#misdial

Anthony Lockwood is very much not enjoying the beginning of his second year at university.

It was a wonder he’d made it through the first, though he’d mostly motivated himself by saying that the first year was always going to be slow going, things would definitely pick up after, and then he’d finally find something about his course that interested him.

After two lectures delivered by Winkman, the most horrible lecturer in the department, on the first day of the term no less, he promptly decided that he was wrong and forewent the rest of the scheduled classes that day to nip into his favourite coffee shop and ignore the outside world for a while.

After a peculiar phone call from a stranger, and another one from his sister telling him that he’d better be attending his lectures or so help me God, I’ll bite your head off, he finishes off the slice of cake the barista gave to him on the house, (“Alright, Locky?” Flo had said as he walked through the door. And then, straight after, “You look miserable. ‘Ave some lemon drizzle.”) dusts the crumbs from his hands and lap, and reluctantly drags himself back outside after waving goodbye to Flo.

Back home at 35 Portland Row, he’s greeted by Jessica Lockwood in the hallway, getting ready to leave. She’s spent the morning and early afternoon at her teaching assistant job at a local school, and now, judging by the handbag full of neat notes and her laptop, has some work to do on her Master’s course. He catches a glimpse at some confusing looking handwritten notes, and it takes him a second to register that the reason he can’t decipher them is that it’s in Greek. Jessica had always been fascinated by languages and linguistics, so it was no surprise that she chose to get a degree in it. 

“Anthony,” she beams at him for a second, but then the smile drops from her face. “Don’t you have any more classes today?”

“No,” he replies smoothly; lying has become a talent of his over the years, “I’m all done for the day.”

“Oh! I’m jealous,” she slides her feet into heels that only Jessica Lockwood would casually wear to a lecture, and brushes back a stray lock of hair from her face. It falls perfectly back into position. 

“Lockwood,” their other housemate, George Cubbins, pops his head around the corner from the kitchen. “You’re back early.”

“My afternoon lectures were cancelled,” Lockwood grins and looks at him in a way that he hopes conveys his message of ‘shut up before you give anything away’ well enough. It does the job, as George simply nods and retreats into the kitchen.

“I’m heading over to the library soon,” he calls, “you can join me if you want.”

Before Lockwood can politely decline, his sister nods enthusiastically.

“A change of scenery will do you some good. You spend so much time in this house, Anthony.”

“I go to Flo’s a lot.”

Jessica opens the front door and gives him a pointed look. He only just stops himself from wincing at both the sudden gust of wind from outside and the look on his sister’s face.

“Go to the library, Anthony.” She throws him one last smile and is quickly gone, the door closing swiftly behind her.

“Yeah, Anthony,” George calls out, and without seeing him Lockwood can tell he’s smirking, holding back laughter.

“Shut up, George.”

*

The nearest library is a quick walk and a bus ride away, and is full of students studying much harder than Lockwood ever has at university. So full, in fact, that they struggle to find a free table to sit and study at. Just as Lockwood is about to open his mouth to put on an act of oh, it’s a shame there’s no space, we’ll just have to come back another time, George points to a couple of free chairs and makes a beeline for them.

As they approach, however, they come to the unfortunate realisation that the table is occupied by none other than Quill Kipps, the snobby third-year student doing the same course as Lockwood. George lets out an unapologetic scoff and makes himself at home on one of the chairs, much to Kipps’ chagrin.

“What are you doing?” His features are contorted into a glare of irritation.

“Sitting down,” George replies, hauling a notebook and two textbooks out of his bag.

“I can see that, Cubbins. What are you doing at my table?” 

“Revising.”

Kipps lets out a resigned sigh, and with a shake of his head, he’s back to poring over the books in front of him; he looks tired, and Lockwood can only see it as a vision of his own miserable future if he stays on this stupid management course.

Lockwood reluctantly takes a seat beside George and pulls out a notebook he’d only just remembered to bring with him. He hadn’t thought to bring textbooks or anything that would actually allow him to revise, so after a moment of staring at the blank pages in front of him, he hauls himself to his feet and goes in search of a book that’s related to the incredibly thrilling subject of Management Science. 

Eventually, he locates a textbook, the name of which he recognises from the helpful additional reading list he was given at the start of his first year, back when he was considerably more full of motivation and determination to do his parents proud. He settles back down at the table, where George is cleaning his glasses, and Kipps is angrily scribbling out a line of writing.

He opens the textbook. The contents page is nothing short of mind-numbingly boring, and it takes a moment of tapping a lively rhythm on the table with his fingernails to psyche himself up to flip the page and start reading.

He reads the first two lines, then realises he didn’t pay enough attention to the first one, so goes back and rereads it. He finishes the paragraph then rereads the whole thing to try and actually digest the words on the page, rather than simply skim over them.

He finally digests them on the third reread, and wants nothing but to spit them back out. All the business jargon leaves a bad taste on his tongue.

“I got an odd phone call earlier,” he decides he deserves a break from the taxing revision, resting his forearms on the table and tilting his head to look over at where George is devouring the text in front of him.

“Oh?” his friend replies, only half paying attention.

“From someone who misdialed her friend’s number. She was quite chatty.”

“What, you had a conversation with a complete stranger over the phone?”

“Yes, actually. It wasn’t half bad.”

George looks up at him for a second, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t look at me like that. Go back to revising”—he peers over George’s shoulder—“Latin America.”

“Speaking of Latin America,” George pushes back his chair, making a horrid screech resonate across the room, “I need to find a specific book on it. Be back in a sec.”

Lockwood stares silently at the space his friend had occupied seconds ago.

“The person who called you doesn’t happen to be a stubborn art student, does she?”

It takes Lockwood a second to register Kipps’ words. “You know her?”

Kipps shrugs. “I might.”

“How?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “What?”

The man opposite him makes a point of highlighting a long line of text, making it evident he’s done paying attention to the conversation.

“Kipps.”

“I’m trying to focus on this essay plan, Tony. Shut up.”

