#laundromatic

It took Sabine only a moment to get back to him, putting down a coaster and setting the glass down on top of it. “Here you are.”

“Thank you, Mrs Cheng,” Adrien said, wrapping his hands around the glass and dipping the tip of a finger in to check how full it was. He was about to take a sip when something struck him. “Um... is something burning?”

“Huh? -- Ah!”

He heard the sound of rushing footsteps, a door opening somewhere and metal-on-metal grating.

“Just in time,” Sabine said, letting out a sigh in relief. “Thank you.”

“Were you cooking?”

“I was,” Sabine agreed. “Tom’s family is coming over to visit tonight, so I was making something special. But Marinette was supposed to help me, so...”

“Oh,” Adrien said, face falling. “Should I leave then? I just wanted to go over an assignment with Marinette, but I suppose I could ask Nathalie --”

“Oh, no no no,” Sabine said quickly -- perhaps a bit too quickly. “Please don’t. I’d hate for you to miss out on your studies because of me. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Adrien fidgeted a bit, turning her way then. “Could I help with something? I mean, I’m not good at much, but --”

“Oh! That’s so sweet of you,” Sabine said, relief evident in her voice. “Can you cook?”

Adrien paused. “Mrs Cheng... I’m blind.”

“Oh, honey.” That... was that pity in her voice? It was, probably. That was the first time he’d heard it. “Being blind doesn’t mean you can’t cook. It just means you need to do it differently.”

“...really?”

“Really,” Sabine said decisively. “Didn’t Marinette ever tell you? When I studied pastry baking, one of my fellow students was almost entirely blind.”

“Wow...” Adrien breathed. “Could you... could you show me, then?” he asked bashfully.

But being Chat Noir was more good luck to him than bad, no matter the stereotypes he'd never really understand. Chat Noir gave him freedom, gave him strength. No, being a superhero didn't get him treated like everyone else, but being special for saving the day was a far stretch from being coddled by everyone around him. After all, the only person who knew Chat Noir was blind was Ladybug, and she'd stopped treating him with kid-gloves after his, er, last blow-up at her. They'd made up of course, but he still felt bad. He shouldn't have yelled at her, or left on his own. But she'd stopped doubting him after, both of them apologizing for their behavior.

So now he had two. Two people, that was, who treated him like a person and not a porcelain doll. Ladybug, and Marinette. Nino tried, but was still struggling with the whole over-worrying bit. Not that Adrien didn't appreciate his efforts.

He knew it was hard, understanding those who were different than oneself. Sometimes he wondered why it'd been so easy for Marinette. He'd never met anyone like her. She wasn't afraid to ask him questions about being blind or acknowledge the disability in frankness. These days, he was so attuned to her that he could single out her footsteps in a hall full of students, and knew her laugh three classrooms away.

It helped, too, that she was a huge Chat Noir fan. She'd never cared much about his modeling, instead preferring his exploits as Chat. Of course, she didn't know he was Chat, but that was quite beside the point. The only bad thing was that she "shipped" Chat Noir and Ladybug hardcore. And while Adrien had the utmost respect for Ladybug, he was far more interested in Mari. Though, he could admit her Chat Noir and Ladybug erotica was always entertaining, if not… rather graphic.

Ears perking, Chat lifted his head from where it'd been bowed, the air around him shifting. Like dominos, each echo of her steps flitted through his senses—how the light breeze wisped around her and the sounds of cars below echoed against her figure. Though she was quiet, he could pick up the way her breath left her lips, dancing through the air toward him. And how her arms swayed lightly at her sides, working like a well-tuned percussion ensemble. Each move she made fell into a different beat, but it all thrummed in unison—the same key, same tempo. A song he'd memorized months before, and that he knew how to merge with effortlessly.

Sometimes he wished he had super-heightened senses when he was Adrien, if only so he could listen to Marinette so acutely. He wanted to "see" her the same way he could see Ladybug.

