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Chapter Text

At last, springtime has come to Paris.  

The sun is shining, the birds are singing…  

“GRAWWWWWWWR!”  

The akuma du jour lets out one final enraged cry, before dissolving in a swirling, malevolent cloud of purple.  

Ladybug gazes on tiredly, the object she’s just purified still crushed under her right foot. When she thinks no one is looking, she gives it an extra stomp for good measure.  

It was the first nice day that Paris had seen in months, and she spent the majority of it chasing after a giant, fire-breathing monster—complete with razor-sharp fangs and a viciously spiked tail that had sent her and Chat Noir careening through the walls of at least thirteen buildings by her final count.  

Mostly Chat though, she thinks, wincing apologetically as she meets her partner’s eyes.  

He tilts his head in confusion as he helps Monarch’s latest victim to their feet, question clear in his gaze. 

All good, LB?  

She nods discreetly, smiling at the young woman who’s glancing between the two of them with a confused sort of awe. 

Once the Miraculous Cure has been cast, and they’ve ascertained that she’s well enough to see herself home, Ladybug and Chat Noir vault away, neither willing nor particularly interested in sticking around much longer to deal with the growing crowd.  

They run side-by-side for a while, vaulting over rooftops and around brick chimneys in silence, until they’re certain the coast is clear.  

“UGH!”  

Chat collapses first, rolling into a somersault as he lands on the roof of an abandoned building. Instead of rising as she’d expected, he remains splayed out on the ground, limbs akimbo.  

“I thought that fight was never gonna end!”  

Grateful for the excuse to give in to her burgeoning exhaustion, Ladybug drops to the ground next to him, trying not to let on just how tired she actually feels.  

She rolls her neck, groaning when it lets out a pop.  

“I know, right? I had to recharge two separate times. I haven’t had to do that in forever! I can’t tell if that means Monarch is getting better at this, or that I’m losing my touch...”  

“Well, it’s definitely not the latter,” Chat snorts, shooting her a sideways look. Ladybug tries her best not to flush at the indirect compliment. She’s only partly successful. “Honestly, I think it was just a lucky break on Monarch’s part. That woman’s sheer pigheadedness could have rivaled even Chloe Bourgeois on a bad day.”  

Ladybug chokes on a laugh, surprised to hear such a jab falling from Chat’s lips. Although occasionally cheeky, her partner was normally much more mild-mannered; polite almost to a fault, even with people Ladybug herself found to be hopelessly annoying. 

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who was more tired than they were letting on.  

“Aww,” she leans into his space, her hand rising to pet his hair. “Sounds like someone’s a grumpy kitty today. Not getting enough beauty sleep?”  

Chat purses his lips, green eyes narrowing at her teasing.  

“I think we both know that is not the case,” he says archly, gesturing down the length of his body as though to say ‘Uh, hello? Have you seen me?’  

Ladybug’s eyes flick over him briefly, taking in the lean musculature of his torso underneath the black leather; the breadth of his shoulders, and the slim taper of his waist that would have made even the most seasoned of runway models weep with envy.  

Okay, fair point, she acknowledges with a proverbial tip of her hat. Though she’d rather die than admit it aloud.  

Instead, she gives him a conciliatory scratch behind the ears.  

Despite his earlier pique, Chat’s body language is anything but displeased as he leans into her touch, nuzzling the hand currently playing with his hair. After a few increasingly slow blinks, his eyes fall shut and stay that way, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he basks in the attention.  

Her lips quirk up almost unwittingly in response. 

This cat, honestly…  

Ladybug slowly reclines next to him, propping her head on one fist as she takes the opportunity to examine his profile. 

No, she concludes after several moments. If Chat Noir is losing sleep, it’s not at all apparent in his physical appearance. He’s as handsome as ever, if not more so—his skin and hair practically glowing under the late afternoon sunlight.  

The teenage girl beneath Ladybug’s mask feels a stab of envy at the evenness of his complexion, the length of the blonde eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Even the glossy shine of his hair is impressive.  

She runs her fingers through his bangs, pushing them back from his forehead. Chat smiles in his sleep, turning toward her like a flower seeking the sun.  

