” Then the leader stepped out. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was wearing a leather jacket. You couldn’t tell him apart from the other scumbugs apart from a deep scar down one cheek and the fact that he was calm, disgustingly calm. He looked at the girl, then at them. “She’s the sixth.”

Ladybug stiffened. “What?” The man blew out a plume of smoke. “Fifth one didn’t even cry. Sold in less than a day. You think this one’s special?” Chat’s fists curled.

“Let us go,” he said coldly. The man laughed. 

“Oh you heroes, thinking you’re making a difference. We could grab ten more just like her by sunrise.” Ladybug stepped in front of Chat Noir, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t—he wants you angry.”

“I’m already angry.”

“Then don’t let it control you.” The man took another drag, and the girl whimpered behind him. The leader raised his voice. “Go ahead. Save her. It won’t stop us.” Without warning, the girl turned and ran straight down the dock. The leader lifted the gun like it was nothing.

BANG.

The girl flipped over the railing, body plummeting into the water below. 

NO!  

Something in Felix snapped. Chat Noir barely remembered grabbing his baton, just that it was extended and swinging through the air with full force. The leader blocked once, clumsily, and staggered back. Chat tackled him, slamming him hard against the side of the van. “How—” Crack. A punch to the ribs. “Dare—” Crack. The baton against his knee. “You!” Chat grabbed his collar and drove him down onto the dock with a thud that shook the wood. The man gasped, dazed, blood already pouring from his lip. “She was nobody important.”

Chat roared, “SHUT UP!” He stood over him, chest heaving, eyes wild. He raised his hand, “CATACLYSM!” Black energy surged through his glove and he pressed it inches from the man’s face. One twitch, that was all it would take. Chat couldn’t even feel the weight of the Miraculous anymore, only rage. White-hot, full-body rage. “Do it,” the man sneered. “Prove you’re just like us.” He didn’t move, but his hand shook harder. “Go ahead, little cat,” the man rasped. “You think killing me changes anything? There’ll be more. There’s always more.” He pressed the Cataclysm closer, felt the energy buzz louder. He could feel it start to eat into the man’s jacket, but the man didn’t look scared. In fact, he looked delighted—

“ENOUGH!” Ladybug’s hand slammed onto his wrist, enough to knock him off-balance, and the Cataclysm fizzled out mid-air. Chat turned on her, teeth bared. “Why did you stop me?!”

“I got her,” she said, eyes blazing. “She’s alive.” His breath caught in his throat. Ladybug was soaked, hair clinging to her face and arms trembling from holding the girl’s limp, wet form.

“I—” Felix looked at his hand. “I didn’t—”

“You almost did.” She gently knelt the girl on the dock and crouched, checking the girl’s pulse. She was breathing, but Felix had stopped. The man on the ground laughed again, blood on his teeth. “You’re not heroes. Just hypocrites.” Ladybug rose, threw her yo-yo, and knocked him out cold with a clean strike to the temple.

She couldn’t even look at him.

“Call the police, and get out.” Chat reached out to grab her wrist, “Wait, Ladybug, I didn’t mean—”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I know what I saw,” she said coldly. “You want to play executioner, Chat Noir?” she continued. “Fine, do it on your own time. But don’t you dare call yourself a hero.” Then she picked the girl up, turned away, and left.

Felix stood alone on the dock, rain beginning to fall, mixing with the cold river water soaking through his suit. He looked down at his hand. The black energy of the power was gone now, but he could still feel the heat, the tension in his bones like it had fused to him.

You almost did.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to defend himself, explain, undo the second he’d let go of control, but no one was left to listen.

So he ran.

Felix didn’t know where he was going. He was jumping rooftop to rooftop, faster than his thoughts. Suddenly, his knees hit concrete. He was crouched on an apartment somewhere in the 12th arrondissement, wind slicing through the wet fabric clinging to his skin. Tears hit his cheeks before he even realized he was crying. 

“...Felix?” He flinched, breath catching. Nino was standing on a fire escape, staring at him in shock. Felix didn’t speak, and Nino took one step closer. “Dude, are you okay? Those cannot be good clothes for the rain.” He looked down, a little surprised. He hadn’t even realized he’d detransformed until now. His shirt clung to him, soaked through, sleeves torn. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His ring felt heavy on his finger, too heavy. “Felix?” Nino’s voice was closer now, softer. “Hey, man. You’re scaring me.” Felix looked up, dazed. His mouth opened like he was about to say something. Instead, his breath caught, a soft sob leaving his mouth. Nino hesitated for a few seconds, then sat next to him.

They stayed like that the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix was pretty sure the Lahiffe household didn’t usually host half-drowned near-strangers, but Nino’s mom had taken one look at him the night before and declared, “Soup. Blanket. No arguments.” Somewhere between the third helping of lentils and the second pair of borrowed sweatpants, Felix had stopped resisting. Nino hadn’t asked questions. Not about the cuts or the silence or why Felix had shown up with the weight of the Seine still dragging at his sleeves. He just sat nearby, cracked jokes softly, and passed the remote when Felix pretended to watch TV.

He didn't deserve that kindness. But he was too tired to refuse it.

Now, morning sunlight streamed through cathedral-tall windows as they stepped into the Agreste mansion. Felix’s wet curls had dried into shapeless fluff. The sleeves of Nino’s hoodie still smelled faintly of home and detergent, but the warmth that had clung to him last night was already beginning to fade. Nino froze two steps inside the foyer. “Bro,” he said, squinting up. “You have a chandelier shaped like a birdcage? Is that a swan in it?”

Felix glanced up. “It rotates seasonally. Last fall it was koi.”

“Okay, that’s obscene. I think I just got richer by breathing the air.” Felix snorted quietly. “I mean, the floor’s marble. Your doorbell is made of gold . There’s a statue in the corner made of what I hope is resin but is definitely probably crystal.” Felix didn’t respond. Nino kept going anyway, because someone had to fill the silence. “Do you even live in this house? Or do you just haunt it?”

“I appear,” Felix said dryly, “during the full moon and when the Wi-Fi goes out.” Nino’s laughter trailed off as they reached the atrium. It was always cold here, somehow. Too much stone and too much symmetry. Nino nudged Felix gently before signalling that he was going to head out, and Felix didn’t have the energy to ask him to stay a bit longer. 

Felix slowed near one of the velvet-backed benches and sat, a little too carefully. The bruises were catching up to him. So were the words he kept hearing: You almost did. He’d barely slept. Couldn’t. Even now, he could feel the phantom heat of power crackling under his palm. The echo of that man's laughter. Ladybug’s voice cutting sharper than any knife: Don’t you dare call yourself a hero.

He should’ve been alone, but unfortunately the universe could afford him no grace. Gabriel Agreste emerged from the corridor like a shadow stretched into a man, emotionless and icy as ever. “You didn’t come home,” he said, voice as neutral as fresh snow. “And you didn’t answer your phone.”

Felix didn’t rise. “I didn’t realize I needed to.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“With whom?”

“Does it matter?” Gabriel stepped forward. “It does when you show up wearing someone else’s clothes and smelling like a laundromat.”

“Sorry. I’ll try to be more scent-appropriate next time,” Felix winced as his back rubbed a little too harshly against the seat. Gabriel didn’t flinch, but something in his expression shifted. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

Felix stared straight ahead. “Thanks for the observations, father.”

“You’re injured.”

“Barely.”

Gabriel inhaled sharply. “This attitude won’t protect you. It never has.” There it was, the sharp turn. Disappointment dressed up like discipline. Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “What would, then?” he muttered. “Obedience? Locking me in the house again? Pretending I don’t exist until I’m convenient?”

“You think this is about control,” Gabriel said. “It’s about keeping you alive.”

“I am alive, thanks.”

“Oh good, the bare minimum! Felix, this behavior is unbecoming— ”

“He’s fine, Dad.” The interruption was gentle, but firm. Gabriel turned. Adrien stood in the hallway holding a tea tray, his usual brightness dimmed into something softer yet sharper. “He doesn’t need a lecture. He needs space.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, just slightly. “He needs to understand the stakes of—”

“I think,” Adrien said carefully, stepping between them, “that he already does.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment, Agreste versus Agreste, but Adrien didn’t flinch and eventually something in Gabriel’s shoulders finally dropped. Gabriel hesitated one second longer, then nodded and walked off without another word. The air warmed as soon as he was gone. Adrien turned to Felix. “He’s just worried about you, as am I.”

Felix let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Is that what that was? Meaning well? Felt like a performance review.”

Adrien smiled faintly and set the tray on the bench. “Tea. I added honey.”

“I’m not six.”

“I’m not spoon-feeding you, dork. Just drink it, please?” Felix didn’t argue. He took the cup. Adrien sat beside him, close but not too close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Do you want me to shut up and sit here until you do, or will I get a text in 5 minutes about your change of heart?”

Felix rolled his eyes, but the edges were softer. “You’re persistent.”

“You’re my brother.” For a while, there was only the sound of distant footsteps and the soft clink of porcelain. Felix sipped, and the tea warmed whatever parts of his body weren’t already touched by the internal heating system. Eventually, Felix spoke, barely audible, “I messed up.” Adrien turned to him, listening. “I almost used it on a person,” Felix continued. “The destruction power. I almost... I wanted to. Just for a second.” He swallowed. “And Ladybug saw it.” Adrien didn’t interrupt. “I don’t even know what would’ve happened if she hadn’t stopped me.” His voice was hollow. “I didn’t care. I just wanted him to shut up. To disappear. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Felix...” Adrien’s hand hovered, then rested lightly on his shoulder.

“I keep thinking—” Felix’s voice cracked. “...about Mom.” Adrien stayed still. Felix’s fingers curled tighter around the mug. “I know it’s stupid. It’s been over a year, and I’m supposed to be over it, right? Be stronger. Smarter. Make my own decisions. But I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know what to do with all this choice. ” Adrien was quiet, but his gaze didn’t waver. Felix laughed bitterly under his breath. “I thought being free would feel like breathing, like finally getting to make my own path.” His voice dropped. “But most of the time it feels like I’m drifting. Like I’m making choices and they’re wrong . I wish Mom were here to tell me what the right ones were.” Adrien didn’t speak right away, just sat with him letting the silence settle like snow. Then, softly, “She wouldn’t tell you what to do.” Felix looked up, eyes tired. “She’d ask what you thought, and then she’d help you find the courage to choose it.”

Felix’s breath caught.

Adrien gave a faint smile. “You always wanted to figure things out for yourself. You hated being told what to do.”

“I still do,” Felix interjected.

“‘Tis true. In any case, Mom never told you the answers. She just believed you’d find them on your own.” Adrien nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “She’d believe it now, too.”

“It’s different, though,” Felix murmured. 

“Different how?”

“If I make the wrong move, then there are consequences for Paris , for Ladybug, for you. I can’t afford to make mistakes, but I don’t think I trust myself to not.” Adrien didn’t answer right away, but then he placed his cup down on the tray and rolled back his shoulders. “Well, then you have 2 choices. Give up your powers, listen to Dad, and carry on the Agreste legacy for the rest of your life—” Felix’s breath hitched. “...or, you trust yourself to make mistakes and fix them, because there’s no world where you’re not gonna make any at all, Fel.”

“That’s not entirely reassuring.” 

Adrien shrugged, smiling faintly before gently easing the mug out of Felix’s hand. “The truth usually isn’t. Whatever you pick, though? Heir or hero, I’ll be on your side.” The silence that followed wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t crushing either. Felix let Adrien take the mug, let the words sit between them like a bruise that didn’t need pressing.

Heir or hero.

Which was the right one? 

Felix’s thoughts were interrupted with a simultaneous phone buzz. 

Odette:⚠️ MEETING AT THE BAKERY. NOW.

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s ominous.”

Felix didn’t look up. “She didn’t even explain the agenda, wonder what it’s about?”

Adrien was already grabbing his jacket. “If I had to guess? Probably a monologue about justice and at least one color-coded chart.”

Felix finally stood, rolling his shoulder with a wince. “If she pulls out a slideshow, I’m leaving.”

“She’ll hunt you down,” Adrien said mildly. “And you know she’ll do it in heels.” Felix gave a dry snort, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The air outside was crisp when they stepped into it, late morning sun filtering through overcast clouds. It felt refreshing after the night he had. They walked in silence for a while, boots clicking in sync over cobblestone. Adrien chatted casually about nothing: the bakery’s last seasonal tart, Nino’s campaign to finally win a school-wide Mario Kart tournament. Felix could feel the tension leave his body as his mind stopped fixating on the night before.

By the time they reached the bakery, the bell above the door jingled with that same obnoxiously cheerful chime, and the smell of sugar and cinnamon wrapped around them like a net. “Hello boys!” came Sabine’s voice from the counter. “Your friends are at the back table.” Felix gave her a polite nod, and Adrien greeted her with a cheerful “Thanks, Mrs. Cheng!” like he came here every weekend. Which, judging by the way Sabine beamed at him, he probably did.

They moved toward the back of the shop, weaving past a few customers lingering over croissants and cappuccinos. The further they walked, the more the low hum of conversation faded, until they reached the far table, tucked into a corner half-shadowed by potted plants and a dangling string of paper lanterns. Odette was already seated, posture too perfect, fingers laced like a prosecutor waiting for her turn. Alya leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed. Nino offered a small, uncertain wave as they approached. Marinette looked up first, and her eyes softened. “Hey,” she said gently. “You can sit here, if you want.” Adrien made a noise that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been encouragement, and slid into the other chair without hesitation. Felix stood there for a second longer, then sat. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but not weightless. There was a thread of tension underneath, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to care, or if she even wanted to. “No,” he said, surprisingly honest.

She nodded, “Didn’t think so, you look like a truck hit you.” There was a beat of silence. Then, without looking directly at him, she reached for a plate on the table and slid it over. “It’s a blueberry muffin,” she said. “My dad makes them and they taste awesome, I think it’ll cheer you up.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, without his usual sarcasm. He’d have to make up for it another time. Marinette gave him a small, almost distracted nod, eyes flicking back to the table. Before the quiet could stretch too long, Odette cleared her throat. “I called this meeting for a reason,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was something tight in it. Alya straightened. “Wait, this isn’t just a vibes-based hangout?”

“I don’t vibe,” Odette said flatly. “You know that.”

“Tragic,” Nino muttered under his breath.

Adrien, sensing the shift in tone, leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

Odette’s fingers folded together on the table. “There was an incident last night.” Felix went still. “Not an akuma,” she clarified, glancing at Alya. “That’s why you haven’t heard anything.”

“So… what kind of incident?” Alya asked slowly, brow furrowing. Odette’s gaze swept across the group. “There was a raid at the docks, human trafficking ring with armed suspects. A girl was rescued, they found her at the hospital with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and 5 arrests were made. I only know because my father was briefed directly. He made some calls to fast-track the cleanup before the press caught wind.”

Marinette looked uneasy. “Why would that be kept quiet?”

“Because it wasn’t the police who intervened,” Odette said. “Or not just them.” She let that hang for a moment. Then: “Chat Noir was there. Alone.” Felix’s throat tightened.

Alya blinked. “Wait, seriously? ”

Odette nodded. “He stopped them from getting away. Got the girl to a hospital. But…”

“But?” Nino echoed, brows pinching. Odette hesitated before speaking again. “One of the suspects claims Chat Noir tried to use his powers on him. To kill him.” Everyone froze. Nino’s hand, curled around his cup, tightened slightly. “That… doesn’t sound right.”

“I didn’t say it was true, ” Odette said quickly. “But that’s what he told the police. He said Chat Noir had him pinned, activated the power, and didn’t back off until someone stopped him. Said it felt like the energy was burning through his jacket.” Felix felt his pulse drumming behind his eyes.

Alya sat back. “So what, we think that’s legit?”

Odette shook her head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Because if it is, if he really came that close, then that’s a serious problem.”

“Why?” Adrien asked, frowning. “He was saving someone, and you just told us that the girl was shot .”

“Maybe,” Odette said. “But power like that, it’s absolute. No one should be allowed to decide who lives and who dies in the heat of the moment.”

“But he didn’t,” Marinette said. All eyes turned to her. She set her tea down with more force than she probably meant to. “Whatever he almost did… he didn’t. That matters.” Odette didn’t reply, so she went on. “That girl could’ve died. If he hesitated, if he waited for backup, she might’ve been gone. He was alone. Cornered. And even if he lost control for a second, he stopped. That means something.”

Odette tilted her head. “You think that’s enough?”

“I think that’s human, ” Marinette said. Her voice was shaking now, just a little. “And I think people forget that sometimes, that he is human. We expect him to always know what to do, to always do the right thing, but the truth is… none of us can actually always be right.” Felix stared at her. He wasn’t breathing, not really. “I’m not saying it’s okay,” Marinette added. “But I don’t think he’s evil, just confused.”

Adrien spoke next, gently. “You said someone stopped him?”

“According to the suspect, yeah,” Odette said. “A girl. I don’t know if it was Ladybug or just a bystander.” Marinette looked away. Felix closed his eyes for a beat, he could still feel her hand on his wrist. “Whatever happened,” Odette said, voice softening slightly, “I want to find him. Chat Noir.”

Alya’s eyes went wide with shock. “You want to what? ”

“I want to find him,” Odette repeated, a little firmer now.

Adrien squinted. “Why not just tell your dad?”

“Because if my dad finds him, it won’t be a conversation. It’ll be containment. Maybe charges. Maybe worse.” Odette folded her hands again. “I don’t want to turn him in, yet.”

Alya let out a low whistle. “Wow. Okay. That’s a hell of a side quest.”

“I need help,” Odette said. “Tracking patterns. Reports. Movement. Any sighting we can verify. Marinette, you’ve already talked to him individually, so he’ll trust you. Alya, you’ve probably got the deepest database of unconfirmed sightings anywhere in Paris. Nino—”

“I don’t know if I want to participate in this,” Nino warned. The shift was subtle, but immediate. Gone was the usual teasing warmth. His arms were crossed now, jaw set. He didn’t look amused, he looked like someone who’d already made a quiet decision. Odette narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I’m not saying I like the idea of him killing someone,” he added, glancing sideways at Felix for a brief second before looking back at Odette, “...but even if he did, it was probably justified. I trust Chat Noir. It sounds like you’re trying to Salem witch trial him and I’m not partaking.” 

Odette frowned. “It’s not a witch hunt. I’m not trying to take him down.”

“Then maybe start by sounding like you believe that,” Nino said calmly. “This whole time you’ve been ‘it’s just PR’ this and ‘vigilantes are dangerous’ that. Not once have you acknowledged that Chat Noir, and Ladybug too, saved Paris when the police failed. Hell, the girl wouldn’t even be alive without Chat Noir, and you’re still treating him like a criminal.”

“He is a criminal!” Odette’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was cutting. She looked at Nino like she couldn’t believe he didn’t see it. “And so was Ladybug every time she stepped in without authorization,” she added. “That’s not an insult. That’s the law. They’ve been operating above the rules, and we let them because they were saving people. But if one of them crosses a line, we don’t get to pretend that’s still okay.” Felix’s fingers clenched under the table. “And what line is that, exactly?” Nino asked, still calm but firmer now. “What’s the line where we stop being grateful and start treating him like a bomb waiting to go off? Because I didn’t realize the line was ‘getting there first and not letting someone die.’”

“I’m saying he almost killed someone,” Odette said. “Clearly he was out of line.”

“Again, he didn’t,” Marinette cut in. Her voice was low, but it had an edge now. “Someone pulled him back, and he let them .”

“He shouldn’t have needed pulling back at all,” Odette snapped.

“Don’t you ever get angry, Odette?” Marinette growled. “Don’t you ever want to hurt someone who deserves it?”

“Of course I do. But I don’t act on it.” Felix’s heart was beating so loudly he thought it might shake the table. He didn’t dare move. Didn't dare breathe. His name was wrapped in every word without ever being spoken. Alya, who had been silent until now, finally chimed in. “Okay, this is getting way too philosophical for 10am. Can we just agree that we don’t actually know what happened and that we maybe shouldn’t throw the guy under the bus until we do?”

“Thank you,” Nino muttered.

Odette exhaled slowly. “Fine,” she said. “But if I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt, I still want to talk to him. I need to hear his intentions from him directly, and I can’t do that alone.” Adrien, who hadn’t shared his opinion for the majority of the conversation, finally said, “We’ll help you talk to him, that’s it.” Felix felt like he might throw up. Nino leaned back in his seat, still tense, arms crossed. “And you better mean you just want to talk. Because if this turns into anything else—”

“It won’t,” Odette said. And for once, there was no arrogance in it. “I want him to be a hero. I do. But wanting something doesn’t make it true. He has to choose it. And if he already has… I’ll be the first to stand with him.” A heavy silence followed Odette’s last words. Marinette stared into her tea like it could offer answers. Nino tapped his fingers against his arm, gaze locked somewhere far off. Felix couldn’t feel his hands. Adrien’s eyes flicked toward him just once, the silent check-in that Felix didn’t know how to answer. Felix opened his mouth to speak, about to make this group’s mission much shorter, when the lights flickered overhead.

Once.

Twice.

Then a sudden cold crept through the café, subtle at first, but then the condensation on the windowpane began to slide upward , against gravity. Marinette looked up sharply. “Did anyone else feel that?”

The lights cut out completely.

Outside, something groaned and a pulse spread across the street, like pressure dropping in your chest. Alya stood, eyes narrowing. “That’s not normal.”

Adrien rose next, voice tight. “An akuma attack?” The glass front window cracked, spider webbing slowly from the center out. A bloom of black veins spread outward across it like it had been infected. Felix’s stomach dropped. Across the street, the fog had rolled in so fast it was unnatural, and from its center, a figure stepped forward. She was cloaked in withered ivory robes, sleeves trailing like dying petals. Her veil dragged over the ground, head tilted slightly like she was listening for something. “Ladybug. Chat Noir. There’s no need to run. Your time has passed,” she said in a saccharine tone. Suddenly, she raised her hand. Something gray and shimmering launched toward the café, a whip of fractal corrosion. “Give me the Miraculouses, or let Paris suffer.” The café exploded into motion. “Go!” Marinette shouted, bolting behind the counter to open the door to the upstairs apartment. Adrien was already hauling Odette back through the kitchen. “Attic. Now.” Felix froze for a second too long, and Nino grabbed him, shoving him toward the hallway. “Move, man!” The akuma turned her head slightly toward the rest of the group still within view, though her voice was no longer aimed at them. “One by one, the pieces fall, and when they do the wish will be made.” She raised her staff again, corrosion blooming down the length like ink in water. Felix shoved Nino and Alya into the door before closing it, despite their protests, and hid behind a broken column at the front. “Plagg, claws out!” For now, he thought, I’ll play the hero. 

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The wall behind the bakery was still warm from the sun, but Marinette couldn’t feel it. Her back was pressed to the brick, heart hammering like it was trying to escape her ribs. She peeked around the corner and saw the damage already blooming across the bakery’s front. Cracked windows, scorch marks, the paper lanterns near the doorway were in cinders.

It wasn’t gone, but it wouldn’t survive another hit.

She swallowed hard and ducked back out of view. Her friends were safe for now, but that thing outside wasn’t bluffing. She was aiming for their miraculouses, and if they stayed hidden, she’d tear the entire street apart to find them. Marinette closed her eyes. “Tikki…”

The kwami’s voice was small in her ear, “Are you sure?”

“No,” she whispered. “But I don’t think I have the luxury of waiting until I am.” She opened her eyes. “Spots on.” The change was still fluid, power slid through her limbs as the suit settled into place, and for the first time since the docks, she was Ladybug again. She vaulted up onto the roof with practiced ease, the wind catching against her yoyo as she scanned the street below. The akuma moved like rot made sentient, gliding rather than walking. Her staff dragged behind her, leaving blackened grooves in the stone. Ladybug dropped into a crouch atop a low building across the street, just as a second figure stepped into view.

Chat Noir. 

Ladybug froze. He didn’t see her at first, too focused on the akuma. But then he turned, and their eyes met. Everything between them from that night sat heavy in the space between. He looked tired, older somehow, and she hadn’t even said sorry. She climbed down, landing softly beside him. “Hey.”

“You’re late,” he said, not cold, but not warm, either. 

“You’re early,” she said, trying for a smile. It didn’t land. They both turned back to the street. The akuma hadn’t noticed them yet, but that wouldn’t last long. “Any idea what we’re dealing with?” she asked, scanning the alley for cover.

“Sound-based, maybe. Could be the staff.” He paused. “Or the veil, anything she looks at. I’m not really sure.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Mystery boss level.” He didn’t laugh. She bit her lip. Now’s not the time. Just focus. “Lucky Charm,” she called, snapping her wrist forward.

Nothing.

Chat Noir glanced sideways. “You okay?” “I’m fine,” she lied, too fast. He didn’t press, which somehow made it worse. A sharp screech cut through the air as the akuma twisted her staff, the air around it shimmered like disturbed glass. Chat moved first. “Cover,” he muttered, grabbing her arm and pulling her down just as the blast shot overhead. They hit the pavement together behind an overturned table, dust rising in their faces. Ladybug coughed and pressed her fingers to her temples. Focus. Think. What’s her goal? “She said, ‘One by one, the pieces fall…’”

Chat turned his head slightly toward her. “Which means she’s hunting.”

“Yeah,” Ladybug said slowly. “And we’re the prize.” She pushed up onto her knees. “We have to get her away from the bakery.”

“You think she’ll follow?”

Ladybug glanced at him. “Only one way to find out.” She leapt, yoyo snapping as she swung toward the center of the street and straight into the akuma’s line of sight. The moment Ladybug landed in the open, the air shifted. The akuma’s head tilted slowly, the way a puppet might tilt on loose strings. Then she turned. “Ladybug,” she said, with the low warmth of a mother greeting a child who’d wandered too far. “At last.” Ladybug straightened, lifting her chin. “Took you long enough to notice. I was getting bored.” The woman stepped forward, robes trailing across the pavement, the staff dragging behind her with a sound like bone grating on tile. “You always did like to make an entrance,” the akuma murmured. “But you’re not hiding anymore. That must mean you’re ready.” Ladybug spun her yoyo once, more for confidence than threat. “Ready to kick your corrupted butt back into the shadows? Absolutely.” 

The akuma laughed, and her veil fluttered like something alive. “You think this is a duel,” the woman said. “Poor little bug, don’t you know I’m going to win?” Ladybug took a step forward. “And you think I’m just going to let you hurt people? No thanks. I’ve got other plans for the day.”

“Plans,” the akuma echoed. “Funny. I had plans too. Do you know what they gave me instead?” Her staff rose, light building along the length like a slow scream. “A promise,” the akuma spat. “That I would be the one to save them. But some of us don’t get miracles. Some of us just wait. ” The blast came fast. Ladybug dove, rolling across the pavement as the corruption slammed into a mailbox behind her, twisting it into a gnarled, metallic root. She popped back up, heart pounding. “Not bad,” she called. “But you’re going to have to do better than emotionally-wounded monologuing if you want my Miraculous!”

The akuma snarled, and Ladybug turned on her heel and ran. She could hear the staff scraping behind her, but the bakery was shrinking in the distance. Good. She veered left and ducked behind a broken fountain, pressed her back to the chipped stone. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her yoyo trembled in her grip. Okay. Now what? “Lucky Charm!”

Still nothing.

