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Alya startles from her sleep at a sudden thump.
She is not in her own bed. It takes her time to realize that this is Marinette’s room, and Marinette’s scent, and Marinette’s bedsheets. It takes her even more time to turn her head, coming face to face with Ladybug herself. Fragments of absurd dreams creep into reality, and Alya can hardly react when Ladybug’s eyes widen, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Alya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up – did I …”
For a moment, it’s too much. For a moment, Alya can’t bring herself to think further. To acknowledge that she knows the truth behind big blue eyes. She suddenly feels wide awake, feels so exhausted the whole world pressed down on her with its smothering weight, and her attempt at shaking her head only results in a weak gesture.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t even notice you leaving.”
Ladybug nods. Bites her lip. Sinks down on her bed. Darkness drenches her in shadows. Black hair falls into her face. Not for the first time, Alya feels so stupid she wants to throw up. The many times she joked about it. The many times she shoved the tiny hint of suspicion out of her mind.
She wants to hate her, but in truth, the only one she can hate is herself.
“Come on,” she whispers. “Let’s catch some sleep. Or else you’re never gonna get rid of those dark circles under your eyes. Seriously, girl, and no offense, but they don’t suit you.”
Ladybug smiles weakly. “I can’t sleep.”
Alya keeps quiet.
“That’s why I left.”
“So, no akuma attack? Surprising,” Alya quips, the sound of her own voice making her flinch.
Ladybug is still smiling. It makes her face look odd. Her eyes are glazed. She looks down at the mattress.
“We patrolled.”
“Okay.”
“It was quiet. Nothing going on.”
Alya stays silent again.
“He asked if something is wrong. I ignored him.”
“Well –”
“He is going to hate me,” she says, voice so heavy it is almost drowned out by unshed tears.
Alya’s thoughts are swirling. She sits up. Doesn’t dare touch Ladybug’s hands. “Okay, Marinette. Detransform first?”
Ladybug’s head shoots up. She seems so perplexed that even Alya feels confused for a moment. “Right,” she eventually whispers, fiddling with her fingers. “I almost – yeah. Um, spots off.”
It will never get easier, Alya supposes. Maybe she will never fully understand. Because in the end, Marinette is kneeling in front of her, shoulders slumped and face crumbling into tiredness. Stupid, Alya thinks again. Stupid. She can’t even begin to fathom what Marinette dealt with, and she can’t even try to discern what she allowed herself to believe.
Tikki gives Alya the tiniest of smiles before she floats away. Alya learned that Tikki has her own special drawer filled with macarons. She also learned that Tikki likes cookies just as much as macarons. She also learned that her best friend lied and lied, and even if Alya might have had suspicions, she willingly pushed them away. Time and time again.
She gulps down any feeling that threatens to arise. Instead she reaches for Marinette’s hands, tries to catch her eyes. She is getting used to the darkness, notices Marinette gnawing at her lower lip so intensely that rosy skin turns pale. It looks painful, and it makes an ugly feeling curl in Alya’s stomach.
“Maybe we should really catch some sleep,” Alya tries. Carefully, slowly, drawing a soft pattern over Marinette’s hands. “I’ll be the big spoon, okay? I’ll cuddle with you until you fall asleep. No escaping for you anymore. So –”
“Alya. He’s going to hate me,” Marinette repeats, staring at their joined hands.
She pauses. She lets her thumbs sink into soft skin. She searches for words. They all slip from her tongue in a matter of seconds.
“Who?” she brings out, even though she knows the answer already.
Marinette squeezes her hands. She is still looking downwards. Her body seems small, coiled in on itself like It is. Everything about her seems weak and vulnerable, a delicate girl scared of being squashed under the weight of it all. That’s not Ladybug. That shouldn’t be Ladybug, and Alya’s chest constricts, because there is no way to deny it any longer – this is Ladybug, every tiniest thing she hid so well, every lie she presented stripped away.
It’s all gone. The illusion is broken, and nothing can bring it back.