At this point, it’s obvious to Ladybug—and probably to anyone else who has ever beheld him in all of his glory—that Chat Noir needs no assistance in the beauty department.  

If he wasn’t so busy getting thrown through walls by overgrown lizards, battling supervillains, and saving the lives of everyday Parisians, he could have easily been an actor or a model with his looks.   

Ladybug wonders, not for the first time, what kind of life the boy on the other side of Chat Noir’s mask lives. 

But mostly, she wonders what it might be like to touch him without her gloves on. To feel the silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the softness of the cheeks on which his eyelashes rest.  

Her fingers pause in their ministrations.  

Best not to go there, she thinks, pulling her hand away as she lays down fully beside him. 

The roof tiles are toasty beneath her, the heat seeping into the muscles of her back making it that much more difficult to fight the exhaustion weighing down her eyelids. 

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Ladybug lets her eyes slip closed, enjoying the warm spring sunshine caressing her face.  

A quick power nap sounds like exactly what she needs right now. Especially if it’ll help chase away any more intrusive thoughts about her slumbering partner and his unfair prettiness. 

-x-  

Sometime later. 

“Chat,” Ladybug slurs, fighting the pull of unconsciousness as it tries to drag her back under. She prods at his shoulder. “We shouldn’t—sleep here.”

All she receives for her efforts is a grunt. 

“We could…” Burn, she wants to say. But she’s so comfortable, and Chat’s arm is curled over her waist, and sleep is so pleasantly heavy on her eyelids. 

Surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.   

-x- 

Even later still.  

Ladybug wakes to an annoyingly high-pitched beeping, sounding uncomfortably close to her head.  

She groans, trying in vain to roll away from the noise.  

Except it keeps following her, blasting into her eardrums with the proximity that could only originate from one source.  

Earrings. Tikki!   

Ladybug bolts upright, squinting blearily as she attempts to get her bearings.  

The first thing she realizes is that the light has shifted significantly since she last opened her eyes; the shadows stretching across the rooftop to nip at her heels, afternoon warmth rapidly giving way to the deepening chill of evening.  

The second realization is that Chat is still stretched out languorously beside her, dead to the world, and they’ve clearly been napping for not minutes but hours, judging by the way the sky has melted into a dazzling array of pinks and oranges and golds. It’s a breathtaking sight, and one that Ladybug normally would have found quite beautiful, if she wasn’t so busy freaking out about Realization Number Three—

Which is that she has maybe thirty seconds, tops, before her transformation unravels around her, taking with it her anonymity, her dignity, and any semblance of relaxation she may have achieved during her impromptu slumber. 

Catapulting to her feet with a lack of finesse that even her superpowers can’t disguise, Ladybug scrambles for the chimney on the other side of the roof, accidentally stomping directly on top of Chat Noir in the process.  

“OOF!” 

She’s just ducking behind the brick wall when his indignant yowling reaches her ears, the magic of her detransformation whooshing over her in a rush. 

“What the heck kind of wakeup call was that?! Seriously, bugaboo, we've got to work on your bedside manner—” Chat pauses, his voice growing concerned when he fails to locate her. “Bugaboo?” 

“I’m over here,” she calls, quickly digging in her purse for her emergency Emergency Snack Stash. “My transformation let up unexpectedly so I need to feed my kwami.”

Tikki harrumphs around a mouthful of macaron, her expression less than pleased.  

“It wouldn’t have been unexpected if you had de-transformed like you were supposed to, instead of falling asleep immediately after a long battle," she snipes. 

Marinette winces apologetically, knowing instinctively that she’ll be making up for this gaff for a while. Most likely in the form of copious amounts of baked goods. Her parents are probably going to think she’s stress eating again.  

Chat’s voice is closer the next time he speaks, although still a respectful distance away in light of her de-Ladybugged state.  

“Looks like we overslept, huh?” She hears the sound of his baton click, followed by a beep. “We were asleep for two hours? You’ve gotta be kitten me!” 

Marinette barely waits for Tikki to swallow her last bite before she mutters her transformation phrase, stepping out from behind the chimney to level Chat with an unimpressed stare.  