Panic prickled down her spine. A sharp whisper cut through the fog, “I can see you.” Ladybug bolted just before the staff slammed into the fountain, shattering the rim in an explosion of marble dust. She stumbled through the smoke, blindly throwing her yoyo at a streetlamp to pull herself up and away. She landed on a balcony and turned, panting. “Come on,” she muttered, scanning for anything, but her head was spinning, and her fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. “You don’t have a plan, do you?” The voice drifted up from the street. The akuma appeared from the haze like a ghost through water. “You came out here to be brave. But bravery without intent is just a sacrifice.” Ladybug grit her teeth and vaulted down. She landed low and swept her yoyo forward, aiming for the staff, but the akuma twisted and the veil struck first. 

It hit her like a whip, a flare of light exploding behind her eyes. She hit the ground hard, breath torn from her lungs. Her shoulder screamed and her vision doubled. She pushed herself up on shaking arms, the staff was already swinging down.

She saw it coming, but she couldn’t move fast enough. “ Ladybug! ” Chat Noir’s voice… if she could just—

The world went black.

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

He saw the blast hit her. One second she was lunging, and the next her body crumpled like a dropped puppet. "Ladybug!"

Chat Noir’s heart jumped to his throat as he ran. The staff was already swinging again, a black arc of corruption aimed straight for her limp form, and he didn’t think, he just moved . Steel met shadow. His baton extended mid-air, catching the staff with a violent clang that sent shudders down his arm. The akuma hissed, teeth bared behind that translucent veil. "Ah. The cat," she said. "Still clinging to your little illusions?" 

Chat shoved her back with a snarl and dropped to one knee beside Ladybug, but she was gone. A crater scorched the concrete where she'd landed, but there was no red and black. He scanned frantically, heartbeat in his ears, until something caught the corner of his vision near the bakery wall.

A body.

He sprinted across the rubble, vaulting low debris and smoke. And there, half-buried under shattered lanterns and broken tiles, was Marinette. Dust smeared her cheek. Her hand was curled around a jagged, broken mirror, like she'd tried to shield herself with it. He dropped beside her and hovered for a beat, one hand braced beside her head, the other trembling just above her shoulder. "What were you thinking?" he muttered under his breath, brushing glass away from her arm. "You’re supposed to be inside. You’re not supposed to—" The akuma’s laugh broke through the haze. It echoed off the buildings like a challenge. Chat clenched his jaw and looked down at the mirror. He tucked the mirror into his belt, then pressed two fingers to her pulse. Faint, but steady. He exhaled, stood, and turned to face the street. “You wanted my miraculous?” he called, baton spinning once in his grip. “Come and get it.” The veil rustled like wings unfurling. The akuma didn’t speak this time before she raised the staff. From cracks in the pavement, shadows began to surge. Figures, twisted, formless, corrupted , crawled out of the stone like ink. Chat stepped back, then forward again. His stance squared. “Alright,” he muttered. “Boss level. Got it.”

The first ghoul lunged. He ducked low and swept his baton in a clean arc, taking out its legs. Another came from the right. He pivoted, kicked off the wall, flipped over it, and landed behind. Every movement was instinct. He’d trained for this, but they kept coming. For every one he struck down, two more emerged, pulling themselves from the ground.

Too many. He backed protectively towards Marinette, breathing hard. His hand brushed his belt, and he felt the mirror. He pulled it free. It wasn’t just reflecting the street anymore, it was shimmering. Chat narrowed his eyes. “...maybe.” A ghoul lunged again. He didn’t move, just turned the mirror. Light refracted, pure and blinding. The shadow shrieked as it caught the reflection and dissolved midair. Chat grinned, “Thank god, Marinette.” He bolted forward, mirror in one hand, baton in the other, cutting a path through the corruption. Every time the ghouls rose, he lifted the mirror and let the light scatter them. The way cleared and before long he was standing in front of the villain once more. The akuma raised the staff again, growling low. “Try me,” Chat muttered. He launched himself upward. “Cataclysm!” The power surged in his hand, then sputtered and disappeared. He landed wrong and the staff swung. It grazed his side, sending him stumbling backward into a wall. “Damn it—” His fingers tightened around the mirror.
He glanced back toward the bakery. Marinette, still unconscious, the first in danger if he failed. “I don’t have time for this,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care if I’m not chosen, I don’t care if I’m wrong, and I don’t care if I’m not the hero, I need you to work. ”
He shoved himself upright. Chat surged forward, dodging low and striking high. His baton cracked the veil, tore through the shadowy robe, and as the akuma screamed, he slammed his glowing palm against the staff.

“CATACLYSM!”

Cracks split the weapon like veins of light and the staff crumbled. Chat reached into the dust and caught the butterfly as it shot free. Without a second thought, he crushed it between his fingers and the corruption shattered like glass. The ghouls retreated back into the pavement from whatever circle of hell they came from, and the street finally stilled. Somewhere behind him, he heard a cough. The woman lay sprawled against the curb, veil shredded, eyes wide and clouded with pain. The magic was gone, but its damage lingered, clawing through her body like smoke. She wasn’t like the other victims, who had turned back to human once Ladybug had caught the butterfly. She still looked corrupted, just more… broken. She blinked slowly at him, “Emilie?” Chat’s breath caught. Her eyes filled with tears. “I tried,” she rasped, struggling to lift a trembling hand. “I told him there was something wrong. The energy, the color, her son . It just didn’t make sense!” Chat’s grip on the staff tightened. She laughed, hoarse and bitter. “He said if I could make a wish, that I could bring anyone back from the dead.” Her gaze sharpened again, “But I wouldn’t have to if— it’s his fault!” Chat’s heart pounded so hard he felt it in his teeth. She reached for him suddenly, fingers catching around his wrist like a vice. “You have it,” she whispered. “You’re holding it now. That same weight. That same rot.” 

He pulled back slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, almost pleading now. “You’re fighting the wrong person!” Chat knelt carefully, trying to ease her grip. “Hey. It’s over, you’re okay. Whatever… corrupted you? It’s not corrupting you anymore.” Her eyes flicked to his face, and for a second, she looked like she was about to cry again. “He gave Mason the medicine,” she murmured. “If it weren’t for him, Mason would still be alive today.” A hitch in her chest. “I wouldn’t have to fight you to wish him back alive if Mason had gotten the right medicine.” Chat’s brows furrowed, “Who are you talking about? Who’s ‘he’?”

“Hawkmoth…” she managed to get out before her head lolled to the side. Still breathing, just unconscious now. Gently, he eased her fingers from his wrist and shifted her weight, lifting her as carefully as he could. When he reached the nearest patch of unobstructed sidewalk, he knelt and laid her down, somewhere paramedics would see her. After making sure she was alive one last time, he stood, adjusted his grip on the mirror, and made his way back through the rubble. 

Marinette was still on the bakery steps, barely stirred. He crouched, slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her. The fire escape door to the apartment groaned as he slipped through, emerging into the upper hallway where light from the living room spilled out onto the tile. Their friends were there, bruised but okay. Alya straightened immediately when she saw them. “She’s alright,” Chat said quickly. “Just out cold.” He laid Marinette down gently on the couch, brushing a streak of ash from her cheek. Odette approached carefully. Her gaze lingered on Marinette, then on him. “Thank you,” she said. It was quiet, but said enough. Chat nodded once. “She saved the day more than I did.”

“Do you know where Felix is?” Alya asked worriedly. He didn’t blink. “The Agreste? He was near her when I last saw him, probably catching his breath somewhere nearby.” Odette studied him. Something flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t press. Chat stepped back, gave Marinette one last glance, then turned for the fire escape. When he reached the rooftop, the ring buzzed once. He ducked behind the chimney, breath fogging the cool air, and let the transformation go.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The wind was cool against her cheeks as Marinette stepped onto the roof, a blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. She hadn’t expected anyone to be there. The battle was over, her body still ached, and the last thing she wanted was company. So when she spotted the silhouette by the chimney, her heart jolted. “Chat Noir?” He turned, startled, but not defensive. His baton was sheathed. His shoulders were tense, but not poised to strike. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“I was just—” He glanced away. “Checking on you.”

Marinette blinked. “Me?”

“I… wanted to make sure you were okay. You were unconscious during the fight, so.” 

She stepped closer, cautious but curious. “That’s kind of you.”

“I try,” he said, with a small, tired shrug. “But you look better, which is good. Great.” Marinette hesitated, then sat near the ledge, leaving space between them. The night sky was dim, the city below muted and gray. “You look worried,” she said softly. Chat was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I haven’t seen Ladybug.” Marinette’s heart skipped. Her fingers curled in the blanket. “She’s alright,” she said quickly. “Just recovering, like the rest of us.”

Chat’s eyes didn’t move from the skyline. “She’s not hurt?”

“Not badly.”

“Is she hiding?”

Marinette tried to smile. “Wouldn’t you, after a day like that?” That earned a faint exhale, almost a laugh, but it didn’t last. Chat still had a troubled look on his face. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asked. He was still for a moment. Then he sank down beside her, arms on his knees, head lowered. “No,” he admitted. “That’s not all.” She waited. “Do you think people get to choose what they are?”

Marinette hummed thoughtfully, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He struggled for the words. “Whether you’re a hero or just a coincidence. What people see, or what you’re trying to be underneath.”

She tilted her head. “Is that what you’re choosing between?”

His jaw flexed. “It feels like it. Some days I think I was handed this power by accident. That someone braver, someone better, should’ve gotten it. And other days…” He trailed off.

“Other days?”

“Other days I want to be the kind of person who deserves it.” Marinette didn’t answer at first, but after a minute she nudged him.  He glanced sideways. She offered a small, lopsided smile in return, “I think you already are.”

“The kind of person who deserves it?” he repeated. Marinette nodded. Chat looked away, brow furrowed. “Even if I messed up?”

“Couldn’t have been that bad, Chaton”

He let out a shaky breath. “You might not say that in a minute. I… almost used my powers on someone. The worst part is, for a moment I wanted to. Not very hero-like, eh?”  Marinette’s chest tightened. “You didn’t,” she said, quiet but sure.

“I could’ve, if Ladybug didn’t stop me,” he said softer. “Maybe that’s why she’s avoiding me, I wouldn’t trust myself either.” Marinette swallowed. “Maybe… maybe she’s not avoiding you , specifically. Or, she is, but not because she hates you or anything, because she cares about you.” 

“Care?” Marinette didn’t look at him right away. She focused on her hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I read about this Chinese legend. There was this girl named—well her name doesn’t really matter, but apparently she was a matchmaker.” 

“This is the weirdest way a girl has asked me out on a date…”

“Oh my god, hush! I’m imparting wisdom.” Chat grinned playfully, but fell silent again. Marinette rolled her eyes, in response. “Anyways, she was one of the best. She could tell who you were meant to be with and whisper it in your ear.”

“Sounds efficient.”

“But the legend says she could never find her own match. She never whispered her own name.” 

His smile faded. “That’s… kind of sad.”

“Yeah,” Marinette said softly. “But then these immortal beings asked for help to defeat this evil peril. Super chaotic dude, eating villages and whatnot. This guy was especially mad at the matchmaker for not giving him a soulmate, but after defeating him she whispered her own name into his ear.” 

“Wait, she chose him?” Marinette nodded, her voice barely above the hush of the wind. “She saw the worst in him and still believed he could be more. I mean, it worked out didn’t it?” She tugged at Chat’s suit. “You inherited his powers, after all.” For a second, Marinette regretted saying it out loud. The way his expression shifted, the quiet intensity in his eyes, like he was trying to decide whether she was joking or saying something far more dangerous. “You think I’m descended from an evil monster?” he asked lightly, but his voice cracked just a little at the edges.

“I think,” she said gently, “that what matters more is what he became . You have the power of destruction, but he, and now you, use it for good.”

Chat swallowed, throat tight. “And if I mess up?”

“Then you try again.” Marinette tugged the blanket tighter around herself. “There’s no if on messing up, Chat. You’re supposed to, I’d mistake you for a robot if you didn’t. What matters is how you build up from it.”

He let out a breath, slow and quiet. “You know,” he said, “I think you should consider being a lifestyle coach in case your first-choice career doesn’t work out.” 

Marinette giggled, “I’ll consider it.” They sat in silence after that, the distance between them narrowing without either of them moving. The wind brushed strands of hair across her face; he didn’t reach to fix it, but she thought he might’ve wanted to. She might’ve wanted him to. 

Eventually, Chat shifted. “I should probably go before someone calls me a loiterer.”

Marinette smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t want that on your heroic resume.”

He stood, brushing off his gloves. “Seriously though… thanks. For listening.” He didn’t look at her right away. “And for not saying I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. He glanced over his shoulder. “If you ever get into contact with Ladybug… do you mind telling her I’d like to talk? Y’know, make sure she knows that I’m gonna be better.” 

“I’ll tell her.”

Chat Noir gave her a final nod. Then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of Paris. Marinette sat alone now, blanket still clutched around her, the rooftop colder than before. Her voice, barely audible, slipped out like a promise.

“She already does.”

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

It was just a rehearsal, not even a full audience, but Marinette was still panicking. She paced the narrow strip of backstage carpet like a wound-up bobbin, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. The lighting crew adjusted rigging above her. Voices echoed from the auditorium, and she peeked out the curtain from the side. As she expected, anyone and everyone who could determine if she had a future in fashion or not.

And she was about to ruin it.

The designs weren’t the problem. She knew her stitches were clean, her silhouettes daring but wearable. She'd spent weeks agonizing over fabric weights and movement flow and the perfect seam lines. The problem was her. Every step she imagined taking on that runway felt like her feet were made of wet pasta. The mirror in the dressing room had mocked her: hunched posture, awkward smile, stance too wide. She could feel how wrong she looked in her own work. 

Initially, when she signed up to model her own dresses, she scoffed at the warnings from Mylene and Rose. “It’s different when you’re wearing your own clothes,” Rose had insisted. “If you were just a model walking, you know the people are only judging what you’re wearing, but if you’re the designer then you’re judging yourself too.” Marinette should have just hired someone like everyone else did, but now it was too late. “Girl!” Alya’s voice broke through the swirl of panic. Marinette turned to see her friends bursting through the backstage entrance, practically glowing with support. Alya strode in first, eyes sparkling behind her glasses, followed by Nino, Adrien, and Odette. Even Felix was trailing behind, arms crossed and unreadable as always. “Hey!” Marinette smiled. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Uhm, supporting you? Duh?” Alya grinned, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Hell yeah!” Nino chimed in. “Those people are gonna be all ‘woah, design my fashion week collection right now .’”

Adrien smiled sheepishly, “I may have brought the cavalry, sorry.” 

Marinette laughed, the sound brittle but grateful. “Thanks. Although, I wasn’t expecting all of you to show up.”

“Please,” Odette said, brushing invisible dust off Marinette’s sleeve, “I’m insulted that you’d believe I didn’t clear out everyone’s schedules.”

“You’ve been working nonstop for this,” Adrien added. “We had to come!” 

Alya gave her a small shake. “Breathe, girl. Remember, none of those people out there could even dream of making what you made.” Marinette exhaled shakily, trying to believe them. The group offered a few more words of encouragement, Alya promising to scream inappropriately loud (which Marinette both appreciated and dreaded), and then they filed back out toward the seats.

All except Felix.

He lingered near the edge of the curtain, arms still crossed, gaze steady. He didn’t say anything, just stood there watching as her fingers returned to the frayed edge of her sleeve. “You’re making it worse,” he said eventually, voice dry. Marinette startled slightly, then glanced down. Sure enough, the cuff on her left sleeve had an extra two inches of thread dangling from it now. “Oh,” she said, trying to flatten it out with her palm like that would somehow reverse it. “Right.”

Felix raised one eyebrow. “At this rate, you’ll have redesigned your outfit by the end of the show.”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened today.” He didn’t respond to that, instead opting to walk a few steps closer and look her over with that piercing, evaluating gaze. She tried to brace herself for whatever critique he was clearly forming. Instead, he asked, “Are there rules about modeling pairs during rehearsal?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Can two people walk designs at once, or is that considered cheating?”

“I mean... technically no? It’s not standard, but the coordinators didn’t say anything against it.” Felix nodded slowly, as if confirming something with himself. Then he gestured vaguely toward the rack of garments. “Pick one for me.” It took Marinette a solid second to process that. “Wait, what?”

“You’re spiraling,” he said matter-of-factly. “And your work’s too good to be dragged down by your own stage fright. If walking with someone gets you out of your own head, then fine. I’ll walk with you.”

“Felix—”

He started counting down on his fingers. “I’m your size. I’ve walked runways. I’m, by now I hope, a friend,” he gave her a pointed look. “I don’t see any reason I can’t partake.” Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You’re not serious. Felix, I only designed dresses!” A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in her throat. “You’re ridiculous.”

He gestured again to the garment rack. “Pick one that fits me. Preferably not the floor-length tulle beast.” Marinette turned toward the rack, suddenly all too aware of how much her palms were sweating. “Okay. Um… this one,” she said, pulling out a structured charcoal wrap-dress with sharp seams and high slits. Minimal sparkle. Balanced lines. Felix took it from her hands without hesitation. “Acceptable.” He disappeared behind the changing curtain with the same efficiency he approached everything else in life. Marinette stood frozen in place, trying to figure out if this counted as a breakdown or a breakthrough. Then the curtain pulled back, and—oh.

It worked.

Felix stepped out and adjusted the collar like it was a regular Tuesday, his expression as neutral as ever. But the dress moved with him. Sharp lines softened by movement. The dark fabric caught the overhead lights just right. He looked like part of the collection. Marinette was definitely not staring. “What?” he asked flatly, raising an eyebrow. She scrambled to cover. “Nothing. Just—wow. You really sell it.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the cheekbones.” She rolled her eyes, but the tension in her chest had loosened. Just a bit. They stood in front of the full-length mirror together, his charcoal dress beside her an outfit she hadn't even realized she'd already pulled from the rack. Deep red. Asymmetrical. Architectural chiffon , she recalled. She ran her hands over the fabric, grounding herself in it. Felix gave her a sidelong glance. “That’s the sketch from homeroom, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It was the first piece I designed. The one that made me think the whole collection could work.”

“Then that’s the one you wear,” he said simply. There was a pause. The moment stretched between them like a thread. “…Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome.” That was likely the most sincere thing he’d said all week. Alix came in, gesturing wildly to the people backstage. “5 minutes before we get this show on the road!” Marinette practically ran to the dressing room and pulled the dress over her shoulders. Her fingers shook as she zipped up the back, but something inside her felt steadier now.

By the time she stepped out again, the stage lights had shifted. The music was starting, a low pulsing beat behind the hum of crowd chatter. Marinette smoothed the folds of chiffon at her waist and joined Felix near the curtain. He’d already changed into low heels from her accessory bin and was stretching his calves like this was a warm-up for barre. “You good?” he asked.

Marinette nodded, then swallowed. “I think so.”

He gave her a dry once-over. “You’re not chewing your lip. That’s a good sign.” She hadn’t even noticed. Alix motioned them forward, two fingers pointed, cueing them for the walk. Felix offered her his arm again without comment, and this time, she took it without hesitation. 

The lights hit them like a wall of warmth, and for half a second her breath hitched. But Felix matched her pace, steady and measured.

Step.

Step.

Step.

True to her word, Alya was practically screaming from the front row. “THAT’S MY GIRL! STRUT IT, MARINETTE!” Nino whooped beside her, hands cupped around his mouth. Adrien clapped politely, beaming. Even Odette looked genuinely impressed, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed like she was appraising a particularly fine exhibit. Marinette couldn’t help it, she smiled. The warmth of the lights faded into the background as her focus tunneled in. The feel of the runway beneath her heels. The swish of the chiffon cape brushing her calves. The sound of Felix’s steps perfectly in sync with hers. They reached the end of the runway, and Marinette struck a confident pose in front of a particularly stern woman with a clipboard only rivalled by Odette’s. She practically preened with attention when the woman looked up at her and beamed, making a note of something on her clipboard.

By the time they stepped off, the air backstage had changed. Felix calmly unzipped the side of the dress and slipped into a robe without ceremony, like none of it had mattered. Marinette, meanwhile, stood still for a moment, just breathing. Alix clapped her on the back. “Cleanest walk we’ve had all night. Felix, good instincts.” Marinette turned to look at Felix, who was already halfway through removing the borrowed heels and folding them back into her accessory bin. Before she could speak, Alya barrelled backstage like a cannonball. “ MARINETTE DU-FREAKING-PAIN-CHENG! ” Marinette yelped as Alya grabbed both her arms. “That was INSANE. You owned that stage! And the girl with the scary eyeliner and clipboard literally smiled. Smiled! I didn’t even know she had facial muscles.” Nino skidded in right behind her, pointing dramatically. “I’m starting thinking you might get scouted for modelling too, Mari. And Felix! Bro, the dress? Iconic. ”

Felix hummed, slowly sliding the heels into their box. “I had a competent designer.” 

Adrien joined them with a wide grin. “Marinette, I’m so proud of you! You definitely got the fashion world buzzing.”

“Same,” Odette said, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. “You looked like you were born on that stage. And him,” she nodded toward Felix, “I have no idea how you convinced him to wear that outfit, but it was welcome.” Marinette laughed, light-headed and exhilarated. Alya ruffled Marinette’s hair, “This calls for a celebration! Grillzilla? I’m buying the first round of fries!”

Nino whooped. “Blessed words. Let's move, people!” Felix was already pulling his hoodie over his head, somehow managing to do it without disrupting a single strand of hair. He adjusted the sleeves, slipped his hands into his pockets, and started walking toward the door like the entire evening had been an errand he'd checked off a list. Marinette fell into step beside him. “Do you like garlic fries?” she asked, half-teasing.

“I tolerate them,” Felix replied, eyes forward. “Which, from me, is high praise.”

The air at Grillzilla was thick with the scent of sizzling oil and seasoned fries, the usual din of chatter and clattering trays filling the background. Their group had commandeered a corner booth, squishing together on the cracked red vinyl seats. A tray of fries, three kinds, was already half gone, thanks to Nino’s enthusiastic start. Felix stood abruptly, grabbing his cup. “Refill.” Marinette’s eyes followed him instinctively before she could stop herself. Her heart gave a small, traitorous lurch. “I’ll come with,” she said, a little too casually, grabbing her own cup. Alya arched an eyebrow. Marinette ignored it. She caught up with him near the soda fountain, where he was already filling his cup with the precision of a chemist. “You know,” she began, swirling her ice a bit before nudging him with her elbow, “for someone who supposedly hates modeling, you’re really good at it.” Felix didn’t glance at her, but she saw the way his mouth twitched at the corner. He finished filling his drink, then stepped aside, leaning lightly against the counter. “I didn’t always hate it,” he said simply. “Before my mom passed, it was just… another extracurricular. I could quit if I wanted to.”

“You can’t now?” Felix shrugged, his expression flat but not entirely closed off. “Not when it’s tied to his company.” There was weight in the way he said it, like the word itself tasted bitter. Marinette didn’t need to ask who he meant. He swirled his soda slowly, watching the carbonation fizz up near the lid. “I’d imagine I’ll be doing it for the rest of my life now. Pity.” There wasn’t any venom in his voice, but there wasn’t any joy either. Marinette tilted her head, brows furrowed. “What would you do if you weren’t a model?” She expected a shrug or a sarcastic deflection, but he responded faster than she was expecting.  “A detective,” he said.

Marinette gawked. “Seriously?” Felix took a sip of his drink, then nodded once. “I used to watch those silly Sherlock Holmes shows when I was younger. Adrien grew out of them pretty quickly, but… I don’t know. I can put puzzle pieces together, I’m keen in research, and I hate authority enough to not want to be a cop. So, yeah. A detective.” 

“Huh,” she said quietly. “Who knew little Felix liked mysteries.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” she said, smiling now. “I’m just picturing you wielding a magnifying glass and wearing some old trench coat. It’s very cute.”

“Blasphemy. I’ll have you know I was classy enough to get branded merchandise.” Marinette laughed, tipping her head back slightly. “Please tell me you have a photo.” He gave her a long-suffering look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Adrien does, I’ll never be free from his blackmail.” She grinned, walking slowly beside him. “I like the imagery of broody little intellectual Felix, it fits your current persona.”

Felix smirked. “So then you were what, a sunshine gremlin with a glue gun and enough glitter to blind someone?”

“I still am.”

“Then I suppose we’re both still ourselves.” They were nearly back to the table now, but Marinette hesitated, slowing to a stop beside the napkin dispensers. She shifted her cup to her other hand, voice softening. “You know… you’re not your father, Felix. You don’t have to live his life.” Before Felix could respond, Alya shouted at them from the booth. “Hey! If you two are done making googly eyes by the soda fountain, we saved you exactly three fries. You’re welcome!” Felix exhaled through his nose, the spell broken. “Subtle,” he muttered, but the dryness in his tone couldn’t quite mask the way his gaze lingered on Marinette for a beat longer. Marinette, flustered but trying not to show it, gave him a little shrug, like what can you do? She turned toward the booth, walking the last few steps with a bounce that hadn’t been there earlier. Felix followed, a half-step behind, as always. As they slid back into their seats, Alya leaned in with a wicked grin. “So what were you two talking about?”

“Felix was a Sherlock Holmes kid,” Marinette said airily, reaching for a fry before it vanished into Nino’s orbit. “Full cosplay and everything.”

Adrien perked up immediately. “Oh my god, I think I still have the photo on—”

“You absolutely do not,” Felix interrupted, voice sharp but face composed. “And let’s say you do, I’ll have no choice but to leak those karaoke videos of you doing boy band choreography in socks.”

Adrien immediately backed off, hands raised. “Mutually assured destruction. Got it.” Marinette stole another fry and Alya nudged her beneath the table, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Marinette rolled her eyes and looked away, hoping the dim lighting would hide the growing redness on her face and the fact that her heart was still doing ridiculous cartwheels in her chest.

It was fine. Except it kind of wasn’t, but that wasn’t something Marinette would ruminate about further tonight. 

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix stared at his phone screen like it had personally betrayed him.

Alya 📷: ugh sorry mari i can’t make it today :O mom said if I skip family dinner she’s deleting my blog 💀💀💀
Odette 📋: I have court shadowing with my mom. Can’t reschedule.
Nino 🎧: Babysitting my cousin today 😭 y’all don’t even know how loud this kid is
Adrien 🌞: Fencing tourney! I’ll stop by after if I can
Alya 📷: looks like it’s just you, Felix 😉
Alya 📷: don’t forget your apron 🖤👨‍🍳

He narrowed his eyes. There was no way this was accidental. He opened a message thread with Adrien and typed: You didn’t really get called to a tournament last minute, did you? The three little dots popped up. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Adrien 🌞: I mean, I didn’t have to go frfr but Alya said  something about ‘divine intervention’ and then Odette  threatened to break my kneecaps sooooooo

Felix closed the app and locked his phone before the next wave of digital chaos hit. Outside the bakery, the glass storefront was half-covered in plywood. A polite sign hung over it: “WE’RE STILL OPEN! ❤ Thank you for supporting our rebuild!” He sighed. He wasn’t even mad, not really. Just… deeply, cosmically inconvenienced. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped in. Sabine greeted him with a warm smile and a dusting of flour in her hair. “Thank you so much for coming, Felix. We really appreciate the help, especially today.”

