Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loving was the easiest thing Adrien's ever done. He fell fast and hard like it was the most natural thing he could do. And it was. So incredibly perfect and natural and ingrained in him. To love. To protect and hold his special people so close like he was scared to lose them.

It was because of this fact that Adrien easily divided his life into befores and afters. There was before maman died and his father was still a romantic. Adrien, if he tries real hard and shuts his eyes good and tight, can remember the sound of his mother's laugh, bright and bubbly and caused by his father. He can remember being scooped up in the warm hands of his papa, being sat on his lap, as he tells Adrien how he met maman. Because he was a romantic. And Adrien, in all the glory of a seven year old, would gag sounds of disgust when papa held maman and pulled her into a kiss. Still, he gave maman everything a man could give his wife and tried to give her more. She was his everything.

Adrien can't bring himself to blame his father for how he acts, now, in the after. Love will do that to a man. Drive them so scared to feel anything at all, lest they lose someone else important to them. His father was just protecting himself. Adrien was so sure of this.

After maman, life was dull and cold. Adrien didn't truly learn to appreciate the warmth until there was nothing. There was after maman, which bled into the next before— before Ladybug.

Because she was his everything. And suddenly, instead of finding his father's faded romantic actions silly and gross, he wants to give her the world. And he does, with flowers, and flirting, and pure devotion. She never quite believes him, but that's okay. Because loving her is the easiest thing he's ever done.

It's the consequences that are difficult. At first, it's only the bite and sting of her rejection. She plays him off, mocks him a little, but it's all in good fun. He knows that. In response, his declarations become more extravagant and more grand and more real with every word.

Because she's so beautiful and so perfect and so flawed. He loves the way her nose scrunches as she figures out how to use her lucky charm. He loves how she kicks her legs back and forth when they dangle off a rooftop. He loves how stubborn she is, so determined to be right. He loves how she pushes him away because even if it hurts, it wouldn't be her without it. Her desire to protect them. To protect him. Something he cherishes.

He wants to give her the world. But he can't because he's meant to destroy and hurt and claw and tear and take. So he can't give. Instead, he takes from himself. He throws himself into the line of fire of each and every akuma with such determination. One could rationalize that it's because she's the one needed to purify the akuma. She's the only one that can really and truly save the world.

But Chat Noir would protect her every single time, in every single universe. Regardless of her needing to purify the akuma. Because she was Ladybug. His scars serve as a proud reminder of this. To him, the scars, which her healing spell never quite reach, were trophies of his love.

Because loving her was the easiest thing he would ever do. Which is why he can take the consequences.

This is what makes it so easy to realize that his next before and after will come in his death.

The flowers are so beautiful. So perfect and delicate, these small deep blue blooms, even though they’re stained on the edges with his blood. Adrien smiles. It's a gift, really, to be able to cough up these flowers.

Finally, he can give. He can create and make something so beautiful and pure. It's worth dying for. It's worth dying and taking from himself if that's what he needs to be able to give. Adrien licks his lips and it tastes like blood and poison. It's so worth it.

--

Loving is the hardest thing Marinette's ever done. Wait!— no she doesn't mean it like that! She doesn't mean that she's cold and dark and evil and can't let anyone into her heart. She's not Hawk Moth. She literally fights him! Everyday! She has so much more love than him to give.

But, that was the problem, wasn't it? She gave and she gave and when she had nothing else to give, she found a way to give some more, anyway. It was her job, though. Class president, “everyday Ladybug”, actual Ladybug, and now, the guardian. She couldn't escape people needing her.

It's not like she wants to escape— no— don't get her wrong, but sometimes she wishes, that just for a moment, she could take instead. She won't, though. Wouldn't dare let herself dream. Her early fumbles as Ladybug came down to her selfishness, her cowardice. She could not afford to escape. The world couldn't afford it. A ladybug down, for even a moment, could be so incredibly dangerous.

Loving was so hard. And so incredibly tiring. Because she had to give and give, and she wasn't allowed to take. What Ladybug took? What guardian didn't devote their entire being to the cause? The expectation of receiving something in return was dangerous. What if she expected and in turn got akumatized? What if she turned into something worse than Chat Blanc? She couldn't. It was easier to just take nothing, to expect no love in return.

But, God, did it bear down on her. A teenage girl, she reasoned, isn't meant to be reduced down to serve the entirety of humanity! Please, she deserved to be selfish for a moment. To be loved in return. It was so, so hard to not be loved in return.

It's why she had given up on Adrien. All her attempts managing to fail, wasn't it a sign? Ladybug, stone cold, was not allowed to be loved back. It was dangerous. What if Adrien was lured into the crossfire like bait? She wouldn't allow the boy she loved to take her hits. That was Ladybug's responsibility.

And Marinette, goodness, Marinette, she was dragged into the crossfire. A normal girl with a normal life— just a girl with a secret. Years ago, she could believe it. Now, the secret has consumed her, with a side of Marinette as a dipping sauce.

The flowers aren't surprising. She's not meant to be loved back.

If she focuses hard enough she can feel them work their way into her system. Her heart beats and the leaves attached rattle. The roots tighten with every movement. It doesn't quite hurt to breathe yet. It's grounding, actually, ridiculously grounding. To feel something so tangible in her body that she can forget about everything else. She would be just fine.

—

Plagg, softly, for once in the entire time Adrien has known him, like he could break and crumble into little pieces at any moment, tells him a story from long ago.

The creation of the miraculouses were simultaneous with the creation of the universe. There was nothing. And then, with all the beauty and grace one could imagine, there was light. There was Tikki. But the universe rocked and thrashed and shook, unhappy with so much light. Darkness crept in, an attempt for a cautionary balance. Out of Tikki's shadow, Plagg tumbled out.

Except, Plagg had always been there. There had always been nothingness. The universe dripped darkness and mocked with chill before it even existed.

But it didn't mean anything. The darkness, so insignificant without light. Plagg was nothing without Tikki. Because she was everything. Creation. Breath. Life.