"Trying to sneak up on me?" he asked as she stretched onto the ledge beside him. She sat down a second later, her legs arcing down through the air like windmill blades, before her ankles thumped against the brick.

"Like I could," she said simply.

"I'd see you coming a mile away," he replied, grinning. "Cat vision, you know."

"Uh huh, sure."

"I know you're rolling your eyes at me."

"Then you clearly know you deserve it."

Her attitude kept him smiling. Until more of those words came slicing through his thoughts again.

"It's kind of weird how he smiles, you know?"

"How he smiles to himself? Yeah, I've noticed that too."

Since when was it a crime to smile?

Pushing the expression away, Chat took a deep breath. He knew Ladybug was watching him—he could feel the familiar weight that told him as much—but he didn't comment.

"What are you doing up here all by yourself?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He shrugged. "Just… wanted to get away."

"From what?"

Life. Not that he didn't have appreciation for the life he led, but it could be so suffocating. Chat Noir was anything but that. Yet, he wouldn't say as much—that wasn't a burden he wanted to put on her. He'd deal with it, just as he always had.

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't ask her opinion.

"Do you think I smile too much?" he asked abruptly.

"Smile? Too much?" She shrugged—he knew she did. "I didn't know that was possible."

At least one person was on his side.

She cocked her head, the air around her pigtails shifting and giving the gesture away. "Why?"

"Just… It's stupid, don't worry about it."

"Chat…"

Despite her concerned tone, he didn't reply. He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to drop the subject or not. All he really knew was that he didn't want to address it himself.

He should have known he wouldn't have to.

"I can tell something is bothering you," she said a moment later. "It's written all over your face."

He pursed his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means just what I said. You're upset and I can see it."

"I'm not upset."

"Don't lie. You can't hide it."

"You don't know that…"

She sighed. "You keep your feelings on your sleeve, Chat. I can read you like an open book."

"Well, sorry I can't see to know what I look like," he snapped, hunching as he did.

"I- Chat…" She paused, her fingers tapping on the ledge as a few cars down below honked rudely into the night. "I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing," she muttered. "That's… That's one of the things I like best about you."

His eyebrows furrowed, head turning in her direction. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, just… that…" She was uncomfortable—he could hear it in the tone of her voice. "I never have to guess with you. If you're happy, you smile. If you're sad, I can see it. It's nice because, well… most people aren't that honest."

"Honest?"

"Yeah." Was she fiddling with her fingers? He bet she was. "You never wear a mask—figuratively I mean—and I appreciate that. I hate when people lie, and I know you never do that. So I feel... safe… trusting you."

"Really?" he asked quietly.

"You smile when you're happy," she replied softly. "You'd be amazed how many people don't do that."

Warmth blossomed in his chest, the grin that spread across his face no longer shadowed in doubt. At least, not so long as she was the only one there. "So… you don't think I smile too much?"

"No. You smile when you want to, which is a luxury most people don't have."

"Do you… hide smiles, My Lady?"

"I- Sometimes." Another deep breath. "But never around you."

"Are you smiling right now?" he asked deviously.

"Maybe." Her tone turned haughty. "Why do you care anyway, huh?"

"Why shouldn't I? I'm sure you have a very purr-ity smile, My Lady."

"You can't know that for sure," she replied jokingly. "Maybe my smile is horrible."

"I fine that very hard to believe. I'm certain it's lovely."

"You're certain?"

"Pawsitive, but," he raised his hand, flexing his clawed fingers, "if you don't believe me, all you have to do is let me see for myself." The pads of his gloves had enhanced touch, just like his ears had heightened hearing and his mask gave him an acute sense of smell.

"What? Let you… Let you touch my face?" she asked, abruptly quiet, which caused Chat to frown. He hadn't intended to make her uncomfortable.

"Only if… that's okay," he replied, pulling his hand back a bit. "I mean, I get that it's kind of weird for some people. I just- I'd like to know what you look like, My Lady."