“I was...voluntold,” he muttered, but she was already ushering a customer toward the register and didn’t hear him. From somewhere in the kitchen, there was a crash followed by an enthusiastic shout. “DON’T WORRY! JUST DROPPED ANOTHER TRAY OF BAGUETTES!”

Sabine winced. “Ah. Tom’s excited you’re here.”

Felix blinked. “Why.” Before she could answer, Tom Dupain burst through the swinging kitchen doors, red-faced, grinning, and carrying what looked like thirty pounds of bread in his arms. “FELIX! MY GUY!”

Felix took a step back. “I—”

“Strong name. Strong jawline. You ever lift sacks of flour? No? That’s okay, we’ll fix that. Here, hold these baguettes.” Felix was handed a tray before he could protest. It was warm, uncomfortably so. Tom patted him on the shoulder with one giant hand and said, “Glad you’re here! Marinette’s upstairs dealing with that cursed radiator pipe, so we’re gonna need you on counter duty until she’s back. Thanks for helping us by the way, you’ll do great!”

“I… what?” Tom was already disappearing back into the kitchen. “Aprons are under the counter! First customer just wants a fruit tart and a black coffee! Easy stuff!” Felix stood there, holding the tray of baguettes like it might explode. This was a setup. Alya had orchestrated a full coup. He was tempted to call Nathalie and pretend he had the stomach flu, but not only would she immediately catch him and call him out, but it felt horrid to hang the Dupain-Cheng family out to dry after all they did. It wasn’t like they asked their bakery to be hit by an akuma attack, and Felix still felt quite a bit guilty for not stopping the akuma sooner and preventing further damage. Thank god it was mostly cosmetic, he supposed. Felix reluctantly placed the tray of baguettes in the display case. He eyed the cash register like it might require a blood sacrifice, then sighed and ducked under the counter for an apron. It was pink. With a smiling cartoon croissant on it. He stared at it in silence for five long seconds before looping it around his neck like he was preparing for public execution. The bell over the door jingled. His first customer was a man with too many layers, holding a tiny dog in one arm and scrolling on his phone with the other. He didn’t even look up as he said, “Black coffee. Strong. And one of those… uh… the ones with the jam?”

Felix sighed, “Which jam, sir.”

“Whatever’s red,” the man muttered. The dog sneezed. Felix stared for a moment too long, then turned mechanically to the display case and retrieved a raspberry tart. He poured the coffee, grateful Tom had apparently pre-set the machine, and slid both items across the counter. The man finally looked up and furrowed his eyebrows. “Hey, you’re  the Agreste kid, aren’t you?”

Felix’s posture went stock-straight. “No.”

The man squinted. “You sure? I could have sworn...”

“I’m frequently mistaken for runway models. Must be the cheekbones,” Felix said flatly, ringing him up with all the joy of a funeral dirge. To his relief, the man shrugged and tapped his card. “Well, tell your family thanks for the food.” He took his cup and tart and, thankfully, didn’t look back. Felix exhaled slowly. One down. Approximately a hundred more to go.  He adjusted the croissant apron like it might shield him from judgment and turned to restock a tray of brioche when a violent series of crashes echoed from the floor above, followed by a long metallic groan. He turned toward the stairwell just in time to see Marinette stomp down it, wearing an oversized hoodie dusted with plaster and gripping a wrench like she was considering using it for a duel. Her bun was slipping loose, her cheeks were flushed with effort. Felix pointedly ignored the way his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her appearance. “Oh my god,” she muttered when she spotted him. “They got you.”

“I was framed,” Felix said without missing a beat. She snorted, dropping the wrench onto the counter with a clunk . “You look good in pink.”

“I want that stricken from the record immediately.” Marinette leaned on the counter beside him, her smirk practically a declaration of war. “Too late. It’s already immortalized in my memory. Might even sketch it later.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “You’re deranged.” Marinette cackled. It was unfiltered and delighted, and for a second, Felix forgot to be annoyed because it was such a nice sound. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and gestured vaguely toward the register. “So how many customers have you traumatized so far?”

“Only one,” he said primly. “Though I suspect the dog might need therapy.”

“Solid start,” she said, pushing off the counter to grab a broom. “Wanna aim for three by closing?”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “If I hit four, do I win something?” Marinette paused mid-sweep. She looked him over and tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” she said. “You get to help me restock the freezer.”

“...That’s not a reward.”

“I‘ll let you wear the novelty oven mitts, then you’ll be all pretty in pink.” 

He gave her a withering look. “You are dangerously close to being removed from my will.” Marinette grinned, victorious, and went back to sweeping. They worked in companionable silence for a while. Well, mostly silent. Marinette was humming off-key, and Tom occasionally yelled from the back things like “DO WE NEED MORE GLAZE?” or “HAS ANYONE SEEN THE WHISK?” Felix was surprised to learn he didn’t mind much. Eventually, Sabine came to relieve him of the register and Marinette pulled him to the countertop where the sugar packets and napkin dispensers were usually kept. She had grabbed two still-warm croissants from the tray behind the counter and slid one toward Felix. “Break time,” she said simply.

“You eat on shift?”

“It’s our bakery,” she said, like that explained everything. “And technically, you’re a volunteer. You deserve compensation.” He picked up the croissant and examined it like it might judge him back. “This better not be pity carbs.”

“It’s thank-you carbs,” she corrected. “Shut up and eat.” So he did. It was as incredible as the one he stole all those months ago. Warm, flaky, buttery. Perfect, like the rest of this ridiculous bakery. They sat behind the counter, legs stretched out in front of them, shoulders almost, but not quite, touching. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the plywood-covered window, casting golden stripes across the floor and making the flour dust in the air sparkle faintly. Marinette’s hair was still a little messy, and her hoodie was smeared with grease and powdered sugar, but her eyes were clear now, bright and steady and fixed on him “You didn’t have to come,” she said softly, after a long pause.

Felix didn’t look at her right away. “I know.”

“You could’ve faked a scheduling conflict or something.”

“I thought about it.”

She smiled faintly. “Why didn’t you?”

Felix shifted, eyes still fixed on the croissant in his hands. “I didn’t want you to assume I didn’t care.” Marinette was staring at him. “I mean—” he added, suddenly stiff. “About the bakery. Your family. The damage. That’s all I meant.”

“Mmhm,” Marinette said, lips twitching with poorly concealed amusement. There was a stretch of silence before her knee bumped his playfully. “You always do that,” she murmured.

“Do what.”

“Say something real, then snark away from it.” Felix huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “I don’t snark away from anything.” She raised a brow. “I strategically withdraw.” Marinette laughed again, softer this time, and nudged her shoulder gently into his. He didn’t move away from that, either. For a moment, the noise from the kitchen faded. Felix opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure of what yet, when Tom’s voice boomed from the back. “HAS ANYONE FOUND THE WHISK YET?! I SWEAR I SAW IT IN THE FRIDGE THIS MORNING!” Both of them jumped.

Marinette choked on a laugh and buried her face in her hands. “Why would it be in the fridge?”

“I’ve stopped asking questions,” Felix muttered back. Tom burst through the door a second later, holding a large bowl and looking triumphant. “Not the whisk, but I did find the mixing bowl I lost last week!”

“Great,” Marinette called back, biting down her grin. “Let's hope you don’t lose it in the next five.”

“Rude,” Tom said, ruffling Marinette’s hair. “By the way, your mother wants your help with the fridge. She bought a lot of ingredients we need to put away.” He nodded at Felix before vanishing back into the kitchen. Felix stood slowly, brushing off his pants. “So. Freezer restock?”

Marinette smirked. “Only if you wear the mitts.”

He rolled his eyes but offered her a hand anyway. “Fine. But no pictures.” She took his hand, fingers warm in his. “No promises,” she teased. 

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

If Odette had a superpower, it was weaponized guilt. She didn’t have to beg or plead, just give you a look and speak in a tone so casual you almost didn’t realize you were being emotionally blackmailed until it was too late. Marinette had barely opened her locker when the ambush began. “There’s a Boys & Girls Club trip to the Children’s Discovery Museum tomorrow,” Odette said, arms crossed, clipboard in hand, eyes glinting like a hawk. “They’re short on high school chaperones. You’re good with kids, right?”

Marinette shut her locker, turning to face her. “Uh… I guess?”

Odette tilted her head. “So that’s a yes.” And just like that, Marinette’s afternoon was filled.

Alya was the next victim. It happened while they were trying to weave between classes as the halls filled up. “You’re always talking about giving back,” Odette said as they walked to Chem. “You said, and I quote, ‘Kids deserve to know they matter.’”

Alya squinted. “That was about juvenile justice reform, not—”

“Perfect. So you’ll come.” Alya narrowed her eyes, but her grip on her water bottle faltered. “I hate how good you are at this.”

Adrien didn’t even stand a chance at lunch. “I’ve seen you take photos with, like, eighty children at once,” Odette said breezily during lunch. “If you can survive that, you can survive a second-grade field trip.”

“I mean, sure,” Adrien said, mid-bite. “I love kids.”

“I’ll write your name down.”

“Wait, what is—”

“Too late. Signed in blood.” At least he got a kiss for his troubles.

Nino was cornered during band rehearsal while Marinette was critiquing Luka’s new guitar riff. “The kids love music,” Odette said, sitting beside him on the floor like a tiger preparing to pounce. “You’d be their favorite.”

“I’m flattered, but I’ve got—”

“You’re their favorite, Nino. They need you.” He looked around helplessly, as if someone might rescue him. Marinette looked away before he could catch her eye.

Felix was last. Marinette wasn’t there when it happened, but she heard about it later from Adrien, who was still laughing as he retold it. “She just slid a paper under the ballet rehearsal door and said, ‘You don’t hate children, do you?’” Adrien said. “And then stared at him. In silence. For like, thirty seconds. Everyone was glaring at him.”

“And he signed it?” Marinette asked, stunned.

“He didn’t even hesitate,” Adrien grinned. “I think he was afraid of the teacher smiting him.” And that was how, twenty-four hours later, Marinette found herself standing outside the Paris Children’s Discovery Museum holding a laminated name badge wondering why exactly Odette Bourgeois had conned their group into supervising fifteen small children armed with juice boxes and an unholy amount of kinetic energy. “Okay, listen up!” the program coordinator called, clapping her hands as a swarm of second graders buzzed around the museum entrance like bees on sugar. “We’re splitting into smaller groups, each with two high school chaperones. You’ll each be responsible for five kids. Stick together, stay within the exhibit zones, and please don’t let them eat or knock over any of the displays.” Odette, who was holding her usual clipboard and pen, stepped forward with a perfect, polished smile. “The pairings have already been arranged,” she said smoothly. “Hope that’s alright.”

Marinette raised her hand, “Wait, I thought you said we were choosing partners.”

“Marinette and Felix,” Odette announced, already scribbling down notes. “Alya and Nino. Adrien with me.”

Alya gave her a look. “Really?”

Odette shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “I like efficiency.”

“You like control,” Nino muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Odette said sweetly. Marinette turned to Felix, who stood beside her looking like he’d just been drafted into war. “This feels targeted,” he said.

“Oh, it was ,” Adrien stage-whispered. “She moved names around while we were on the train here.” Marinette narrowed her eyes at Odette, who was now chatting with the coordinator like she hadn’t just set up an entire social experiment. “She’s dangerous,” Marinette muttered.

“Terrifying,” Felix agreed.

“GROUP ONE,” the coordinator shouted. “Please collect your name tags and your assigned kiddos.” Five second graders bolted toward them with the speed and chaos of unleashed gremlins. One of them wore a tiara. Another was already chewing gum he definitely wasn’t supposed to have. The tallest boy grinned at Marinette and held up a rock he’d apparently brought from home. “This is Gerald 2,” he announced. “He’s my emotional support geode.”

Marinette blinked. “Oh. Um. Hi, Gerald.”

“Gerald 2,” he corrected. “I’m Gerald.” Tiara girl, whose name was Alice based on her name tag, tugged at Felix’s sleeve. “You look like a prince,” she informed him matter-of-factly. 

“Thank you?” Felix said carefully. Gum chewer, this one named Arden, handed Felix a crumpled juice pouch. “It exploded in my backpack.” Felix stared at the sticky mess in his palm looking like it was taking all his strength to hold it together. “I see.”

“Alright, groups two and three, follow me!” the coordinator called, gesturing for the others. Adrien gave them both a thumbs-up as he and Odette herded their five kids toward the “Earth & Space” wing. Odette didn’t even look back, but Marinette could feel her smugness radiating through the air like a heatwave. “Alright, gremlins,” Marinette said cheerfully, clapping her hands. “Who’s ready for the bug exhibit?” A chorus of cheers erupted. Alice gasped. “Are there giant spiders?”

Felix muttered under his breath, “I should hope not.” Arden tugged on his sleeve again. “If there’s a tarantula, can we name it after you?”

Felix sighed, “Firstly, a tarantula is an arachnid. Not a bug. Secondly, why would you like to name one after me?”

“Because you’re cool and scary! Like the tarantula.” Marinette snorted so hard she nearly choked on air. “It’s pretty accurate, honestly.” Felix looked down at Arden, who was now attempting to stick a sticker to his pant leg. “Can we go into the exhibit now?” Marinette obliged his request, ruffling Arden’s hair as she herded the group toward the entrance of the exhibit. “Come on, Team Gerald 2. Let’s go see some bugs.”

“Can I ride on your back?” Alice asked, already halfway up the railing beside Felix. “No,” Felix said, catching her mid-climb with practiced ease. “But you may walk beside me in a civil and orderly fashion.”

“Ooh, so you went to royalty school too,” she replied, utterly unfazed. As the doors to the exhibit whooshed open, Gerald-the-boy whispered something to Gerald-the-rock and held it up like a compass. “Gerald 2 says this way.” Felix gave Marinette a sidelong glance. “We’re being led by a rock.”

“Technically,” she said brightly, “a geode. Please keep up.” The bug exhibit was dimly lit, all glowing signs and backlit walls, and the moment they stepped inside, Alice took off like a glittery rocket toward a giant display of beetle wings. Felix clapped his hands politely, “Alice. Royalty doesn’t run.” She skidded to a stop so fast she nearly fell over. “Oh,” she said. “Right. Sorry, Prince Felix!” Felix didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth curved, barely. “You’re excused, Princess Alice.” Marinette felt a quiet tug on her sleeve and glanced down. A small girl with round glasses and a spiral-bound notebook was gazing up at her. Her name tag read Ivy in carefully drawn block letters. “I’m making a field report,” Ivy whispered. “Can you tell me how many exhibits we’re visiting? And if we’re allowed to take samples?” She adjusted her glasses with both hands, deadly serious. Marinette crouched to her level. “No samples unless they’re handed out, okay? But I’ll help you count exhibits.”

Ivy nodded solemnly. “Okay, but you have to be careful. The fate of the world depends on it!” 

Felix looked over. “Really?” he said in mock shock. “The whole world, Ivy?” 

“The whole world,” she agreed. Marinette stood, lips twitching. “Well, no pressure then.” The final student, a boy named Kobi, was fiddling with his hoodie sleeve. Marinette looked to make sure Felix had everything under control, he seemed to have engaged the other 4 kids in a lecture about the variations between beetles and spiders, before approaching the boy carefully. “Kobi?” she asked gently. “Are you having fun?” Kobi shrugged without looking up. “It’s fine, I guess.” His voice wasn’t rude or pouty, just distant, like he was somewhere else entirely. He kept tugging at the loose thread on his sleeve, winding and unwinding it around his fingers. Marinette crouched beside him, suddenly unsure. She glanced back at the others. Gerald was now solemnly explaining geode ethics to Arden. Alice was spinning slowly in place, arms out like a beetle in flight. Ivy scribbled in her notebook like the museum owed her answers.

Kobi didn’t look at any of them.

Marinette tried again. “If there’s something you’d rather see, we can go check it out together. Or we can just hang back for a bit.” Kobi didn’t answer. He just shrugged again, shoulders hunched so tight it looked like they were trying to fold into his hoodie. Marinette’s heart tugged, but she didn’t know what she could do or say to make him feel better. “Marinette,” Felix’s voice cut in smoothly from behind her. She turned to see him standing with one hand in his pocket and the other subtly gesturing toward the rest of the group, where Gerald was attempting to stuff Gerald 2 into the coin return slot of a vending machine. Arden looked way too interested. Felix quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’d like to intervene?”

Marinette hesitated. “But—”

“I’ve got him,” Felix said with certainty. “Promise.” She gave Kobi a reluctant glance, then nodded and hurried off toward the others. She quickly dissuaded Gerald from rock-based sabotage, and glanced back to where she had left Felix and Kobi to assess how he was doing. Felix had crouched next to Kobi in the same spot Marinette had just vacated. He didn’t say anything at first. Just mirrored the boy’s posture, one hand loosely dangling over his knee, gaze fixed on the exhibit ahead. “You know,” Felix said casually, breaking the silence, “I once got so bored during the museum trip that I faked an allergy attack to go wait on the bus.”

Kobi glanced at him, startled. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.” Felix gave him a conspiratorial side-eye. “Problem was, they called my father. He showed up ten minutes later and announced, loudly, that my ‘sensitive constitution’ was the result of my poor sleep habits.”

“…Yikes.”

“Deeply humiliating,” Felix agreed. “I even considered moving to London. But, you know what Kobi?” Felix leaned in slightly, tone just a notch below dramatic. “I never had to write an essay about it. So technically, I won.”

Kobi let out a surprised snort. “That’s cheating.”

“It's strategy,” Felix replied, deadpan. “A subtle art.” Kobi was smiling now, just a little, but it was real. He glanced up at the nearest display, a blown-up photo of a stick insect mid-molt. “That one looks like a cursed walking twig.” Felix followed his gaze, nodded solemnly. “Unforgivable posture. Zero fashion sense. I rate it a two out of ten.”

“Negative three,” Kobi countered, grinning. “For the crunch factor.”

“Excellent critique.” Felix nodded. “You may yet become a connoisseur of grotesque entomology.” And just like that, Kobi laughed, shoulders loosening for the first time all morning. Felix gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. Marinette felt her flutter. “Stupid tarantula,” she muttered under her breath, nudging Arden away from the faux termite mound display. “Cool and scary, my butt.”

Marinette was surprisingly emotional about their impromptu chaperone trip ending. She stood on the sidewalk outside the museum watching as their group of tiny gremlins dissolved into the crowd of parents and guardians. Ivy gave her a two-finger salute before adjusting her glasses and marching toward a woman in a lab coat. Gerald solemnly bumped fists with Felix one last time, promising to polish Gerald 2 ‘in his honor.’ Arden darted off mid-wave, distracted by a pigeon. Kobi lingered, just for a second, before giving Felix a quiet “thanks” and shuffling after an older teen who looked like his brother.

And then there was Alice.

The tiara-clad menace paused just a step away from the group, her sparkly tote bag crinkling with mysterious craft supplies. She fished through it with a dramatic flourish and withdrew a slightly flattened crown made of gold macaroni and hot glue, sequins mashed into the sides like precious stones in mashed potatoes. “This,” Alice announced with gravitas, “is for when you and Prince Felix get married. So you can rule the bug kingdom together.” Marinette’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Felix made a noise that was definitely not a laugh but definitely wasn’t safe for his pride. Alice carefully placed the crown into Marinette’s hands like it was made of crystal. “I used extra glue so it wouldn’t fall off during your first royal decree.” Then she skipped away, leaving behind only glitter flakes, confusion, and emotional damage. “I’m sorry,” came Adrien’s voice, very seriously. “Did Marinette and Felix just get married by a six year old?”

The rest of their group were standing a few feet behind, clearly having witnessed everything. “Yes,” Nino said solemnly. “And I think we’re all now legally part of the bug kingdom. Long may they reign.” Marinette could not speak. She held the macaroni crown at arm’s length like it was ticking. Felix, beside her, had crossed his arms and was staring into the middle distance like he was trying to astral project out of the situation. “I refuse to acknowledge this union,” he said flatly.

“Tragic,” Odette sighed. “Already separated by irreconcilable differences. Think of the children.”

Adrien clutched his chest. “Gerald 2 is going to be heartbroken.”

“ I’m heartbroken,” Nino said. “I had high hopes for your reign. I was going to be Minister of Vibes.”

Marinette finally found her voice. “Why are all of you like this.”

“Because you love us,” Alya sing-songed, slinging an arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “Just as much as you love your husband, apparently.”

“Alya!” Marinette yelped, nearly dropping the crown. She turned to Felix for backup, only to find him already halfway down the steps toward the Metro, hands in his pockets, ears faintly pink.

Coward.

Adrien jogged after him. “Wait up, Your Highness! We haven’t even planned the royal banquet yet!” Nino caught up and dramatically draped his hoodie over Felix’s shoulders like a royal cloak. Alya gave Marinette a parting pat on the shoulder and trailed after them, laughing.

That left Marinette and Odette alone on the sidewalk, the glittering remains of royal matrimony still cradled awkwardly in Marinette’s hands. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The distant sounds of Adrien and Nino heckling Felix echoed down the block, laughter trailing in their wake. But here, in the hush just outside the museum doors, the air felt heavier somehow. Odette was the one who broke it. “He’s good with them, huh?” 

Marinette looked up, startled. “Yeah. I didn’t expect—” She stopped. “I mean, I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”  Odette hummed. Her arms were crossed, eyes still fixed on the corner where the boys had disappeared. “He hides it, but he’s always been gentle with kids. Total softie.” Marinette glanced down at the crown again, thumb brushing over a bent macaroni noodle. “For what it’s worth,” Odette added, “you could be forcibly married by a six year old to worse.” Odette went after the rest of the group, leaving Marinette on the museum steps alone. “Yeah,” she whispered to no one. She stared down at the crown and wordlessly tucked it into her bag.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

It was cozy in the kind of way that made you want to curl up in a beanbag chair and never get up. Le Chat Café had soft lighting, the scent of cinnamon and steamed milk hanging thick in the air, and cats everywhere . Painted cats on the walls, embroidered cats on seat cushions, tiny paw prints on mugs and plates. “I still can’t believe this place exists,” Nino said, biting the head off a cat-shaped sugar cookie. “It’s like walking into a Pinterest board from 2013.”

“It’s great,” Odette beamed. She was sitting next to Adrien, their drinks in matching pale pink mugs shaped like curled-up kittens. “The drinks Adrien brought last time were so good, but I wanted to see the latte art for myself.” Felix sipped his espresso without comment. He had declined the cat-shaped mug and asked for a plain one instead. The barista gave him one with a single, disapproving paw print on it. “Honestly, I’m glad we’re all out like this,” Alya said. “Feels like it’s been forever since the last group hangout.” Marinette nodded absently, pretending to stir her drink as if it hadn’t already reached the optimal marshmallow melting stage. The cat face in the foam was slightly off-center now, which felt symbolic. “Tell me this place doesn’t feel like a Chat Noir fan shrine,” Alya hummed, peering at a framed watercolor of a black cat winking over the pastry case.

“I was just thinking that,” Adrien said excitedly. “I mean, the resemblance is uncanny. If Odette didn’t tell me the date this place opened, I’d have assumed it was a dedication.”

“You think he knows about it?” Nino asked.

Felix didn’t look up. “Given his press history, I doubt he gives interviews to themed cafés.” Nino leaned back in his chair, balancing his mug lazily in one hand. “Hey, maybe we can get him to show up to the Winter Gala.”

Odette sipped her drink, brow raised. “How on earth do we do that, Nino?”

“You’re the president,” Nino grinned. “Plus wouldn’t that be a fun photo op? Chat Noir just dropping in from a skylight to photobomb your group pictures.”

Odette rolled her eyes playfully, “Yes, and then he gets arrested by the police over his many warrants.” 

“Still more entertaining than whoever Lila booked last year,” Nino sighed. “Nino just admit you’re still salty about her blowing you off,” Alya chuckled. 

“Of course I’m salty! That bouquet and limo was not cheap, thank god I booked refundable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alya brushed him off playfully. “Speaking of, though, what’s everyone’s status on dates?” Marinette froze. This year had been so crazy thus far with her superhero escapades and new friend group that the gala had completely escaped her mind. Who was Marinette going to go with?   “I’m going with Adrien,” Odette said easily, lacing her fingers with his. “Yeah, we figured,” Alya teased. “I would have rioted if you weren’t.” Adrien smiled sheepishly, squeezing Odette’s hand. Alya turned to Felix. “And you?”

Felix raised a brow, slow and unimpressed. “I was blackmailed into attending, what makes you think I want to subject someone else to that torture?”

“Oh, come on ! You’re not bringing anyone?”

“Unless someone else finds last-minute pity in their schedule, no.”

“What about you, Marinette?” Adrien asked innocently. Her grip on the mug tightened. “Oh,” she said, with a strained laugh. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Lie.

“Maybe I’ll skip this year,” she added, too cheerfully. “I don’t even have an outfit—”

“You? Not have an outfit?” Alya cut in, brows shooting up. “Who are you and what have you done to my friend?”

Marinette waved a hand. “I’ve been busy!”

“With what?” Nino asked, genuinely curious.

“With… things!” she said, a little too loudly. “School. Bakery. Museum field trips.” Felix sipped his espresso, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “You enjoyed that trip!” Odette huffed. “Anyways, I’m sure you can come up with something amazing in time. You still have 2 weeks.”

“I second that,” Adrien added with an encouraging smile. “Your designs are always incredible, Marinette.” Marinette stared down at her drink, the little cat face now a melted blob. She felt like one too. “Hmm, or maybe it isn’t about the outfit,” Alya said, suddenly perceptive. “You’re not insecure about not having a date, are you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Marinette said quickly.

“Hey,” Nino jumped in, “who even needs a date to this stupid thing? We show up in cool outfits, take photos, eat food, that’s all there is to it!” 

“You sure you aren’t just saying that because you don’t have a date?” Felix took another sip of his espresso, poorly concealing a teasing smirk. Nino’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “Hey! I have a date, thank you very much.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Who’s the lucky person?”

Nino’s face flushed slightly. “That’s uh, that’s private!”

Felix snorted, “Oh yes, she’s from London isn’t she?”

Nino shoved Felix lightly on the shoulder. “Knock it off, espresso boy.” Marinette laughed at their antics softly, grateful for the distraction. 

Suddenly, a familiar quake rocked the building. The café windows rattled, mugs clinked on saucers, one of the sleeping cats darted under the table. Everyone stilled, staring out the windows curiously. There was barely a warning before the front windows exploded inward. Alya grabbed Marinette, dragging her behind a toppled table. “Another akuma,” she hissed. A shadow hovered in the ruined café entrance, backlit by the red pulse of a corrupted sky. Metal stilts extended from sleek armored boots, hissing with pneumatic pressure as they crunched over broken tile. Her silhouette was fearsome, half military tactician, half futuristic war machine. Glowing red pistons braced her limbs, and long, telescoping rods extended from her back like antennae. Every footstep thundered like a dropped anvil, but most fearsome of all was the wide, crimson-tinted visor covering her eyes. “Paris,” she said, voice sharpened with static. “You have grown soft.” With a mechanical flick of her hand, a segment of the floor rose and snapped into a jagged wall, blocking the exit behind her. The furniture behind her reassembled itself into barricades and jagged towers. She wasn’t just breaking things, she was rebuilding the environment to trap them. Marinette peeked up just in time to see the café’s decorative cat statue get reshaped into a jagged spike. Nino pulled her down again, “We have to move. Now .”