Plagg, so enamored, tried to give Tikki the world. Literally. He took and stole and instead of destroying, pushed it all together to create something. Something hideous. A mess of worlds as ugly as a melting sentimonster. But Plagg, well, he was young, and a fool in love. Desperate to impress Sugarcube, Plagg marched up to the Celestial Guardian and demanded some sort of retribution.

This is when the story begins to sound familiar to Adrien.

There was this ancient Chinese fable, huā sǐshén , which maman would always read to him on Friday evenings before bed. He followed along eagerly, practicing his Mandarin pronunciation with care. He loved this tale. A story of utter devotion and selfless love.

Huā sǐshén — the Flower Reaper. A God of Cold and Night so in awe of a Goddess, who, wherever she went, left a trail of light and good and blooming flowers in her wake.

He watched her. He watched her laugh and grin and dance. She was warm and bubbly and the light in her eyes, so sticky and sweet and addicting.

So the God begged his father for something, anything to please this Goddess. His father, summing it up a laughable infatuation, granted him one evening, to take the bad and make good.

(That's what love is , Adrien , maman would tell him, taking the bad to make good.)

The God gave the Goddess everything he could. He made her new flowers out of old. He built the stars out of fragmented worlds. The God gave her the universe.

His father, angered by such extreme action, failure to remember his place, cursed him.

(Adrien, sitting in his mother's lap, would always shut his eyes tight at this part, so scared for the God.)

His father challenged that since he was so eager to create for the Goddess, he would be cursed to destroy himself. Consequence dripped heavy in his father's tone.

The God coughed up flowers.

He lived, of course, but it turned him bitter and sad. In a fit of rage, he cursed all of humanity the same— the consequence of devoted love would be death. He wasn't allowed to be lucky, so no one else would be either. Yet, even after this curse, every night, he would place a new flower on the bedside of his Goddess.

“I'm sorry, kid” Plagg mumbles, after a silence that stretches so long it's tight and heavy and difficult to break.

Adrien doesn't know how to respond. He had always loved the Flower Reaper, a tale of love and woe, folklore used to place false meaning on the mysteries of the universe. The flowers were common, but not enough that everyone would catch it. Simply put, a fact of life that people swallowed and hoped they'd be fortunate enough not to face.

“It's okay, Plagg,” Adrien finally says. “I would've done the same for her.” He smiles.

When Adrien is finally calmed down from the adrenaline of love and flowers and death, he's able to drift off, dreaming of sweet bluebell eyes.

—

In the morning, he leaves in a hurry, coughing up blood and flowers into tissues. He has to get out of his house as soon as possible. Adrien has no doubt that his father, justified by a type of concern Adrien still doesn't understand— he’s trying to, he really is— will march him right down to the family physician and extract his love. But that's not just wrong, it's downright dangerous. How much would they have to take to get rid of Ladybug? He'd hardly be Chat Noir without his lady. He absolutely cannot leave his lady stranded so soon. He'd rather die than abandon her, which is why the flowers push against his lungs in the first place.

“Sick, Adrien?” Nathalie asks after a particularly terrible coughing fit which results in thorns and whole flowers making their way out of his throat and into tissues, just as Adrien is about to slip out the door. He should have left as Chat Noir instead. “You have two photoshoots after school, do I need to inform your father that we need to reschedule?”

It’s a gentle threat, one that’s really laced with concern, even if she doesn’t show it.

“No, I’m fine, something just went down the wrong pipe.” As if that wasn’t the understatement of the century. (It wasn’t. That title is awarded to Plagg for telling Adrien, when they first met, that he “liked” cheese. The word ridiculously-and-totally-obsessed was a much more accurate description.) “See you after school!”

In his hurry out the door, he misses the bluebells that slip from his tissues and stain the floor of the mansion crimson.

—

“We have to find a cure, Marinette!” Tikki urges, flying around and buzzing about like the latest alarm clock. Marinette hates alarm clocks.

“Too… early… lucky… charm… fix… later…" She pulls the covers over her head, trying to block out that damned flying alarm.

“Marinette, this is serious!”

She's about to respond, to tell Tikki off for waking her up before the sun has come out, that's too early! but before she can, flowers involuntarily spill out of her mouth, jolting her into an upright position. She catches sunflower petals in her hands.

Oh, it hadn't been a dream.

No, it hadn't been a dream. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was going to die of all her giving. Pure and selfless, like any good Ladybug would.

Wait! But if she died then there would be no Ladybug and Hawk Moth’s akumas would terrorize the city and the world and Chat Noir would be left completely alone and she'd inadvertently destroy the everything and—

She's spared from her thoughts by another coughing fit. This time, sweet yellow acacia petals fall from her lips.

There's that feeling again, grounding in the way a pinch is, sharp and stiff, but necessary. The taste of copper and petals are a new constant on her palette, and she's sure no drink for food will wipe it away.

Except, Marinette has to get it removed, doesn't she?

Marinette can die of love, but Ladybug, no, she's not allowed.

Call her dramatic, if you will, but she's a teenage girl for crying out loud! She deserves to be able to romanticize her romantically caused death.

It's not the first time Marinette wishes she hadn't taken those goddamn earrings. Unfortunately, it won't be the last.

“I have to get rid of him, don't I?” she whispers, like it's a secret she doesn't want anyone to know, and she doesn't.

Tikki's response is quiet and soft. “I think so, Marinette.”

It's a terrible solution. Painful and invasive, of course. But embarrassing, most of all. She would have to write down Adrien's name on her form, and it would go into public record that her crush was so ridiculous that it tried to kill her.

That is, if anyone would even notice. She's sure that there's stacks and stacks of papers all labeled with the same culprit: Adrien Agreste. God, would she be summed up to someone with a little school-girl celebrity crush? That's even worse!

But it won't be though, because she's at least a level 2. Because she's coughed up two different types of flowers. Plus, she's not an insane stalker anymore. She can actually talk to him!

Level 1's were the most common and the easiest to remove. Those were the school-girl crushes that got rejected in the school-girl yard. If caught soon enough, the operation was relatively uninvasive. They could remove the flowers and separate the crush from the person, destroying the feelings while keeping the memories intact.

The flower usually had something to do with the loved one on a surface level. Think: hair or eyes or the basics of their personality.