“Really, at a time like this? My kwami is going to be giving me shit about this for the next forever and you’re hitting me with reused puns?” 

Chat’s jaw drops.  

“Reused puns?” He appears appalled at the notion. “I would never!” 

He crosses his arms, his expression one of pure indignance. “When have I used that one before?” 

“M. Pigeon 38 and 56,” she rattles off automatically, realizing a beat too late that memorizing every single joke someone has ever told is not the kind of behaviour a Normal Person with Exclusively Platonic Intentions might exhibit. 

For a moment, Chat merely blinks at her. Then, his eyes widened, his face lighting up with glee. 

“My lady, are you blushing?” He sounds delighted by the prospect. 

“What? No.” Ladybug scoffs. “Why would I be blushing?” After all, as Marinette, she’s said far more unfortunate things under far worse circumstances. This inadvertent admission, while embarrassing, was barely a blip on the mortification scale when compared to the world-ending natural disasters she’d been capable of when her crush on Adrien was at its peak. 

Still, Chat seems unconvinced. “Then why are your cheeks that beguiling shade of pink, hm? You can’t fool this cat’s eyes, bugaboo. We have excellent vision, you know.”

Ladybug scowls, turning back to glare at him. Her mouth snaps shut on her retort, however, when she notices that Chat’s skin is pink as well, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy shade of red. 

“Wait, how long did you say we were asleep for?” She flips open her compact, blood draining from her face at the time she sees listed in the upper corner. 

“Chat, we slept for almost two hours! I’m not blushing, I’m sunburnt! And by the looks of it, so are you!” 

Underneath the pink, Chat's face goes ashen. 

“Oh no,” he moans, crumpling into a ball. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.” 

Ladybug falters, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction.

“It’ll be alright, chaton,” she crouches next to him, her hands fluttering uselessly over his shoulders, too confused to even properly offer him comfort. “Just put some calming lotion on it when you go home. Aloe works well in my experience—”

“No, you don’t understand,” his wild green eyes snap up to meet hers. “I am not allowed to get sunburnt. This is a disaster. My Fa—“ here he stumbles, averting his gaze as she helps him to his feet.” —facialist is going to kill me!” 

Ladybug drops his hand, her prior concern completely evaporating. 

“You get facials?” 

Chat looks offended at her disbelief. 

“Of course,” he sniffs. “How else do you think I maintain this youthful glow?” 

Ladybug rolls her eyes, wincing when the action tugs at her inflamed skin. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you might want to get inside before that ‘youthful glow’ becomes visible from outer space.”  

Chat sputters.

-x-

When she gets home, Marinette applies every single cream, lotion, and gel in her arsenal to try to bring down the redness in her face.  

And when even that doesn’t work, she calls in the big guns.

-x-

“Oh, Marinette, what have you done to yourself now?” Sabine frets, patting cool lotion onto her cheeks. 

Marinette grimaces, both at the sting of the motion and her own stupidity. 

“Next time you want to lay out in the sun in swimming goggles of all things, at least promise me you’ll wear sunscreen.” 

“Yes, Maman...”

-x-

Chapter Text

One glance in the mirror the next morning is enough to confirm Marinette's worst fears.  

Despite all of her hopes—and applying every topical treatment known to man—her skin has settled on a vivid, traffic-stopping shade of red that looks, if possible, even worse in the light of a new day. 

“Oh dear,” Tikki says, coming to hover over Marinette’s shoulder. “That looks bad.”  

“TIKKI,” she wails. “What happened? I thought the suits were supposed to protect us from everything!” 

“That doesn’t mean you’re not supposed to wear sunscreen!”  

Marinette gives her kwami an outraged look in the mirror. 

“Forgive me for assuming that the MAGICAL SUIT that protects me from MORTAL WOUNDS would also protect me from the sun!” 

Tikki squeaks indignantly. 

“For the hundredth time, I’ve told you that my magic did all it could! If it weren’t for me, you would have sun poisoning by now, at the very least. Quantum magic is no substitute for good old-fashioned sun protection!”  