“Go,” Marinette whispered, already slipping behind the ruined counter. “I’ll find a way out.” 

“ Marinette , you already got hurt by one akuma!” Nino grabbed her wrist, panic rising in his voice. “Stay down, we can wait for—”

But he never finished the sentence. A brutal clang rang through the café as a twisted metal column burst from the floor between them, severing the space with a shriek of shattering tile. Dust exploded into the air and Marinette stumbled back, disoriented. Nino’s voice was muffled on the other side of the rising barricade. “NINO!” she called, coughing.

“MARINETTE! I can’t see you!” Above them, the ceiling groaned. The akuma raised one arm and curled her fingers. With a mechanical whine, the rafters twisted. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. Someone near the back screamed, “It’s coming down!” Marinette jumped out of the way as the café’s roof collapsed in a roaring storm of splinters and stone. She only needed a few seconds of distraction, and it seemed this was her only chance. “Tikki, spots on!” she whispered quickly. 

Out of the smoke and falling rubble, a bright red yo-yo spun through the chaos like a flare.  “Step away from them,” Ladybug growled, making direct eye contact. From across the battlefield, the akuma turned her visor towards her with clinical precision. She stepped forward with mechanical grace, readying for impact, but Ladybug’s attention was on some movement near the wreckage.

Felix.

He wasn’t ducking for cover like the others. He stood frozen behind a shattered support beam, eyes wide, lips parted. His gaze was fixed on the akuma. “…Nathalie?” The name hit the air like a detonator. The akuma’s head tilted slowly, the antennae-like rods bristling with static. One hand dropped slightly, twitching at the fingers. “Felix,” she murmured, low and static-laced. Something in her tone wavered and the red visor flickered. 

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Ladybug didn’t wait. She lunged forward with her yo-yo like a whip, slamming into Nathalie’s side and dragging her back before the hesitation could end. The two of them crashed into a twisted barricade. Nathalie snarled as she recovered, eyes flashing blood-red again. “You’ll regret this!” she shouted, turning so that it was now Ladybug pinned against the wall. Felix had seen enough akumas to recognize the signs. He should have turned away to transform, should have become Chat Noir like every other time.

But this one was personal.

This wasn’t just some stranger in a monster’s body, it was Nathalie. The one who used to sneak him coffee when he pretended to be asleep. The one who let him skip classes when he was feeling particularly sick of the isolation. What the hell had happened to her? 

Felix snapped back to reality when he heard Ladybug gasp for air. Nathalie had elbowed her stomach and Ladybug was doubled over in pain. Instinctually, he ducked behind a fallen pillar, the jagged edges scraping his jacket as he crouched low. “I need to stop her,” he muttered, pulling out his hand to gaze at the ring on his finger. “Plagg, claws out.” In a flash, his clothes shimmered and shifted, and Felix transformed into Chat Noir. The suit felt like a second skin now, the weight of his responsibilities settling on his shoulders. He popped out from his cover, eyes locked on Nathalie’s armored form. The red pistons hissed as Nathalie raised a spear, aiming to strike. Chat Noir leapt forward, slashing with his claws to deflect the blow. “Nathalie,” he called out. “You’re stronger than this. Whatever revenge you think you want, you don’t. Hawkmoth is lying to you!” The akuma’s visor flickered again, hesitation showing beneath the armor, but the mechanical roar of her suit surged and she struck again, forcing Chat Noir to roll away. 

Ladybug twisted free from the wall, “Chat, on your left!” she shouted, spinning her yo-yo with practiced ease. Chat Noir watched as it wrapped around one of Nathalie’s extended rods, yanking it sideways with a sharp snap. The akuma staggered, the armor groaning under the strain. Ladybug took the chance to help Chat Noir up, smiling nervously as she held out a hand. “Hey, thanks for showing up.”

“Of course I showed up. You didn’t think I’d leave you to fight an akuma by yourself, did you?” he asked, aghast at the implication. We… haven’t been on the best of terms,” Ladybug sighed, pulling Chat behind a newly formed barrier. Chat Noir winced as the spear embedded itself just inches from his cheek, cracking the stone with a metallic snarl. “That’s not entirely my fault you know, you could have shown up any of the thousand times I invited you to talk about what happened,” Chat tried to hide the bitterness in his voice, but some leaked through anyways. Ladybug winced, avoiding his gaze. “I know,” she said quietly, fingers tightening on her yo-yo. “I didn’t know how to face you after the harsh things I said.” Chat was surprised, he had assumed that Ladybug was avoiding him out of anger, not guilt. Before he could comment on it, another spear came crashing down just behind them, showering the air with broken tile and debris. “Not the time,” Ladybug said, vaulting out of cover. Chat followed her a split second later, landing beside her in a crouch. “It’s never going to be the right time, Ladybug. Just say it.” Ladybug spun mid-stride, yo-yo whistling through the air as it deflected a blast of red energy. “Say what?” she snapped.

“That you don’t want me on your team.” Chat’s claws scraped against the floor as he slid under a fallen beam, coming up beside her again. “So I can argue why I should be!” Ladybug’s mouth opened, but Nathalie got to them before she could speak, red energy trailing from her armor like fireflies. The sheer force of her sprint sent cracks skittering across the floor. Ladybug gritted her teeth. “We can’t do this right now.” 

“We’re doing this right now,” Chat shot back, swinging his baton to intercept Nathalie’s charge. Sparks exploded on contact, metal screaming against metal as he dug his heels in. “You’re going to avoid me again after this if I don’t say my piece.” Ladybug ducked low, sweeping Nathalie’s legs with a sharp whip of her yo-yo. “You are so infuriating. ”

“And you’re avoiding confrontation!” he growled, catching her hand to yank her clear of another spear strike. “If you want this akuma to be the last time you see me, I’ll oblige your wishes, but I need you to say it to me. Not just imply it.” Ladybug stumbled as he pulled her. “That’s not—” she started, but the words tangled in her throat. “Say it,” Chat pressed, voice low and raw. “Say you don’t want me on your team. Say you don’t trust me. Just say something, Ladybug.” Nathalie’s shadow loomed again, closer this time.  Ladybug’s expression twisted, sharp and pained. “I don’t want that,” she breathed. “I don’t want this to be the last time.”

Chat froze. 

“I’m sorry,” she continued, the words rushing out between gasps as they ducked another blow. “For showing up late to the docks. For yelling. For being too scared to face you after everything.” Nathalie struck again, driving a spear into the concrete beside them with enough force to rattle their bones. Ladybug spun, deflecting the next hit with her yo-yo. “But I do trust you,” she sighed. “I always have.” Chat Noir’s baton trembled in his grip, the words hanging in the air like the break between thunder and lightning. Nathalie didn’t give them the silence to linger in it. She let out a shriek of distortion, launching forward with a burst of energy that cracked the floor beneath her feet. “Move!” Chat barked, pouncing on Ladybug. They tumbled behind an overturned table, debris raining around them. Ladybug rolled to her knees, winded but still burning with adrenaline. “We need to get her to hesitate again,” she said quickly. “Argh, I don’t know what Felix did, she hesitated when she saw him.”  Chat Noir glanced at Ladybug, a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Then maybe I need to be Felix,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Ladybug blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to act like ‘Felix’. Perhaps it’ll throw her off again. Do you think you could incapacitate her if I do?” Ladybug considered for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll use my powers to conjure up some rope, let’s finish this.”

Chat Noir cracked a confident grin. “Sounds like a plan.” He strode forward, calling out in a voice that carried just enough familiarity to stir something inside Nathalie’s armor. “Nathalie, wait! You don’t have to do this. You’re stronger than this suit. Your family needs you.” The akuma paused, visor flickering uncertainly. Chat Noir kept moving, dodging the next spear strike with agile ease, never letting Nathalie take her focus off him. “Remember who you are, not what Hawkmoth wants you to be,” he pressed. Chat Noir moved carefully, slowly, hands raised. The static crackle of Nathalie’s corrupted armor still lit the air, but her spear dipped, ever so slightly. He took another step. And another. The chaos of battle seemed to still around them as he finally stopped just a few feet away, his voice dropping to something softer. “Nathalie,” he said, and this time, not as Chat. “Look at me.” Her helmet tilted. “I need you to be Nathalie again,” he said, voice cracking. “Because I don’t have anyone else.” Her arm trembled. The red glow sputtered again. “Please,” he added, and for the briefest second, his eyes met hers through the computer—green on gray-blue.

Behind them, Ladybug was already on the move. With a whirl of her yo-yo, she launched forward, using the moment of hesitation to wrap the trap tightly around Nathalie’s legs, her arms, her center of gravity. “Now!” Ladybug shouted. The rope cinched tight with a snap, pulling Nathalie backward and off balance. She crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and sparks. Ladybug landed beside Chat, panting. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Chat murmured, stepping closer to the fallen figure. “I don’t know where her akuma is, did you—?” Nathalie groaned from the floor, propping herself up on one elbow. “My… my brooch.” 

“What?” Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows. 

“The akuma,” Nathalie said, voice rough with exertion. “It’s in my brooch.” Chat’s eyes snapped to the ornamental clasp pinned just beneath Nathalie’s throat. He moved instantly, baton held up straight as he knelt beside the woman. “Hold still,” he said softly. Nathalie didn’t resist. Her shoulders trembled beneath the layers of damaged armor, face pale and lined with strain. Chat’s claws sliced through the chain securing the brooch. As it hit the ground with a soft clink , a cloud of corrupted energy hissed up from the center. “Cataclysm!” his voice rang clear and strong. A bright light flared, and the akuma, twisted and angry, rose from the remaining ashes. Ladybug swiftly captured it with her yo-yo, waiting a beat before releasing the newly purified white butterfly from inside. As she did so, golden light exploded outward as the building reknit itself into normal infrastructure. A lot of the damage was still left behind, but at the very least it was limited to loose debris and overthrown tables. Nathalie slumped forward, breathing heavily. Chat caught her before she hit the ground. “Hawkmoth wants your miraculouses,” she murmured. 

“We’re aware.” 

“No, you aren’t. He’s going to use it to rewrite the world, do you even know what happens if he gets your powers?”

“He’s a bigger pain in the ass?” Nathalie let out a weak, breathy laugh, half pain, half disbelief. Just a second later, though, her smile drops. “I don’t have much time, he’s noticing something’s wrong. Listen, you two. Hawkmoth is going to combine your powers to grant himself a wish, rewrite history and time itself.” Ladybug shook her head, eyes wild with denial. “That’s not how our powers work!” Nathalie’s eyes fluttered, her hand gripping the edge of Chat’s suit with what little strength she had left. “It isn’t, ” she whispered, barely audible now. “But he found a way.” Ladybug crouched beside them. “Who is Hawkmoth?”

“Not safe to say, he’s listening. He always—” A jolt went through her body and her eyes widened in alarm. Chat tightened his grip instinctively, “Nathalie!” Her head turned slightly, just enough to angle toward Ladybug. “Protect the kids,” she breathed. 

Ladybug shook her gently. “Who?” 

The answer never came.  

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette sank into the balcony chair, clutching the warm cookie she’d just pulled from the oven. The sweet scent of cinnamon and chocolate filled the room, comforting against the lingering tension in her chest. Her muscles ached from the battle earlier, but at least everyone was safe now. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the quiet. A soft breeze brushed past her, tugging gently at the loose strands of hair around her face. A sudden tap on the balcony railing made Marinette jump. She turned toward the sound, only to find Chat Noir crouched casually on the railing, one hand raised in a sheepish little wave. “Evening, Marinette,” he said with a soft smile. “Hope I’m not interrupting your cookie ritual.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You always have a knack for showing up right when I least expect it.”

He tilted his head. “Good or bad surprise?”

“Still deciding,” she teased, though her smile betrayed her. Chat stepped down lightly onto the balcony floor and glanced toward the table. “Are those homemade?” Marinette offered him the plate. “Cinnamon chocolate chip. Want one?”

He took one with mock reverence. “You’re spoiling me.” She leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out with a sigh. “You deserve it. You were amazing out there.” He sat across from her, taking a slow bite of the cookie. “Well, I owe you some of the credit,” he said cheerfully.

Marinette raised a brow. “I didn’t do anything?”

“Well, not directly, but what you said that night, when things were going sideways.” His voice softened. “It helped more than I can say.”

She blinked, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ve been a little all over the place lately. Especially with Ladybug. I kept second-guessing myself, overthinking everything. But today? I don’t know. You grounded me.” He offered a small smile. “Gave me the push I needed.”

Marinette smiled back, touched. “I’m glad. You deserve to feel confident.” There was a brief pause, warm and quiet, before he tilted his head again. “What about you? How are you doing?” She groaned, letting her head thunk back against the chair. “Ugh. Don’t even get me started.”

He smirked. “That bad?”

“I mean it isn’t as bad as what you’re dealing with,” she gestured vaguely. “There’s this Winter Gala coming up. Everyone’s pairing off like it’s a slow-motion rom-com, and I don’t even have a dress ready.” Chat gave a thoughtful hum, then leaned forward on his knees. “Anyone you’d want to go with?” Marinette opened her mouth, then promptly shut it. She waved him off with a flustered little gesture. “It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t think it’s that complicated,” he said with a shrug. “Do you like someone?” Marinette hesitated, the words catching behind her teeth. Do you like someone? The question hung in the air between them, simple but impossibly loaded. She stared down at her half-eaten cookie, watching a melted chocolate chip slowly collapse into the dough. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the napkin in her lap.

Did she?

Her first instinct was to laugh and say no. Because crushes were supposed to be loud, chaotic, all-consuming. That’s how it had always been with Adrien, fireworks and flailing and frantic inner spirals. Kinda like how you feel about Felix . She tried to push that thought away from her mind. The truth is, with Chat Noir standing on her balcony and looking at her expectantly, the prospect of falling for him sounded easy. He was sweet to her, always saving her from danger, she trusted him. And okay, objectively? He was roguishly handsome. That smirk should be illegal. And his hair? Impossibly tousled like he walked through a wind tunnel in heaven. 

She bit her lip. 

“I… I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “Maybe?”

Chat tilted his head. “Maybe?” She met his eyes and then looked quickly away, feeling the burn of her own blush rising up her neck. Before she could think better of it, the words tumbled out. “Can I kiss you?”

Chat bristled. “What?” 

Marinette’s face went crimson. “Wait, no sorry. Ugh I wasn’t thinking when I said that. That was so stupid, I don’t know why I—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, his voice gentler now. “It’s not stupid. I’m just surprised, is there a reason you want to kiss me?” She rubbed the back of her neck, still not meeting his gaze. “You’re so kind to me, and you always show up when I need someone, and maybe I could like you. I just thought if I kissed you, I’d know.” The breeze rustled softly between them. When she dared to glance up, he was watching her with a strange, unreadable look. A faint pink touched his cheeks. “Okay,” he said, softly. Her heart stuttered. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “If you want to try, then… yeah.” She leaned in before she lost her nerve. His breath hitched just slightly, but he didn’t pull away. The kiss was  careful. Warm lips, a brush of closeness. It lasted only a moment before she pulled back, eyes wide. She felt… nothing. Not butterflies. Not warmth blooming in her chest. Not even a spark. “Oh,” Marinette whispered, her heart dropping. Chat was quiet, his expression unreadable again. She pulled back a little further, horrified. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to lead you on. I guess maybe I just… I don’t know,” she admitted. 

“It’s okay,” he said, a little too quickly.

“No, it’s not,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not.” He managed a small, crooked smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least now you know?” Marinette felt something twist in her chest. She’d wanted clarity, and she’d gotten it. Just not the kind she was hoping for. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Now I know.” Chat stretched slowly, brushing the crumbs from his gloves. “I should probably get going,” he said, his voice light, but not quite casual. Marinette stood too, half out of instinct. “Right. Yeah. Of course.” He offered her a small smile, “Thanks for the cookie.”

She nodded. “Anytime.” He stepped up onto the railing again, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Marinette.”

“Goodnight, Chat.” And with that, he was gone, vanishing into the night like he always did. This time, though, the air felt heavier in his absence. She sank back into her chair, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. What had she been thinking, trying to workshop her feelings like that? Marinette let out a groan and flopped sideways in the chair, letting her arms dangle uselessly off the sides.

Marinette hadn’t slept well. She’d tossed and turned all night, haunted by the way Chat Noir had smiled contrasted with the quiet disappointment in his eyes. Now, with the sun filtering in through her bedroom windows and a half-cold mug of tea cradled in her hands, the memory was no less painful in daylight. If anything, it was worse. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself. “So, so stupid. ” 

Tikki floated beside her, silent and solemn. “You were honest,” the kwami said quietly. “That’s not stupid.”

Marinette groaned. “It was reckless , Tikki. I should have thought of his feelings, and I’m still no closer to understanding my own! UGH, why is this so hard?!” Tikki hovered a little closer, her antennae drooping in concern, “You don’t have to figure this out all on your own, Marinette.” Marinette let her head fall back against her headboard with a thunk. “But I should be able to! It’s just feelings. People do this stuff all the time without imploding.” Marinette sighed deeply. “What if I ruined everything, Tikki?”

“You didn’t,” Tikki said firmly. “But you are overthinking it. Maybe it’s time to stop spiraling and call someone who can help you untangle it?” Marinette thought of that for a second before nodding in agreement. She fumbled for her phone and pulled up two separate message threads. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before she finally gave in to her spiral.

Can you come over? Boy stuff and I’m unraveling.
A response popped up almost instantly.

Alyurrr : WHAT

Alyurrr : I am OUT of the SHOWER and on my WAY

Alyurrr : DO NOT SPIRAL WITHOUT ME

Marinette barely had time to snort-laugh before another message came through.

Madame President : ETA 10 min.

Marinette set her phone down, heart a little lighter despite the knot still tangled in her chest. “See?” Tikki said softly, curling into her lap. “You’re not alone.” Marinette smiled weakly and patted her kwami’s head, “You’re right, Tikki . Thank you.” 

The sound of hurried footsteps pounded up the Dupain-Cheng stairs not even ten minutes later, followed by the unmistakable bang of Marinette’s trapdoor swinging open. “SPILL THE TEA, SIS,” Alya declared, bursting into the room with damp curls still tucked into a towel and one sock half on. “I came in my pajamas for this. Where’s the boy? Who’s the boy? Why’s the boy ? ” Odette followed more cautiously, a steaming to-go cup of chai in one hand and a small clipboard in the other. She took one look at Marinette, still wrapped in her fluffy robe, face pale, and mug clutched like a life raft, and sighed. “She’s in Defcon Three,” Odette said, placing the chai on Marinette’s nightstand and unclicking a pen. “We’re going to need emotional bullet points.” Marinette stared at them both, then let out a weak, slightly teary laugh. “I am so in love with you two it’s disgusting.” Alya dropped onto the end of the bed with zero grace and grabbed a throw pillow like it was a microphone. “Okay. Start from the top, when did you realize you have an Agreste kink?” Marinette’s face heated up to the color of a literal Ladybug, “What are you talking about?” Alya stopped mid-fluff with her pillow microphone, narrowing her eyes. “Wait. This isn’t about Felix?”

Odette blinked, genuinely confused. “Huh, I was pretty certain it was. I even made a flowchart.”

“GUYS, WHAT?!” Marinette choked, clutching her tea like it might protect her. “Why would I like Felix? That’s insane! He’s… he’s Felix! ” Her voice cracked. “He literally insults me everyday! Yesterday, he said my handwriting looked like if sasquatch picked up a pencil for the first time.”

“And yet,” Odette said calmly, flipping open her clipboard. “He’s the only person you can argue with for forty minutes and then still share a macaron with.”

“That’s called basic civility! ”

“That’s called emotional intimacy, ” Odette muttered, scribbling something down. Alya leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Okay. If this isn’t about Felix, and you’re this much of a wreck, then who is this about?” 

Marinette wringed her hair nervously, “Okay, so I may have kissed someone. Last night. For science.”

“For science?! ” Alya yelped.

“I panicked!”

“ WHO? ” Odette and Alya asked in unison. Marinette flung her arm dramatically toward the ceiling. “Chat Noir.”

The room exploded.

Alya shouted, “I’m sorry, since when is that a thing?!”

“It’s not a thing!” Marinette cried. “I mean, not really! He came by last night, and he was nice, and there were cookies and feelings and… I don’t know! I thought maybe I liked him!”

“You thought? ” Odette echoed slowly, pen frozen mid-sentence. “So I kissed him,” Marinette moaned, “and the second it happened I knew I knew it wasn’t right. It was like kissing a door.”

Alya just stared. “You kissed Paris’s most eligible bachelor and felt nothing ?” 

Marinette buried her face in a pillow. “Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound crazy.”

“Wait, wait, go back,” Alya said, waving her arms. “When did this Chat Noir visits your balcony and gets cookies and possibly your heart subplot start?!”

“I don’t know! It just happened , and I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t think it meant anything! But now I feel horrible because he wanted it to mean something, and I don’t, and he looked so sad, and now I don’t know what I want, and—”

“Okay, okay, breathe,” Odette said, putting her clipboard down and kneeling next to the bed. “Let’s regroup. You thought you liked Chat Noir so you kissed him. You felt nothing, but you’re still spiraling?”

“Correct,” Marinette whimpered.

“So you don’t like Chat Noir,” Alya said slowly, “and you’re definitely over Adrien by now. Well, that still leaves one Agreste unaccounted for.”

“I do not like Felix,” Marinette insisted at once.

“Totally convincing,” Odette deadpanned, reaching for her pen again. Alya crossed her arms. “You know what? I’m not even mad anymore. I’m fascinated. What kind of enemies-to-maybe-something slow burn are we sitting on here?”

“There’s no slow burn! There’s no burn of any kind!”

Alya pointed at her face with a grin, “So explain why your ears are turning red right now. ” Marinette groaned into her pillow, “Because you guys are being ridiculous! Felix hates me and is way too emotionally constipated to be in a relationship. Future me is going to be all ‘aw man I forgot my umbrella at home’ and he’s just going to shrug at me and say it’s not his problem.” Alya raised an eyebrow so high it could’ve flown off her face. “You’ve thought about dating Felix a lot for someone who supposedly doesn’t want to be in a relationship with him.”

“I haven’t!” Marinette protested.

“You had a whole mental fanfiction ready to go,” Alya shot back. “You don’t make up imaginary ‘concepts’ with people you’re not lowkey in love with.”

“It wasn’t a fanfiction,” Marinette mumbled. “That actually happened, the whole ‘haha I planned for the weather and you didn’t’ thing.” 

Odette tilted her head, unconvinced. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”

Marinette glanced up, defensive. “He said it!”

“He probably did,” Odette agreed, tapping her pen against her clipboard, “but you forgot the part where he was holding the umbrella over you the entire time.”

Marinette flushed. “How did—wait were you there?”

Odette raised her eyebrows. “I was watching from the safety of the building’s interior, and before you make excuses neither me nor Adrien asked him to approach you. We were quite shocked when he did, actually.” Marinette silently stared into her bed covers, not quite sure what to do with the way that her heart skipped a little at that tidbit of information. “I’m not saying he’s suddenly the poster boy for emotional vulnerability,” Odette added, tucking her clipboard under one arm. “But come on, Marinette. He stayed behind to model with you for the fashion debut.”

“And he hates modelling,” Alya added, catching on fast. “Don’t even get me started on him working the bakery counter last week. Felix behind a register? That’s, like, a spiritual crisis.” Marinette blinked. “Wait, you knew about that?”

“Of course I did,” Alya shrugged. “Nino and him were gonna hang out after and he asked Nino if he could take a rain check to quote ‘recharge his social battery’. He even told us not to make a big deal out of it, but when has Felix not wanted to be a drama queen about well… anything?” Marinette stared down at the bed like it might save her from herself. Odette watched Marinette for a beat, then coaxed gently, “Marinette, have you considered that maybe you’re avoiding crushing on Felix because you’re scared of it?” Alya sat up a little straighter, scooting closer to Marinette. 

“I’m not—” Marinette started, but her voice caught. She inhaled slowly, then tried again, quieter. “I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of what it would mean if I did like him.” Odette’s expression softened, and she stayed quiet, letting her talk. “Because…” Marinette swallowed. “Felix doesn’t just let people in easily. He doesn’t flirt for fun, or joke around, or say stuff he doesn’t mean. So if I liked him, and if he ever actually liked me back, then it wouldn’t be some light, silly thing. It would matter, and that’s terrifying.” Alya wrapped an arm around her shoulders, encouraging her to continue talking. “I’ve messed up enough when it comes to feelings,” Marinette went on, voice low. “I was so sure I liked Adrien, and that didn’t work. I thought maybe I could like Chat, and that blew up too. And Felix… he’s already complicated enough without me adding a romantic disaster to the list.”

“You think you’d be the disaster?” Odette asked gently.

Marinette looked up at her. “I think I’d be the one who couldn’t handle it.” 

There was a long silence before Alya, uncharacteristically soft, murmured, “Okay, but, the fact that it matters… doesn’t that make pursuing a relationship more worth it?” Odette reached out and gave Marinette’s arm a light squeeze. “I agree. You don’t have to decide anything right now, but it’s okay to be scared.” 

“I think I’d rather keep pretending it’s just snark and arguments and banter,” Marinette said, laughing weakly. “I mean, he probably doesn’t even like me.”

Odette sighed, “Marinette, you can’t protect yourself from heartbreak by pretending you don’t have a heart.” 

“I’m like ninety-nine percent sure you’re wrong about him not crushing. Either way, I have it on very good authority that a certain Felix is also tragically, devastatingly dateless to a certain Winter Gala. Y’know, in case a certain blue-eyed teenager wanted a low-stakes way of testing that statistic.” Alya wiggled her eyebrows. Marinette rolled her eyes, but the smallest, most traitorous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll think about it.” Alya squealed immediately, throwing her pillow in the air like a graduation cap. Marinette laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. Odette just grinned and gave her arm another reassuring squeeze. After a minute passed, Marinette’s face sobered again. “What do I do about Chat?” Alya frowned, but her voice stayed kind. “Honestly, girl? You pursue Felix, and whatever happens, I think it’ll be good for Chat to hear the truth. He’s a sweet superhero with a mysterious backstory and like a million fans, trust me. He’ll move on.” Marinette let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “You guys are the best.”

Odette smiled. “Obviously.”

“Also, we accept payment in cookies,” Alya nudged Marinette playfully. “Preferably the ones from last night that started this entire dramageddon.” 

Marinette laughed, “Deal.” 

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix sat curled in the window nook, knees drawn up, staring down at the mug of hot chocolate he barely touched. The sky was a soft gray outside, the kind that made the whole city feel dreary. Regardless, the city below was moving: cars honking, shops opening, someone arguing into a phone on the street corner. All of Paris seemed wide awake.

He felt half-alive at best.

He clenched his mug in both hands; it had long gone cold. Plagg hovered nearby, chewing on a stolen cheese wedge and not saying anything. For a few minutes, the two coexisted next to each other. “Didn’t sleep?” the kwami asked softly, breaking the silence. Felix didn’t answer. Plagg nudged the side of his knee. “Hey, you okay?” Felix’s grip on the mug tightened. “She kissed me,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “She kissed me, and she didn’t feel anything. I didn’t even know I wanted her to feel something until she didn’t .” Plagg floated a little closer, tail flicking absently as he looked at Felix. “Yeah,” Plagg said finally, voice gentler than usual. “That… sucks.” Felix huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t sound so tired. “She said she wanted clarity. And I thought—” He cut himself off, shook his head. “If I was just helping her, I wouldn’t feel so…” He gestured vaguely. 