“I can’t look at him,” Marinette breathes, tone laced with anguish. “I can’t – Alya, I told him so often, I told him, and I couldn’t even keep my word, I –”
“Okay. Marinette. Breathe. Chat Noir isn’t going to hate you.”
Her head snaps up. Desperation fills her eyes. In a first instinct, Alya lets go of her. Because it almost doesn’t fit – the same fire Ladybug shows, the same fire that in truth belongs to Marinette, to Marinette –
“How would you know?” Her voice is too high-pitched, too hysteric. “He trusted me. He trusted me, and what did I do? Go behind his back and throw every precaution we took overboard? I shouldn’t have –”
She interrupts herself. Alya’s smile feels fake and painful.
“It’s not …” Marinette stumbles over her words. “I don’t mean …”
“It’s okay if you regret it.”
“No, Alya, that’s not …” She grabs Alya’s hands again, clutches them closer, lifts them to her chest. Looks at her out of eyes that beg for forgiveness. The one thing Alya can’t give her, no matter how hard she tries. Because there’s nothing to forgive, and there’s no salvation. Just the need to move on, to keep going no matter what. “What am I supposed to do now? How am I … I just don’t want to lose you, neither one of you, and I …”
Something icy takes hold of Alya’s heart. But she pushes it down. Instead, she carefully squeezes back. Watches tears fill blue eyes.
“You aren’t going to lose him.”
“Aren’t I?” Marinette’s nails dig into her hand. It’s kind of painful, but Alya feels too numb to really mind. “He … I can’t do this without him.”
“I know. And he can’t do this without you.”
“That’s not …” She shakes her head, releases a shuddering breath. “You don’t …”
“If you forgot, I know a thing or two about both of you.” Alya tries to smile. She thinks she doesn’t succeed. But Marinette seems to believe it nonetheless.
She supposes even a fake smile can look genuine if you just convince yourself hard enough.
“You do, huh?” Marinette murmurs. “You do.”
Alya knows a lot. And still, she knew nothing. The thought makes her smile turn bitter, makes her stomach churn, and she finally removes her hands from Marinette’s grasp.
“We’ll think about all of this tomorrow, okay? For now, we’ll sleep. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Everything. All right?”
The lie hurts on her tongue. It’s almost funny how desperately Marinette latches onto it nevertheless, how her lips tremble at the words.
“Everything,” she repeats.
“Everything,” Alya says once again.
Marinette nods. Lets herself be softly pulled down until they lie side by side. She is still facing Alya. Tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes. Before she can think too hard about it, Alya reaches forward, brushes a tear from Marinette’s cheek. She doesn’t sob, hardly reacts.
Ladybug never looked that weak. She never seemed to be at the point of breaking apart. At the point of crumbling into nothingness. Alya wants to hold her together. Needs to. No one else can. No one else will. No one else but her.
“You’ll see,” she therefore mumbles, draping her arm around Marinette’s waist and pulling her closer. “Everything will be fine, okay? We’ll get through this. Right?”
Marinette’s smile looks tired. “You won’t be able to help me with Chat.”
“Then you’re underestimating me severely, bestie.”
Marinette doesn’t reply. She casts her eyes down, not looking at Alya anymore. Something inside Alya’s heart breaks. Again and again, painful splinters boring through her very being, and she gently taps against Marinette’s chin until their gazes lock again.
“Do I hate you for telling me the truth?” she says.
Marinette looks at her wordlessly.
“No. The answer is no. So Chat Noir isn’t going to hate you either.”
“Do you really not hate me?” whispers Marinette.
Fragile words, spoken with a tenderness that makes Alya shiver. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. For a moment, any sound gets stuck in her throat. Understanding starts to blossom in Marinette’s eyes, and Alya hurries to bring out an answer through her constricting throat.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Because I’m not as strong as I’m supposed to be, huh.”
“Nonsense,” Alya hisses. She doesn’t know when it happened, but her hand is still resting on Marinette’s cheek, forcing her to keep looking into her eyes. “You are strong. Incredibly strong.”