(Why does she know all this? Well there's a tiny-microscopic-itty-bitty chance that she used to daydream about this disease. Not in a weird way! She swears. In a completely normal way. She just likes the flowers and their symbolism. That's all. That's all .)

Level 2 was a little more real. The school-girl grows up and her crush turns into a puppy love. It's not quite real— but it's more than a crush. It's here where one might lose parts of the person. Little details like their favorite color and the way they take their coffee in the best case scenario. Worst case, details like their name are down the drain.

The second flower generally had something to do with the love itself. The nature of it, the level of devotion.

Level 3 was as dangerous as it was rare. A level 3 love is deep and genuine. It's rich like chocolate and often caused by a person's love being so pure they have no desire to be loved back, rather than rejection. Dangerous, because when someone loves like that, every part of the person is linked to love. A level 3 operation dictated that the person be removed entirely. A hole in memory, a lapse in thought. They would become a stranger. A gently familiar stranger, the type that sparks deja vu, but a stranger nonetheless.

The third flower is something bitter and negative because love isn't perfect, especially when it's trying to kill you.

Marinette cycled through her mental notes— which were not weird! — once then twice then one more time for good measure. She breathes. Or tries to, because it only results in coughing and more sunflowers and acacias and blood.

If she stays a level 2, she has three weeks before she has to do anything about it. Three weeks. She could come to terms with that. She had to, anyway.

—

Adrien doesn't like hiding it. People might call him oblivious, but he doesn't miss the way Nino looks at him, confused and worried all the same.

He's more concerned about Marinette, though. From behind him, he can hear these constant, deep coughs that spill from her small frame in a way they're not meant to. Adrien frowns. Maybe she has allergies? It is mid spring. All the pollen from the flowers could be having an effect on her. Wait, that would be the perfect excuse!

“Alergies— that's it!” Adrien exclaims suddenly. He get a few weird looks but he's in the courtyard for lunch, so it's okay.

“Alergies, really?” and Adrien can hear Plagg's eyeroll.

Adrien huffs. “I need an excuse.” Because if Nino's looking at him weird, he'll mention it to Alya, and lord have mercy, he could not deal with an interrogation right now.

“Kid, you need to tell someone. We need to get you help.” And it's a tone that he's not used to on Plagg, eerily reminiscent of last night.

“I can't,” Adrien starts. “Either my dad finds out I'm Chat Noir and tells me that ‘I don't have time to be a superhero’.” He throws up air quotes. “Or Ladybug's stuck with some fumbling sidekick that can't even remember who she is.”

“But I'll catch you up to speed before you can say Camembert!”

Adrien admires the confidence in Plagg's tone. He really does. After all, it's because of Plagg's total lack of care for others' opinions that allowed Adrien to be himself, at least with the mask on.

It's too bad Ladybug doesn't like his sparkling personality.

“But it won't stick— I'll never remember her. It's easier this way. You'll tell her I quit and she never has to know.”

The flowers choose to trigger his gag reflex at this particular moment and he runs into the bathroom just in time. It's a pitiful sight, truly. Chunks of stems and thorns and his breakfast and petals all force their way out of his mouth. It feels like he's going to die but the flowers just keep going and going until he's convinced there's nothing else in his stomach. He would be, if it wasn't for the fact he could still feel the flowers and their roots.

The toilet looks like a crime scene for the murder of a flower akuma. Adrien shakes uncontrollably, completely spent. It strains him to wipe the blood and spit from his mouth, but he does it anyway.

He leans on the toilet bowl, staring at the masterpiece that probably represents his soul. If only his father could see him now, the Agreste heir on the floor of a public bathroom, sweaty and gross and tired.

There's a new edition to the mix, these red things that contrast the other two blue flowers. No wonder it hurt so much, the third flower began to bloom. A sense of finality settled in his bones—bones that would be replaced by stems, no doubt. He was really going to die for her. He smiled. No better way to die.

—

This was a disaster! Alya was already on her. Scheming, perhaps, because for once she didn't outright say anything. But Marinette knew that look anywhere. Alya was going to hunt her down for the scoop.

She thanks the little bit of luck she has that Alya’s suspicions only set in as the day ended, Marinette coughing up a sunflower piece a little too big to hide properly. The look on Alya’s face was mildly unsettling, in an endearing way, of course! She looked like a fox, ready to pounce at any moment. A good trait for a fox superhero to have, but that didn’t mean Marinette liked to be on the receiving end.

“What am I supposed to tell her, Tikki?”

Her kwami looks up from the macaron she’s currently snacking on to answer. “The truth! She can help you, Marinette.”

“But what if I tell her the truth and she posts it on the Ladyblog and Adrien sees it and he knows and rejects me and it speeds up the process and I don’t have time to schedule my appointment and Adrien will know that I died because of some stupid crush and he’ll bring matching flowers to my funeral because he’s sweet but he’ll also bring Chloe and Chloe will be laughing at me at my own funeral! I'm so doomed!”

It’s only when she finishes and takes a breath that she realizes that Tikki’s been shouting her name for the past thirty seconds. Marinette smiles softly and gives her a shrug which is meant to convey an apologetic oops .

“She wouldn’t do that to you, Marinette, she’s your friend. And, I bet if she were in the same boat as you, she’d tell you.”

Vaguely, Marinette registers the gentle pitter-patter of rain that hits her windows. Great. On top of everything, patrol tonight will be wet.

Pushing the trivial inconvenience from her mind, she sits at her desk, switching on her lamp. It's beginning to dim outside, making flashes of lightning pop and reminding Marinette that she still has a few hours until patrol. Maybe it will clear up by then?

She grabs a sketchbook and some colored pencils, sketching out flowers. Her flowers, to be exact. As if on command, her body is shaken by a deep cough, dislodging flowers from her stomach, along with spittle and blood along for the ride. The artist’s sacrifice, she supposes.

Marinette, although more interested in fashion and designing, always held a small part of her heart for flowers. (Now, this phrase is no longer metaphorical, but she means it all the same.) This love stemmed— pun not intended, thank you very much— from her previous obsession with this disease. Marinette, although often unwilling to admit it, spent countless hours researching flowers and their meanings, drawing up bouquets of the hypothetical flowers she might harbor in her stomach one day. Now, the reality is bitter and cold. Not because of the disease, but rather what she knows she has to give up.