Marinette grimaces at the admonishment, knowing without question that Tikki is correct. She normally wore sunscreen every day. But she’d been caught off-guard by yesterday’s akuma attack and it had completely slipped her mind. A mistake that she was now coming to regret dearly. 

Because, as luck would have it, the burnt skin on her face was rapidly becoming the least of her problems. 

She gazes at her reflection in the mirror, eyes wide and wild.

“Tikki,” Marinette chokes out, her voice strangled by the panic clawing its way up her throat. Her hand lingers over her mouth, as though that will prevent the truth from spilling out. “Everyone is going to know. They’re going to look at me, and they’re going to know.” 

Tikki floats silently beside her, examining the stark white outline around her eye area, the unmistakable shape of a domino mask etched plainly into her skin.

“...maybe you could hide it with a really big pair of glasses?” 

Marinette lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical.  

“A really big pair of glasses is not going to prevent people from putting two and two together to realize that I am Ladybug!” She squawks, feeling as though her heart has fallen out of her chest and into the well of her stomach, where it is slowly being consumed by acid.

Tikki drops to rest on her shoulder, a solid and comforting weight amid a sea of troubles.  

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, reaching out with one paw to pat Marinette on the cheek, before thinking better of it at the last second. “I’ve seen Ladybugs reveal their identities in many ways over the years, but this one might be a first even for me.”  

“OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO NOT HELPING.” 

-x-

“Good morning, chérie—oh my, those glasses are… exceptionally large! Is that what’s trendy with the kids these days?” 

The door to the bakery opens, then slams shut in short order.  

“...was it something I said?” 

“Tom, dear, I feel like right now just might not be the best time.”

-x-

By the time Marinette gets to school, she’s cutting it close, even by her usual standards of tardiness.  

The final bell is still echoing in the courtyard when she vaults up the stairs, skidding around the corner towards her classroom blindly.  

It’s only when she’s wrenching open the door with more gusto than strictly necessary that she remembers that today is perhaps not the best day to be drawing unneeded attention to herself.  

Too late, however, as the door is now wide open, and fifteen pairs of eyes have settled on her with varying degrees of incredulity.  

Chloe is, of course, the first to break the silence.  

“Good god, Dupain-Cheng, just when I thought your fashion sense couldn’t get any worse! What are those monstrosities on your face?”

As the rest of the class breaks into whispers, Mlle. Bustier levels Chloe with a quelling look, before focusing her attention on Marinette.  

“Marinette, is there a… particular reason for your attire this morning?”

“I’m… allergic to the sun?” Marinette tries, fighting the urge to adjust her face mask as it chafes against the skin of her cheeks. The tint of her sunglasses is dark, but not so much that she misses the incredulous expression that flashes across their instructor’s face before she turns back to the blackboard.   

“Take your seat, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier says with a sigh, exuding the long-suffering patience of someone accustomed to dealing with the mercurial whims of adolescents. “Now class, as I was saying, please open your books to page—” 

Tuning out the rest of what their teacher is saying, Marinette takes the opportunity to slump into her seat, relieved to be out of the limelight.  

She feels Alya shift closer on the bench, her next words covered by the sound of their classmates pulling out their textbooks. 

“I don’t need to be an intrepid reporter to know there’s a story here,” she murmurs, the raw amusement in her voice not at all diminished by her low volume. “And something tells me that I can’t wait to hear it.” 

Marinette simply sighs, eyeing the empty seat in front of her while ignoring Alya’s snickering. 

There was at least one bright side to this nightmare of a morning. Adrien, at the very least, wasn’t around to witness her entrance or her current attire. 

She may not have a raging crush on him anymore, but she still has her pride, goddamnit. 

-x- 

Marinette manages to make it to lunch before the need to rip off her disguise becomes all-encompassing.  

She seeks refuge in one of the lesser-used bathrooms on the first floor, tearing her sunglasses and face mask off once she’s determined that the coast is clear. Turning the tap on full blast, she splashes cold water over her face, trying to soothe the burning of her skin.  

Beneath the sound of running water, she hears the bathroom door thunk closed.  