"It's not weird," she murmured. "There's- There's a boy at my school, a friend of mine. He's blind too. And he's… touched my face before."

"Oh." Chat didn't know what that meant. She still sounded hesitant, and so he didn't reach out toward her. Rather, he laid a single claw on his chin thoughtfully, anxiously waiting for some sign about what he should do. He couldn't read her expression—but he could sense a bit about her posture.

Was she tense?

"Um, well…" She audibly swallowed. "I guess- you- uh…" There was a slight shake to the deep breath she took. "Actually, I don't think it's… it's a good idea…"

"Oh…"

"Not because I'm bothered by it or-or something," she corrected hastily. "It's just, we're supposed to keep our identities secret, so we probably… shouldn't…"

"Right, of course…" Chat's hand fell back to his lap. "I get it."

"I'm sorry, Chat."

"No, it's fine." He smiled, wondering if the expression looked fake. He was always hearing about that—fake smiles. It felt like a lie on his face. "I should probably go anyway—it's late."

"Yeah…"

"Until next time, My Lady." He bowed just a bit.

"Um, bye, Kitty." She sounded like she wanted to say more, but he didn't give her the chance. Pulling his legs up under him, he waved shortly in her direction before he bounded to the building parallel.

He wondered, vaguely, if he'd have looked back—had he been able to see.

He was thankful he couldn't.

oOo

"It's awfully… direct," he said, fingers running along the bumps on the page. Beside him on the steps, Marinette groaned, before he heard the way her body flopped back on the concrete. "Not that it's bad," he continued. "Just straightforward." To the point, so to speak.

"Apparently I overshot my goal," she muttered.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head just a bit so he'd be able to hear her better. Sometimes he wished he had his Chat Noir senses all the time. Not that his senses weren't already heightened, but being Chat gave him abilities that were tenfold. Mostly, he just wanted to be able to listen to Marinette's voice the way he could Ladybug's. When he was Chat Noir, he could hear every little variation, every slight intake and disparity. It was the difference between a high quality recording and listening live and up close, sitting in each section of the orchestra so as to hear each part that each instrument played. When he was Chat Noir, each sound was more than simply that—it was a cascade of ups and downs, layers and pieces.

It was so different, in fact, that he sometimes wondered—were he to hear her as Adrien—if he'd even recognize Ladybug. Or, were he Chat, if he'd recognize Marinette (just as one example).

"People on the internet were telling me I was too descriptive," she explained, Adrien cocking an eyebrow.

"You post your Ladynoir erotica on the internet?"

"Shhh," she hissed, the location of her voice telling him she'd sat up. "Don't say that so loud."

"Sorry, sorry." He laughed, supposing they were still at school, even if it was lunch.

"Yes, I do," she confirmed. "It's a good way to get feedback. And I'm far from the only one, so don't criticize."

"I wasn't," he assured. "Just surprised."

"Ugh, but this is so not what I wanted to hear," she went on, moaning. "One minute I'm too descriptive, now I'm too direct."

Adrien remained quiet for a moment, simply listening to her breathe before he spoke again. "I think it has less to do with the number of words you use and more to do with how you use them." He ran his fingers over some of the braille again. "I think your writing style is fine, but it… it needs tension."

"Tension?"

"Yeah. You make it too easy," he went on. "So that makes it seem wordy, maybe, or too direct. Personally, I like your original style, not this, but I think if you added more tension, it'd all balance out."

"What kind of tension?"

"Well, like…" He took a deep breath as he considered. "Ladybug never makes it hard for Chat Noir."

"Hard, huh?"

Adrien grinned. "An unintentional pun, I promise."

"If you say so…"

"As I was saying, she just gives right in and than it's all sex. And while that's fine, if you don't take the time to create tension beforehand, how are people going to be invested?"

"Invested?"

"Yeah. Emotionally and stuff. You write like… like it's inevitable Chat Noir and Ladybug get together."