She'll have to give up Adrien. And school and hangouts for a month because seeing him might mess up post-operation healing. And all of Paris and the internet and basically opening her eyes because he's a celebrity and he's everywhere. Would Ladybug be out of commission for a month? She'd have to talk to Chat Noir about it sometime soon. Maybe tonight.

Marinette sketches sunflowers onto her paper in an attempt to clear her mind from all the giving. They're big and radiant and bright, but also hurt the most to grow. They pound the most against her ribs and compete with her stomach and even her lungs for space in her smaller frame. Sunflowers are her level one and the meaning is pretty obvious. These blooms are Adrien’s bright personality, Alya's Sunshine nickname for him, his optimistic desire to look towards the better.

She fills a page with sunflowers, listening to the rhythm of the pitter-patter on her window to keep her focused and in time. As she swirls a sunflower center with her dark brown pencil, the rhythm is disturbed.

There's a knock on her window. Tikki quickly flies away to hide as Marinette approaches. Recognizing a familiar face, she yanks the glass open quickly.

“I don't suppose you could let a poor stray dry off?” Chat grins. He's soaked, even the leather of his suit appearing a little too shiny. It squeaks at the joints as Marinette pulls him inside.

It's not unusual for Chat Noir to stop by, but not exactly common either.

“If you show up any more often I'll be convinced you really are a stray,” Marinette bites back, but it's with a laugh and no bitter feelings. She enjoys Chat Noir's company, a chance to see him without all the over-the-top flirting. “Why are you out and about? No akuma, is there?”

“No, Princess,” he purrs, moving to lounge on her chaise. “Patrol's in a couple of hours, so I thought I'd stop by to see my favorite citizen.”

The words that Chat speak are light and airy and ordinary, but his face shows anything but that. His brows are unconsciously furrowed and his left leg is twitching. He's uncomfortable. Marinette might not be obsessed with Chat Noir the way she is with Adrien, but she knows his habits. She has to in order to be his partner. Something is up.

“Are you sure you're alright, kitty-cat?” Marinette mentally facepalms. Subtle .

“I'm feeling just fine.”

It's off. So incredibly off. All the things about Chat Noir that put her on the edge, have her ticking until she might burst and tell him off, there's none of it. Where he might pun, he talks smoothly and sweetly. Where he might boast and take over the room with his presence, he's small. His normal chaotic energy that gets on her nerves just a little, seems to be focused into an anxious lull.

Marinette doesn't know why it upsets her. Really, she should be pleased and dandy that Chat has finally calmed down, but it's weird. It's not him. She doesn't like subtle change, she never has. It hurts to see something change and warp in such a minor way that before you can realize it's completely different. Like how her life slowly became Ladybug with a side of Marinette dipping sauce. That's definitely why Chat's difference disturbs her. Definitely.

She can't help it when her next words tumble out of her mouth. “Don't you mean you're feline purr-fect?” she jokes. Then softer, “Are you sure you're alright, Chat Noir?”

There's a pause. One like Marinette's never experienced in Chat's presence because he always has something to blabber about. It's long and tiring and it makes Marinette's throat tickle.

She shallows, sharp, and forces the sunflowers and acacias down her throat. It hurts, but she's faced worse.

The pause ends as Chat Noir approaches, shoving his face unnecessarily close. (That was another thing, his total lack of personal space! Does he not know social cues?) He grins, wide and Chat Noir classic. It seems like her partner is back, just a little bit.

Still holding firm on the grin, he starts. “Do you wanna know a secret?” He says it in a tone so alluring and captivating that she wants to say yes. The Ladybug part of her brain shoves him away. It's safer this way.

Her push startles the both of them so much that before she can even register it, the flowers crawl back up her throat and she spits out acacias.

She's thrashes, coughing up more. The acasias, she finds, burn a little more, but strain her throat less, at least. They take more blood, too. The petals are soaked and her room smells like iron.

Seeing the flowers startles Chat Noir out of whatever funk he was previously in. Marinette is uncomfortably aware of everything. She's aware of the flowers on the floor of her bedroom. She's aware of Chat Noir's worried look. She's aware of the pitter-patter of the rain. She's aware that patrol is in T-minus one hour. She's aware that the sunflowers are pushing against her stomach and she's losing her appetite.

She wills herself to focus on the pain in her stomach. It's tight, like the lining might burst at any moment, and the flowers might escape. They didn't need to, they already settled seeds in her blood and bang against her lungs. Focus on the pain. Breath in. Breath out. It's grounding.

“Princess?” Chair Noir mutters out weakly. The endearing worry on his face is something she's seen as Ladybug, but not as Marinette. It's just her kitty, though, she can get out of this no problem.

It's also a kitty that can't find out any more details, or he might see Ladybug spitting up flowers and connect the dots. Maybe he wouldn't, but she can't take the chance.

She breathes. Focusing on the pain and recovers. “I can't believe a mangy alley cat is the first one to find out.” She says it with the sultry tone she normally reserves for Ladybug, but in this moment she needs all the help she can get.

“Who are you calling mangy? I'll have you know that I take pride in my preening.” And the cat takes the bait. A pause. “Tell me about him.” Or not.

Marinette mentally facepalms. Be as vague as possible, she insists. “He's—uh— nice and kind and brave and he's got these eyes that have this joy in them that I don't understand how because of his awful father and—” her throat tickles again.

Oh no. She has not been vague. Marinette flushes and buries her face in her hands. Tikki is definitely laughing at her from her hiding spot now. This is a disaster!

“I'd say any boy would be lucky to have you, but—” The rest of the sentence dies on his lips, but she knows what he means.

“I haven't told him.”

“No? Not even tried? He might love you back.” A younger Marinette, who probably just had an over-dramatic crush at the time, would have prayed that this sentiment might be true. But, her love aside, she's slowly realized that Ladybug can't have a boyfriend. It's not safe for him.