Reaching blindly for the paper towel dispenser, Marinette feels a familiar hand meet her halfway, a piece already dangling from their fingers.    

Dabbing it gently over her face, she straightens with a hiss, cursing the rough texture.  

“Alright, girl, what the hell is up with—”  

Alya stops dead, her golden eyes going wide when they catch Marinette’s in the mirror. 

“—oh my god.”

For a moment, neither of them move.  

Then Alya, for lack of a better term, explodes.  

The force of her mirth is so powerful that it knocks the legs out from under her, leaving her slumped on the tile floor, fighting for her life as she wheezes through gales of laughter. 

Marinette, for her part, simply stands there and takes it, understanding implicitly that this is the stupidest thing she’s done since becoming a superhero. Or possibly even ever.   

“Yes, yes, get it all out now,” she grumbles, which only serves to ignite another wave of laughter in her red-haired best friend.  

Alya pushes to her feet, brushing tears from her eyes. “What in the name of all that is holy have you done to yourself now?”

Marinette huffs. “I got a sunburn. Obviously.”  

“Yeah, that much I’d gathered,” Alya snorts, coming to stand beside her at the mirror. She swipes a finger under her eyes, cleaning up the smudged mascara and eyeliner there. “Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could have figured out as much by looking at you.” 

“It was a long day. I fell asleep outside,” Marinette grits out, very studiously avoiding Alya’s gaze. Her best friend most definitely does not need to know the details, and she definitely doesn’t need to know who she was napping with. “I didn’t have sunscreen on.” 

Alya glances at Marinette sidelong, examining the telling white outline around her eyes. “I can see how that would be especially unfortunate, given your… particular circumstances.”   

“Yes,” she grabs Alya by the hands, clinging to her like a lifeline. “Which is exactly why I need you to be my alibi. I can’t possibly be—” here her voice dips “—you-know-who if I was with you during yesterday’s akuma attack. And since I don’t think my skin will let me wear that disguise for even a second longer,” Marinette adds with a grimace, “the need for a cover story has become paramount.”  

Alya’s face falls.

“Girl, you know I’m always down to help. But I was with Nino all day yesterday, remember? There’s no way I can cover for you this time.”  

Just then, the bell rings, a mockery of the death knell tolling in Marinette’s ears.  

“It’s over,” she says numbly, gazing blankly at her reflection in the mirror. “Monarch is going to win and it’s all because I forgot to put on sunscreen.” 

Slinging her bag over her shoulder with one hand, Alya pulls Marinette away from the sink and towards the door, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze as they emerge into the hallway.  

“Just tell people you fell asleep on your balcony. That’s close enough to the truth anyway.” 

“With a mask on?” Marinette hisses, her voice teetering perilously on the edge of a crack. Alya maneuvers them swiftly through the crowd of students rushing toward their next classes. Even though she keeps her head bowed in an effort to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Marinette can still feel the stares she’s garnering as they walk and picks up her pace, eager to reach the relative safety of their classroom sooner rather than later.  

“Listen, girl, if anyone can make that crackpot story believable, it’s you,” Alya says, following on her heels. “You underestimate the sheer amount of chaotic energy you exude on the regular.” From the corner of her eye, she spies Alya nodding to herself, satisfied by her own logic. 

Marinette is less impressed.  

“Gee, thanks,” she deadpans, not feeling particularly thankful at all.  

Her attention solely on Alya, Marinette doesn’t realize how close they’ve drawn to the classroom until she’s turning the corner, one foot crossing the threshold as she continues speaking.  

“It’s nice to know that I look like the kind of idiot who routinely falls—”

“—asleep in the sun.” 

Surprised to suddenly hear her words echoed back in stereo, Marinette’s eyes dart up, landing automatically on the desk nearest the door. 

A pair of green eyes are already pinned on her, rooting her feet to the ground against her own volition.  

With the ease of someone long practiced, Alya slips past her rather than ramming straight into her immobilized form, even managing to make the move look somewhat graceful.  

Marinette is too busy being gobsmacked to be impressed. 