That’s an interesting development, Lockwood thinks to himself. There’s a small voice in the back of his mind that says hey, there’s a reason to call Lucy again, followed by a louder, more sensible one that says it’d be weird to call her; finding out they have a mutual acquaintance (not friend, Kipps is too much of a dick to have that title) doesn’t disregard the fact they’re still strangers. Strangers that happened to have a single conversation and will likely never speak again.

Still, his hand reaches down to pat the outline of the phone in his front pocket.

Then, with a quick stretch and a sigh, he sits up straight and forces himself to keep reading.

*

“Oh crap! What did they say that number was?”

Bernice shrugged her shoulders, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

555-0243? No. 555-2043. Yeah, that’s it.

Entering the radio stations number on your phone, you submitted your answer.

“Could you pick me up some Imodium? I’ve got diarrhea AGAIN.”

Satisfied with your response, you went back to your report.

You had worked for Stark Industries for three years and you loved almost every minute of it. You started in the mailroom to get your foot in the door, but once your boss’ boss found out you had a degree in accounting, they moved you to that department. A year later you were moved to a specialized team that dealt with the expenses of the Avengers. It was an interesting job, and it was fun to guess what the food expenses would be each month. Your teammates placed bets each month regarding the total. Who ever had the worst guess bought donuts for the team. You haven’t had to buy any yet.

A couple of minutes later your phone chimed indicating you had a text message. The radio station was still on commercial break so you hoped it was them notifying that you had won.

KMPQ: I’m sorry, what now?

You frowned at your phone. That’s a weird way to reply.

Y/N: Does this mean I won?

KMPQ: What do you think you are winning?

I’m pretty sure I heard them say the number is 555-2043.

Y/N: Wait, is this not KMPQ Radio?

KMPQ:

I’m not sure what that means, but I’m pretty sure you have the wrong number.

You sighed out loud causing Bernice to spare you a glance. You scrunched your face and waved your hand to tell her it was fine.

The radio station had come back from commercial break announcing the winner. The winner’s reply had something to do with an STD. You rolled your eyes. They probably received a few replies regarding that topic. At least yours thought outside the box.

You slid your phone into your purse not wanting to think about how you texted a stranger that you needed diarrhea medication. You were positive a screen shot was entered on Twitter by now for all of humanity to see. You hoped they had the decency to blackout your phone number before they posted.

 You were home and changed into your pajamas before you looked at your phone again. Surprisingly you had two new messages from the stranger.

Stranger: Do you really have diarrhea?

Stranger: My mother used to recommend plenty of fluids, bananas, rice, and applesauce to help with the symptoms.

Well, at least it was a helpful stranger.

Y/N: No, I don’t have diarrhea. I wrote it for a radio contest and I apparently had the wrong number. Sorry about that.

Y/N: And I’ll keep your mother’s cure in mind if the problem every arises.

You all of a sudden had a hankering for applesauce since your new stranger friend had mentioned it. Digging through your cupboards you found two snack pack cups. Finding a clean spoon in the sink, you made your way back to your couch. You clicked a picture of one of the cups and decided to text it.

Y/N: Since you mentioned it, applesauce sounds quite good right about now.

Stranger: I’m glad I could be of some assistance.

Stranger: You never did tell me what you were trying to win.

Y/N: Tickets to see the band Imagine Dragons next week.

Stranger: I’m not familiar with them. Are they any good?

Y/N: Yeah, they’ve got a lot of really great songs. You should look them up.

Y/N: What kind of music do you normally listen to?

Stranger: I like the oldies. Glenn Miller, Billie Holiday, Tommy Dorsey.

Tommy Dorsey? Was this someone’s grandparent you were texting with? If so, props to them for knowing how to text.

You didn’t really now how to respond. Deciding any response was better than no response.

Y/N: Cool

After about 20 minutes with no response, you figured your texting friend must have gotten bored with the conversation. Deciding to get ready for bed you set your alarm on your phone and placed it on your nightstand along with a glass of water. You brushed your teeth and applied your nightly moisturizer before laying down in your comfy bed.

Just a you were starting to doze off, your phone chimed with a text alert.

Stranger: I’m not old or anything.

Stranger: My friend Sam thought I should add that. I just like older music.

You laughed out loud to the response. You decided to have a little fun.

Y/N: What if I’m old? I feel offended.

Stranger: I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate being old is a bad thing. I actually think it’s a good thing.

You laughed again. Shaking your head at their response.

Y/N: I’m totally messing with you. I couldn’t resist. I’m 30.

Y/N: I’m Y/N by the way.

Exchanging first names can’t hurt.

Stranger: You had me going there. I’m Steve.

Y/N: Hi Steve. Glad to get a name from you, I had you in my phone as Stranger.

Steve: You don’t want to know what I had you in my phone as.

Y/N: Please don’t tell me you had it as Diarrhea.

Steve: Of course not. I had it as Imodium.

Y/N: Mortifying

Steve: Hey, it’s not so bad. Y/N is a lot prettier though.

Was he flirting with you?

Y/N: Why thank you. 😊

Y/N:  I’m off to bed Steve. Good night.

Steve: Night Doll

Doll? You could get used to this flattery, even if it was from a stranger.

 The next several days you and Steve texted quite frequently. Nothing too personal was shared. You mainly talked about what TV shows you were watching, what you had for dinner, and what crazy thing you saw on the subway that day.

Y/N: I swear Steve. The guy had a hug yellow snake around his neck! I don’t know how no one saw it until he was on the train.

Steve: Could it have been in his pants?

Y/N: Steve! No! I’m talking a 5 foot long snake. I know guys like to exaggerate about the size in their pants...

Steve: Doll…

Sometimes you wouldn’t hear from Steve for days. He told you he often worked on call and when he’s working, he can’t be on his phone. You understood, but it sure added an air of mystery. You thought he was a fireman which sent your imagination into overdrive. Picturing a buff Steve in his uniform, all sweaty…When you asked him about it, he told you he wasn’t a fireman, but didn’t extend beyond that.

About a month into your friendship you let it slip that you worked in Stark Tower. When you normally told people this, they would always ask if you knew any of the Avengers. Even though you technically worked with their expenses, you never met any of them. Steve had almost no reaction. You were relieved but also a little surprised.