“Like someone dropped a piano on your ribcage?” Plagg offered.

Felix made a face, “Something like that.” Plagg exhaled and set the last of his cheese down on the sill. “Look, Felix. I’ve been with a lot of holders. Some of them were emotional disasters, some of them were just calm. You?” He tilted his head. “You’re a lockdown. Fort Knox, if you will, and I don’t know how to help you if you can’t accept that your emotions aren’t carved in stone.” Felix didn’t look at him. “I think you’re falling for her,” Plagg continued, quieter now. 

Felix swallowed hard. “I’m not—”

“Could’ve fooled me.” A breeze rolled through the window, lifting a few strands of his hair. Felix stared down into the mug again. “I don’t even know when it happened,” he said. Plagg raised a brow, “So you reveal your life’s secrets and model for just any girl?”

“I thought I was just being… decent. Making friends.”

Plagg let out a small snort. “You are whipped, my guy.” Felix shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. Mostly just exhaustion. After a moment, Plagg floated up to meet his gaze directly. “You know, you don’t have to carry this one alone.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “You’re my therapist now?”

“I’m saying,” Plagg said carefully, “maybe you talk to someone who doesn’t live in your hoodie.” Felix looked back out at the rooftops, dragging a hand through his hair. “I hate when you’re right.”

Plagg smirked. “You hate when anyone is right but you.” Felix gave him a dry look. Then, reluctantly, he reached for his phone. “I think Adrien is still at practice, but I’ll text him and Nino.”

Plagg did a small celebratory twirl in the air. “Hooray for emotional expression!” Felix leaned his head back against the window frame with a sigh, “Oh, if only someone hadn’t eaten all my wallowing cheese, I could have expressed myself differently.” Plagg nudged the mug toward him. “Drink your chocolate, drama king.”

There was a knock on his door exactly seventeen minutes later (Felix was only counting because he was bored, of course). Nino’s voice shouted behind the door, “If you don’t open up, Adrien’s about to scale the building.”

“I will,” Adrien assented. “Don’t test me, Felix. I have all the escape routes for this building on lockdown . ” Felix opened the door before his brother could throw himself bodily through a window. Immediately, both boys froze in the doorway. “Whoa,” said Nino.

“Oh my god,” said Adrien, horrified. “What are you wearing?” Felix frowned at them. He looked down at his outfit: ancient sweatpants that definitely belonged to one of the Agreste twins two generations ago, a shapeless gray hoodie with cat hair on it, and socks that didn’t match. His hair was sticking up in defiance of all grooming laws, and there was a chocolate stain on his sleeve. Possibly from last night. Possibly from two nights ago. He raised an unimpressed brow. “Is this really how you’re going to greet someone in crisis?”

“YES,” Adrien said, voice shrill with betrayal. “Because WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? You look like you lost a fashion war and the will to live.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to dress for your approval to spiral emotionally,” Felix muttered, turning back into the room. “Next time I’ll wear couture.”

“Next time?!” Nino followed him inside, wide-eyed. “Dude, we’re not letting there be a next time. That’s a terrifying prospect. What happened? Did someone die?”

“ HE died,” Adrien whispered dramatically, clutching at Nino’s arm like he was witnessing a tragic opera. “Look at him. I’ve never seen him like this. The socks don’t match, Nino. The socks.”

Nino grimaced. “That’s rough, buddy.” Felix dropped back into the window nook with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Thank you,” they said in perfect unison. Plagg floated over, gnawing on a cracker he’d apparently decided was cheese-adjacent. “Glad you’re here. He’s been like this since sunrise. I’m only one ancient being of destruction, you know.”

Felix gave him a withering look. “You were literally the one who told me to invite them.”

“And look how helpful I am,” Plagg replied smugly. Nino sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling a protein bar out of his pocket and tossing it onto the windowsill in offering. “Okay, so. Clearly you’re a mess.”

“Thank you for the rundown,” Felix muttered. Adrien flopped down on the couch, arms spread dramatically across the cushions. “Talk to us, Fel. What happened?” Felix stared down at his cold mug again, debating whether to actually say it. Then, in one breath, he admitted, “Marinette kissed me, and I think I like her. Romantically.” Nino and Adrien exchanged a look. Then Nino cleared his throat. “Congrats?”

Felix looked at them, aghast. “ No , not congrats.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, “I mean… your crush kissed you? Is this not a celebratory moment?”

“She kissed me and felt nothing! ” Felix snapped, hands thrown up in despair. “Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Negative interest. And the worst part? I didn’t even know I wanted her to feel something until she didn’t. It was like realizing I’d just jumped out of a plane with no parachute after hitting the ground.”

Nino looked appropriately alarmed. “Wait, back up. You finally realize you have a crush on Marinette. Cool, terrifying, we’ll come back to that. But what do you mean she felt nothing?” Felix ran both hands through his hair, making it stick up worse. “I went to her balcony last night to thank her for… some advice she gave me as Chat, not important. Anyways, she asked to kiss me because she thought it would help her with her feelings, and then she did, and she—” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “— paused mid-kiss and went, ‘oh.’”

Adrien winced like he’d been physically slapped. “Oof.”

“Yeah,” Felix said flatly.

“Okay, but,” Nino squinted at him, “what did she say after the kiss?”

“She apologized for leading me on,” Felix replied, deeply, bitterly offended. 

“And you like her?” Nino asked carefully.

“Yes!” Felix snapped, then immediately winced like he regretted saying it out loud. “I thought I was helping her, being decent, trying out this whole ‘being a human’ thing, and then suddenly my brain is going what if she smiled like that at me all the time? What if she kissed me again but because she wanted to? And now I’m here. In emotional hell.”

Adrien sighed, “Wow. You’re more down bad than I thought.”

“I’m aware,” Felix muttered.

“But you’re also wrong,” Nino said, pointing at him. “You’re panicking because she didn’t feel anything for Chat Noir. But maybe that’s because she doesn’t like Chat Noir .”

Felix stared at him. “Thank you for that insight. Next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.”

“No, wait, he has a point,” Adrien jumped in. “You’re assuming that because Chat Noir didn’t spark anything, you don’t have a chance. But what if that means she likes Felix ?” Felix gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “Yes, because history has proven that Marinette is so receptive to the real me.”

“You’re just a little emotionally repressed,” Adrien said cheerfully. 

“A little?” Plagg muttered.

Nino leaned forward. “Dude. Let’s be real. You’re not subtle . You think we didn’t notice the whole ‘staring at her like she’s the Mona Lisa and you’re about to steal it’ thing?”

“I wasn’t staring, ” Felix said, scandalized.

Adrien raised a brow. “You once watched her adjust a headband for four minutes.”

“I was observing,” Felix defended. “For fashion science.”

“Uh-huh,” Nino said. Felix sank back in the window seat and buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Adrien said, hopping up and pacing now. “This is progress. You have a crush, and we’re here to help. Right, Nino?”

“Yup. Step one: get out of this depression outfit.”

“Step two,” Adrien added, “ask her to the gala . ” Felix sat bolt upright. “What do you mean ‘ask her to the gala?!’”

Adrien blinked innocently. “Exactly what I said?”

“As in, ask her to go with me?” Felix said, like the concept was offensive. “Felix,” Nino said gently, “I know you’re emotionally constipated eighty percent of the time, but you realize that’s what most people do when they have a crush, right?”

“But I already know she doesn’t!” Felix threw his arms out in exasperation. “Why would I set myself up to be declined in public?”

“You don’t have to ask in public,” Adrien said, hands raised in peace. “You could very much be wrong, y’know. Plus, even if she turns you down you could go with her as friends.”

“Also,” Nino added, “it’s a gala. You’ll look hot and can swoon her in a suit.” Felix sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face again. “I’ll… think about it.” 

Nino slapped him on the back with a smile, “Awesome! Now, can we play video games and waste the day away?” 

“It’ll be a waste for you , I’ll be affirming my winning streak.” 

“Oho, you’re on!” 

Nino left just after dinner, slapping Felix on the back again on his way out and promising a rematch. Adrien had vanished into the bathroom not long after with an armful of skincare products, humming to himself as he disappeared behind the door. That left Felix sitting alone in the room. The windows were open to let in the soft summer breeze, and the game controller lay abandoned beside him on the couch. His sweatshirt had been swapped for a clean shirt, but he still hadn’t bothered with real pants. Progress, marginally. Plagg floated into view, upside down and gnawing on a protein bar that had definitely come from Adrien’s secret stash. “So,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs, “I know we had an emotional spiral earlier, but have you made any progress on figuring out what Nathalie meant in her warning?” Felix exhaled slowly, the name alone sobering his expression. “Right. That.” Plagg hovered beside him, voice unusually quiet. “You never told Adrien she was akumatized, did you?”

“No,” Felix said. “Not yet.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers twisted together. “She said Hawkmoth found a way to use the Miraculous to rewrite time,” Plagg said. “Even I didn’t know that was possible. That can’t be normal.”

“She said he was going to make a wish. ” Felix’s voice was low. “A wish that rewrites reality. Some kind of magical override?” Plagg floated in front of him. “That’s not how our powers are supposed to work. Using both recklessly would tear things apart. Not fix them.” 

Felix sighed loudly, “Hawkmoth has already rewired the purpose of his miraculous, who’s to say he couldn’t do the same to ours?” 

“Just because Nooroo went to the dark side, doesn’t mean Ti- Ladybug’s kwami and I will,” Plagg grouched with certainty.

“Nooroo?” 

Plagg drifted slightly higher, tone careful. “The kwami of transmission. He’s the one bound to the Butterfly Miraculous.”

Felix straightened. “You know his name.”

“Of course I do,” Plagg said. “We’ve existed for millennia. I knew him before Hawkmoth got his grubby little hands on the brooch.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. “You never mentioned this.”

“You never asked,” Plagg shot back. Then, sighing, he rubbed his face with tiny paws. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you. I just… Nooroo wasn’t supposed to bend like that. None of us are.”

Felix watched him carefully. “How exactly do kwamis work?”

“We’re not just mascots,” Plagg said. “We are what we represent. I’m destruction. Ladybug’s kwami is creation. Nooroo is connection. We’re made from the purest essence of what we represent.”

Felix’s brows pulled together. “And you’re incorruptible?”

“We’re supposed to be,” Plagg said bitterly. “If a wielder’s heart turns, we’re meant to cut them off from our powers.”

“But Nooroo didn’t.”

“No,” Plagg said, his voice sharp. “He didn’t. He’s been letting that power spread like rot for years. He should’ve gone dormant. He should’ve resisted.” His tail lashed once, a flick of anger.

Felix leaned back slightly, absorbing that. “Do you think he was forced? Or tricked?”

“Maybe,” Plagg said softly. “But it doesn’t matter now. Someone figured out how to suppress our failsafes. Which means if they do that to us—”

“Then it’s over,” Felix finished grimly. Plagg gave a curt nod. There was a long silence. Then Felix leaned forward, “I’ll keep digging. Whoever Hawkmoth is, whoever he’s hiding behind, I’ll find him.” Plagg’s expression flickered, and for a moment the sharp edge softened. “Thanks, kid.” 

The bathroom door opened down the hall, spilling golden light and a cloud of citrusy steam. Adrien reappeared with a towel around his neck, looking far too fresh-faced for the severity of the conversation Felix had just had. He grinned. “Did I miss anything?” Felix turned toward him, composure sliding seamlessly into place. 

“Nothing urgent.”

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette Dupain-Cheng arrived at school armed with three pens, two granola bars, and one final, furious resolution. 

She was going to ask Felix Agreste to the Winter Gala.

Not because she was feeling bold, or flirty, or remotely confident. No, this was a declaration of war. Because if she really thought about it, really thought about it, Felix had been driving her slowly insane since day one. He was nothing like Adrien, even though he looked like he’d been printed from the same golden-boy template. Where Adrien sparkled, Felix smoldered. Where Adrien charmed, Felix dissected. He was sharp, observant, infuriatingly precise. And every time she thought she had him figured out, he did something weird and contradictory like... help her pick up spilled sketches without saying a word, or leave behind a coffee cup with her exact order written on it in the library, or casually recommend a book she’d mentioned liking once in passing.

She had stared into the abyss of ambiguous eye contact and survived. She had endured six entire months of sideways glances and emotionally charged silences. She was done waiting. Done. Either he liked her, or he didn’t. Either way, she was going to know by the end of the day.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag and marched through the school courtyard like a girl on a mission. The sky was clear, the air sharp with winter chill, and the whole building smelled faintly of printer ink and stress. The perfect setting for emotional carnage. She slammed her locker open with a little more force than necessary, like maybe she could rattle the nervous feelings out of her body. Inside was the usual mess of textbooks and stray hair clips, but something new caught her attention.

A piece of paper. Folded, rectangular. 

M.

Library @ Lunch. Don’t be late.

 —F

She stared at it for a long moment. Then reread it, twice. Of course she would finally gather every ounce of courage in her body to ask him to the Gala, and he would beat her to the emotional punch with some cryptic middle-of-the-day summons like she was being recruited to join MI6. She folded the note again and tucked it into her bag, heart thudding now in a way that made her knees feel untrustworthy.

Maybe he needed help with English problems again.

Or, more likely, he was going to reveal that it was a prank that normal Marinette should absolutely not fall for but current Marinette was infuriatingly curious about.

Or maybe, just maybe—

No. No maybe. No hoping. No more reading into things.

She didn’t go.

By the time lunch rolled around, Marinette was planted firmly in the art room, pretending to reorganize the thread drawers like her life depended on it. She had stared at that folded piece of paper for the first ten minutes of history class, then again in the hallway, then again while pretending to eat half a granola bar. She’d even held it under the table during chemistry like it was a secret artifact that might whisper its meaning to her if she just looked at it long enough.

But it didn’t whisper anything.

After everything, all Alya’s lecturing and marching around and Odette’s clipboarding, Marinette chickened out. It was like the moment she saw that note, her plan stopped being a power move and became as fragile as glass. 

What if it really was a confession?

Worse: what if it wasn’t?

What if she showed up and he said something cold and cutting and completely neutral in tone, like he always did, and she was left standing there like a cartoon idiot with her heart in her hands?

So instead, she stayed in the art room. She sorted spools of thread by color. She sewed a new button onto the sleeve of her coat. She even reorganized the embroidery floss, which hadn’t been touched since first term. She didn't go to the library, and for thirty-four whole minutes, she told herself she’d made the right call. Until, of course, Felix found her. “I waited twenty-three minutes,” Felix said, voice flat. Marinette froze with her hands half-stuffed into her bag. He was standing just inside the door, arms crossed. His uniform blazer was slightly rumpled and his expression was unreadable, but edged with something unmistakably annoyed. “Felix,” she turned, guilt already rising in her throat. “I got caught up with a project. I meant to—”

“No, you didn’t.” Her eyes widened. He wasn’t angry, but there was something sharp in his voice. Something that sounded disappointed. “I left you a note,” he said, stepping closer. “You read it. You didn’t come. Why?” Marinette opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Because I was scared you wouldn’t show up.

Because I was scared of hearing what you had to say.

Because you drive me insane and I like you and that’s scary. 

“I didn’t think it was important.” 

His jaw flexed. “Right,” he said tightly. “Of course. My mistake.” Felix turned on his heel, and for a second Marinette almost let him leave. Then her voice caught up to her thoughts. “Felix, wait.” He paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. Her bag slid off her shoulder and hit the table with a soft thunk. Her hands were shaking and heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her teeth, but she couldn’t let this go. Not when she’d come so close . “I lied,” she said, stepping toward him. Her voice wobbled. “I was going to ask you to the Winter Gala.” The words landed in the space between them with a sort of awful, echoing finality. He turned around slowly. She kept going. Because now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I had this whole plan,” she said, hands flailing as if trying to catch the pieces of it mid-air. “I was going to do it this morning. Like, first thing. I was going to walk up to you and be confident and normal and just ask you, like a person. A functioning person. But then I saw that note and it threw off all that confidence, because suddenly it felt like you were going to say something first and that meant maybe you like me , but I was so scared of assuming wrong and—”

“Marinette,” Felix said carefully, like he was afraid if he said her name too loudly she’d combust.

“—I’ve spent six months trying not to have feelings about you, but you’re you and you’re so annoyingly complicated and weirdly considerate and you remember all these tiny things about me I didn’t even realize I said out loud and you always look like you’re analyzing the trajectory of a bomb whenever someone talks to you but with me it’s different and—” He took a step forward. She backpedaled. “—and I know I’m talking too much right now, but I have to , okay? Because if I stop talking, I’m going to start thinking, and if I start thinking, I’m going to talk myself out of saying this. And I have to say it. Because I like you. Like, really like you. And I know you probably knew that already, because you’re freakishly good at reading people and because I’ve been wildly, embarrassingly obvious—”

“You haven’t,” Felix said. She froze mid-breath. He was closer now. Felix gave a faint huff of disbelief and ran a hand through his hair. “Although, neither have I. Which is quite a tragedy on my part because I don’t know how you would ever come to such an incorrect conclusion of me not feeling the same, Marinette.” 

Marinette blinked. “Wait. What? Since when ?!” Felix looked mildly startled by the sheer volume of her disbelief. “Since…” He paused, his brow knitting. “I’m not sure there’s a singular moment. Possibly the Tuesday you argued with the vending machine. Or the time you cursed out a sewing needle under your breath for ‘betraying your trust.’ Or the afternoon I helped you in the bakery—”

Marinette’s eyes were wide. “So you’ve… liked me. This whole time. I didn’t have to have an art room crisis freak out?”

“If it makes a difference, I find your spiraling strangely endearing,” he said, lips twitching.

“Oh my god.” Marinette buried her face in her hands. “Everyone watched me embarrass myself for months. ”

“It can’t be that bad,” he said pointedly, and she peeked through her fingers. “I had to Google ‘how to flirt’ last night and promptly deleted my browser history because it was humiliating. Adrien found it, and now has more blackmail if you can believe it.” Marinette laughed, loud and bright, taking a few minutes to calm down though the smile never left her cheeks. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. So… if the offer’s still open…” She cleared her throat, “Would you want to go to the Winter Gala with me?”

Felix didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said, quiet but certain. “I’d like that a lot.”

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix buttoned his coat with the grave focus of someone performing heart surgery. He was trying to tie the scarf Marinette had given him, red with tiny embroidered ladybugs, into something that looked effortlessly casual, not like he’d spent fifteen minutes in front of a mirror practicing knots like a lunatic. He was halfway through adjusting it when the door burst open. “Bro, do you have the spare—” Adrien’s voice cut off as he stepped in, Nino just behind him. Both stared at him. Felix froze, like a deer caught in headlights. “What,” Felix said flatly, instantly on guard, his posture going stiff, “are you two doing here?” Adrien raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. “We share a room?”

“I’m gaming with him,” Nino added helpfully, pointing a thumb toward Adrien.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you have a home , Lahiffe?”

“Not one with a Felix-shaped drama unfolding in it,” Nino said, grinning. Adrien leaned against the doorframe, looking far too pleased with himself. “So. I take it the confession went well?” Felix made a strangled noise and turned abruptly to face his mirror, hiding the telltale pink blooming on his ears. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I’m implying,” Adrien said with relish, “that you’re going on a date.”

“I am not —”

“Scarf’s cute,” Adrien added. “Very Marinette.” Felix paused to glare at him. “I’ll have you know, this scarf was a practical gift and entirely unrelated to anything sentimental.”

Nino peeked around him. “Are those ladybugs?”

“Do me a favor, Nino? Shut up.”

“So it is a date,” Nino muttered.

Felix turned on him. “You are both incredibly irritating.”

Adrien’s grin widened. “Have fun on your date.”

“I will , thank you,” Felix huffed, grabbing his coat and brushing past them toward the door. “And before you squeal at me later tonight, it’s ice skating.”

Adrien gasped dramatically. “That’s so romantic. Oh my god, you’re in love .”

“I hope you fall into a snowbank,” Felix snapped as he left.

“Love you too, Felix!” Nino called before the door shut.

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette bounced on her toes, blowing into her hands to keep warm as she scanned the rink entrance. She’d been the one to suggest this, mainly because it was winter and pretty and the city had turned the plaza into a snow globe dream. Plus, she liked the idea of seeing Felix let his perfect little hair get a bit windswept. Her phone buzzed with a text.

Furrix♥️ : I’m here.

She turned and had to blink several times to confirm that yes, the tall figure walking toward her was indeed Felix Agreste, heir to everything, walking into an outdoor skating rink like it was a royal engagement. “Dude,” she said before she could stop herself.

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Dude…ette?”

“You’re wearing a wool coat. And leather gloves. Are those dress shoes?”

“They’re boots. Designer boots. Why are you acting like a model doesn’t own fanciful clothing?”

“That isn’t the problem. You look like you’re about to attend an opera. On a glacier.”

He sniffed. “I am adequately prepared .” Marinette stifled a laugh and held up his pair of rented skates. “Sure, okay, Monsieur Agreste. Since you said you’ve never done this before, I figured we could start on the wall and work our way up to not eating ice.”

Felix accepted his skates with a huff. “For your information, I’ve done ballet for 12 years.”

“Okay?”

“My balance is exceptional, I shall not be clinging to any walls.”

“Right. Of course not.” She fought back the grin. “Just remember to bend your knees.” Felix stepped onto the ice with all the confidence of a man who had definitely never seen a fail compilation. He took one glide and looked back at Marinette with a gloating smirk. Unfortunately, his next stride forward ended with Felix sprawled on the ice in a very expensive heap. Marinette clapped a hand over her mouth. Felix groaned, his scarf covering the top of his head. “Do not laugh,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Marinette wheezed. She skated over and offered him a hand. “Okay, Baryshnikov, we’re starting with the wall.” He grumbled, but took it anyways. To his credit, they got into a rhythm eventually. Marinette guided him around the rink, half-skating backwards, half-coaching him like she was training a very elegant baby deer. Felix was determined not to ask for help, but held her hand with stubborn intensity. After a few laps, his movements got steadier, and his grip on her hand went from death clutch to maybe-I-just-want-to-hold-your-hand, shut up, it’s cold . “I told you I’d get the hang of it,” he muttered smugly.

“You’re not exactly gliding.”

“I am absolutely gliding. Look at me glide.”

“You look like a mannequin doing the cha-cha.” Felix rolled his eyes, but she caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. They eventually skated to the edge of the rink and flopped onto a bench to catch their breath. Felix, dignified even while panting slightly, took off one glove and reached for the thermos she’d brought. “Is that hot chocolate?” he asked, eyeing it curiously.

“With cinnamon,” she nodded. Felix sipped. Paused. Sipped again. “If you sold this in the bakery, I’d gain 50 pounds and lose 50 euros.”

“Good thing this is special-occasions-only hot chocolate.” She nudged his shoulder. “First date review so far?”

He pretended to ponder. “Minus points for public humiliation.”

“Fair.”

“Plus points for cocoa.”

“Oh? Just the cocoa?” His ears went pink and he looked away. “You’re alright too.” 

Marinette beamed.

They stayed at the rink long after the sun had dipped behind the rooftops, skating under strings of fairy lights. Felix loosened up, enough to chase her (slowly) across the ice and let out an actual laugh when she nearly wiped out doing a spin. Marinette felt him lean just a little closer when they sat side by side on the bench again. By this point in the night, his scarf was crooked, his hair was tousled, and his expression was soft in a way she hadn’t seen before. “I had fun,” she said, bumping his shoulder. “I hope you did, too. Even if you fell flat on your face.”

“I fell for you,” he deadpanned. She blinked. “I don’t know why I said that,” he muttered, clearly regretting everything and rushing to cover his tracks. Marinette burst out laughing and reached over to fix his scarf. “Oh, no. You can’t take it back. That one’s memorized now.” 

Felix sighed dramatically, “This is the worst first date I’ve ever enjoyed.”

“Same,” she said brightly. “Wanna do it again sometime?” He met her eyes and smiled in a way that turned Marinette’s insides into goo. “You can only have one first date per person, petite peste, but yes, I’d like to do this again sometime.”

⊱.✧° [◎] °☍° ✎ °✧.⊰

It started with the pens. Specifically, the three identical black gel pens Marinette had lined up beside her math notebook, and the very different , very expensive fountain pen Felix had placed next to them. They weren’t sharing the whole desk or anything. Marinette was perched at hers, scribbling formulas with a determined frown, and Felix was on his side, reading Foucault like he was auditioning for a black-and-white film.

Except.

Every time Marinette dropped a pen, Felix kicked it forward with his foot. Not far. Just enough for it to reach her without her needing to move. Not a word passed between them. No thank-you, no smug “you’re welcome.” Just a lazy nudge, a quiet reach, and repeat. By the third pen, Alya narrowed her eyes; then she shrugged. Maybe he was finally respecting Marinette’s Desk ContractTM, clearly the boy was whipped enough to make amends. 

In physics, Marinette whispered something under her breath while glaring at her notes. It was that low-level rant tone she used when math and engineering refused to play nice. Alya heard the words "angle of trajectory" and "I hate formulas." Felix didn’t even look up from his notebook. “Check your signs,” he said quietly. Marinette stopped, blushed, and adjusted a variable. Her answer must have come out correct because she stopped furiously whispering. Alya squinted confusedly, “How did he know what she was doing?” she whispered to Adrien.

Adrien just smiled and said, “Oh, he’s paying attention.” Makes sense , she thought fondly, Marinette probably wouldn’t stop bothering him until she got the right answer anyways.

Marinette was late again, which was normally whatever. Girl had a bakery and an overbooked planner and probably six side quests before homeroom, but what was new was how nervous Felix looked about it. He didn’t necessarily say anything, but it was obvious he was waiting for her. He tapped his foot, glanced at the door, checked his phone, looked over at her empty seat and then looked away to tap his foot again. When she finally burst in, scarf half-on and hair slightly windblown, he went completely still like he didn’t want to make it obvious that he’d been waiting for her. She sat down and whispered, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He leaned sideways, opened his bag, and slid her a granola bar without a word. A little late on the croissant thing, but Alya was glad Felix was paying his baked good dues. Seriously girl, it’s so obvious he likes you. I wish she’d ask him out soon. 

Marinette had forgotten her fork. Again. She always remembered the complicated parts: thermos, napkin, little sealed sauce container. Alya had no idea how she could forget the actual utensil. Alya was halfway through offering her a spare when Felix, without looking up from his book, reached into his bag and handed Marinette a clean, individually wrapped fork. Marinette didn’t even hesitate. “Thanks,” she said, as though this were completely normal. Felix turned a page. “You owe me for last week’s soup incident.”

“You put the lid on wrong,” she muttered.

“I watched you carry it upside down. Don’t lie to me, it’s distasteful.” Alya froze, piece of cucumber halfway to her mouth. Because when did Felix carry around spare utensils for someone else’s lunch? Since when did Marinette expect it? She belatedly mourned the fact that Marinette and Felix hadn’t considered dating yet, they were clearly already in sync.