Because Adrien Agreste is in his seat, staring at her dumbly, his eyes outlined starkly white against the cherry-red colour of his cheeks. 

He looks ridiculous.  

He looks exactly like she does.  

“Whoa, dude!” Nino’s voice breaks through her stupor. Through some Herculean force of will, Marinette succeeds in tearing her gaze temporarily away from Adrien’s complexional anomaly long enough to acknowledge her best friend’s boyfriend.  

His wide-eyed gaze darts from Adrien’s face to Marinette’s, examining their nearly identical tan lines.  

”Trippy! Is this some new trend that I don’t know about yet?” He turns beseeching eyes on Alya. “Babe, does this mean I’m not cool anymore?” 

Alya presses her lips together, trying desperately not to laugh.  

“No, baby, you’re still very cool,” she sidles up next to her boyfriend, kissing him sweetly on the cheek before turning her focus to the blonde seated on his right.  

Marinette can’t tell if she imagines the way the light glints off of Alya’s glasses. 

“You know, you didn’t have to take the sunshine child moniker quite so literally there, Agreste.” Though Alya’s tone is light, Marinette can practically see the gears whirring furiously in her head, connecting dots that had previously lived in completely separate hemispheres. 

(The same dots currently sending Marinette's brain into a dizzying tailspin.) 

If it were possible to do so, Marinette is convinced that Adrien’s face would have turned redder under their scrutiny. As it stands, he attempts a smile, only for it to fall flat at the last second; too strained at the corners to be construed as anything even remotely genuine.  

“Yeah,” he laughs awkwardly, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “I fell asleep while tanning yesterday and wound up… like this.” 

As one, their eyes zero in on his face, taking in the mottled mix of red and white skin. 

Nino nods understandingly, but Alya remains skeptical. She leans closer, examining the rings around Adrien’s eyes. 

“Hmm. That’s a very weird shape for tanning goggles.” 

Adrien shifts in his seat, his gaze darting nervously from Alya to Nino to Marinette. In the end, his green eyes remain on her, even as he addresses the redhead.  

“Yes, they were, um, larger than normal. For added protection.”  

If it were any other day, and she were any other girl, Marinette would have easily accepted such a feeble excuse. 

But she knows that outline. And she’s becoming increasingly aware that she knows that boy too, far more than she once believed.

“I don’t know,” Alya hums. Marinette knows even without looking that her expression has sharpened. Alya is about to go in for the kill. “Looks to me like someone enjoyed a little catnap in the sun.” 

Marinette isn’t sure who gasps louder, her or Adrien. 

He rears back, thunderstruck. 

“How do you—? B—wha—"

Alya reaches forward and pats him on the head. “There, there. Don’t hurt yourself now.” 

Adrien looks like he’s on the verge of a full meltdown. Marinette is pretty sure she isn’t doing much better. 

Because there’s only one other person in Paris right now who could possibly have a face that matches her own. 

And, as it turns out, he’s been sitting in front of her in class this. Entire. Time. 

“Adrien?” Marinette asks, convinced her eyes are playing tricks on her. 

“Marinette,” he breathes, his own eyes growing rounder by the second. “Marinette!” 

“Adrien!” Alya crows, smacking a hand down on the wooden surface of the desk in triumph. No doubt at having her long-forgotten theory proven correct. “Ha! I knew it.”

Adrien squeaks. “Alya?” 

“Nino!”

Three sets of eyes fall on him.

“What?” Nino asks defensively, his cheeks growing ruddy under their combined stares. “I was feeling left out, okay?” 

-x-

Chapter Text

It takes Marinette all of three seconds after The Grand Revelation to gather her wits. 

In that time, she manages to form one (1) singular coherent thought. 

What. 

The Actual.

“FUCK.” She hollers. 

“Marinette!” Mlle. Bustier gasps from the doorway, having entered at precisely that moment. “I think it might be best for you to head to Principal Damocles’ office for a discussion on appropriate language in a classroom setting.” She sounds both scandalized and disappointed in equal measure.

Ignoring the tittering of her classmates, and Adrien’s heavy stare searing into her back like a brand, Marinette spins on her heel and leaves without another word. 