 It had been over a week since you received a text from Steve and you were starting to worry. He’d never been away for more than four days without sending you a text and here you were at seven. You worried that he was hurt and part of you was worried he got bored of you and decided to stop talking to you. There was no way to get a hold of him because you didn’t know any of his friends, you didn’t even know where he worked.

The next night, just before midnight, your phone rang startling you out of sleep. You reached for your phone, squinting your eyes to see the name on your caller id. Steve was calling you. In the three months you’d been texting, you’ve never talked on the phone.

“St-Steve?”

“Hi Doll.” His voice was rough and tired.

“Are you OK?”

“It was a hard week. I just really needed to hear your voice.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You sat up in bed, scooting yourself back so that you could rest your back against the headboard.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I really can’t. Could you just talk to me about your week? I just want to hear normal for a while.”

“I really wish you’d talk to me. I don’t know what you even do. It’s been eight days Steve and you call me after midnight. I’m relived but I’m also a little bit pissed.”

“Y/N.” You heard him let out a ragged breath. “Please, Doll. I promise to tell you soon. But for tonight, could you just tell me about your day?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Realizing he couldn’t see you, you quickly replied.

“Okay. So, today I had to bring donuts into work. I don’t think I ever told you, but I work in accounting. Boring, I know.”

He let out a chuckle and it was honestly the best sound you’ve heard in a long time.

“My team has a monthly bet about a certain account and I lost the bet this month so I had to buy the donuts. It was the first time I’ve lost in a year and a half, so I thought that was pretty good. Anyway, no one ever mentioned to me that Taylor was allergic to nuts. One of the donuts had chopped nuts on it, so Taylor like flipped out. It was pretty epic. She didn’t eat any of course, and I did apologize.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You have a really nice laugh Steve.”

“And you have a very beautiful voice Y/N.”

From that night on, Steve called you almost every day. Most days it was just for a minute or two because he really wanted to hear your voice. You enjoyed it as well.

 By month four you were brave and sent Steve an unsolicited photo or yourself. It was a simple selfie of you with a nice smile. You were actually surprised he never asked for a picture.

Steve:  You’re beautiful Doll. Far too pretty for me.

It made you blush but you were disappointed he never sent you one in return.

By five months you were anxious. When he wasn’t working, he was spending an hour on the phone with you at night before bed. He talked about his friends and the trouble they would get into, but he would always leave out details, like their names. He would talk about how traveling was lonely, but he would never specifically tell you where he had been. You respected his privacy, but you really wanted to know all of Steve.

 Steve asked for other pictures of you. He told you he liked to sketch and he wanted to sketch you, but he needed additional angles. One night he sent you pictures of 4 sketches he had done of you and they were remarkable. For never seeing you in person, he was pretty spot on.

“My friends were giving me a hard time about the pretty girl in my drawings. I had to tell them how we met.”

“But did you tell them that we haven’t actually met?” You asked.

“Soon sweetheart. Soon.”

A week later, Steve called to say he had a job and would be gone for a while, but he didn’t know how long. You cried to him on the phone. The nightly conversations had become a habit you couldn’t live without.

“I promise to be safe. I’ll be back before you know it and you’ll be tired of me in no time.”

“That’ll never happen.” You said between sobs.

“Sweetheart, you’re breaking my heart. It’s going to be so hard for me too. I’ll try my best to be home as soon as I can. Okay?”

You let out a long breath trying to calm yourself down. “Okay. Bye Steve.”

Was it possible to love someone you’ve never met? Your heart was telling you yes.

 Three weeks. It had been three weeks since you’ve heard Steve’s voice. Surprisingly you were spending more time with your co-workers. Bernice and you started having lunch together a week after Steve had gone on his work trip. She noticed you were down and you had the urge to talk to somebody. She didn’t know all the details, just that there was a man you had grown close to and he had an important job that he could keep him away for days or weeks with no communication. She said it sounded like a plot for a movie and you had to agree.

Steve had sent you a text early in the morning that he was back, but wouldn’t be available to talk until later in the day. You had made up your mind that you were going to meet him. It needed to happen. Even if he didn’t want anything more than friendship, you wanted to be able to see him in person. Watch movies together, listen to music together, talk about your days, but in person rather than on the phone.

You and Bernice were enjoying a late lunch in the lobby of the tower. She was going on about troubles with her landlord when you could have sworn you heard your name.

“Isn’t that Y/N!” You looked around, trying to see who was saying it. The lobby was pretty empty since it was almost two and most employees were done with their lunch by then.

“Why is the Falcon saying your name and pointing at you?” Bernice asked.

You looked over to where she was looking and sure enough the Falcon and Captain Rogers were looking at you. The Falcon even waved. Captain Rogers was saying something to him in a hushed voice that you couldn’t quite make out.

“I have no idea. I’ve never met them.” You shrugged your shoulders.

She pushed on your back, urging you to stand, so you did.

You took a couple of tentative steps toward the two of them. The Falcon had a bright smile on his face while Captain Rogers kept looking down.

“Um, hi.” You said.

The Falcon started to walk to you with Captain Rogers trailing behind. Once he was two feet in front of you, he spoke again. He stuck out his hand. “Hi Y/N, I’m Sam Wilson.”

You tentatively gave him your hand and shook his.

“I know. But. But how do you know who I am?” Eyebrows high with surprise.

Your hand was still in his and he gave an awkward chuckle. He released your hand and turned toward the Captain. When Captain Rogers said nothing and continued to look down, Sam nudged his shoulder hard with his own shoulder causing Captain Rogers to move closer to you by an inch or too. He looked up and gave you a bright smile which caused your face to heat up. Of course, you had seen pictures of the Captain and footage of him on TV, but you’ve never seen him in person. To put it simply, he took your breath away.

“Hi Doll. I’m Steve.”

You blinked a few times. Still not understanding why this awkward introduction between the three of you was taking place. But then you remembered something.

“Did you say doll?” You asked.

He nodded his head.

Your brow furrowed and you looked down. This can’t be.

“And you’re Steve?”

He nodded again.

“Nope. This can’t be happening. You are Captain Steve Rogers but you can’t be Steve. Nope.”