"Oh… You don't think it is inevitable?"

"Chat Noir and Ladybug?" he asked incredulously. "I dunno. But that doesn't matter. Whether you think they'll do this kind of stuff or not, you still have to keep your readers guessing. Otherwise, they know how it's gonna end."

"I guess that makes sense."

Carefully, he folded her notebook closed and held it out in her direction. She took it after a moment, Adrien locating his folded cane beside his thigh before he pulled it into his lap.

"I think you should go back to your own style though," he recommended. "I liked it better than this." Her silence seemed to imply more speech on his part. "Your description is what I liked most about it. You used all senses and I think that makes it better."

"You think maybe you're a little biased?" she joked.

He grinned again. "Maybe. But it's nice, reading something that doesn't rely wholly on sight. It's more relatable." Abruptly struck, he frowned curiously. "Actually, now that I think about it, you hardly ever use sight in your stories."

"W-well, they're usually in the dark… or something."

"I guess that's true." He didn't say anything about it being more realistic. She didn't know Chat Noir was blind. But it was a detail he found himself appreciating nonetheless.

"Besides, I… I think there are lots of other senses that are better for this kind of thing," she defended. "Touch, for one. And- And listening. Staring at someone while you do this kind of stuff is probably, I dunno, uncomfortable or something."

Adrien found himself grinning again. "Funny, I always hear it's more uncomfortable when people don't look at you."

"Maybe in everyday life, but normally eye contact is limited to, like, intensity in these sorts of situations."

"And you know so much about that?" he teased.

"Shut up. I read."

Not that he'd ever admit he was thankful for her lack of experience.

"Hey, Mari?" he started, his tone implying a change in subject. "Does it make you uncomfortable, that I don't look at you when we talk?"

"Uncomfortable?" she questioned. "No. Why?"

"I just… never mind."

"Adrien…?"

He sighed. "I heard some girls talking yesterday," he admitted. "They said that… that it made them nervous, that I never looked directly at them. They said it was 'creepy.'"

She didn't respond right away, as if digesting his words. Or so he assumed. Thoughtfulness was usually why Marinette got quiet in conversation.

"Well, they're stupid," she said simply. "They're just mad because they want you to look at them and you don't."

He managed a small grin. "That's cuz I can't."

"Yes you can," she reasoned, her hand laying over his a second later. Accustomed to such touching, Adrien didn't object when she pulled his fingers up. And he definitely didn't object when she laid them against her cheek.

He knew her face better than his own—it was engrained in his memory. Those soft, round cheeks, her petite, delicate nose. Those long lashes that always brushed the pads of his fingers. And those little ears, which generally seemed a tad bit warmer than the rest of her.

"You're looking at me right now, aren't you?" she asked quietly. Adrien's heart tightened in his chest at her words. "Don't listen to them. You can look at people if you want to—and they know that. That's why they're mad. Because you don't bother to look at them."

He smiled just a bit, his thumb stroking just under her eye. "How do you always know exactly what to say?" he asked quietly.

"Because I'm a genius."

He laughed, and didn't have it in him to disagree.

oOo

He had to find her—had to make sure she was safe. She'd said she'd stay where she was, so he'd be able to get back to her as soon as he'd gotten her earring.

He still wasn't sure what had happened. The akuma had been tough—fast, with the ability to fly. Somehow, it'd gotten ahold of Ladybug. And before he'd been able to tackle it back, it'd grabbed one of her earrings. She'd been thrown down, no doubt in her civilian form, and the akuma had taken off.

Chat had been worried at first—because they'd been in the air and he'd feared she would have been hurt out of uniform, being thrown aside as she had been. But she assured him that she was fine, that he needed to get her earring back. Apparently the akuma hadn't seen her—she'd been thrown into an alley before her transformation had worn off. But she needed her earring back. She couldn't transform with just one.

So Chat had set out. The akuma was still out there—since he couldn't purify it—but hopefully Ladybug would be ready to do the honors once she got her earring back.