A lecture from the principal seems like a welcome reprieve compared to the nuclear bombshell that’s just been dropped on the rest of her life. 

-x- 

Her respite in the principal’s office, however, is all too brief. 

Despite how long she attempts to drag it out—and the fact that she’s not willing or desperate enough to stoop as low as getting suspended to avoid her problems—M. Damocles has her lectured, chastised, and back in class in time for sixth period.

Marinette ducks into the classroom, making sure to keep her eyes down as she hands the note to Mme. Mendeleiev, and quickly hightails it to her station. 

Today’s lab involves the use of several moderately dangerous chemicals, so Mme. Mendeleiev makes sure to remind them all—for the thousandth time—of the importance of appropriate lab attire, before directing them to the back of the class to acquire their gloves, lab coats, and goggles. 

Marinette toys with the strap of her standard-issue plastic goggles, grimacing at the thought of having to put them on her face. 

Their teacher walks by and tuts. 

“Quickly now you two, we don’t have all day.” 

Marinette glances up, surprised to find Adrien dithering over his own set of goggles a little ways away from her. Like her, he’s already donned the coat and gloves but has paused before donning the last required article. 

They eyeball one another.

“Well, here goes,” Marinette mutters, slowly sliding the glasses onto her face. 

The effect is immediate and deeply unpleasant. 

She groans as the cheap plastic digs into her cheeks and forehead, aggravating the already inflamed skin there. She hears Adrien let out a similarly agonized shout from beside her as she rips the glasses off her face, unable to withstand the agony. 

“My word!” Mme. Mendeleiev shouts over their caterwauling. “What is the matter with you two?!” She rounds on them, taking in their reddened skin and watery eyes. 

“O-oh my,” she falters, clearly at a loss. 

Finally, she harrumphs, her expression hardening. 

“M. Agreste, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, you know the rules. No appropriate attire, no lab time. You will wait in the hallway until the end of class. In that time, I would advise you to ruminate on the benefits of adequate sun protection.” 

Marinette’s heart sinks. 

Great. One hour of uninterrupted time with Adrien. 

Exactly what she’d been hoping to avoid. 

“Yes, Madame,” she mumbles in defeat, before slinking off into the hallway. 

She feels Adrien following one step behind her, as aware of him as she is of her own heartbeat. 

They both take their places on either side of the door, staring out over the courtyard in complete silence. 

After several minutes of discomfort completely unrelated to the burning agony in her face, Marinette decides she can’t take it any longer. 

“Okay, obviously we need to talk,” she blurts out, inelegant in her haste to dispel the heavy atmosphere that’s fallen over them. 

Although she isn’t looking at him directly, she can feel Adrien’s sidelong gaze on her. His tone is careful when he finally does speak. 

“That… does seem like it would be beneficial.” 

Before she can string together another thought, he surprises her by continuing. 

“You’re not going to take away my miraculous, are you?”

Her eyes snap to him in shock. “What? No! Of course not.”

Adrien’s shoulders slump, and for the first time, Marinette realizes that whatever stress she’s been feeling about the entire situation hasn’t been unique to her. 

Turning more fully to face him, she tries her best to set his mind at ease. “Of course I’m not going to take your miraculous. This situation is no more your fault than it is mine.” She presses her lips together, unable to hold his gaze as her self-loathing and embarrassment start to bubble forth.

“Let’s be real. If anyone should be renouncing their duties, it’s me.”

Catching movement from the corner of her eye, Marinette glances up in time to find Adrien’s hand hovering in the air between them. 

Adrien appears as surprised to notice he’s moved as she is. They both stare at his wayward appendage, watching as he lowers it slowly. 

Without giving herself time to second-guess it, Marinette grabs his hand before he can fully retract it, clutching it tightly with her own. Her burst of bravery ends there though, and she looks away, unable to stare directly into his—very pretty and very green—eyes as she holds his hand. 

For the first, and possibly only time, Marinette feels grateful for the horrific sunburn on her face, if only for the camouflage it provides for blushing.  