You turned back to Bernice whose mouth was wide open in shock, grabbed your lunch bag and proceeded to walk to the elevator to head back to your floor.

You heard Sam and Steve arguing behind you but you didn’t care. You heard shuffling of feet as you waited for the elevator, but that was Bernice who was out of breath apparently by the time she reached you. She started to ask about Steve to you but you raised your hand to her to silence her.

No sooner than when you were back at your desk did the text messages start rolling in from Steve. Or should you say Captain Steve Rogers?

Steve: Doll, please? Can we talk?

5 minutes later

Steve: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was. I wanted to do it in person.

30 minutes later

Steve: I’m calling you.

Sure enough your phone rang and you immediately sent it to voicemail.

In all honesty you didn’t really know why you were mad. You felt more embarrassed than anything else. Embarrassed that you were kind of in a way ambushed. You didn’t like that Sam Wilson and your co-worker slash friend Bernice were there. You didn’t like how the whole interaction caught you off guard. You would have liked to have known that Steve was Steve Rogers before you met him.

 Hours later you were at home with a glass of wine. Yes, it was Tuesday, but the wine was needed.

Your phone chimed with another message from Steve. You ignored it for a minute or two, but then found yourself opening the message.

Steve: Hi Doll. I think it’s time that we met.

You rolled your eyes and then typed out a response.

Y/N: Funny

Steve: I’m serious Y/N. I want to meet the woman who messaged me about diarrhea and captivated my heart.

You smiled and shook your head. It was a great reply, you had to give him that.

Y/N: I’m mad at you.

Steve: I know and I’m sorry for that.

You decided to give in. You really cared about Steve and wanted nothing more than to see him in person before you accidently met him this afternoon. This was just another part of Steve you would have to get to know.

Y/N: When and where?

 It was Thursday night and you and Steve had been radio silent since Tuesday. You told him you wanted the space before the two of you met and he said he understood.

You stood in a coffee shop two blocks from the Tower. Since it was after six, the shop was only half filled with patrons, but you didn’t see Steve anywhere. Deciding to order yourself a drink while you waited, hot chocolate since you rarely drank caffeine at night. You found a small table in the back, figuring he’d like the privacy a little better.

You were early and you knew it, but you couldn’t help but check your phone every couple of minutes. What if he got called away on a mission? You hoped he would text you before leaving. Those worries were useless as Steve Rogers stood in front of you, two drinks in his hand. He was dressed in jeans, a navy t-shirt and a blue ballcap on his head. God he’s handsome.

“I bought you a drink, but I see you already have one. It’s hot chocolate because I know you don’t drink coffee at night.”

You smiled at him and nodded. He set both drinks on the table and stuck out his hand. You stood up and walked closer to him.

“Hi. I’m Steve.”

You put your hand in his.

“Hi. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He held on to your hand, not releasing it after the initial shake. You smiled again and he licked at his bottom lip. His thumb started to caress your hand which instantly made your stomach flutter. Steve tugged you closer and pulled you into a hug. Your head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. You felt his breath on your neck and you smiled again.

“Yeah. It’s really great to finally meet you Doll.”

Chloe rips the phone away from her ear and lets out a hushed curse when she realizes she hadn’t called Sabrina. She called Marinette Dupain-Cheng, phone number still saved in her contacts because of the French assignment they were paired for last week.

She hears Marinette yawning over the phone, and suddenly waves of sick humiliation are shocking Chloe out of her previous meltdown, making her throat close up and her tears run dry. The worst part is that neither of them are hanging up and the severity of everything that had just come pouring out of Chloe’s mouth is just hanging between them, heavy, shameful, and inescapable.

Chloe’s phone shakes in her hands and she doesn’t know how to work back from this. Because the parts of herself that she compartmentalizes and reserves for school don’t include weakness, don’t include nightmares, don’t include pleading for someone to listen. She’s put far too much effort towards keeping all of that exclusive only to freely hand it over to someone who’d sooner rather give her a hands on lesson in karma than bear the burden of understanding.

“Forget I ever called you!” she shouts into the phone, the crack in her voice taking away from its bite. “Forget I said anything! This never happened, and we’re both hanging up. Got it?”

She waits for an affirmative so that she can hang up, hold herself in the dark, and hope she can stop her thoughts long enough to get even a couple of hours before school in the morning. But she hears Marinette shifting and the sound of a lamp being clicked on.

“Wait wait, hold on, don’t hang up,” Marinette rushes out, her voice sounding alert and urgent. “Chloe, I don’t. I mean I dunno what’s going on really but I’ll….I’ll listen ‘til you can fall back asleep. And I guess.” She pauses to stop a yawn. “I guess I could talk to you, if you need it. I can tell you some stories or something.”

Chloe notices how smooth and calming Marinette’s voice is when she’s tired, and it’s exactly what she needs this late at night when her brain still replaying bits of her nightmare and making her want to curl up into a ball again. But Marinette sounds almost too sympathetic, and it’s odd to be at the receiving end of such treatment. It’s a pull that she’s not sure she wants to indulge in. “I-I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t mind, I promise,” Marinette told her. “It’s okay, you know. To call me.”

It’s tempting to just say no and hang up — this is Marinette, after all, and the one thing that Chloe knows about her relationship with Marinette is that they only barely tolerate each other on their best days. But Chloe doesn’t think she can fall asleep when she’s this riled up, and more than anything, she doesn’t want to be left alone in her huge bedroom with nothing to keep her company other than the sound of her own breathing. She’s reluctant to speak the words, but she clutches the phone tightly in her hands, and nods to herself to work up the courage.

“Okay.” 

Chloe tells her about empty classrooms, white voids of endless space, and long lines of familiar faces — some smiling, some stoic, most sad, angry, and disappointed. She says that when they speak, no sound comes out, and when she runs to touch them, they move further and further away until they’re specks in a distance she can’t reach. When she calls for help, her throat strains and becomes sore, but even her voice is rendered silent and no help comes. So she sinks to the floor, hopeless, lost, and confused, somehow feeling more isolated than she’s felt in her life, and also no different than she feels everyday.