She hates all the lying and the excuses but there's no way to get around it. Comics might portray it differently, but superheroes are not cut out for love. At least not a certain bug heroine.

“That's not what's important. I love him, but I know that I can't give him what he deserves. And I'm okay with that. Loving him is enough.” It has to be enough.

It's in this terrible moment that the pain she focuses on increases. It shoots out of her and it's tearing her stomach lining apart, she's so sure of it. She begins to hack up flowers and it burns. Her throat is scratchy and there's blood everywhere. Everywhere. It looks like a crime scene. She vaguely registers a pair of claws holding her steady at the waist and she collapses down to the ground. Not that he would ever know, but she trusts him more than anyone.

The flowers don't stop coming and the flow of the blood is so extreme that maybe she'll die right then and there and she's failed as Ladybug and Tikki will have to find a new holder and Chat Noir will never know but this is last time he'll ever see his partner and—

It burns. Everywhere. Her heart is beating too fast, trying to give her extra blood so she can live and her lungs make scratchy breaths for air even though they're filling with leaves. She really is going to die.

Except, finally, Marinette can breathe again and the disease backs off just enough for her to swallow properly and push down all the petals and stems and thorns and leaves and… wolfsbane?

Oh, her third flower settled in. Oh . Now, well, now, she probably only has a week before she has to schedule her operation.

Chat Noir releases her and it's probably the most awkward moments of silence she's ever experienced with him. It's weird, because if she was Ladybug, she would have been fine with Chat Noir being the one to see her at her absolute weakness and help her get through this. They're best friends after all. And although there's no romantic feelings between them, besides his silly flirting and over-the-top-and-likely-not-real declarations, they love each other, as friends.

But Marinette and Chat Noir aren't this close, so she lets him back away just a tad as he wipes some blood from her chin because he's always been a gentleman through and through. His eyes hold a strange sadness that Marinette doesn't understand and he whispers a goodbye and an apology before slipping out.

She cries. Hot and fresh and nervous. Because Chat knows all of her flowers, so she has to be so careful as Ladybug. And on top of that, she has to lose Adrien sooner. A week. Just a week. It's times like this that she wishes she didn't agree to become a hero, that she really gave her miraculous to Alya, but that's selfish. She hates when she's selfish, but can't help it. She's so tired. Mentally and physically. The pitter-patter of the rain draws her to sleep and she's a ‘princess’ on a bed of flowers and blood.

—

Ladybug doesn't make patrol. Normally, this would absolutely devastate him. Patrol without his lady? It's the worst thing that could possibly happen all day.

But, and he hopes his lady will forgive him for this betrayal, he's too tired to care. As it turns out, puking flowers causes great exhaustion. He still feels a little dizzy from earlier today, even with his suit to mask it. He can't begin to imagine how Marinette must be feeling right now.

He feels like the biggest jerk and idiot of the century, for leaving her there. But honestly, he couldn't bear to look at his friend like that and if he spent a second longer in there, he might've started hacking up flowers, too.

Ladybug's voice is very clear in his head, telling him about how compromising it would be to his identity .

Chat Noir, isn't sure he agrees. No one would blink an eye at him spitting up flowers for his lady. But then again, Adrien Agreste with matching flowers? That's when things would start to get messy and they'd have to bring in illusions and Ladybug would have to orchestrate some complex plan. He didn't want to burden her like that.

But more importantly, Ladybug could not find out. While Chat Noir preened with pride over his love being strong enough to do something other than destroy and hurt others, she would feel so terribly guilty and he couldn't do that to her. No, Chat Noir would disappear and Adrien Agreste would die in a tragic accident all within 24 hours. Hopefully, no one would put it together.

Plagg, of course, was the number one (and only) protester of this plan. (And, also the only other being who knew. But that was irrelevant.) But unless Ladybug miraculously fell in love with him in the next couple of days and with an operation being out of the question, Chat Noir was toast. Checkmate.

So really, this solo patrol was a blessing. With three unanswered calls and a couple of slightly illegible messages— what could he say, he typed like a cat walking across a keyboard— he was sure Ladybug wouldn't be making an appearance. Which meant that he could figure out the logistics of this all out.

Many would say Chat Noir was bad at coming up with plans, that he's reckless and jumps in without thinking— which on occasion might be true. But most of the time he thought before he cataclysmed, cat’s honor . He just left the convoluted lucky charm plans to his lady, who was much better at thinking outside the box.

But many haven't seen Chat Noir's physics grade. He liked physics because it just made sense. Grounded in math and logic.

If a Chat Noir falls off the Eiffel Tower after being flung off by an angry Ladybug how long will it take him to splash into the Seine? While he knows that answer from experience, the point still stands. Physics allows him to understand the world around him, piece together bits of logic that help him make sense of the akumas. He has trouble stretching the creative part of his brain, so he sticks so firmly to what he knows. He thinks that's what makes him and Ladybug such a good team, the balance. Most of the time it works out.

And his little flower problem? It was just like any other, it had variables and rules and theories to test.

The first thing: did the suit keep his flowers at bay?

They must have, he had thought about his Lady an awful lot without a trace of flowers. Still he had to test it. Chat dove into thoughts of his most terrible nightmares. Ladybug telling him he was worthless. That she hated him. That she wished Master Fu hadn't picked him. That she wanted him gone.

He choked on red poppies.

He continued this way for much longer, testing the limits and the bounds of his suit against this disease, and drafted himself a set of rules.

One: only excessive negative thought about Ladybug would cause flowers.

Two: only poppies would be produced.

Three: the physical labor of being Chat Noir hurts because he cannot breathe.

Four: he loses his appetite quickly.

Five: he cannot under any circumstances slip up.

Five rules to live by and not break. Pretty simple, pretty doable.

With these new rules in mind, Chat Noir leaps back to his home, slipping through the window and dropping his transformation wordlessly. He quickly rushes through his nighttime routine and pulls himself into bed.

Hopefully tomorrow he would see his lady. His heart soars and his throat itches. Even though he is exhausted, he can't sleep.

“Plagg?” Adrien mumbles, throat straining— a combination of the flowers and not speaking to anyone for hours. He clears his throat and takes a sip of water. Plagg makes his appearance as Adrien coughs up blue and red petals into his hands.