Holding the piece of jewelry tightly between his clawed fingers, Chat dropped down in the alley where she'd been before, ears perked attentively.

"Ladybug?"

No response.

But why would she have left? How was he supposed to fine her?

"My Lady?" he said again, listening carefully.

It didn't take him but a moment to pick up on it—the light breathing. Not labored, not struggling. Simply quick and… and faint.

Swallowing hard, Chat ignored the way his body went cold, instead pushing his legs forward as he crouched down in the alley beside her. No matter how weak, he knew that breathing, and he could sense the way the damp alley air fell across her form.

"Ladybug?" he questioned quietly, reaching out to her a moment later.

She was limp, unconscious, and he dared not move her—not until he could figure out how she'd been hurt. On his knees, he gently located her shoulder, before dragging his clawed fingers up along her collar to her neck. Carefully, he drew his hand around her throat, along each side, the front, and as much of the back as he could. Nothing felt injured, but, then again, he wasn't a medical professional and couldn't honestly know.

He found her jaw—delicate, but sharp on the edges. He felt up along her hairline, looking for anything. A hint, a clue, but there was nothing. Laying his hand across her forehead, he registered soft skin, thin eyebrows. He drew his touch lower. Long, closed lashes, a small, delicate nose. That light breathing.

Round cheeks, thin chin. Full, yet petite lips.

No, he didn't find any injuries, but he was still jolted, his heart coming to a grinding halt in his chest.

This wasn't Ladybug. This was Marinette.

"Mari?" he murmured, his heart rocketing forward as the realization slammed into him. "Marinette?!"

And, of course, there was no response.

Swallowing hard, Chat slipped his fingers from her face to her ear. Down to the lobe where he knew Marinette always wore the same pair of earrings. He rubbed the jewelry gently, taking in the smooth texture—the same as the earring he held in his other hand.

Marinette's earrings—Ladybug's earrings.

He still had no idea where her injury was. Part of him wanted to pick her up, yell at her, panic, but he knew he couldn't. He was a superhero and his partner was in danger—he had to keep a level head. He had to determine what was best—if there was time to call an ambulance, if it'd be better to take her himself. Which meant he had to swiftly establish where she'd been hurt.

Teeth gritting, he forced himself to form a checklist. Her neck hadn't had any apparent damage, so he instead deferred to her head. After that, it'd be her spine—all the most critical areas.

Unfortunate or not, however, he didn't get that far. Because as soon as his claws sifted gently across the thin hairs of her head, he felt it.

That warm liquid that could only mean one thing.

Blood.

The entire left side of her head was coated in it, a small puddle having formed on the concrete where her head lay. Chat couldn't tell if it was still bleeding, or how much damage there really was, but the sheer volume of blood was alarming. He knew head wounds bled a lot, but even this was extreme.

It'd been enough to knock her out. To keep her breathing faint.

To leave her heartbeat slow.

He didn't have anymore time. He had to get her to the hospital.

Now.

He knew it was risky—her neck or spine could still be injured—but he didn't have time to wait for an ambulance. Slipping his arm under her back and knees, he cradled her head against his shoulder as he stood. Lips pursed, her bounded first onto the nearby dumpster before vaulting to the rooftop nearby.

He took off at a run.

There was no time to waste, no other considerations to be made. Wherever the akuma was, it'd have to wait.

"I've got you, My Lady," he murmured. "You're going to be okay." Reassurance that was, perhaps, more for himself than anyone else.

oOo

With the end of his cane brushing against the scuffed, tile floor, he slowly made his way down the unfamiliar hallway. He could hear the sounds of rolling carts, low voices, hasty steps, and beeping monitors. The whole place smelled of unscented soap and bleach. As he walked, he registered when someone veered out of the way for him, skirting along the hall walls.

He always felt bad when he tripped someone, but the one time it'd happened with Mari nearby, she'd scolded the victim for not watching where they'd been going.