When she finishes, she’s crying and breathing much too quickly again. So Marinette tells her to breathe in through her nose for a count of five, breathe out through her mouth for a count of three, and starts telling her stories so that Chloe can focus on something simple.

Marinette tells her about the time she stuffed a stray puppy into her jacket when she was six and kept it in her room for two weeks before she was caught. She tells her about the six tiered cake she made her parents for their anniversary last year. She describes all of the designs she wants to finish sewing before the year is done. She even admits to the time she almost burned down the kitchen in the bakery trying to bake a baguette for the first time without supervision.

“I shoved the paddleboard in the oven to take the bread out and it comes out charred and on fire,” Marinette laughs. “So I start screaming and dump it into the sink so I can douse it with water, except the smoke alarms start going off and my parents catch me standing on the counters, waving a wet towel in front of the detector to try and clear the smoke away. Then they just stare at me for a long while before they burst into laughter right there in the middle of the kitchen.”

Chloe chuckles tiredly, and Marinette feels a small swell of pride for being able to make her laugh. “You must’ve looked like an idiot.”

Marinette grins. “I’m sure I looked like a crazy person when they found me. I was probably covered in flour, yeast, and burnt pieces of bread.”

By the time Marinette tells her about the half hour fire safety lecture that her father made her sit through after the baguette debacle, she hears Chloe’s breathing finally even out into gentle snores. She lays the phone on the pillow by her ear, and for a moment it feels like Chloe is right next to her, calmly sleeping. Marinette isn’t used to a Chloe so subdued and quiet, and she finds the sounds of Chloe’s gentle breathing incredibly relaxing.

Her exhaustion catches up to her quicker than she realizes, and Marinette closing her eyes for just a few seconds turns into her falling asleep as well.

Chloe’s alarm goes off at seven in the morning, she realizes that she’s successfully slept through the rest of the night without any troubles.

Her phone is still laying on her mattress next to her head, and she notices she’s still in a call with Marinette.

Chloe picks up the phone and can just barely hear her breathing on the other end. She wonders if she’s going to be able to get to class on time today.

She smiles, whispers a “thanks” into the receiver, and hangs up.

The energy between them is considerably subdued in class the next morning, and everyone notices.

Marinette bumps foreheads with Chloe as they try to enter the classroom at the same time, and everyone inside noticeably tenses up in preparation for the impending explosion. But Marinette merely bows her head and gestures for Chloe to go first. Chloe nods, holds her bag close to her side, and heads straight for her seat. There are no biting comments made for the entire morning — not even when Chloe comes up with a poor excuse for her missing homework, not even when Marinette’s foot hooks into the strap of her bag and leaves her half-stumbling down the stairs.

They sit next to each other during visual arts, and normally they can’t last through the period without causing at least one fight. It’s when they go through the period without even staring at each other that Alya notices something wrong.

“Did the two of you sign onto some silent pact that I don’t know about?” she asks Marinette in their next class. “Seriously, you two are normally at each other’s throat right now.”

Marinette shrugs and starts copying the day’s assignment from the board. “Just a little tired. Not in the mood.”

“That’s it?” Alya asks incredulously. “You’re a little tired…”

“Mmhm,” Marinette replies absently, and Alya knows that a satisfying answer isn’t within her reach.

Marinette darts her eyes across the aisle to see Chloe shrugging off Sabrina’s questions and Sabrina patiently nodding and settling back into her seat. Chloe looks up at Marinette’s desk and their eyes meet briefly before they both bunch up their shoulders and force their gazes away. What happened last night wasn’t trivial, and its power and importance are bleeding into their normal interactions, leaving them without the vocabulary to put a name to what this new energy is. They sprinted over a line that they silently agreed during their rivalry to never cross, and now that they’re sitting on the other side of it, Marinette finds herself feeling confused and thoughtful — perhaps even longing for something that might take a bit of courage to ask for.

When the lunch pause arrives, Chloe grabs Marinette’s wrist and pulls her aside into an empty hallway, eyeing both directions to make sure that no one has followed them, that no one can hear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her gaze resolutely focused on the ground by her feet. “What happened last night was a mistake and it won’t happen again. I won’t call you again.”

Marinette isn’t meant to respond, because Chloe doesn’t give her room to give one. Instead, Chloe looks up to search for any sign of protest in Marinette’s eyes, finds none, and turns to leave without waiting for any sort of answer.

She can tell that Chloe’s forced a wall between them that didn’t need to be erected, and Marinette wastes no time breaking it back down, Chloe’s ulterior motives be damned.

“I didn’t mind!” she calls down the hall, and this has Chloe pausing and looking at her over her shoulder.

“I didn’t mind,” Marinette repeats. “I meant what I said, you know. You can call me anytime.”

Chloe frowns at her — as if her kindness is a foreign taste on her tongue that she’s still deciding if she wants to swallow or spit out. Perhaps she’s decided to accept it, or perhaps a fight isn’t something she can pull out of her belt today, because she simply nods, continues on her way, and leaves Marinette standing in the hallway alone.

It isn’t until a few more nights pass that Chloe calls Marinette again.

She’s hiding under her comforter, hugging a pillow to her chest, and cursing loudly when Sabrina doesn’t pick up the phone. Chloe wants to be able to swallow her pride and not seek out any further help, but she knows that she’ll be too scared to go to sleep without someone to talk her down, so she ignores the shame creeping into her chest and dials Marinette.

She answers on the third ring. “What’s wrong?”

Chloe laughs breathlessly — both out of relief and out of a lack of knowing where to start. “Everything….I don’t know. I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Mmhm” Chloe hums, feeling her tears hit the fabric of her nightgown.

“It’s okay,” Marinette soothes. “You can tell me about it.”

The impulse inside of her telling her to not share anything personal with someone like Marinette is much easier to ignore tonight, and she only hesitates for a few seconds before she’s telling her about her nightmare.