The look Plagg gives him is awful. Genuine grief and regret like he's never seen sticks to his face and not even camembert will fix it.

“Who do you think will replace me?”

Adrien isn't exactly sure what compels him to say this. Perhaps he wants to pick a fight, get Plagg out of his cycle of depressed thoughts, or maybe he just wants to know.

It's a logical question, really. Someone will have to replace him. For the balance of the universe. Adrien knows that he and Ladybug maintain this balance because when he has the most awful day, she's had her best. When she creates, something is taken from him to balance it.

Adrien wishes that he could continue to swallow up her bad luck and give her his good. It gives him purpose, and he wants to be able to do that for the rest of their lives.

But he reasons that she must need a lot of luck and life force if the universe will be taking him down. It's the ultimate sacrifice he can make for her. It's one he's given so many times, but now, it will sting with finality.

“Kid, it doesn't have to be like this!” Plagg, he realizes, is pleading. Ordinarily, Adrien would joke about how Plagg really does care for him, but not now.

Adrien's voice is low and hoarse when he responds. “Wouldn't you do the same for Tikki?”

Adrien hopes this will stun Plagg into some sort of silence. He's beginning to be sort of sleepy now, and needs any rest he can get. His kwami does not back down.

“Yes! But Sugarcube loves me and I swear to the Celestial Guardian that I will make Ladybug love you. Or else she will have hell to pay!” Adrien doesn't think twice before he snatches Plagg out of the air and gives him a look that screams absolutely not .

“She can't know. I see the way she's been looking at me, like I'm fragile and I could break at any moment— and I don't even know why. I don't want her to blame herself for my downfall or take my miraculous. It's supposed to be this way, wouldn't Bunnyx show up if it wasn't?” Adrien gestures wildly, like he's trying to convince himself. He's not, even if that's what Plagg might think, he's just worried for Ladybug.

His kwami mumbles something about Fluff and time travel and the end of the universe and not like that, but Adrien pays little mind.

“I have to warn her,” Adrien mumbled, mostly to himself, “that something must be heading her way that she'll need a lot of luck for.”

Chapter Text

If Gabriel was ever hit by one of his truth seeking akumas, there might be a chance that he would admit that a part of him resented his son. Not that Adrien would know, but it was his fault that Gabriel's beloved Emilie was in her magical coma.

Not a fact Adrien knew, but regardless was fully guilty. Except, he wasn't, because if Gabriel hadn't let her use it, she would still be here. It's a scene he replays on loop in his head, searching for an answer.

If only he could get ahold of Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculous, he could make his wish. He's spent hours getting every bit of detail from Nooroo about it. What it would take in return to bring his love back. Normally, a life for a life would be common in this case. However, the root of the issue, the cause of her downfall, might just be enough.

Gabriel had decided long ago that the price of Adrien for Emilie was reasonable.

He loves his son, he really does. But Gabriel has always loved Emilie more. He promised, when he had proposed and he was young and foolish, that he would give her the world. And he was going to do just that.

All of this is to say that Gabriel would consider himself a bit of a dramatic romantic.

But when Nathalie slips into his office just after she's woken Adrien up, holding bloodied flowers, a bluebell and a red poppy, and claiming they belong to his son, everything he's previously thought to be true instantly shatters.

Distantly, he can hear the kwamis muttering excitedly in the background. Distantly, he can hear Nathalie telling him something. Distantly, he can feel his heart beating against his chest. Distantly, he picks up on his own emotions with his brooch.

Gabriel, now, though, is overwhelmed by his own head. It's a place he spends far too much time in, dwelling about the past and every one of his countless mistakes. Gabriel has never understood why Ladybug never slipped, never faltered, never weakened.

But Ladybug isn't what plagues his mind. No, Gabriel finds himself remembering Adrien growing up. He remembers Emilie reading The Flower Reaper to their son. Adrien would always cry when the God was cursed and Gabriel would always be there to scoop him up and promise that he would make sure nothing ever happened to him. Emilie would smile and finish the story and they'd tuck young Adrien in bed. This was the life the Agreste family was meant for.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were the only thing standing between him and his family.

Gabriel gathers his senses before finally responding, “I think this is all the more reason to get Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculous.”

“Gabriel, you're letting your obsession with these two teenagers control you. Just talk to your son.”

“Nonsense, Nathalie. I can save you all.”

He would figure out the new trade-off later. He just needed those miraculous first. Anger and regret flooded his veins, such powerful emotions he had not experienced recently. What a perfect chance to akumatize himself.

He nods toward Nathalie, who despite her previous reservations, gives a curt nod back and shuts the office door.

“Nooroo. Dusuu. Unify.”

Gabriel releases an akuma into the air before letting his transformation fall. He takes the poppy, the scent of iron and sweet heavily contrasting, making him sick— sick with anguish and a desire to protect and destroy and win. Where chaos goes, a bug and cat are sure to follow.

—

Adrien didn't last twenty minutes before Nino ripped the secret out of him. Not literally— his rooted bouquet was still firmly planted in his stomach and lungs and heart. Though, now that Adrien thinks about it, could the disease simply be ripped out of him? If he was oh-so careful, could he cataclysm the flowers, and only the flowers, to dust?

That sounded an awful bit like one of those black market operations that claim they could rid the flowers without the love. Adrien shuddered. Maybe no cataclysm then.

“You okay, dude?” Nino asks, placing a hand on his shoulder, locking him down with the sort of interrogative eye contact— he must have learned it from Alya— that got him to spill the beans earlier. Adrien smiles.

“Yeah. It’ll be okay!” It’ll be okay. Adrien repeats the sentiment to himself as if some sort of promise. How do you tell your best friend that you’ll likely be on bed rest in a week’s time? Maybe not that soon, but then again, his love has always been deep and dramatic and this had been a long time coming. It wouldn’t take much to take him out, especially with his extracurriculars .

As long as word didn’t spread about it— and Nino promised it wouldn’t— he could keep it away from Ladybug and from his father, and everything would be absolutely okay. Except that Chloe strutted into Mm. Bustier’s classroom, wearing a Gabriel Agreste original and completely boasting about it.