So now Adrien tried to think like that too.

"About a meter more and you're there," Plagg said lazily from the inside of his collar. Adrien nodded, slowing his pace a bit and pulling back his cane as he reached out for the door. He found the knob where it should be—down on the left—and as he twisted it, he knocked softly.

"Come in," Mari's familiar voice issued, her tone sounding rough and groggy. Careful as he entered, Adrien wondered what she looked like. If her little intake of breath was accompanied by shock; if her eyes were "wide;" if her mouth was gaping. None of these things he knew, and so he was left to simply stand as the door closed behind, feeling far more exposed than he appreciated.

"Adrien…" she eventually said, sounding breathless.

"Hey," he replied somewhat awkwardly. In the same moment, Tikki burst out of the flap of his over-shirt, no doubt flitting off to join Mari on the hospital bed.

That was how he'd purified the akuma without her. He'd been kept from seeing her during the initial stages of her entrance into the hospital, but as soon as visitors had been allowed, he'd snuck in as Chat and snapped her earring back into place. Which had allowed Tikki to come with him while he pursued the akuma.

It'd been harder to purify, and Tikki had, well, eaten the demon in order to accomplish the feat (which meant the butterfly hadn't make it out alive), but they'd managed it. Still, Adrien would have much preferred to have his partner at his side.

"Tikki…" he heard Mari say softly, silence once again enveloping the room following. He couldn't see to know how she was reacting, which left him feeling helpless on the other side of the room.

"Is… Is it okay that I'm here?" he eventually asked.

"Uh, y-yeah," she managed to choke out. "Sorry, Adrien. Um, there's a chair over here, beside the bed."

He nodded, using his cane to guide him in her direction. He eventually ran into the legs of said chair, which allowed him to find it with his hands before sitting down.

Her breathing sounded normal again, if not tight with nerves. Which was a relief. It was the afternoon following her "accident," the doctors having decided she should stay at least two days so they could monitor her behavior. He'd learned from Alya, who'd learned it from Mari's parents, that she suffered from an open fracture on the back, right side of her head, and that there'd been worry about potential swelling. She was awake though, which was good. Or so he assumed.

Abruptly, her breath shook, Adrien supposing she really was nervous. Unless it was something else.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Huh?! Oh, y-yeah, just… um…"

Adrien's shoulders dropped. Well, this was getting them nowhere. He might as well be direct, since she was already so edgy.

He sighed, folding up his cane as he did. "You knew I was Chat Noir, didn't you?" he asked straight, aware of the way her breath caught as she froze. "How long have you known?"

He heard her gulp, another pause echoing between them before she answered.

"Since- Since a little after you told me you were blind," she admitted quietly. "It's a more… unique trait I suppose. Didn't take much to put the pieces together." Because there were only so many blonde teenage boys, who also happened to be blind, living in Paris.

"Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

This question didn't get him a response, the silence stretching far beyond awkward lengths.

"Mari…"

"I was afraid," she murmured. "Afraid that you'd be… disappointed. And because… I was just afraid. I'm sorry." She shifted somehow on the bed and he wished he had his Chat senses—then he'd know exactly how she'd moved, and maybe if it meant anything. "I should have told you. I don't… I don't have a good excuse."

"Why would I be disappointed that one of my best friends is also my partner?"

"Well, I'm not… Ladybug is…"

"Ladybug is you," he stated simply. "The only reason I didn't recognize you sooner is because my senses are so much better as Chat that it makes you sound totally different. There's nothing to be disappointed about, Mari. I'm glad." He smiled just a bit. "I wouldn't want anyone else to be Ladybug."

"Really?"

"Of course," he assured. "But… that's not the whole reason you weren't telling me, is it?" He tried to sound as innocent as possible, despite how his heart beat swiftly in his chest—spurred by his own excited nerves.

"W- well, I mean, er, it was- Yes?"

His smile turned to a devious smirk. "This is about you Ladynoir erotica, isn't it?"