She was four years old again, sitting in the vestibule of their hotel suite with her birthday dress pooled around her. Her mother was standing by the door with her back to Chloe, holding two suitcases in either hand. Chloe kept asking her to come back and open her presents with her, but her mother didn’t answer. Instead she kept her back turned and her grip tight on the handles of her bags. Chloe crawled over and yanked on her mother’s long, scarlet coat, begging her to turn around and say something to her, to at least say goodbye. But her mother simply pried her little hands off of her coat and left without saying a word. Time passes differently in dreams, but it felt as if Chloe had been banging on that door and screaming after her mother for hours, terrified that she’d finally been left alone, and that no one cared to come back and find her.

It takes Marinette almost a whole minute to respond after Chloe finishes. “What happened to your mother?”

“She and my father got divorced when I was really young,” Chloe mumbles. “They fought a lot, that’s all I remember. She moved out on my fourth birthday, and gave custody to my father.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t hear from her, really, and my father never told me why she didn’t want to stay with me. She just….left.” Chloe laughs mirthlessly and scrubs a hand down her face. “I mean, that’s so fucked, right? What mother just willingly leaves her kid and doesn’t tell them why?”

Chloe leaves the question hanging, but the insecure, lonely, and confused parts of herself — tinier and younger than all the rest — already fill in the answers without her prompting. There must have been something wrong with her, something that her mother could detect even when she was too small to notice it, and it must have been enough to make her mother not want to put in the effort. It’s the same something that makes it hard to make friends at school, that made Adrien drift away from her in favor of other people, that makes the thought of losing what little she has absolutely terrifying. So terrifying that it wakes her up at night, makes her want to retch into her sink, and makes her feel so cripplingly lonely that even comfort from someone she can’t stand is better than trying to trudge through it alone.

Maybe she’s just tired and disoriented, but it’s hard to find motive for that hatred and dislike when Marinette’s voice is smooth, sweet, and easy to match her breaths to. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep?”

Chloe needs Sabrina on nights like this because she needs to know that, even in the dead of night with no one else around, someone wants to put time into her. It’s a high standard to hold anyone to. Being there for someone so fiercely is close to impossible, and Chloe loves Sabrina for being willing to try, even though she’d never say it aloud.

It’s because of a stupid accident, but suddenly Marinette’s tapped in to help lift the burden. She’ll want the reasons later, but for now it’s a delightful relief to know that Marinette is here, Marinette is staying, and Marinette isn’t going to leave.

“Yes please.”

Marinette suspects that Chloe’s mother was a rubber stopper keeping in years worth of pent up insecurities. The moment she came up, everything else came spilling out.

These aren’t like the polished, rehearsed stories Chloe tells in between classes where she is staying in beachside resorts in Sicily, going on shopping trips along the Champs-Élysées, dining with celebrities that come to meet her father. Here on the phone, Chloe is tripping over details she can’t quite remember, stuttering through memories she’s reluctant to reveal, and desperately waiting for Marinette’s hums to let her know that she’s still listening and that’s it’s still alright to continue. They sound like stories that have never seen the light, and Marinette wonders just how long Chloe’s been holding onto them.

“She sent me a porcelain doll with blonde hair for Christmas when I was five,” Chloe rambles. “A silver jewelry box when I was six. A velvet New Years’ dress when I was seven. And a gift card when I was eight. After that, she’d just keep sending cards of money until I was eleven….and then she didn’t send anything at all. It was the same week my father was away for his campaign. So my butler sat with me on Christmas Eve, and we ate alone. He cut me just one slice on my favorite cake, and I went to bed early. And I never opened my presents the next morning.”

Marinette hears the tremble in her voice. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes. “That must’ve been awful.”

“You ever see someone hit their child?” Chloe asks. “And you sort of feel your stomach turn? You feel gross and sick and you know that what you’re looking at is just wrong? That happens when I see a mom hugging their kid. Adrien understood. We used to call each other when we were younger when we had nightmares about our parents. But Adrien stopped having them a while ago, and I….I guess I felt bad for calling him.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Marinette says. “Adrien loves you.”

“I don’t want to bring up awful memories for him,” Chloe explains. “That’s why I call Sabrina. She doesn’t ask questions much. She just listens.”

“And me?”

Chloe stays silent and Marinette can hear her shifting around in her bed. “You offered to let me call.”

Chloe’s stories are so horribly sad — full of loneliness, longing, and bitterness — and she wonders if it matters more to her that people offer to do things for her as opposed to simply doing what she says she needs.

Marinette smiles softly. “I did.”

Eventually, they talk themselves out and the two of them lay in silence without bothering to end the call.

Chloe can hear Marinette’s breaths getting longer and deeper and knows she’s about to fall asleep. It’s horribly late, and Chloe’s own exhaustion is starting to pull her under as well, but there’s a question mulling around in her head that she knows she’ll hate herself later for not asking. “Marinette?”

Marinette suddenly breathes in sharply, as if she were pulled out of the doze she was falling into. “Hmm?”

She thinks she has the question ready on the tip of her tongue, but she pulls it back and reworks it at the last minute, afraid of the answer she’ll receive. Nights like this feel surreal and separated from the reality that Marinette and she build up during school where everyone is privy to their interactions. It almost feels wrong to try and attach rationality to it, but Chloe needs to feel like this isn’t some cruel joke or elaborate fluke that’s going to fall out from underneath her when it’s finished playing out. It feels strange that Chloe would actually be worried about Marinette hurting her for once, but she realizes how much she’s given Marinette in just two evenings, and it’s important that she knows what all this baggage is being shouldered for.

She swallows. “Why are you doing this for me?”

But her answer doesn’t come. Marinette stays silent, and after a few minutes pass, Chloe realizes that she must have already passed out on the other end. “Guess I should’ve asked before you were falling asleep,” she jokes to no one.

Chloe cards her fingers through her hair, the anticipation built up in her loosening and releasing into a mix of relief and disappointment. “Whatever,” she sighs. “I guess it doesn’t really matter now.”

She checks the clock and calculates that she’ll get in about three good hours of sleep before school in the morning, and immediately dreads the news. She knows Marinette can’t hear her, but she whispers to her over the phone anyway. “Thanks, though. Night.”

She drops the phone on the pillow next to her and stares at the molding on her ceiling. Her body is already begging for rest, and it doesn’t take long before she’s falling into a dreamless sleep.