With a week left for the gala, Alya had stayed at school longer to check all the camera equipment. After all, the yearbook wouldn’t be complete without photos of one of the school’s major events. While she was leaving, Alya spotted Marinette and Felix outside the school gates talking in hushed voices. Well, actually it was more like trading snide remarks while pretending it wasn’t flirting. Felix had that look he always got when he was trying not to smirk, and Marinette kept doing the thing where she tugged on her sleeve and rolled her eyes, even as she leaned closer. At one point, he plucked something from her hair (a leaf?) and dropped it into the nearest bin like it had offended him personally. Marinette turned beet red and Alya covered her mouth to stifle the laugh that was about to escape. “Girl,” she muttered to herself. “She needs to ask him out like tonight before she implodes.” She waited a moment longer before sneaking off to text Odette a full play-by-play.

“Okay, but listen,” Alya said, dragging Odette onto a bench in the locker hallway, “I think Marinette might finally be ready to ask him out. Felix is being like… extra Felix around her. Like sassy but sentimental? And she’s been drawing dresses in the margin of her chem notes again. Dresses that need to be seen at the gala.”

Odette snorted. “Alya, they’ve been dating for a week.” Her brain crashed. “I’m sorry, she’s been what?” Odette popped a grape into her mouth like this wasn’t the biggest bombshell since the banana milk incident. “She asked him out the morning after your whole ‘Do it, coward’ speech,” she said cheerfully. “Spiraled so hard I had to confiscate her phone. They’re going to the gala. It’s been a thing .”

Alya stared in disbelief. “But… how—how did I miss this?! I’m the reporter! This is my whole deal! ”

“You were too busy planning her entrance music,” Odette deadpanned. “Also, you’re blind.” Alya groaned, loudly and dramatically, collapsing backward on the bench like her life had just lost all meaning. “You knew and you didn’t tell me!”

“I thought you knew too,” Odette said, not sounding even a little sorry. “It was obvious.”

“I’m going to revoke my own press badge.”

“Do that. Right after you help me pick a lipstick shade for my gala outfit.” Alya moaned again, but fished out her swatch list anyway. “Fine. But I’m publishing an exposé. You’re all frauds. ”

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

Marinette was mid-way through arranging rhinestones on her Gala mood board when the door to her room slammed open with the fury of a thousand men. “YOU. DIDN’T. TELL. ME.” Marinette shrieked and dropped her tweezers. Alya stood in the doorway, righteous and furious and holding her phone aloft like a sword of justice. “A WEEK , Marinette. One whole week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. How long were you planning to keep this from me?!”

Marinette smiled nervously. “Uh, what is this about?”

“I had to hear it from Odette! Odette! Keep in mind I told you about Adrien and her first, was this your version of karmic retribution?”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, covering her face. “I told her not to say anything unless you asked!”

“I did ask! Like twelve times! I said, ‘Do you think they’re dating yet?’ And she said, ‘What do you think?’ And I thought she was being philosophical , Marinette. Because obviously my best friend would tell me she was dating her crush!” Marinette flailed, rushing to hug Alya. “I was going to tell you, I swear! But then I didn’t, and then it had been a day, and then it had been three days, and then it was too weird to bring up because it had been four days—”

“You’re dating Felix Agreste, not faking your own death!” Alya threw her arms up. “You could have texted me a cryptic emoji combo, and I didn’t even get that.”

“I panicked!”

“You panic every day! That’s not a unique condition!”

“Telling you was like acknowledging it was real,” Marinette mumbled, sinking into her beanbag. “And then it would be real real. And I’d spiral. Which I did, but in private . Like a lady.” Alya stared at her for a long, incredulous moment. Then she walked over, grabbed a rhinestone from Marinette’s desk, and flicked it at her forehead. “That’s for crimes against the press.”

“Ow!”

“And this is for not letting me yell about your literal actual boyfriend all week.” She threw herself onto the beanbag beside her, dramatic as ever. “I’m filing a report with the Bureau of Best Friend Violations. There will be hearings,” Alya said bitterly. 

“Can I bribe the committee with limited edition macarons?” Alya glared with no real heat, but easily broke into a grin. “Only if you tell me everything. Like, every single detail.”

Marinette sighed, “Fine, but you’re not allowed to make a slideshow.”

“No promises.”

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

In hindsight, the catalyst for all this was quite stupid. They’d just finished lunch behind the school, sprawled out beneath that awful sculpted hedge that tried very hard to be symmetrical and failed at every corner. Felix was recounting some story about his ballet coach and a particularly dramatic injury, complete with deadpan commentary and three flawless imitations. Marinette was laughing hard, her nose scrunched and her entire face crinkling in that way that made Felix feel like someone had rung a gong in his chest. He was interrupted by the warning bell which led to the group dispersing to finish the tasks they had set aside for lunch yet still chose to procrastinate on. 

Adrien had stayed behind to finish his juice box like a child, and apparently get some ‘brother bonding time,’ whatever that meant. Felix didn’t mind, used to his antics at this point and still riding the high of making Marinette smile like that.

So of course Adrien had to ruin it. “You’re so extra all the time,” he’d said, tossing his straw wrapper at Felix playfully. “I wonder which Felix Marinette prefers. Dramatic or normal.” Felix had smirked, made some flippant quip about how he’d rather die than be normal, and let it pass. The thing was, it stuck. He didn’t mean for it to. It was barely even a remark. Adrien was always saying things like that, soft little jabs that he was afforded the benefit of because that’s just what twins were made to do. Unfortunately, this particular one curled in the back of Felix’s mind and stayed.

Was he… too much?

Too sharp? Too performative? Too sardonic and biting and strange? He’d always known that people saw him as unrelatable and intense, years of sheltered living didn’t translate well socially. He thought maybe, with Marinette, that wasn’t a bad thing. 

Now he wasn’t sure.

“You good?” she asked after their third class that afternoon, poking him with her shoulder.

He moved to swat her hand away, but instead just looked to the side as a more socially acceptable response, “Yes, why do you ask?”

Marinette tilted her head, suspicious. “You haven’t made fun of my handwriting all day.”

“It seemed redundant. You can see it.” Normally, that would’ve earned him a dramatic gasp, a notebook to the face, maybe a spiral about being “aesthetically attacked”, but she just squinted at him like he was a puzzle with no solution. 

By the time they made it to her house that evening, it was obvious something was off. Felix sat on the floor of her room while she worked on sketches, and she was quiet, which if you knew Marinette was a miracle or a terror. “Okay,” Marinette said finally, spinning in her chair to face him fully. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. She raised both eyebrows. Felix hesitated, mouth opening and closing once. Then he looked down, smoothing his hands over his knees like they might tell him what to say. “Do you ever think I’m too much?” Marinette frowned at him. “I mean,” he swallowed. “I’m aware of how I come off. The dramatics. The sarcasm. The—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—Felixness of it all. I’m trying to tone it down.” Silence fell like a pin dropping in a ballroom. After a minute or two, Marinette got up decisively, marched over to the floor, and sat on his lap . “First of all,” she said, poking his chest, “you’re ridiculous.”

He huffed, “That’s what I just— ”

“Second of all,” she interrupted, “you’re like if an Oscar Wilde character fell into a French prep school and got stuck in a poetry slam.”

Felix stared at her. “That’s not comforting.”

“It is comforting. Because that’s you, Felix. That’s how you are, and I love how you are.” He froze. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she barrelled right through it. “I love that you’re sarcastic and dramatic and somehow manage to insult people using four-syllable words and an arched eyebrow. You’re not exhausting, you’re deliciously complicated, kinda like a fussy cat.” Then, while he was still rebooting from the accidental word love and the phrase “deliciously complicated,” she leaned in and kissed him. 

Right in the middle of his internal crisis.

It was not a polite kiss. It was the kind that told him to get over himself, sealed with the confidence only Marinette could get away with showboating in front of him. When she pulled back, she was smiling. “I like all of you, Felix,” she said softly. “Please don’t dampen yourself for me.” He stared at her, stunned silent. The silence stretched. “You can talk now,” she added with a grin. “Unless you’re waiting for dramatic effect.”

He blinked. “No, I—” His voice cracked. He cleared it. “I just—”

“I kissed you.”

“Yes.”

“Want me to do it again?”

He laughed, slightly hoarse. “Also, yes.” Marinette obliged with less interruption and more promise. Just like that, the voice in his head quieted. She liked him, even the Felixness .

God help him, she meant it.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

She was late. Not dramatically late, just fashionably, stressfully late. The final stitches on her dress had taken longer than she planned because of course she’d insisted on hand-beading and adding a last-minute capelet and fixing the neckline that had been “just fine” until five minutes ago. The gala venue, the grand hall of some historic mansion-turned-event-space in the 7th arrondissement, was already glowing with music and laughter when she slipped through the entrance, the cold night air still clinging to her shoulders. She smoothed down her dress, heart fluttering as she stepped inside.

The fabric was a soft satin in a muted winter-rose pink, fitted through the bodice and flaring gently at the waist, the hem just brushing her ankles. The neckline dipped into a modest sweetheart curve, framed with sheer tulle and tiny, hand-embroidered silver snowdrops that caught the light with every movement. A matching capelet drifted behind her shoulders like frost-kissed mist.

It was delicate. Romantic. Maybe too much. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. Marinette bit her lip as her eyes swept the crowd, searching for her date. After a quick sweep, she noticed Felix standing near the refreshment table, glass of something sparkling in hand, looking like he’d been carved from ice and velvet. His gaze found hers instantly. Felix blinked once and the glass in his hand tilted dangerously. He caught it and tried to compose himself, and Marinette decided to get closer before he stumbles his way across the room. “You…” he said when she was close enough, voice low, “You look beautiful.” Marinette flushed, brushing the ends of her dress with a small smile. Mylene, who had just arrived with Ivan in tow, was not as subtle about Marinette’s entrance. “Marinette you look amazing! Looks like Felix agrees,” she huffed.

 “Should we reboot him?” Ivan added stoically. Felix turned slowly, a pained look of betrayal aimed at the guy. “Would you all prefer I pretend to be unimpressed ?” he drawled, expression sliding neatly back into dry sarcasm even though his ears were still pink. “Should I have just nodded and said ‘adequate’?”

“That does sound more like you,” Mylene said cheerfully. Marinette giggled, cheeks still warm. Felix offered his arm without a word, and she took it, letting herself lean in a little closer than necessary. “I was worried you wouldn’t like the dress,” she murmured, just for him. He glanced down at her, eyes softening. “Then you vastly underestimate both your talent,” he said, “and my capacity for being completely, utterly undone by you.”

“I think you researched flirting too much,” she said, hiding her face in his shoulder. “Painfully aware.” They moved into the glow of the ballroom, her arm looped through his, the soft swish of her capelet brushing against the satin of her dress. The place looked like something out of a dream: warm amber lights dripping from ornate chandeliers, musicians in black suits playing jazz renditions of winter classics, the clink of champagne glasses and laughter rising like snowfall.

Her nerves had melted. Mostly. The warmth of Felix’s hand where it rested over hers helped. Alya swooped in before they could go much further, expertly balancing her phone in one hand and dragging the boy she’d come with behind her. “EEEE! Mari, that neckline? That embroidery? You just casually decided to show up looking like a couture snow nymph and didn’t warn any of us?”

Marinette laughed. “I did warn you! You just said, and I quote, ‘If it doesn’t sparkle, don’t bother.’”

“Well.” Alya shrugged, nudging Marinette playfully. “You understood the assignment.” Her date, tall with dark curls and a shy smile, offered a tiny wave. Marinette couldn’t remember his name, only that Alya had mentioned he was a layout editor with absurdly neat handwriting. “He’s not a date-date,” Alya whispered unnecessarily. “But he did bring me coffee during press week, so he gets a plus-one pass.” The others began gathering near the edge of the dance floor. Nino appeared with a drink in one hand and a cocktail shrimp in the other, somehow still managing to look cool in a half-unbuttoned vest and gold-rimmed glasses. He raised his eyebrows at them. “You guys missed the cheese table. Tragedy, really.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Felix muttered.

“You’re not, they just don’t have Camembert,’” Marinette replied with a smirk, which got a playful eyeroll out of him and a delighted gasp from Alya. “She knows the truth,” Adrien said with mock gravity as he and Odette arrived arm in arm. Odette wore midnight blue, sleek and stunning, her curls swept up with little silver pins. Adrien, of course, wore a coordinating tie. “I love your design marinette,” Odette smiled in her usual polite fashion. “You did remind Felix to not dress like a pauper, right?” 

“I resent your implications. This was an expensive suit,” Felix said mildly miffed. “She’s pulling your leg, Fel,” Marinette smiled, nudging him gently. For a moment, the music swelled behind them, and it felt like they were suspended in something golden and rare. Then, the first slow song of the night began. Odette all but shoved Adrien toward the dance floor. Alya took her not-date’s hand with a raised brow and led him after. Nino lingered for a second, clearly debating whether to just vibe alone or risk asking a girl from the snack line before ultimately deciding shrimp cocktails were worth more than his pride. Marinette looked up at Felix expectantly, but he was already offering his hand. “May I?” he asked, formal but amused. “You may,” she said, voice light. They moved to the floor, weaving between couples, the soft strains of piano and cello wrapping around them. Felix’s hands were gentle at her waist, his steps careful but assured. He was better at dancing than he let on. “You’ve done this before,” she murmured.

He chuckled, “I’ve survived many events with my father. You tend to pick up on a bit of ballroom.” They swayed in time, the rest of the world receding a little. Her head fit perfectly on his shoulder. The scent of crisp cologne and faint champagne clung to his jacket. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For coming with me.” Felix didn’t answer right away. He just dipped his head, resting his forehead briefly against hers. “Silly girl, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Marinette closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of her date. He could be so sincere when she least expected it. They spent the next few minutes like that, swinging through the dance steps like nothing else mattered. 

But the moment shattered.

A ripple of gasps stirred the air. It started small, just a flicker of voices raised a few decibels too high. Then came the sound of something glass shattering in the distance. Marinette turned instinctively, eyes darting toward the noise. In the far corner of the ballroom, where the tall windows framed the Paris skyline, a sudden swirl of dark energy pulsed outward like a breath of wind. Guests stumbled back as a wave of violet light crackled over the marble floor. Felix’s hands tightened slightly at her waist. “Do you feel that?” he said, low and tense.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her gaze swept across the chaos just in time to see Adrien clutching his head, doubled over, the tie around his neck fluttering as if caught in a wind no one else felt. Odette stood near him calling his name, but he wasn’t listening. Marinette’s feet were already moving. She barely registered Felix’s hand slipping away from hers as she hurried closer, weaving through confused students and murmuring adults. Adrien was breathing hard, his hands buried in his blond hair, fingers gripping too tightly. His shoulders jerked once, twice. Alya reached Odette’s side. “Is he okay?!”

“I-I don’t know, he just said he needed a second and then he—Adrien? Adrien!” His whole body seized like a struck chord. Now that she was closer, she could see it. The shimmer of violet crawling up his neck like smoke under glass, tendrils of inky purple threading through the green of his eyes. His knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. He caught himself with one hand against the floor, the other trembling violently at his side. Adrien’s voice cracked out of him like a broken mirror. “N-no. No. I’m not going to!”

He was resisting. 

Marinette’s breath caught. For a split second, there was hope. But then, the akuma magic surged and something snapped. Adrien’s body flinched backward as if yanked by invisible strings. His eyes flew open, glowing with a gold-tinged purple that didn’t belong to him. His back arched unnaturally as the dark energy slammed into his chest, folding into the shape of a butterfly before bursting outward in a shockwave that cracked the ballroom floor beneath him. Marinette stumbled as the force of it hit her like a wall. 

When she looked up, he was standing. The boy before them was taller somehow, shadowed in sharp black and acid green. A cruel half-mask wrapped around one side of his face, like molten glass twisted into something elegant and awful. A flared cloak formed over his shoulders like fractured wings. His blond hair hung messily around his eyes, which were empty . Marinette’s pulse stuttered, “No.” He looked at her. 

Or… no. 

Not at her. 

Past her.

Before Marinette could react, Adrien launched forward like a bullet, the marble floor beneath his feet crackling with energy. “FELIX!” she shouted. Felix barely had time to turn before Adrien crashed into him. The two of them hit the ground hard, Adrien on top, a hand at Felix’s collar, lifting him with inhuman strength and slamming him into the decorative column behind them. Shards of stone exploded outward. “YOU—” Adrien hissed, voice layered with distortion, rage, heartbreak, something else lurking underneath. Felix gasped, struggling against the grip at his throat. “Adrien? What the hell?”

“You get to live the life I wanted,” Adrien growled, his face far too close, crackling energy flickering around his fingertips. “You get the freedom I chose to lose. And you still look down on me.” Felix flinched, but his voice was steady, if strained. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Oh, I’m not thinking clearly?” Adrien spat, fingers tightening around the front of Felix’s jacket. “Funny. Because it’s pretty clear to me.” Marinette was moving before she could think, heart pounding as her heels slipped against cracked marble. “Adrien, let him go!” she shouted.

“I gave up everything,” Adrien whispered, so quietly it was almost to himself. His mouth twisted. “And I watched you do nothing, Felix. I watched you walk away and never look back.”

Felix’s jaw clenched. “What are you talking about?”

“You had a choice!” Adrien roared and slammed Felix back into the wall again, his head cracking against the column. “ I was supposed to be the model . I was supposed to get the private tutors. I was supposed to be you, but instead I helped you get school and I can’t even get the life you had in return!” Adrien’s chest was heaving. He was shaking now, his grip loose for a moment, trembling fingers knotted into Felix’s shirt. The energy around him flickered and pulsed again like a warning light. “You don’t even know what it’s like,” Adrien continued, softer now, more fractured. “To watch dad love you and not me.” Felix gave a dry, strangled laugh, his head still pressed to the column behind him. “Are you insane , Adrien?” he wheezed. “Gabriel Agreste? Loves me? Don’t be ridiculous.” Adrien’s grip faltered, but only for a second, it wasn’t enough for her to jump into action yet. Felix coughed and continued. “He’s hated me since I was thirteen. Ever since I stopped smiling at his stupid cameras. You think he loves me?” His voice sharpened, like glass. “You think I was the golden child?”

Adrien stared at him, chest heaving. “He gave you everything. ” Felix gave another laugh, sharper and uglier. “Have you ever considered, Adrien, that he didn’t give me what I wanted either? It’s not like he’d let me waltz into class like he let you for so long.” Something flickered across Adrien’s face. His mouth pressed into a tight, crooked line. “He did when I made a deal.” 

Ladybug’s heart seized.

“What are you talking about?” Felix asked slowly. “What did you do , Adrien?” The silence that followed felt like a vacuum, sucking the air out of the room. Adrien smiled, but it was the wrong kind of smile. It was warped at the edges, teeth showing through pain. “I signed a contract.”

Felix stiffened, “What?”

“I told him… when I turned eighteen, I’d disappear,” Adrien said softly. “No more Agreste name. No inheritance. No public association. I’d let him scrub me clean off the family tree if he let you go to school.“

Felix’s lips parted. “That’s not… no. No, you’re not serious. That’s not real.”

“I was so desperate to get you out,” he said, shoulders trembling, voice rising like a tide, “to let you have something normal, that I signed it right there at the breakfast table.” His eyes glittered, manic. “And do you know what the bastard said to me two months ago?” Felix’s expression was already collapsing, but Adrien said it anyway. “He would’ve let you go anyway.” Felix’s face went pale. “You—” he began, but his voice broke halfway through. 

“Yeah,” Adrien whispered. “So maybe I am insane.” Felix was silent for a long time. His head dipped forward slightly, the shock making him still. “What the hell is wrong with you,” he finally said, hoarse. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Adrien’s voice dropped to something colder, flatter. “Because I’m not sacrificing anything else. Not for him. Not for you. Not for anyone. I’ll grant my own wishes.” He reached out towards Felix’s hand, more specifically the ring on it. 

“Adrien,” Felix said quietly. “You don’t want to do this.” Adrien’s smile twitched wider. “Oh, but I do. ” Marinette didn’t even realize she was transformed, but her body reacted instinctively anyway. She wrapped Adrien’s wrist with a snap of her yo-yo, pulling it away from Felix. Adrien turned sharply towards her, his eyes glowing brighter.

The butterfly.

The wish.

The ring .

Her voice was barely audible. “Oh god.”

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix’s back slid down the pillar the second Adrien’s attention shifted. His breath came in short, rough pulls, one trembling hand pressing to the stone to steady himself. His other clutched at the front of his jacket, wrinkled and torn at the seam. His pulse was still slamming against his ribs like it was trying to punch its way out.

Adrien had just tried to kill him.

Felix watched through wide, disbelieving eyes as Adrien twisted toward Ladybug, the shimmer of violet still coiled around him like a second skin. The crackling air around his form pulsed with corrosive energy, dark and luminous at once, impossibly unstable. Felix had fought akumas before, he was Chat Noir, but this? 

This was Adrien. 

Felix’s hand clenched against the stone. He should move. Help. Transform. But he couldn’t seem to stand. Across the ballroom, Ladybug was already circling Adrien, her stance careful, her yo-yo spinning just slightly at her side. She was talking to him, he couldn’t hear what, but it didn’t matter. Adrien wasn’t listening. Not really. His hands flexed, magic sparking at his fingertips in fits and stutters, like he couldn’t control the power. “Plagg,” he said, hoarse. “Plagg, what is going on.” A quiet rustle, and then the kwami zipped from his pocket with a sickly sort of grimace. “I don’t know,” Plagg muttered. “I can’t sense any aura about him or anything, it’s like he doesn’t have an akuma in him at all”

“What do you mean ?!” Felix growled desperately. “He’s clearly akumatized.” 

“I wasn’t the one who akumatized him, Felix!” Plagg snapped, voice uncharacteristically raw. “I-I don’t know what’s going on, man. This is uncharted territory.”

“5th time and it’s still uncharted?” Felix hissed, dragging himself upright, jaw tight with disbelief.

“I’m panicking too, y’know!” Plagg shouted. “He’s Adrien! He’s… you know what he’s like! I didn’t even think—” A blast of green energy arced across the room, cutting the conversation short. Ladybug leapt out of the way, her yo-yo spinning into a rebound that deflected it before it could hit a group of cowering guests. Glass rained down. Felix shielded his face instinctively, flinching. He looked up to see that Adrien was laughing. The sound was unsteady and dangerous, like he didn’t know if it was supposed to be amusement or pain. The akuma was amplifying him, using every jagged edge in his soul as fuel. “Felix,” Ladybug shouted over her shoulder, voice taut with effort, “I need you to get out of here!” He didn’t move, but she didn’t have time to argue. Adrien lunged at her again, their weapons clashing mid-air. Felix watched them tumble across the dance floor: Adrien fast, feral, unpredictable; Ladybug fluid, strategic, losing. It was all too much and not enough at once. “Plagg, what do I do?” he asked, sharp and cold like panic under pressure. Plagg’s tail flicked nervously. “If you transform, then everyone will know your identity, including Hawkmoth. I don’t know if I want to give him that information…”

Felix grit his teeth. “So I do nothing?”

“No!” Plagg zipped closer. “Watch him. We can find the akuma and get him purified quickly, maybe it’ll do less damage the faster we are.” He took a step toward the dance floor, heart hammering, ready to match Adrien’s steps until suddenly, he stopped moving altogether. Adrien jolted upright like a lightning bolt had ripped down his spine. He gasped, staggered, clutching his head again. Ladybug faltered. “Are you—?”

“No, no, no,” he mumbled, staggering back. “It’s too loud. I can’t! I can’t —” His voice echoed across the space as he shoved her back with a shockwave of force that sent her tumbling. Adrien turned, eyes wild, and sprinted toward the ballroom doors. “Where the hell is he going?!” Felix yelled.

“I don’t know!” Plagg shot after him. “We have to follow!” Ladybug rolled to her feet, stunned but alive, and Felix took off after Adrien without waiting for a shelter-in-place order. Adrien vaulted over a low railing and blew the ballroom doors clean off their hinges with a pulse of green fire. Felix pushed harder, legs burning, lungs seizing. He nearly tripped over a shattered candelabra as he reached the corridor. The walls shuddered from the last echo of the blast, and in the distance, he could hear the scream of sirens fast approaching. Adrien was a blur of motion far ahead, weaving through wreckage and fleeing guests like the laws of physics didn’t quite apply to him anymore.

A hand caught his wrist. 

He staggered to a halt so fast his knees nearly buckled. Odette stood in front of him, breathless and pale, her usually impeccable bun in tatters. Her grip on him was surprisingly strong. “Odette, I have to go. He’s going to hurt someone—”

“No, listen to me!” she interrupted, her eyes wide with something dangerously close to panic. “I saw it. I’ve seen this happen before with Chat and Ladybug.”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “What?”

“I mean, I’ve seen what happens when the akuma spell wears off. The way they change. The way they break , Felix.” Her voice cracked. “It’s not clean. It’s like falling out of a nightmare . If you rip Adrien out of this, all at once, it’ll destroy him. He has to come back on his own.” He stared at her, the hallway suddenly too quiet beneath the far-off clamor. His hand curled into a fist at his side. “He has to be okay,” Odette whispered. “Please.” Felix swallowed hard and nodded. Odette gave his wrist one last squeeze and ran back toward the ballroom. He turned away, slipping into a narrow alcove just off the corridor, bracing his palms against the wall.  Plagg zipped up beside him, panting. “What are you doing? We still have to catch up to him!” Felix didn’t answer. “Felix?” Plagg’s voice dropped in pitch. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking…”

“I need to transform,” Felix said quietly. Plagg practically screeched . “What?! After that whole conversation with Odette? Felix, if you use cataclysm on his akuma, Adrien might not wake up.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you even consider this?” Felix turned. His voice was quiet but ironclad. “I know who Hawkmoth is,” Felix met Plagg’s eyes, sharp and unwavering. “He won’t be happy to see me.”

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

The moon was a sharp sliver of silver above Paris, casting fractured reflections on wet slate rooftops. Chat Noir barely noticed. His boots hit tile after tile in rapid succession, claws scraping, tail flicking, momentum fueled not by adrenaline but fury. Plagg’s voice buzzed in his head like a particularly anxious gnat, “ You need to slow down! You’re going to pull something! Like your spine, or maybe reality itself…. Felix, please—”

“Plagg, shut up.”

“You said you knew who HAWKMOTH is, how can I shut up?! ” Chat vaulted over a chimney stack, landed in a low crouch, and kept moving. “I’ve suspected it, but I thought it was my bias speaking, now that Adrien’s in danger…”

“Felix, who’s Hawkmoth?” Chat grit his teeth. The Seine glittered to his left as he sprang across a narrow alley, catching himself with one clawed hand on a railing before continuing on. “Gabriel Agreste.”

“…WHAT?!” The shout echoed inside his skull like a dropped piano. “Are we thinking of the same person? Your dad? That Gabriel Agreste?”

“Do you know another?” Chat snapped.

Plagg made a strangled noise. “Felix, are you sure? I know you’re mad at him for what he made Adrien do and trust me, I am too…” Chat skidded under an air conditioning pipe, praying he didn’t accidentally bang up the entire building’s system. He was hoping to remain anonymous under the circumstances. “Think about it. First akuma, Jacques Morel, he’s dad’s photographer.” He landed hard on a balcony railing, then sprang again. “I’ve worked with him plenty of times before.”

“Okay, that could just be a coincidence.” Chat rolled his eyes and continued. “Then the street performer. R. Duval. My mom’s his first love.”