The squeak that was followed by her embarrassed moan definitely made the teasing worth it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice sounding suddenly broken. So much so that it wiped the smirk right off of Adrien's face. "You'd already read some of it when I found out who you were. I just… It's so inappropriate and I never should have kept writing it. I'm so sorry, Cha- Adrien. I'm such an idiot. You must think I'm so…"

"So what?" he asked quietly, laying a single hand on the edge of her bed as he did. "Brave for having the guts to share your sexual fantasies with the very subject of those fantasies?"

"Ohmygod, don't say it like that!" The tone of her voice told him she was covering her face with her hands.

He couldn't help smiling again. "It's true, though, isn't it?" She'd gone to all that effort—translating it all into braille and asking what he thought—almost like she'd been trying to tell him the truth the whole time. It'd been kind of fun when he'd thought she was just Mari, but knowing she was also Ladybug made it… flattering.

Among other things…

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you…" she muttered, sounding far too hurt about the whole thing.

"Hey, Mari," he said, tone gentle. "It's okay. I enjoyed reading it, didn't I?"

"That's not the point," she claimed, voice still muffled.

Adrien huffed, pausing to consider his words carefully. "I really am touched, Mari," he said quietly, wishing he knew where her hand was, so he might be able to hold it in his own. "I never thought that someone like you would want someone like me."

Was she looking at him? He thought maybe she was—that there was a bit of that familiar weight—but he couldn't be sure.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"It's… difficult," he started, words slow, "to imagine that… that someone would desire you when… when you're broken."

Her hand was on his so fast, his breath actually caught in surprise.

"You're not broken, Adrien," she said firmly. "It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks or says, you're perfect just the way you are. You're my partner and the most capable person I know. I might not… I might not have even been here, but because of you, I am. You're not broken—never think that."

"I…" He didn't know what to say—never did. Not when she said things like that. "How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?"

Her hand squeezed over his. "I'm just being honest," she whispered. "For what that's worth…"

"It's worth a great deal to me," he assured. He wondered what her expression was doing then, if she was looking away. If she was frowning. If her ears were warm and red. He wondered what red looked like. Ladybug was red too, so he'd heard.

He knew Mari's eyes were blue, and he imagined the color looked like the sound of her voice.

"So…" He shifted forward a bit in his seat. "That stuff you're always writing…" Her hand stiffened over his. "How accurate do you think it is?" There was another grin on his face and he didn't care.

"Ugh, no, stop talking about it," she moaned, trying to pull her hand from his. But he grabbed it before she could, holding her in place.

"You think maybe we should find out?" he dared to say.

What her silence implied was a complete mystery to him. Until, after a birth of long, stretched seconds, her hand finally relaxed into his.

"You're a bad kitty…" she murmured shyly.

"I can be your kitty, if you want me to be."

His heart hammered so fiercely, he thought it might pound right out of his chest.

"R-Really?"

"Pawsitive." His grin turned to a full-blown smile. "Tell me, Mari, are you smiling?"

She shifted atop the sheets. "Maybe…"

Scooting to the edge of his seat, he set his cane down on the floor and set his other hand atop the mattress. "May I see it, My Lady?" he asked gently.

Her breath shook. "Yes."

Swallowing hard, Adrien reached toward her with his free hand, yet holding her own in his other. She met him halfway, directing his wrist until his fingers were gently caressing her cheek.

It was all the guidance he needed.

Standing, he leaned over the bed. Closer, until he could feel her breath on his lips.

"Are you still smiling?" he whispered, a jolt rushing through him as their noses brushed.

"No…"

She didn't give him the chance to find issue in her response. Rather, all he registered was the softness of her lips on his. The gentle, almost hesitant way she brought them together. He caught up shortly after.

She tasted like the way the wind felt when he leapt from building to building, and moved with him the same way Ladybug did—perfectly and without fault.

Then, if only to be the warmth that burst through the chill, she smiled against him.