Marinette waits for the line to disconnect before she locks her phone and places it on the night table behind her. She flips onto her back and stares at the few stars she can see through her skylight, knowing that being able to stay awake in class tomorrow morning was going to be close to impossible.

She chews on her bottom lip — Chloe’s question still echoing in her head — and wonders herself what the answer to it could possibly be.

They’re both still silent the next day at school, but when their eyes catch in the middle of class, they don’t rip their stares away.

It’s as if Chloe’s trying to attach the voice to the face — to convince herself that the same Marinette who sits in that seat in class everyday is the same Marinette who is patient in the late hours of the evening and is willing to lull Chloe with silly tales and comforting words that she’s not obligated to give. It’s a looming enigma that she craves a resolution for, and she knows without having to see it for herself that her eyes are imploring, almost as if she’s silently asking the question again and begging for a response.

But Marinette gives none, and instead stares back at her looking unabashedly apologetic. Despite her lack of answers, Marinette doesn’t attempt to shy away from Chloe’s prodding. Chloe hopes that it’s a sign she’s just as confused as Chloe is — perhaps wishing she had something to give but is reluctantly coming up short — but she realizes that the one shortcoming in all this is that, despite two nights of talking, they don’t really know each other very well. So all Chloe can do is hope she’s reading Marinette correctly and isn’t setting herself up to be disappointed, or worse, humiliated.

They’re eyeing each other long enough for Sabrina, Alya, and even Adrien to notice. It isn’t until their teacher snaps at both of them to keep their eyes up front at the demonstration that they both square their shoulders and leave the uncertainty dangling.

Chloe doesn’t have a nightmare that night. Instead, she finds herself unable to fall asleep, and she just needs noise to fill up the room. She calls Marinette and puts her on speaker phone.

She doesn’t have the time to open up with a lame excuse for her call when Marinette interrupts her and says, “I do it because I want to do it.”

It sounds rushed and breathless, like Marinette had to force all the words out for fear of bottling them up again. Chloe sits up and puts the phone closer to her lips. “...what?”

“Me, talking to you?” Marinette explains. “I do it because I want to. I mean. Does there have to be some other, more complex reason for that? I want to help you if you’re feeling so bad. I want to be there if you need someone to talk to. So as long as you keep calling, I’ll….I’ll keep answering.”

Chloe clutches the fabric of her pants. “You care that I’m feeling bad and that I need someone to talk to?”

Marinette makes a shocked noise. “Of course I do. Why would you think I’d never care about your pain?”

“Because we don’t care for each other in general,” Chloe replies. “I just assumed it all carried over.”

“This has nothing to do with school. It has everything to do with making sure that you have someone to support you when you need it. Everyone deserves that. You deserve that.”

In the past, Chloe has always resented that do-gooder, selfless, and morally upstanding personality that Marinette touted about so often. It’s always felt like a demand for attention, and Chloe resents anyone who would try to make her feel invisible and ignored. It’s never appeared like a sacrifice until now, never appeared like a sincere and effortful desire to want to make a difference that has nothing to do with herself. That’s the sort of thing Chloe admires Ladybug for — for helping people because it’s what should be done and not for any other reason.

But Ladybug is a superhero. Marinette isn’t. Somehow, that makes the admission feel much heavier.

“Oh….” she mumbles. “Um. Thanks.”

Marinette chuckles. “No problem.” She clears her throat. “Ah, I’m sorry, I cut you off. Did you have another dream?”

“No,” Chloe says. “I just….felt like calling.”

“Do you still want to talk?”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Marinette rolls onto her stomach and covers her mouth to smother her laughter. “Wait, how long were you wearing that around the house?”

“At least until I was ten,” Chloe admits with a chuckle. “I really liked bees. They were selling these stupid bee antennae headbands in front of a craft store and I thought it was the coolest thing on the planet. I slept in them.”

Marinette wishes she had pictures to show, because the imagery alone is enough to shave off most of the threatening and cruel front that Chloe loves to put up in front of her. “And your father let you do that?”

“He didn’t want to see me cry,” Chloe shrugs. “I sort of think he was out of his element raising me so he just gave me anything I asked for because he didn’t know how to shop for me. One time I asked him for this really specific makeup kit for my birthday, and he just bought all fifteen of them because he didn’t know which one I’d like better.”

“Well, he’s….trying.”

“I mean, I can’t even complain. Talk about having perks.”

“Yeah, I imagine being filthy rich helps.”

“Oh come on, your parents never spoiled you on holidays?”

“Not until recently, actually,” Marinette thinks back. “And by recently, I mean we’ve only really splurged the last three Christmases or so. My parents started the bakery up when I was around two I think? So money was tight until we were in the black, and we kinda just kept up the whole frugality thing for a while. One Christmas present, one birthday present, no extraneous expenses, shopping off season, things like that.”

Chloe pauses. “Oh….um….I didn’t — ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marinette assures. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. That’s why I started babysitting. Gave me a ton of extra spending money.”

“How’d your parents start the bakery?”

“They pooled together all their savings for a lease and one oven. After that it was just a matter of getting in customers to make up the difference. My father was always sure it was going to work out, but my mother was a lot more intense about it if that makes sense.”

“Like she took it more seriously?”

Marinette hums. “Not more seriously, per se. My father was plenty serious, he was just more easy going and optimistic about it. My mom’s like me — she’s a major perfectionist. She was spending nights staying up late getting recipes just right so that people would buy our stuff. She didn’t want to make a mistake, and she wanted everything to be just right so that we wouldn’t lose any money. She was a lot more paranoid about losing what they had.”

Chloe snorts. “And that’s like you? You don’t strike me as the paranoid type.”

“I try to keep my cool about it, but no, I freak out about everything,” Marinette sighs. “I have to keep a color coded calendar to make sure I’m on top of Class Rep stuff, I start designs over if one stitch is crooked, I study until I fully understand everything and get all the practice problems right, and….I dunno, I get really annoyed with low grades. Makes me feel like I didn’t try hard enough.”

“Jesus….” Chloe comments. “You do fine in school though.”

“I do fine because I study my ass off. And I’m not really a natural at designing. I’m good at it because I worked hard at it.”

“See, I’m not like that.”