A beat of awkward silence passes, during which Adrien clears his throat and, most importantly, doesn’t release her hand. 

“Don’t say that,” he starts, his jaw working as though chewing over his next words. “You and I… We’re a package deal." 

His green eyes are earnest as they bore into hers, willing her to understand everything he can’t bring himself to say.

It's you and me against the world, m'lady. 

"If you go, I go.”

It’s clear that for as much as Adrien may love being Chat Noir—and wow, if that isn’t still such a weird twist to wrap her head around—his commitment to their partnership comes first. When one of them decides to hang up their proverbial hat, the other will too.

“Okay,” Marinette says simply, her chest suddenly uncomfortably tight in the face of his devotion, heavy with the burden of bearing her heart. 

Adrien’s fingers are warm and surprisingly soft as they slot through hers, settling into the grooves as though they were always meant to be there. 

Without warning, his expression shifts, becoming far more mischievous and so eerily reminiscent of Chat Noir that Marinette wants to kick herself for not putting two and two together until it was, quite literally, staring her in the face. 

“Besides, you can’t quit on me now, buginette. You’re the only one who won’t judge me for my horrendous tan lines.”

Marinette snorts. “Remind me again, whose idea was it to take a two-hour power nap in the sun?”

“You know I can’t help myself,” Adrien whines. “I see a sunny spot and it’s like, BOOM, nap time.” 

“Yeah, well next time, I’ll be the one to pick the nap spot. One that’s nice and shady,” she emphasizes, ignoring Adrien’s pout and the way she finds the gesture hopelessly adorable.

“At any rate, I don’t think my skin can handle any more UV rays in this lifetime,” she admits, her face twisting into a grimace. “And judging by my last report card, my chemistry grade definitely can’t handle me missing any more lab time.”

Beneath his comedic tan lines, Adrien’s expression is sympathetic. 

“I feel you. I never knew that a single sunburn could cause this much of a disruption to my education,” he says with a wince. “On top of this class, I also missed the entire morning because I was being alternately lectured by my father, my father’s assistant, my dermatologist, and my aesthetician.” 

Marinette’s eyes cut to him, aghast. 

“They lectured you for five hours?”

“No, my father and the others lasted about an hour. Nathalie took up the rest of the time,” Adrien shudders. 

Before she can ponder that horrifying reality much further, Adrien perks up. 

“Wait a second,” he says, his eyes widening as a new thought occurs. “Rewind. Did you say next time? Does that mean you want to nap together again?” His voice rises, brimming with an unholy glee.

Marinette’s mouth drops open. Damn, I was hoping he missed that. 

“That’s not what I meant—” 

“M. Agreste! Mlle. Dupain-Cheng!” 

They freeze, taking in the figure looming on the threshold of the now open doorway. 

Mme. Mendeleiev’s gaze rakes over them, her expression less than impressed when she notices their still-entwined hands. 

“This was supposed to be an occasion for penitent self-reflection,” she says through clenched teeth, her face rapidly turning puce. “Not canoodling!” 

Adrien wisely snatches his hand back, although it’s clear that the damage has already been done.

“Since neither of you appear to have used this time to reflect upon the error of your ways, I suppose that means you must be eager to write me a thousand word essay on the science behind mineral and chemical sunscreens, hm?” 

They both slump.

“Yes, Mme. Mendeleiev...”

.

.

.

-x- 

The next day.

“Nino, what the hell have you done to yourself?!” 

At Alya’s horrified exclamation, Adrien and Marinette turn to find Nino strutting their way down the sidewalk, the garish outline of a domino mask etched onto his very sunburnt face.

He flashes them a wide grin. 

“No way was I gonna miss out on this trend, babe! If both Adrien and Marinette are doing it then it must be the next cool thing.”

Alya sputters, for once completely and totally at a loss for words. 

When Nino reaches them on the steps, he holds up his hands expectantly. 

Marinette and Adrien exchange an amused glance, before reciprocating his high-five.

“Nice, dude.”

“I think you look great, Nino.”

Alya slaps a palm to her forehead, heaving a bone-weary sigh. 

“...I am truly surrounded by idiots.” 

-x-