“How would Gabriel know that?” Chat huffed as a bitter wind caught in his throat. “He had a locket with her photo inside, one of her high school yearbook ones. The time lines up, if father met mom in high school he met this guy too.” He gripped the edge of a skylight and catapulted up onto a taller roof. “Then the third akuma, the woman.”

“The one who cried when she saw you.” Chat’s eyes narrowed. “She wasn’t crying for me. She thought I was mom. She kept saying she was sorry she couldn’t save her. That she tried. Must have been a caretaker. And after was Nathalie . She’s in everything. Scheduling, PR, damage control, her fingerprints are all over every single thing the Agreste brand touches. There’s no way my father wouldn’t have noticed her akumatization happening, unless he was responsible.” Chat paused briefly, crouched atop a spire, his chest rising and falling. The city stretched out beneath him like a maze built by ghosts. “Now Adrien’s akumatized, and I’m probably next. That’s why it’s better if he doesn’t know I’m Chat Noir. The less he thinks he has against me, the better.”

“Why would your father become Hawkmoth”

“I don’t know.” Chat looked toward the glowing sprawl of the Agreste estate on the horizon. “But I’m going to find out.” With a final breath, he sprinted forward and dove. Glass shattered. Marble crushed underfoot. Alarms screamed. Chat rolled, landed hard in the center of the Agreste mansion’s greenhouse, halfway between his father’s private studio and the cold, silent elevator leading to the basement. “Felix, tell me you have a plan.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, rising from the broken glass. “But I have questions.” The elevator didn’t make a sound. It was just a smooth, silent descent into the cold that sank past Chat’s skin and into his bones. Chat Noir stood alone, arms rigid at his sides, glass shards still clinging to his boots. 

He should’ve been scared. He wasn’t.

The doors slid open. The air inside was sterile and electric. Screens hummed. Purple butterfly sigils pulsed like slow, blinking eyes. At the far end of the vast chamber, beneath a towering stained-glass skylight filtered with violet, stood him.

Hawkmoth.

Chat’s claws flexed, but he didn’t move. Hawkmoth, no, Gabriel Agreste, turned around to look at him with an eerie smile. “Chat Noir, I’ve been expecting you.”

“So you are aware that you’re about to lose?” 

“On the contrary, I’m actually glad you stopped by to see me… son .” Felix froze, his mouth going dry. “How did you—”

“He told me,” Hawkmoth said simply, pointing his staff at the wall behind Felix. Felix glanced there briefly, turning fully when he saw a glimpse of what Hawkmoth wanted him to. There, suspended in a cocoon of violet, was Adrien. His body flickering faintly with leftover energy, like the embers of a dying star. Felix’s breath hitched, “What did you do to him?”

“I asked him a question.” Hawkmoth’s tone remained calm. “He answered.”

“No,” Felix whispered, the denial like acid in his throat. “He wouldn’t . Adrien wouldn’t help you. ”

“Well of course, he’s made to be loyal,” Hawkmoth said, with the faintest smile. “He thought he was protecting you . ” Felix staggered a step back. A pulse of rage flared in his chest so fast it nearly burned him alive. “You monster. You used him.”

“I’m trying to save him.”

“You akumatized him!”

“To protect this family.” Hawkmoth descended the steps slowly, almost regally. “I want to bring it back together. Don’t you want that, Felix?” Felix couldn’t breathe. Horror moved through him like cold molasses, thick and clinging, weighing down every thought and motion. He kept his eyes on Adrien, floating in that sickly violet cocoon, the edges of his body flickering like torn film.

He thought he was protecting you.

It didn’t make sense. None of this did. “I don’t understand,” Felix said, forcing his voice to stay level. “You have Adrien. You know who I am. You revealed yourself to me. So what’s the angle, father? What is this?” 

Hawkmoth smiled, “I’m offering you a deal.”

Felix blinked. “A deal ?”

“Yes.” The villain raised a hand, gesturing toward the far end of the room. A section of wall slid away with a mechanical hiss. Inside was a chamber. Pale blue light spilled from it in a soft, sterile glow. It was a medical pod suspended in a gentle stasis field. Inside—

Felix’s heart stuttered. 

Emilie Agreste. She looked exactly as he remembered. No, not exactly. She looked better. Like she had when he was younger, before the sick days and hospital visits. Before the hollowed cheeks and brittle hair and long, silent nights when no one dared speak about what was happening. She lay there like a storybook princess. Not quite dead, but not asleep. He staggered back a step like he’d been punched, hand rising to his chest as if that might stop the sudden ache blooming there. He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or tear the entire place apart. Instead, he whispered, “ How? ” Gabriel was watching him carefully. “The Miraculous. They can rewrite the world. Correct what fate took too soon. It’s all within reach.” Felix tore his eyes from the pod, from his mother, and looked at his father. “This is what this has been about? You think you can just wish her back?”

“I need to.” The desperation in Gabriel’s voice was earnest in a way that made Felix’s blood run cold. “She was my light,” Gabriel continued. “My world. When she faded, everything else did too. The fame. The family. I did everything I could to keep her with us, but science could only delay the inevitable. Magic, however…” He turned toward the pod. “Magic can reverse it.” Felix swallowed hard. His throat burned. “Where does Adrien fit into all of this?”Gabriel turned back toward him slowly, “There must be a sacrifice.” The words landed like stones. Felix gasped, “ What? ”

“I can’t make a wish without one,” Gabriel said, voice low. “The universe demands balance. A life for a life.” Felix shook his head before the sentence was even done. “No. No, he’s your son . He’s my brother. You can’t.”

“I have to.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying—!”

“You don’t even know what he’s done , ” Gabriel snapped, voice cutting through the air like a whip crack.

“What do you mean?” Felix asked slowly. Gabriel Agreste didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned from the stasis pod and walked toward a display case inset into the far wall, one Felix hadn’t noticed before. Its casing peeled back like petals from a flower at his command, revealing a brooch. Blue and iridescent, shaped like a peacock’s feather. It pulsed rhythmically, like a second heartbeat in the room. Gabriel lifted it delicately between two fingers. Turned it once. The light caught the metal, shimmered across its surface. “This,” he said softly, “is where it began.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “That looks like a Miraculous.”

“Very good,” Gabriel said. “Though it was never meant for us. Not really.” He walked slowly back toward the pod, the brooch gleaming in his palm. “Your mother bought it at an auction, long before either of you were born. A strange seller, indeed. She kept insisting that the item held ‘great spiritual promise.’ Emilie was skeptical, of course, but drawn to it. The way it felt in her hand. The way it called to her.” He looked up at Felix. “You know that feeling now, don’t you?” Felix didn’t respond. “It wasn’t long before she discovered what it truly was. It’s a peculiar one indeed, the ability to create life from emotion. Powerful.” He traced the shape of the brooch with his thumb, almost fondly. “She didn’t use it at first. Why would she? Paris wasn’t in peril. There were no villains to fight. She kept it locked away, content to know it existed. Until…” He looked back at the pod. “Until you were born.”

Felix cleared his throat, “Adrien was born too.”

“Yes.” Gabriel’s voice dropped, reverent, almost mournful. “Twins. But childbirth is a cruel thing. It takes. ” 

A long, excruciating pause.

“Adrien didn’t survive,” Gabriel said. Felix felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. Air left his lungs and didn’t come back. “No,” he whispered. Gabriel’s eyes were distant now, caught in the web of memory. “Your mother shattered. I’ve never seen someone come apart so completely. She blamed the doctors. Herself. The world for giving her two sons and taking one away.” His fingers curled around the brooch. “Then she remembered the brooch.”

Felix’s stomach twisted. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were,” Gabriel said, almost gently. “I begged her not to. Her kwami did, too. The Miraculous was never meant to sustain a life. Its power is fragile and too much use, especially for personal gain, begins to corrupt it. And the wielder.” He turned the brooch in his hand again, showing Felix the edges: cracked and slightly warped like old porcelain. “She created him anyway. Poured every ounce of grief, of love, of desperation into the amok. And Adrien opened his eyes.” 

Felix swayed slightly. “No,” he said again, but it was a whimper now. “He’s real. ”

“He is,” Gabriel agreed. “Just… made. Not born.”

Felix pressed a hand to his head. “You’re insane. You’re insane. ”

“Adrien drained her. Bit by bit. Until she couldn’t walk. Couldn’t stay awake. Couldn’t breathe.” He gestured to the stasis pod. “By the time she collapsed for the final time, it was too late to undo what had been done.” Felix staggered back, shaking his head. “Adrien loves mom, if he knew—”

“She died because of him,” Gabriel’s voice was acid now. His hand clenched around the brooch. A bitter smile curved his lips. “But it’s okay, I found a kwami of my own. Now I have all the power I need.”

Felix was trembling. “You used all those people for this? What did you hope to gain from those akuma attacks anyways?” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand, growling under his breath, “All those people wronged her, my beautiful wife. I was just collecting their debts while waiting for the heroes to show up, it’s just incredibly convenient that ½ of the pair includes my child.”  Gabriel stepped toward him now, eyes burning, robes whispering across the cold floor. “You know what it’s like to lose her. You miss her. I can give her back to you.”

Felix shook his head firmly. “Adrien’s family and you want to kill him to bring her back. How do you think mom feels about that?”

Gabriel’s expression didn’t change. “She’d forgive me.” He lifted the brooch slightly, as if weighing it against him. “You can still help me. Be her son,” he said. 

Felix’s face twisted with rage, “I am her son. Which means I know she’d never want this. If you truly love her, you’d know it too.” The words cracked in his throat, but he forced them out. “I won’t let you trade Adrien’s life for hers.” 

Gabriel sighed at him, “Then you’ve chosen wrong.” With a flick of his wrist, the brooch vanished into his sleeve and violet lightning crackled through the chamber. Felix dropped into a crouch, claws out, breath shaking. “Plagg,” he whispered.

“Ready when you are, kid,” came the grim reply. Violet lightning cracked and hissed, the chamber flooding with an eerie glow that made the shadows twist and stretch like living things. Felix dropped into a crouch, claws extending, heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. Gabriel’s smile twisted as he lifted a hand, summoning a surge of raw energy. Dark tendrils snaked outward, striking toward Felix with lethal intent. Felix barely dodged, the strike slamming into the stone pillar behind him, sending shards scattering like deadly hail. His breath came fast, sharp. “You can’t stop this,” Gabriel said coldly, stepping forward, robes rustling like the wings of some monstrous bird. Felix growled, claws scraping against the marble as he lunged. He was faster, fueled by fury and fear, but Gabriel was more than a grieving father, he was a storm. He countered with precision, his movements fluid and devastating. Violet lightning rippled along his fingertips as he sent waves of energy crashing toward Felix. The young man ducked, twisted, but the power seared close enough to singe his skin. Gabriel switched their positions, blocking Felix’s only escape route. He smirked, tapping his staff against the ground like an ominous metronome, “Just surrender your Miraculous, child, it’s futile to win now.” Felix snarled in response, gearing up for another attack, but before he could, Adrien’s cocoon flickered and Adrien pounced, tackling Gabriel to the floor. His face was pale but his eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding light. Gabriel’s own eyes narrowed. “You’re mine,” he roared, reaching in an attempt to pin Adrien back down.

Adrien was quicker.

After rolling around on the floor, Adrien reached into Gabriel’s sleeve, seizing the iridescent peacock brooch from Gabriel’s grasp. The brooch pulsed wildly in Adrien’s hand, alive and trembling with raw power. “Adrien!” Felix cried, leaping between them, claws slashing the air inches from Gabriel’s face. Adrien’s gaze locked on Felix, exhaustion etched into every line of his features. He broke away to lift the brooch, turning it slowly in his hand, voice low and thoughtful. “Mom’s brooch… my amok, right?”

Felix’s moves closer, murmuring gently, “Did you know?” Adrien shrugged, eyes flickering with a mix of regret and resolve. “I had my suspicions, people talked about it around me. But no, didn’t really understand until Dad told me during the gala.” Felix’s fingers twitched toward the glowing brooch. “Adrien, give it—” Adrien yanked the brooch out of Felix’s grasp, holding it tight but with a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. “If I break it,” he said quietly, “then I die.”

Felix’s eyes widened, voice shaking. “Why would you want to die?”

Adrien’s smile faded, replaced by a shadow of pain. “Well, Dad’s going to kill me anyway.” His voice cracked slightly. “I’d rather get a choice about who pulls the trigger.” Felix’s breath hitched. He lowered his claws slightly, not trusting his voice to stay steady. “Adrien, no. Not like this.” Adrien’s gaze flickered away for a moment, as if seeing some distant, unbearable memory. “It’s not like I want to die,” he said softly. “But it isn’t like you can stop it from happening, Fel.” Adrien’s eyes met his, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the fatigue. “I’m not even sure how much of a ‘death’ it is if I wasn’t alive in the first place,” he whispered. Felix took a hesitant step closer, voice trembling with urgency. “You’re alive, Adrien. You have emotions, thoughts, a friend group, family , don’t throw it away. You deserve a choice, a real one.” For a second, Adrien looked like he believed Felix. The hand holding the brooch shook carefully, and he looked ready to hand it over. Felix almost breathed a sigh of relief. 

Then, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the chamber. “That was cute,” Gabriel’s cooed, voice laced with cruel amusement. “I hate to cut the reunion short, but my kwami informs me your partner is looking for you someplace else.” Before either of them could react, Gabriel twisted his fingers, and violet lightning flickered in an instant. He teleported directly to Adrien, his hand clamping over Adrien’s mouth. Adrien’s eyes went wide, muffled sounds escaping, a mix of fear and surprise. Gabriel grinned wickedly, waving at Felix, “Ladybug and I will rendezvous with you over there. Au revoir~!”

“Wait—!” Felix moved to stop them, but it was too late. 

They were gone.

Chapter Text

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The wind tugged at the suit around her legs as she stood at the edge of the Eiffel Tower's second platform. Far below, the city glimmered like a galaxy spilled across the earth. Warm lights and winding roads, a heartbeat of movement that made her feel very, very small. 

But Marinette wasn’t here for the view.

Her fingers curled around the railing. It was cold. “Tikki,” she said quietly. “How could I have missed this?” There was a beat of silence, before Tikki murmured, “You mean about your boyfriend?”. A familiar warm sensation filled Marinette’s thoughts, but it didn’t do much to quell her anxiety. She laughed, but it was thin, brittle. “Yeah. That.” The stars above her looked innocent. She looked out over the city, but her mind wasn’t on the skyline anymore. “I should have seen it earlier,” she said. “I saw him everyday, Tikki. Even in akuma attacks he was always…” 

Tikki sighed gently, “You’ve suspected for a while, haven’t you?”

Marinette swallowed hard. “I think I just didn’t want it to be true.” The image was burned in her memory now. Outside the venue, Felix disappeared with his ring and Chat Noir took his place, stepping out of the shadows before Ladybug could catch up. The same sharp wit, the same smile. The same protective fire behind narrowed eyes. “I am right, aren’t I?” she whispered. “Felix is Chat Noir.” Tikki didn’t deny it, just let Mrainette’s brain fill with more warmth. “I think you’ve already figured that out for yourself.” Marinette nodded, slowly. Her throat felt tight. The realization struck harder than she expected. So many late nights, so many narrow escapes, and he had been right there the whole time. “Tikki… why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly. 

“Because it wasn’t our secret to tell,” Tikki said. “The bond between partners has to be built, not forced. If you knew too early, if you saw Felix before you trusted Chat, you might have pushed him away.” Marinette sighed hard. That… yeah. She probably would’ve. “But now you trust him,” Tikki added. “Don’t you?”

She nodded again. “I do. Ugh, I just hope he doesn’t…” she looked down at her own outfit, black leggings and spots and all. “I hope he feels the same,” she whispered. She huffed as she set her face, starting to pull herself up onto the railing. “I’m going to go find him.” Before she could jump off the platform, though, the sky cracked open with purple lightning. Marinette’s head snapped up just as a ripple of oppressive energy surged over the tower, pressing down on her shoulders. The wind stilled, and the glow of Paris dimmed. Behind her came a voice, deep and cold, “Ladybug.” Marinette whipped around. There, not twenty feet from her, floating with a cloak of violet shadow curling around his shoulders, was unmistakably an akuma. It was different, though. His gaze felt more cruel and cold, features more villainous.

Her blood ran cold.  Tikki’s breath hitched. “Marinette—”

“I know,” she breathed, already reaching for her earrings. “I know.” Hawkmoth hovered just above the upper platform, the moon behind him casting him in a silver silhouette. “Give me your Miraculous,” he said, calm and absolute, “and no one has to suffer.” Marinette squared her shoulders, heart racing. “You’re joking. Right?”

His mask gleamed. “I assure you, I’m not.” She tightened her grip on the railing, forcing her knees to steady. “Then you don’t know me very well.” Before Hawkmoth could respond, there was a roar of movement from above. A black blur slammed into the platform between them, landing in a crouch. A silver-tipped baton spun into ready hands. “LET HER GO!” Chat Noir’s voice was raw. “AND MY BROTHER TOO!” 

Felix had arrived, and he was furious . Hawkmoth’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. “You’ve finally made your entrance, Chat Noir.” Felix didn’t rise to the bait. He stepped forward instead, muscles coiled, every line of him buzzing with barely contained rage. “You—” his voice sharpened into a snarl, “—are going to pay for what you did to Adrien.” She didn’t even have time to ask how or what before Hawkmoth raised one hand and a dozen shards of amethyst light flew toward them like daggers. “MOVE!” she shouted. She dove to the left. Felix vaulted right. The shards exploded on impact, slicing deep into the metal, searing and hissing like acid. Hawkmoth’s power roiled around him in furious waves, a storm of resentment made flesh. Felix sprang from the railing, baton flashing as he met the villain midair. Metal clanged against crackling light. Felix spun, dodged, kicked Hawkmoth’s arm out of line before he could summon another blast. Marinette launched her yoyo. It caught Hawkmoth’s ankle, dragging him down fast, but he twisted mid-fall, yanking her clean off her feet with the force of it. She slammed into the railing with a grunt, caught herself, pulled up, threw again. Marinette could feel Tikki’s presence glowing faintly behind her ear. “He’s too strong. He’s drawing power from something else!”

“I noticed!” Marinette hissed, flipping to the other side of the platform. Her hands blurred as she spun the yoyo, trying to land a hit that would slow him down. Hawkmoth disappeared in a crackle of light, teleporting?

No. Light speed.

He reappeared behind Felix, slamming his arm across his shoulders. Felix barely had time to react, he drove his baton into the ground, launched himself backward, kicked Hawkmoth off-balance, and shouted, “CATACLYSM!” The word tore from him like a scream. Marinette’s eyes widened as black energy erupted across his hand. Hawkmoth saw it too. He reeled back, but not fast enough. Felix grabbed his staff, trying to pulse the power along it to diminish the shield Hawkmoth had put up for himself. The corrupted power rippled over Hawkmoth’s sleeve and shoulder, decaying fabric and metal like fire through paper. Hawkmoth shouted, twisting out of reach, his cloak already melting into smoke, but Felix didn’t let go. His eyes were wild. “This ends NOW!” he roared.

But it didn’t.

Hawkmoth slammed a knee into Felix’s ribs, knocking the wind from him. He tumbled, landed hard, barely rolled to avoid a second hit. Marinette was already moving. “LUCKY CHARM!” The magic whirled around her, red, white, spinning fast, and the object dropped into her hand with a thud. Felix lunged forward again, baton swinging with furious precision. Hawkmoth blocked, but just barely. Felix was faster now, angrier. Marinette turned, headed for the metal struts she needed.

She didn’t see him coming.

CRACK. Something slammed into her side, an arm? A blast? She didn’t know, and her yoyo clattered across the steel. Her balance vanished. She hit the railing chest-first. Her hands scrabbled for purchase. Wind roared past her ears. Her feet were dangling in open air. “Ladybug!” Felix shouted, panicked. She clung to the edge, the metal biting into her fingers. A boot stepped beside her hand. She looked up. Hawkmoth loomed above her, entirely unscathed. His eyes gleamed with cold certainty. “You’re out of time,” he said, quiet and cruel. “Give me your Miraculous, and I’ll help you up.” She stared at him, panting. Her grip was slipping. “I could save you, Ladybug. All you have to do is surrender.”

She laughed cheerfully, “Wow, you really don’t know me at all.” She reached up to her ears and with a sharp, fluid motion, she tore off her earrings and tossed them to Felix. “No!” Hawkmoth lunged for them, but they were already flying, a red arc across the night. The last thing Marinette saw was the stunned, open horror in Felix’s eyes.

And then she let go.

The wind swallowed her scream as she fell backwards into the dark.

I trust you to fix all of this.

Chat Noir, Felix, I’m sorry.

Chapter Text

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix wishes he could say that Ladybug’s identity surprised him. But it didn’t.

Not really.

Somewhere beneath all his careful denial, he’d known. A word here, a look there. A shared breath in the dark between battles, a moment where her voice screeched exactly like Marinette’s had when she was nervous, when she cared too much. And god, the way Ladybug cared… it was the same. The same way Marinette threw herself into every cause like it was personal. Like the whole world would fall apart if she didn’t hold it together with both hands.

He had known. And he hadn’t let himself see it. Felix stared at the earrings in his hand, small and red and quiet. The wind howled around him. Somewhere far below, traffic continued like nothing had happened. But up here, everything had changed. Everything had broken. She had looked at him and smiled, just before she let go.

She’d trusted him, and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to show he trusted her in return.

His legs felt like glass. His ribs still ached from Hawkmoth’s hit, but the pain didn’t register. All he could feel was the phantom weight of her hand in his, the memory of her voice echoing through him like an aftershock. 

“Felix.” The name curled through the wind like smoke, sharp and heavy. He didn’t answer. Just stared at the earrings in his palm like they might start burning. Hawkmoth’s boots landed on the steel a few paces away, far too silent for a man who had just sent the love of his life plummeting off the Eiffel Tower. Felix didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up. “You don’t have to lose everything,” the villain said, voice low and unnervingly kind. “I know what you’re feeling.”

Felix let out a hoarse, humorless laugh. “Do you?”

“You think you’ve lost her. You think this is your fault. But it doesn’t have to end like this.” Felix didn’t move. His fingers curled tighter around the earrings. “You know the truth,” Hawkmoth continued, stepping closer. “And now you have the chance—”

“Don’t,” Felix said. Quiet. Cold. But Hawkmoth wasn’t finished. He lowered his voice, deliberate and soft. “Wouldn’t it be something to change all of that? To undo the pain? To bring her back?” That stopped him. “She gave up her Miraculous. She fell because she believed you could fix this,” Hawkmoth continued, voice nearly tender now. “And you can, Felix. You can bring her back. You can have Ladybug. Your mother. You can have everything. ” The Eiffel Tower was silent except for the wind and the creak of metal beneath their feet. The stars blinked stupidly above them like they had no idea what had just happened. Felix finally looked up. His face was unreadable. “How?” he asked, and it didn’t sound like a question. Hawkmoth’s eyes gleamed, “Make a wish.” Felix brought his free hand to the ring, and slowly began to remove it. Hawkmoth straightened, triumphant. The ring came off, and Felix stared at it in his palm. For a breathless second, it looked like he might do it.

He wanted to.

His jaw clenched, throat moving with a hard swallow. And then he pressed both Miraculous to his chest. Felix heard him: a whisper wrapped in exhaustion and power and grief. She gave them to you. Plagg’s voice, thin and hoarse in his mind. Not sarcastic, not smug. Make a wish, Felix.

The power to unmake the world.

To rewrite history.

To undo death.

“I wish,” he whispers, “to destroy the amok tethering Adrien to his artificial existence. I wish to make him real .” The moment the words leave his lips, the Miraculouses ignite. The light is unbearable. It pours out of him, ancient and infinite, brighter than the stars, deeper than the sea. It sears through his veins, wild and clean, and somewhere inside it, he hears the world shift. A thread snaps and the power fades. 

Felix is shaking. He drops to his knees. He feels it immediately, the absence. His mother is gone for good. He knows it without being told. The bond that once hummed beneath his skin has vanished completely. But Adrien is free. 

“NO!” Hawkmoth screams.  It rips through the night like thunder. He stumbles backward, his composure gone. His cloak whips violently in the air as he stares at Felix like he’s witnessing the end of the world. “You idiot ! Do you have any idea what you just did?! That was your mother ! You could’ve had it all!” Felix stands slowly and turns to face him. In that moment, he is something new. Something sharp and unshakeable. He is no longer the boy scrambling to hold everything together. No longer the son chasing answers in empty rooms. “I did the right thing,” he says quietly.

“You think this was right?! You wasted it!” Felix’s eyes narrow, but his voice stays calm. “Mom made her choice, it’s time you learned to respect it.” Felix descended the wreckage like a ghost. Steel groaned beneath his feet. Distant sirens wailed. Helicopter blades thumped through the clouds above as drones hovered, flashbulbs snapping in rhythmic bursts. Police barriers pulsed blue and red against the metal bones of the Eiffel Tower. Voices shouted at him, reporters asking him for a statement and EMTs goading him into getting medical attention.

Felix ignored them all.

The Miraculouses were tucked into his coat pocket, warm and still against his chest like dying stars. His body moved on autopilot, slipping through the chaos like smoke. Plagg’s presence buzzed faintly at the back of his mind. Still there. Just… dormant. There was no need for superheroes anymore, after all. By the time he reached the base, the crowd had splintered. Officers tried to hold the line. Medics rushed past with stretchers and radios. Somewhere behind a temporary cordon, he spotted Adrien, propped upright on a gurney, dazed and bruised, an oxygen mask dangling from one ear. A white blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was a mess, and his pupils were blown wide, but he was alive. Felix let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Fel!” Adrien jolted upright when he saw him, nearly toppling off the stretcher. “Oh my god, Felix!” A paramedic tried to press him back down, but Adrien waved her off. Felix crossed to him quickly, slipping past the barrier like it wasn’t even there. Adrien grabbed him by the shoulders and blinked, wide-eyed. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “Last thing I remember is—” He broke off, frowning. “I think I blacked out. Everything’s fuzzy.” Felix didn’t speak right away. He just looked at Adrien. For a second, it really was like seeing him for the first time. There was something different about him now. Not physically, but the way he existed felt different. Felix swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he said quietly.

Adrien looked at him, confused. “What happened?”

“Mom’s gone, for real this time. I made a wish,” Felix said. He saw the understanding flicker behind Adrien’s eyes. His expression crumbled. “Felix,” Adrien whispered. “You didn’t have to—”

“Stop.” Felix’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Don’t say that.” Felix looked away, eyes tracking the edge of the skyline, where the top of the Eiffel Tower still glowed faintly in the distance. The wind was quieter down here. Still cold, but gentler somehow. “What do I do now?” Adrien murmured. Felix turned back to him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You live your life, Agreste. Don’t waste her decision.” For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Adrien reached out and pulled him into a hug. Felix’s chin rested against Adrien’s shoulder, and he found himself not minding the fact that he could barely breathe. Eventually, the paramedic beside them cleared her throat. “I really need to finish checking him over,” she said gently, eyeing Felix’s torn jacket and bloodied sleeve with a practiced frown. “And you should probably sit down before you collapse, too. I don’t care what you think your pain tolerance is.” Felix blinked at her like she’d spoken in tongues. Adrien gave him a crooked smile. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you alone in a media circus with half your memories missing.”