“I’m not. Or else I would have been able to keep it a secret.” Marinette’s fingers wrap around Alya’s wrist, surely about to push her away, to close off from her yet again. Hurt all by herself. Not let anyone see what she has to go through, and sudden panic twines around Alya’s heart, tugs and tears and doesn’t let go of her. Marinette is close, so close, too close.
Alya bridges the last bit of distance, and she lays her lips on Marinette’s.
Nothing happens. The world keeps moving. Her heart keeps beating. Alya slowly backs away again. Discovers that Marinette has closed her eyes, and she thinks about apologizing, thinks about getting up and leaving, thinks about so many things that her head nearly starts to ache. Marinette breathes slowly, and for the first time since the revelation, her expression is calm and peaceful.
And it’s Alya’s doing.
She stops thinking, and instead, she moves forward to press her lips against Marinette’s once again.
A sigh. Small hands finding purchase on Alya’s shoulders, pulling her close. So breakable, any sound she makes feeble and fleeting. A mess trembling in her arms. Lips slightly chapped, but Alya doesn’t mind. Not one bit. She kisses her and kisses her until she feels drunk on the feeling of softness moving against her lips. So tender, so warm, so inviting that Alya gives a tiny sound.
Because it’s Ladybug who is desperately trying to hold on to her, it’s Ladybug who is sighing onto her lips, it’s Ladybug, and all the same no one but –
Alya abruptly backs away.
It takes a second until Marinette opens her eyes, cheeks rosy and lips reddened. “I – sorry,” she breathes, retracting her hands quickly, pressing them close to her heart. But she isn’t the one who started it, and she isn’t the one who needs to apologize, and yet …
Alya blinks. Tries to not let her mind slip away again. “Sorry, but … I can’t …” Her tongue trips over words wildly, her heart beats too fast. “There’s still –”
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Marinette moves further away. It almost seems like she wants to escape Alya this way. “Nothing happened.”
“Marinette, I –”
“We’ll figure it all out, right?” Marinette interrupts her as she turns her back on Alya, curling up into a tight ball. “Tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”
Alya doesn’t know what to say. Her hands are trembling. She wants to talk about it, but she can’t. Thinking about her boyfriend now would have broken her apart. Everything is crumbling around her. Everything is a mess. Her eyes sting when she turns on her side, facing away from Marinette. Despite her thick blanket, she feels icily cold.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into darkness.
“I told you –”
“For never noticing before.”
Marinette doesn’t reply for a while. Alya hears her shift, hears the rustling of blankets. A little trembling breath. Goosebumps rise on Alya’s skin.
“I guess I’m a convincing liar,” Marinette quips. It sounds weak and bitter.
Alya’s hand cramps into the bedsheets. She wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to know the truth. If it shouldn’t have been her. If Marinette regrets telling her first. If she wishes she would have shared that kiss with another person, one she would trust with her life.
Because the answer is clear anyway.
Time passes. Nothing moves. Alya can’t close her eyes. It’s quiet, and she can hardly hear Marinette’s breaths next to her.
“Alya?” Marinette whispers.
She hums in return.
“Could you maybe … Could you still …” A loud exhale. “Could you be the big spoon?”
Alya wants to laugh. She can’t. She needs seconds until she turns to Marinette again, to the tiny shivering form next to her. Everything inside her freezes, and uncoils, and leaves her in a feeling of helplessness. So she scoots closer, closer still until she can drape her arm around Marinette’s waist gently.
“Like that?” she mumbles, burying her nose in Marinette’s hair. The sweet smell of shampoo surrounds her. Tension surges through her body.
“Yeah. I … Thank you.”
It takes time until Alya can relax. It takes time until she can softly lay a hand on Marinette’s arm, until she starts to draw patterns over it. It takes time until Marinette’s breathing has slowed down, and Alya’s lips press against the back of Marinette’s head as she falls asleep too.
Alya wakes up in the bed on her own. When she sits up and glances down into Marinette’s room, she sees the girl sitting at her desk, fully dressed and quietly talking to her kwami.
Alya reaches for her glasses. Puts them on. Watches Marinette’s black hair move in the first few rays of morning sun.
Just another secret they’re going to keep, she supposes. Just another tiny little thing no one but them will ever know.