“Adri-kins got his father to design me a Gabriel original for my birthday!” Now, this wasn't necessarily wrong, although he had suggested it to Nathalie and it was likely that the sweater was made by an intern, with father only stitching his initials into the hem.

But besides this, not necessarily wrong, no, but the tone of her voice set Adrien on the edge. It was a sultry tone, one that attempted a richness of voice that only Ladybug could master. A tone that she used to command attention and crowds and save the world. Chloe's attempt could be considered a poor mockery of it. That, and a tone that suggested a little more than just a friendship between her and her beloved Adri-kins .

Chloe was important to him, she really was. She was his friend, and for a while, only friend, and nothing would change that. But that didn't stop his stomach revolting at the assumption.

No, this could not be happening. He brought his hands to his mouth, attempting to shove any flowers back where they came from. Nino flashed him a knowing look that he ignored. It was working, somewhat. It hurt, but that was the least of his many concerns.

Adrien managed to hold the flowers in until he heard someone slam their head against their desk? Adrien looked back, seeing Alya cradle Marinette’s head. She had banged her head down on the table then, for some reason or another. Adrien knew he shouldn't pry, but Marinette was his friend.

Unfortunately, this distraction allowed the flowers to work their way through his system, making up for lost time. Adrien coughed, although he really didn’t want to, puking up flowers in result to Chloe’s absurd comments. This must have been what the phrase “ curiosity killed the cat ” really meant.

But Adrien had some excess Ladybug luck up his sleeve. He must have, because the only flower that gets coughed up are his red poppies. Discrete enough, but it causes a dramatic reaction from his classmates regardless. There's whispering, awful whispering, and it's worse than any sort of exclamation.

It's safe to say that Adrien has never been more thankful for an akuma alert to go off in the school. It's a temporary relief to slip away as Alya drags Nino out to help her film, Marinette trailing behind to scold them.

Adrien ducks away into the locker room, glancing once, twice, behind him before calling on his transformation. It's an even bigger temporary relief to feel the magic wash over him, Plagg clearly straining to attempt to heal him. It won't work, Adrien knows, but that doesn't mean it doesn't help the pain go away, just for a little while.

Chat Noir rings up his lady, who, much to his surprise, picks up almost instantly.

“Bugaboo!”

“Ugh— don't call me that. Did you have an actual reason to call me?” Ladybug's words might have been a little sharp and cruel to some, but Chat Noir knows she's only teasing.

“The akuma?” He says, throwing in an eyebrow raise just for good measure, even if she can't see him.

She laughs. Chat Noir swears it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. He would do anything to keep her laughing for the rest of their lives. The sentiment, normally lighthearted in Adrien's mind, leaves his stomach twisting and turning. Because the rest of his life, well, an end date could be marked on this month's sheet of his pun-themed calendar. He wouldn't even get to use the rest of that calendar! But that was the last of concerns.

The akuma, obviously, being his number one, currently.

Ladybug clears her throat. “Right. It’s heading toward Collège Françoise Dupont. I’m already there.”

“I’ll be there in a few,” he says, just to throw her off. She’s been steadfast and strong about keeping their identities a firm secret, especially since the transfer of guardianship onto her shoulders.

Chat Noir leaps away from the school and circles the block twice, just for good measure. The breeze in his hair does him some good, but the effort that it takes to leap across some of the builds does not go unnoticed by him. And if Chat Noir loses his footing just a tad when he lands, Ladybug doesn’t seem to notice.

He leads on his baton, a classic move, which provides him a little more support than normal. It’s okay, he’ll get used to this. Just like a runner can train for higher altitudes, he can train for less room to breathe.

“Fancy seeing you here, milady.” He grins.

Ladybug rolls her eyes but says nothing. Chat Noir takes the opportunity to take a look around. They’re in the courtyard, a perfect fighting ring for whatever akuma has decided to grace their presence today. Alya films from behind the the stairs. At least she’s somewhat safe, that’s all Adrien can really hope for with her. Nino’s crouching beside her. Marinette, oddly enough, is nowhere to be seen. Adrien almost comments about it, almost, but thinks better. Drawing attention to Marinette’s absence might draw attention to his own, and that’s never a situation he likes to be in.

Chat Noir turns toward his partner, ready to make some sort of pun to try to lighten the mood, but before he can, a sharp voice pierces through the silence.

“Adrien!” And Chat Noir can’t help it when he turns his head and looks. It’s a natural reaction, really, and then again, who wouldn’t turn to see the source calling out a teen model’s name? Ladybug’s head snaps toward the source as well. Maybe she’s a fan? Adrien can dream, except he doesn't have much time to because now they’re face to face with their akuma.

Chat Noir pales. The akuma needs no introduction— it’s an eerily similar silhouette, adorned this time with red and a prickly texture along the arms of his suit jacket. Adrien knows what the akuma wants before the Collector even opens his mouth. But he does anyway, because in what world would his father miss a long drawn-out monologue?

“I am the Collector—” Chat Noir zones him out, leading against his baton and feigning a snore. He considers it payback for all the times Adrien was left with cold dinners and cold looks and just a whole lot of cold. Father didn’t exactly specialize in affection, not since maman died.

Ladybug shakes his shoulder with an amused look. A tad too early if you ask him. Adrien catches the last bits and pieces of father’s monologue.

“—the girl that broke her heart.” Chat Noir pales again. The color scheme of his outfit suddenly makes a lot more sense. Maybe Adrien hadn’t known what his father wanted. How? How had he found out? Adrien had been so careful. He thought he had been careful at least. What would he do now that his father knew? An akuma he could fix. Father finding out his second biggest secret? There was no getting around that.

Adrien breathes sharply, swallowing down some flowers that are just threatening to slip. Now is definitely not the time at all.

The Collector throws his book at Chat Noir, startling the young superhero into action. He nearly avoids the spinning weapon, dodging with an almost too-late jump. The book, instead, hits a support beam, swallowing it whole. Normal. Like last time. What’s the catch?