“Felix,” Adrien smirked faintly. “You should go see Marinette. She’s probably worried sick.” That did it. Felix whipped around. His gaze swept the base of the tower, scanning the emergency crews, the press, the movement, until it landed on her . Marinette stood at the very edge of the scene, just shy of the treeline where the tower’s shadow spilled across the gravel. She looked like a painting someone had dropped in the dirt. Her hair was half-fallen from its updo, face streaked with soot and glitter, her pink gala gown torn and stained. She looked like she’d been through hell. She also looked very, very alive. Felix didn’t think before he ran. She turned at the last second, her eyes lighting up just in time for him to skid to a breathless stop in front of her. “You’re alive. How—?” he gasped. Marinette blinked, then gave him the smallest, sheepish smile. “What, you thought you could get rid of me that easily, Agreste?” She reached into the folds of her ruined dress and held something up between them: a pair of delicate red earrings. Her Miraculous. Felix furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, wordlessly pulling the ones from his pocket. Marinette winced a little. “Yeah, uh, sorry for scaring you. That part wasn’t ideal.”

“You—” he began, then stopped, voice cracking slightly. “You fell. You gave me your earrings.”

“I did,” she nodded. “But I gave you the ones my Lucky Charm provided.” She lifted one shoulder in a tired half-shrug. “Tikki said if you wielded both of the kwamis’ powers it would overwhelm the system and create some world-ending event.” Felix didn’t quite understand language anymore. “The more trust between us,” she continued gently, “the stronger the bond. That was the real power in the end. Not the Miraculouses.” She gave a small laugh. “I mean, obviously the magic objects helped. But you—” Her voice wavered. “You needed to believe I trusted you enough to give them up. And you did, because I do.” He looked down at the earrings in her palm, and then back up at her. His voice came out low and vulnerable. “I’m so glad you’re Ladybug.” Marinette’s expression broke into a grin, bright and relieved. She stepped forward and cupped his hand in hers, gently picking the ring from his palm. “Then don’t go losing this again, Chat Noir,” she teased, sliding it onto his finger. Felix let out a soft breath. “Plagg’s still there,” he said. “Dormant, I think. So is your kwami. They’re… quiet now. I don’t think they’ll come back unless Paris is in danger again.”

“You chose to use up their power?” Marinette hummed curiously. “I did.”

“That’s fine,” she said, slipping her earrings back into place with graceful fingers. “I liked your choice.”

Felix looked at her, lips twitching. “I like my choice too.” For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Marinette rose onto her toes and kissed him. Felix kissed her back like it was the only thing tethering him to Earth.

And maybe it was. 

The tower would need rebuilding. Streets would need clearing. The news would be chaos for weeks. Felix had no idea who would take guardianship of him or Adrien now. He didn’t know where he’d live, what would happen to the company, or what came after the smoke cleared. But none of that mattered for now. He’d take on the obstacles with his friends and family by his side. 

Hero , he decided.

Not heir.

Chapter Text

⊱.⋆° [♫] °✧° [♫] °⋆.⊰

The sun's been out just long enough to make the concrete warm but not scorching, and the big sycamore near the sandbox offers a decent patch of shade. Nino sets out the last of the folding chairs and stretches his arms over his head with a groan that feels like it came from his knees. “All right, my dudes,” he calls, turning back to the half-dozen kids scrambling out of their parents’ arms or bike seats. “Today’s vibe is: choose your own art adventure. Music station, sketching corner, or—” he points dramatically to the picnic table covered in paint-splattered paper, “—chaos.” A chorus of cheers answers him. One girl sprints straight for the table with her glitter pens already uncapped. A boy plops down by the little speaker setup and starts thumbing through the secondhand keyboard. Nino grins, tugging his cap a little lower as he moves through them, swapping batteries, adjusting volume levels, reminding everyone (nicely) not to eat the markers. He never really expected this to be his life. He thought maybe he'd end up behind a mixing desk, or gigging on rooftops with Wayhem. But after a few side gigs volunteering, one pop-up event turned into a twice-a-week thing. Now, he's got a standing permit from the city and a backpack full of old supplies he keeps topping off himself. Most days, it’s enough. More than enough. He’s crouched next to a little girl who's earnestly composing a song called “My Cat is Queen of Space” when a shadow crosses the grass beside them. “That’s a solid hook,” comes a voice low and mellow, with a smile tucked just behind it. “Catchy.” Nino glances up. He was a tall guy, long hair swept into a low ponytail wearing a faded denim jacket over a graphic tee. His sleeves were pushed up to show a few delicate tattoos curling along his forearm. A guitar case slung across his back. It takes a few seconds for him to recognize, but soon, “Wait. Luka?”

Luka smiles, soft and easy. “Hey, Nino. Long time.” Nino stands, brushing grass off his knees. “Dude, no kidding. I haven’t seen you since… what, Adrien’s launch party? You dropped that killer set before the speeches?”

Luka shrugs, modest. “I remember you were the only one who noticed when I switched the bridge melody halfway through.”

“Of course I noticed,” Nino says, grinning. “You’ve still got that weird chord voodoo thing going on.” Luka huffs a quiet laugh. His eyes flick around the little setup. Kids laughing, paint splattering, an off-key melody playing over tinny speakers. “You’re really good with them,” he says eventually. “I’m glad you’re still doing music. Even like this.” Nino feels the compliment sink somewhere deeper than expected. He scratches the back of his neck. “Thanks, man. It’s not exactly fame and fortune, but y’know. Feels real.” Before Luka can respond, a kid, Samir, trots up, clutching a crayon and pointing at Luka’s guitar case with wide eyes. “Mister, do you play?”

Luka smiles down at him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Are you famous?”

“Nope.” Luka crouches so they’re eye-level. “But you don’t need to be famous to play music.” Samir nods seriously, then zips back to his sketchpad. Nino watches the whole exchange with a lopsided smile. “Trying to put more kids on the musician track, are we?” Luka straightens, shifting his guitar case on his shoulder. “Maybe I am, you can’t have enough artists in the world.” Nino hummed in agreement, crossing his arms to watch two kids run around the table. “Fair enough. Wish he’d asked you to play, though. I’ve almost forgotten what your ‘art’ sounds like.” 

“Aw man, I really want to but I should get to practice before our drummer stabs me. How about this, you free tonight?”

Nino blinks. “Uh—”

“We’ve got a set at Nocturne. Just a small thing. If you’re still curious.” He pulls a small, slightly crumpled slip of paper from his jacket pocket and offers it. A drink voucher, neatly stamped with the bar’s owl logo and scribbled in Luka’s unmistakable handwriting: Good for one song, one drink, or both . Nino takes it with a short laugh, eyebrows raised. “Subtle.” Luka’s smile tugs a little wider, but he doesn’t say anything more. Just lifts a hand in a wave as he turns, steps quietly across the grass, sunlight catching in the streaks of copper at his temples. Nino watches him go, thumb brushing over the edge of the paper.  He tucks the voucher into his pocket. 

Just in case.

⊱.✧° [◎] °☍° ✎ °✧.⊰

The newsroom still smelled like burnt coffee and printer toner, even though no one had used the printer in three years. Alya sat cross-legged in her spinny chair anyway, balancing her laptop precariously on one thigh and nursing a stale croissant she’d stolen from the break room an hour ago. “It’s been a decade since Paris was last attacked by an akuma,” she typed. “Ten years without a single butterfly in sight. No red and black blur swinging over rooftops. No claws. Especially, no miraculous saves.” She tapped her fingers against the keyboard, backspaced twice, and sighed. Hard. The original pitch, courtesy of her editor who still hadn’t figured out how to stop capitalizing the word EXCLUSIVE , was simple: A ten-year retrospective on Ladybug and Chat Noir complete with conspiracy theories regarding their identities. 

She’d fought it at first. Then flirted with it. Then gone way too deep. Her folder was stuffed with half-finished drafts:

“Ladybug Unmasked: The Secret History”

“Chat Noir: A Legacy of Flirtation and Fury”

“Are Paris’s Greatest Heroes Still Among Us?”

She hated how easily the pieces came together once she started really thinking about it. Felix and Marinette always vanished during the attack, only to show up in the aftermath. Plus there was the matter of their jewelery. The way Ladybug’s voice rang through Alya’s bones with uncanny familiarity. The way Felix looked so soft whenever Marinette called Chat Noir a hero in front of anyone else. She remembered defending them, once. Shouting down people who speculated back when the city felt like it was clinging to magic with white-knuckled hands. Now, with no more magic in sight, she was the one sitting here wondering what to do with the evidence.

Alya leaned back in her chair and stared at the blinking cursor. There were still no answers, but maybe Paris didn’t need one in the first place. In a stroke of inspiration, Alya minimized the window. She opened a new document and started to type.

Once upon a time, Paris was protected by two teenage superheroes. No one knew their identity, and likely no one ever will. The truth is, they were probably just like us. They went to school or work. They argued with friends and hung out with their families. They had bad days. And then, when the worst day came, they stood up anyway. At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter who they were. It matters what they did, and what they made the rest of us believe we could do, too. We all carry that spark with the choice to help. To speak up. To be kind. To be brave. Maybe that’s the final truth of the Miraculous. Not that anyone could be Ladybug and Chat Noir, but that everyone already is. Or, they should try to be.”

Alya read it through once. Then again. Then again. She deleted all the other drafts and sent this one in with the subject line: FINAL FINAL I PROMISE.docx.

There. She could live with that.

She closed her laptop just as footsteps padded down the hallway, slow and familiar. Claude rounded the corner with two coffees in hand, wind-mussed hair and a lopsided smile. “Still alive in here?” 

“Barely,” she muttered, taking her cup from him and downing a scalding sip. “This place kills more brain cells than an akuma ever did.”

He chuckled and leaned against the desk. “I figured you’d be in full detective mode. The ten-year thing and all.”

“I was,” she said, slipping her laptop into her bag. “But then I remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” 

She looked up at him. “I don’t think we need to remind the new generation of who Ladybug and Chat Noir were, just what they represented.” Claude nodded and smiled again, slower this time. “Sounds like another perfect execution, babe. You ready to go back home?” 

Alya slung her bag over one shoulder. “Am I ever!”

⊱.⫷⚯⫸°⟡⟜⟡°⫷⚯⫸.⊰

Chief Odette Bourgeois-Agreste hated paperwork. She hated the way it piled up on the corners of her desk like mold, the way the reports came in triple-stamped and over-redacted, and especially the way that the bigger the case was, the smaller the print became. She flipped the file open anyway. Case No. 1295-B . Human trafficking, suspected links to international smuggling routes. Girls between ages 14–19. No names, no pictures. Just anonymous silhouettes traced in the system. Just enough to make her want to scream. She tapped her pen against the corner of the file. Ten years ago, she’d watched Chat Noir tear through rooftops to chase an unmarked van in a warehouse district. She’d been just a teenager then, with a warped understanding of how reliable authority was. Ten years later, and the same ring of scum was back. Different country, different names, same sickening game.

This time, Odette was the one in charge.

She leaned back in her chair, let the file flap closed, and stared at the ceiling with the kind of slow-building fury that demanded strategy. She had no intention of going vigilante, but she’d long since stopped waiting for the perfect clean win. With a sigh, she pulled out her phone and scrolled down to the name listed simply as F. A. , then hit Call. “Odette,” came the voice on the other end, crisp and amused, “has hell frozen over? You’re calling me willingly?”

She didn’t grace that with a response. “I’m looking at a case file. You remember Chat Noir’s rescue attempt from years ago? Those people are back.”

“Lovely. And here I was thinking Paris was getting boring.”

“I’m not in the mood for sarcasm, Felix.”

“You're no fun,” he said smoothly. “But fine, must be desperate if you want my advice. Let’s see. If I were a rat with a taste for offshore laundering, I’d probably be moving on weekends. Less scrutiny. More market activity. Are you tracking dockside manifests?”

“Yes.”

“But not truck weigh stations. Hm.” A rustle on his end. He was probably making tea. “Cross-reference vehicle inspections flagged for overcapacity in the past two weeks. Not shipping logs, ground freight.”

Odette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is that legal?”

Felix scoffed. “Is your moral compass still held together by police tape and chewing gum? Live a little, Odette.” She rolled her eyes, murmuring a quick goodbye before hanging up. Still, her pen was already scrawling across the notes: Check truck inspections. Cross-match w/ dock permits. Ground op? A knock at her door pulled her out of it. Officer Tran poked his head in, holding a mug and a questioning brow. “Chief? Any updates on 1295?”

“Possibly,” Odette said. “We can’t get them through immigration or cargo regs. But DOT violation notices?” She cracked a half-smile. “That’s public record. We use that to pull probable cause.”

Tran frowned. “Is that legal?”

“Technically?” Odette lifted her mug and gestured with it. “We’re not surveilling anyone. We’re just making efficient use of available data.” 

He stared for a moment, then chuckled. “Man, I’m glad you’re more imaginative than the last chief. Guy couldn’t solve a jaywalking ticket without permission from four departments.”

“Remind me to arrest you for slander,” Odette muttered, but there was no heat behind it. She got to work. Pulled the right files. Sent the right quiet memo to the right judge who owed her two favors and a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Within hours, they had three license plates and two matching drivers with records long enough to knit into a scarf. It wasn’t the end, but it was a start. Her phone buzzed again as the reports began pinging in. This time: 

Adrien A. : how’s the crusade, commissioner?

 i made your lentil recipe. pic attached. rlly yum

 i’m very proud.

Odette snorted. Attached was a blurry photo of a plate that looked somewhere between an omelette and a biology experiment, with a caption that simply read: culinary justice. She typed back:

you have to sauté the garlic first, dumbass.

good job.

Another buzz.

Adrien A. :😇

She stared at the screen for a moment, then let her phone fall to the desk beside her. Outside, the street lights flickered on. Odette picked up the file again. She wasn’t a vigilante, she knew where the line was.

But she also knew how to step around it.

⊱.｡˚ [☼] ˚✧˚ [☁︎] ˚｡.⊰

The studio lights blazed overhead, hot and artificial, like miniature suns strung up on steel scaffolding. Adrien blinked through them, smile fixed in place, back straight, chin tilted just-so. The camera clicked like a metronome, steady and unforgiving.

Click. “Good, hold that!”

Click. “Turn the shoulder a little. Yes!”

  Click. “Let’s try a jacket change. We need something edgier for the evening spread.” It was muscle memory by now: how to angle his collarbone to catch the light, how to smirk like he’d just heard a secret, how to keep breathing even when the flashbulbs started to feel like gunfire. Despite the tedious nature, he enjoyed it. Not every part, of course. There were still agents who treated him like a walking paycheck, and stylists who clipped pins into his skin without so much as a pardon , and old coworkers who still whispered behind their hands about “Gabriel Agreste’s son.” That would never fully disappear. But Adrien found that as long as he liked the job, he didn’t really need anyone’s approval for it. 

He spotted them during a break, just beyond the edge of the set: Odette, leaning against the wall in black slacks and a pressed blazer, reading something on her phone with the intensity of someone moments away from arresting the Prime Minister. Felix sat beside her on a folding chair, legs crossed, expression unreadable, but a little quirk of amusement tugging at his mouth whenever Odette muttered something and he replied with what Adrien could only assume was an excessively sarcastic remark. They made an odd pair: the ex-police officer turned chief and the ex-vigilante turned... something. No one was ever quite sure what Felix did for a living, and Felix was perfectly content to let them wonder. Adrien waved. Odette waved back with two fingers. 

The rest of the shoot passed in a blur: costume changes, makeup touchups, a mini-interview at the end. By the time he peeled off the last designer coat and ran a hand through his gel-stiff hair, he felt like he’d been wrung out and polished like a stone. He stepped out into the hallway just in time to see Odette slipping outside, phone pressed to her ear. Felix remained, standing now, inspecting a framed photo on the wall of the studio. “Hey,” Adrien called, jogging the last few steps. “You made it.”

Felix turned. “Shocking, I know. Thought I’d hate it more.”

Adrien grinned. “No cases this week?”

“If I told you,” Felix said dryly, “I’d have to kill you.”

Adrien laughed. “Fair.” Felix stepped aside as Adrien approached, eyes flicking down to his brother’s outfit. “You know, if I were the model, I’d have made it a real show. Thrown in a backflip. Bit of opera. Latin motto across the floor in chalk.” Adrien rolled his eyes, tugging at his collar. “Yes, and they’d have escorted you off set in handcuffs for graffiti.”

“Worth it,” Felix said with a grin. They fell into step together, slow and easy, like they’d done a thousand times before and would do a thousand more. Adrien glanced sideways at him, at the long black coat Felix always wore no matter the weather, at the quiet composure that somehow never aged. “Hey… can I ask you something?” Felix didn’t look at him, but his posture shifted. He was listening.  Adrien exhaled, “Does it make you uncomfortable? Me doing this? Modeling. After everything.”

Felix blinked and turned toward him. “Uncomfortable?” he repeated. “No. Annoyed by how good your bone structure still is? Absolutely.” Adrien huffed a laugh, but Felix’s expression settled into something more thoughtful. “Look,” he said, voice a little lower now, “it’s not my dream. And I do think the fashion industry is a carnivorous hellbeast disguised as art.”

“Valid,” Adrien murmured.

“But you’re not me. You don’t have to hate it just because I do. And you don’t have to sacrifice what you love to appease some imagined guilt from ten years ago.” Adrien opened his mouth, but Felix cut him off gently. “I don’t resent your choices. I don’t resent you. What I care about is that you’re doing something for yourself this time . ” He paused, meeting Adrien’s gaze directly. “Are you happy?” Adrien looked down at his hands and then back up at his twin. He smiled, quiet and honest. 

“Yeah. I am.”

⊱·:·☽ ✦ ☾✦☽ ✦ ☾·:·⊰

Felix’s shoulders ached. Not the dull soreness of a bad posture day or even the stiffness that came after years of ballet recitals. This was the kind of tiredness that clung to your bones. It came from hours of chasing leads that fizzled out, interrogations that led nowhere, and the low hum of tension in his spine that never quite left when something big was brewing but not yet breaking. His coat slid off with a sigh the moment he entered the apartment. The scent of warm chamomile and baked sugar greeted him. Marinette must’ve made tea and something sweet, probably to wind down after her own long day. She was better at that, finding peace in stillness. He… was still learning. 

“Welcome home,” came her voice from the kitchen, soft but warm. A few seconds later, she appeared around the corner, cheeks pink from the oven heat, hair slightly mussed from where she’d pushed it back with a pencil. Felix didn’t even have time to respond before she was close enough to press a kiss to his cheek. Her palm brushed lightly over his shoulder, her thumb instinctively finding the tension there. “Rough day?” she murmured.

He nodded. “They slipped through again.”

“Then they’ll slip into cuffs soon,” she said confidently, already turning toward the kettle. Felix huffed a tired laugh and finally took in the rest of the apartment. Their home was… chaotic. Beautiful, yes, but chaotic. Sketches covered the walls like living wallpaper. Some were pinned carefully, others taped up in moments of late-night inspiration. Fashion concepts floated beside half-drawn hero masks. Crayon drawings layered beneath professional renderings. Pencils, thread, scraps of fabric, even glitter glue in one corner. Marinette’s influence had clearly infected their daughter’s sense of artistic discipline. Or, rather, lack thereof. One particularly bright drawing on the coffee table caught his eye. It was a rough sketch in pink and black: Ladybug and Chat Noir, capes billowing in the wind (neither of them had ever worn capes, but who was he to argue with artistic vision). Ladybug had sparkly earrings and a tiara. Chat Noir had a sword, a saxophone, and, for some reason, a pair of heart sunglasses.

“Dad!!” a voice shouted before he could react. A blur of footsteps came barreling toward him, and then eight-year-old Amelie was crashing into his legs, hugging him with the force of someone twice her size. “Do you like it?” she beamed up at him, eyes wide, proud. “I drew them today. I added the sunglasses.” Felix knelt down, exhaustion evaporating under the warmth in her face. “I love it, sweetie. It’s perfect.” She squealed and hugged him tighter, then scampered back to the table to grab more of her sketches. From behind him, Marinette's arms wrapped around his middle. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder. “You were supposed to be in bed fifteen minutes ago,” she said, and though her tone was stern, Felix could hear the smile in it. “I was waiting for Dad!!” Amelie called from the other room. “He promised he’d do tuck-in tonight!” Marinette sighed and started to pull back, but Felix caught her hand before she could. “It’s alright,” he said, softly. “Why don’t you head to bed yourself? I’ve got her.” Marinette kissed his cheek again, lingering for a moment. “You sure?”

“I missed her,” he murmured, then glanced at her sideways. “And you.”

Her smile curved softly. “Then I’ll go warm the tea.” Amelie was already climbing into bed by the time Felix made it to her room. Her blanket was bunched at the footboard, and three of her plush toys were dramatically posed around her pillow like tiny bodyguards. Her sketchpad lay open beside her, flipped to a doodle of Ladybug and Chat Noir holding hands. Felix tucked the blanket up to her chin. “Dad,” she said, already blinking slower, “can you tell me the story of Ladybug and Chat Noir again?” Felix settled beside her on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing through her curls. “Again? Haven’t I told you a hundred times already?”

“ Please ?” 

He exhaled like it was a great burden. “Alright. Once upon a time, in a city full of secrets, there was a girl with a heart so brave and so clever, she could outsmart even the darkest shadows. And a boy with a grin so sharp, he could even make sadness laugh.” Amelie’s eyes were half-closed already. “They weren’t always friends,” Felix continued, voice low and gentle, “but they learned to trust each other. And together, they protected Paris from things most people couldn’t even imagine. But the real magic wasn’t their powers. It was their choices. They chose to keep going. To protect others. To do what was right, even when it was hard.” A tiny yawn broke through her lips. “Do you think Ladybug and Chat Noir will ever come back?” she asked sleepily. Felix looked down at her, his heart doing that quiet ache it always did when she said things like that. “Maybe,” he said softly. “They could also already be, just living like everyone else. Being kind. Trying their best.” 

⊱.❀° ✿ °❀° ✿  °❀.⊰

The scent of jasmine tea drifted from the kitchen. Marinette leaned against the doorframe, smiling as she watched her grandfather crouch on the living room rug beside eight-year-old Amelie, who was dramatically explaining the plot of a fantasy comic she’d made. “And this one —” Amelie pointed fiercely at a stick figure with sparkly wings “—is Lady Mariposa. She’s, like, based on Mom. She has super fashion magic and she can turn bad guys into glitter. But not the itchy kind.”

“Ah, very good,” Grandpa Cheng said, nodding solemnly as if being briefed by a war general. “And the wings? How do they stay up?”

Amelie beamed. “They’re solar-powered!” Marinette’s heart squeezed as she stepped further into the room. Her grandfather had traveled all the way from Shanghai just to visit for a week, and even though his hair had grown whiter and his voice a little quieter, the way he listened hadn’t changed. He still believed children were worth listening to. That stories were sacred. Now he was here, cross-legged beside her daughter, listening like this superhero comic was scripture. “Alright, wings,” Marinette called gently, brushing a hand along Amelie’s hair as she passed. “Let’s clean up your masterpiece before the cavalry gets here. And you, Grandpa, are on tea duty.”

“I am retired,” he huffed, standing with a theatrical groan, “and yet, I am still being bossed around.”

“That’s what happens when you raise a girl who runs a household and a business and an unofficial superhero fan club,” Marinette teased. Grandpa muttered something in Mandarin that was definitely a compliment disguised as a complaint and shuffled off toward the kitchen.

The doorbell rang.

Marinette wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door to find Adrien, grinning as usual, arms already open for a hug and Odette, beside him, composed and stylish, balancing a wrapped gift and a clipboard in one arm like a true multitasker. “This is for the dining room,” Odette said, handing her the gift. “I thought it needed something blue.”

Adrien leaned in. “She means she saw your curtains and panicked about color theory for three days straight.”

“I was helping,” Odette said flatly. “It’s a curated accent piece.”

Marinette laughed and pulled them both inside. “Come in. Grandpa’s making tea, and Amelie just invented a superhero.” Before anyone could sit down, a knock came at the still-open door. Alya stepped inside, sunglasses perched on her head and lip gloss freshly applied, all confidence and caffeine. “Hey, hey, hey,” she called, tossing her purse onto the entry table. “The gossip queen has arrived.” Behind her, Claude leaned in, still in his work shirt, looking apologetic and fond all at once. “I’ve got a shift, but I’ll be back later. Try not to let her blackmail anyone before brunch, alright?”

“No promises!” Alya shouted after him as he jogged off down the stairs. Marinette shook her head fondly. Alya had fallen into her relationship with Claude like a plot twist in a romance novel. Slow, subtle, and inevitable. The way they’d ended up at the same office after high school, first as coworkers, then lunch buddies, then Friday-night movie partners, it was almost too perfect. “Ugh, this is so unfair,” Adrien groaned, flopping onto the couch as Alya followed Marinette into the kitchen. “How do you all look this good before brunch? I look like I slept on a public bench.”

“You did fall asleep on the subway once,” Odette noted. “During Fashion Week.”

“One time,” Adrien muttered. For the last time, the front door creaked again. This time it was Felix, arms full of grocery bags, walking in with regal disdain. Behind him, Nino followed, cheerfully juggling two boxes of pastries and a bunch of flowers. “Okay, do not judge me,” Nino said immediately, “but I may have bought three different types of croissants.” Felix looked over his shoulder as he dropped the bags onto the counter. “He made a man cry over a mislabeled baguette.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Did you?” Felix replied coolly. “Because all I remember is you pulling out your DJ license and claiming immunity.”

“Okay, I was hangry. ”

“Oh, and for the record,” Felix added, deadpan, “while we were in the produce aisle, Nino and Luka were exchanging cow eyes. ”

“ WHAT? ” Alya screeched from the table.

“Felix, wait,” Nino said desperately. “I wasn’t that obvious was I?” Adrien doubled over in laughter. Marinette almost dropped the tea tray. Amelie peeked around the corner with wide eyes. “Cow eyes?” she whispered to Marinette. 

“Uh,” Marinette coughed, “It’s a… like-like kinda thing.”

“You’re all monsters,” Nino groaned, putting the flowers in a vase like he was punishing them. “You like him!” Alya sing-songed.

“I don’t not like him,” Nino muttered. Odette leaned toward Marinette. “Should we start a betting pool again?”

“I never stopped,” Marinette whispered back. The apartment pulsed with life. Laughter, footsteps, and shouted jokes carried from one room to another. Grandpa Cheng had joined Odette on the floor, showing her how to fold a paper crane. Alya was using her phone to film an impromptu toast to “friendship and pastries and emotional growth.” Felix was lounging at the dining table, eyes closed and relaxed, and Adrien was trying to convince Amelie to let him borrow her Lady Mariposa cape. Marinette stood in the doorway for a second, watching it all. Her friends. Her family. Her home.

It was chaos.

It was hers.

It was perfect.

She stepped into the room, raised her cup, and joined Alya’s toast. “To everyone who ever believed we’d survive our teenage years.” Groans, cheers, laughter. A clinking of cups and mugs and pastry boxes. As the noise rose around her, Marinette smiled.  She’d been a disaster. She’d been Ladybug. She’d been in denial, in love, in battle, and now she was here.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Hero, still.