Chat Noir glances at Ladybug. Her eyes are narrowed, slowing moving up and down, raking the form of the Collector for any clues. A shake of her head makes it clear that she’s thinking the same thing and drawing a blank as well. She glances at him and they lock in momentary eye contact. She throws him a look that clearly means to stall.

Chat Noir throws her an easy grin. He loves a good game of cat and mouse. With him starring as the cat, of course.

“I’m afraid your collection will fall short today.” He leans onto his baton, trying to exert all the confidence he can against his father. “Your son’s safe in hiding, where no one will find him.” Chat Noir chuckles to himself. Hiding in plain sight, not that father would ever know.

The Collector leaps into the fight, taking the bait. He pulls out a thorned sword out of what must be nowhere. That’s new. Chat Leaps backward, his baton at the ready. They spar, the sound of metal against metal ringing out into the courtyard. If it hadn’t been for the unfortunate circumstances, it would have been nice to spar with his father. But this is no clean match, and this akuma is out for his blood. Or, at least his miraculous.

They continue on like this, Chat Noir trying to buy Ladybug as much time as possible. Still, every time he glances towards his lady, her face reveals that she’s drawing a blank. It’s not until Chat Noir dodges another throw of the book that they finally figure it out.

The poorly aimed throw is easy to dodge and ends up circling back toward the stairs. It hits Alya, who’s slowly been inching closer and closer to the fight. She disappears, but she’s not alone. Nino, too disappears, a portrait of him right beside Alya in the book. But Nino hadn’t been hit.

The effect is instant. Chat Noir backs up, circling back over to his lady. She calls her lucky charm. It’s a scarf. For some unknown reason, her breath hitches. She looks up with a fierce determination and meets his eyes. Chat Noir can’t blink or turn away. She’s beautiful when she gets like this. The flowers bubble up against his stomach with some sort of sick glee. He swallows.

She gives him a quick smile, a sort of warning and hands him the scarf. “Be ready.” She whispers in his ear, his real one, and he can feel her breath. It’s there for a moment, and then it’s gone.

Chat Noir wasn’t sure what he’s expecting, but he certainly is expecting this . Not for Ladybug to fall to the ground, right in front of the Collector. He grins, a twisted grin that’s too much like his normal one for comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” Chat Noir’s breath hitches at the sound of his lady’s voice. “I broke your son’s heart.” She sobs and if he didn’t know Ladybug better he’d think it was real. “I can’t live with myself any longer. I have to tell the truth—” Adrien isn’t lying when he says he’s hanging onto every single word, waiting for her next admission. It’s ironic, really, because she doesn’t know but she is the one who’s causing him to heave up bits and chunks of flowers. She is the reason he’s going to die. But Adrien wouldn’t have it any other way.

“—I’m in love with Chat Noir.” It’s probably not true. Probably. But it’s a confession and Adrien can breathe. He almost forgot how to and there’s too much air in his lungs and his head is spinning and it’s far too bright, but his lady needs him. He can’t faint now. “Take me and you’ll have both our miraculous and you can save your son. I’m so sorry.”

The Collector leans forward and Chat Noir leaps. Just before the book touches Ladybug’s pitiful form, he wraps up his father’s hand in the scarf like pseudo-handcuffs. The book falls to the ground, useless.

“Cataclysm!” Adrien feels light and airy as he touches the flower sword. It crumbles into black ash and the akuma flies out. It hurts to see his father revealed, but not as much as the flowers had hurt. Adrien can breathe. It’s so wonderful.

As Ladybug cleanses the akuma, Adrien takes deep indulgent breaths. Although he had only been with the flowers for a day and a half, the relief is like nothing he could ever imagine.

He takes another gulping breath, relishing in his freedom. Chat Noir can’t believe he’d be so lucky, even if it's to hear a fake confession that cures him. If he’s careful, now he can continue to protect his lady for the rest of his long life. He’ll just back off. He can do that. Probably. Maybe. He’ll try, at least. He takes another deep breath—

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

—and chokes on flowers. He doubles over, coughing as the flowers re-enter his body, nestling tight to make a home in his stomach and lunges in his veins. Of course. Chat Noir doesn’t know why he thought himself so lucky. His lady's power repairs everything. His flowers disappearing was only a side effect of defeating the akuma. Of course, they’d return.

Ladybug shoots him a concerned look. He flashes her a grin. Back to plan A. As if Chat Noir would’ve ever gone with another plan in the first place. This was just some relief. Some temporary, much-needed relief.

His father looks up, eyes bouncing between the two heroes. “What happened?”

Chat Noir takes a step forward, grabbing the red poppy, returned to its former glory. He spins it around in his claws, smelling the iron from the blood. His blood. “You were akumatized, monsieur.”

Adrien extends his arm, holding his flower back out to his father. He doesn’t want to, but his lady’s magic can only do so much. It can’t erase his father knowing.

It’s hard to remain steady when his father locks eyes with him, more pitiful than Adrien has ever seen him, with the way he’s still on the ground. “You can forgive me, can’t you? I only want what’s best for my son.”

And that? That burns more than any flower could.

He swallows, pushing down flowers with a fiery gulp. He runs his hands through his hair, grazing his cat ears and trying to remind himself that he is not Adrien Agreste right now.

Chat Noir grins. “Of course we forgive you, monsieur.” He glances at his ring and extends his right hand. “Ride home?”

Gabriel tilts his head for a second, studying Chat Noir's beeping ring, tense and slightly bitter. His eyes narrow, a sort of obsession that Adrien sometimes sees in his father takes over his expression. Suddenly, his father is young again, working on a design while his mother sings to him and his eyes settle into a narrowed, concentrated manner. Suddenly, he can hear his mother's voice, soft and sure, humming the tune of the lullaby his parents wrote for him. Chat Noir hums along. Gabriel breathes.

Suddenly, Adrien is very self-conscious of the fact that he shoved his miraculous right into his father's face. He blinks. There's a beat of silence. Then another. They're at an awkward standstill, his father gazing at him, curious and crtitcal, and Chat Noir with an outstretched hand.

His ring beeps once more and it's enough to startle Gabriel. “No. I'll call my driver.”