Marinette frowns. “Yeah, Sabrina does all your homework.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get it, I can’t force myself to do stuff like projects and homework and studying. It’s just so pointless, you know? Like I don’t get wasting my time doing homework assignments and projects if I understand everything already. Sabrina offers to do it, and I don’t say no because she likes it. But I could be doing something that doesn’t make me want to shoot my brains out. Plus I do fine on tests anyway, so I don’t know why teachers complain about me so much.”

“I always thought you get high scores because you cheated off Sabrina.”

Chloe scoffs. “Give me some credit. I’ve only ever done that twice, and it was because I forgot to study or studied the wrong thing or something. I do fine on tests.”

“So you getting like the top three scores in the class is just you being a secret prodigy?” Marinette smirks.

“What do you mean secret? I’m freakin’ brilliant, that’s not a secret.”

Marinette laughs again and smiles brightly when Chloe joins her over the phone. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard Chloe laugh in a way that wasn’t derisive or mocking. It’s a nice, relaxed sound and Marinette finds herself wishing she could hear it more often. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“I dunno,” Marinette mumbles. “I feel like I had you pegged all wrong this whole time. Like with school. I sorta just thought you were being lazy and conceited. Didn’t think you studied to be honest.”

“My father would kill me if I flunked out of school, Marinette,” Chloe says. “But….I guess I can say the same for you. I just thought you were a natural at everything and loved to show off about it. Didn’t think you were the type of person to kill yourself to get everything done.”

“Well, that’s what happens when two people don’t talk to each other, I guess.”

“Yeah….”

Marinette remembers Nino telling her that he and Chloe were in école together, and she was pretty normal. It wasn’t until they all started coll ège — right around the time Chloe’s mother stopped sending cards, Marinette realizes — that she started being so nasty to everyone, especially Marinette. Although, considering Chloe’s admission just now, Marinette thinks that suddenly makes a whole lot of sense. It’s not enough for her to excuse all the horrible behavior, but being able to just talk to each other like this and learn more about the other makes their rivalry, which had before been so positively perplexing, deceptively simple to comprehend.

Along the same vein, Chloe wasn’t as simple a person as Marinette thought.

It’s hard to force someone like her into a box when Marinette takes the time to realize that Sabrina is her only real friend and she frequently has nightmares about being alone and abandoned. It’s impossible to scrounge up the energy to continue such a ridiculous rivalry when Marinette now has all these pieces of Chloe to carry with her.

At that moment — exactly two weeks after their first call — Marinette feels something shift between them.

“Marinette?”

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “Spaced out for a second.”

“Are you falling asleep? I can hang up.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Marinette assures. “I don’t want to stop talking yet. Unless you do.”

“No,” Chloe grins. “I’m good.”

It feels so silly to ignore Marinette in school now.

Chloe knows and understands too much about her for there to be any heart behind the antagonizing act that used to be so much fun to keep up. Plus, if she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t want to keep it up anymore. It’s on par with publicly embarrassing Sabrina and putting her down for everyone to witness. Despite what others in class may think about her, Chloe is loyal, and she does her best to keep those who matter in a higher regard than everyone else. Marinette has slowly and carefully slotted herself into a category with two other people who matter to her greatly.

“Can I run something by you?” Chloe mutters to Marinette as they sit next to each other in visual arts.

“No, I’m not changing my mind, Erin didn’t deserve to win Project Runway.”

“We are not talking about that again. Plus, her line was amazing and you’re really just being immature right now.”

Marinette lifts her head from her work to smirk at her. “What is it?”

Chloe stares down at her sketch and shrugs her shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird we don’t really talk to each other in school?”

“We’re talking to each other now.”

“Yeah, because we’re doing a project and we have to. That’s not what I meant.”

“Wait….you mean like….like just in general?”

Chloe can feel her face getting warm and she shifts her hair over one shoulder so that Marinette can’t see her ears getting red. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

“No, I wanna hear,” Marinette asks, moving her chair a few centimeters closer. “You want us to talk more?”

“Yes and no,” Chloe sighs. “I just….I dunno, I’ve been thinking and it’s kind of obvious that our whole ‘make each other’s lives miserable’ shtick got old already.”

Marinette sucks on her bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

“So,” Chloe continues, “I just figured that we might as well make it an official truce.”

Chloe isn’t sure what she was expecting as an answer, but it certainly wasn’t Marinette beaming at her with all of her teeth showing and bouncing excitedly in her seat. “Oh my gosh,” she whispers, “you wanna be friends!”

“Shut up!” Chloe snaps. “Stop making it sound so sentimental.”

“But that’s what it is, right? You wanna be friends! Like say hi to each other in the mornings, make small talk in between classes, study during library blocks, and cute stuff like that.”

“Oh my God , forget I asked.”

“No, no, no!” Marinette laughs, placing a quick hand on Chloe’s arm that feels very foreign but not at all unpleasant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease too hard. But I’d like that!”

Chloe nervously twirls her pen in her hands. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Marinette agrees. “I feel like it makes sense at this point. We already talk so much over the phone, it wouldn’t feel weird or sudden at all. Besides, I like talking to you if that wasn’t already obvious.”

It’s strange being at the receiving end of Marinette’s kindness when it’s in the form of touches and smiles. It’s much different than her words said over a phone when Chloe can’t see or be near her, and it feels intimate in a way she hadn’t expected it to feel. She hadn’t bothered to notice before but Marinette with a smile on her face — apples of her cheeks high and blushing — is simply pretty, and it warms Chloe’s entire chest to know that Marinette is reserving such a pretty smile for her because she actually enjoys talking to her. Chloe has always envisioned the two of them hating each other for eternity, and all of this pleasantness is a development she never would’ve expected and certainly doesn’t know how to handle yet.

All she knows is that she wants to keep Marinette smiling at her like this. She doesn’t want to lose something that feels this nice.

“Perfect,” Chloe grins back. She holds out her hand. “So truce?”

Marinette smirks and shakes it in agreement. “Truce. Although I hope this doesn’t mean we have to stop bickering. Bickering with you is quite fun.”

“Oh please,” Chloe chuckles, leaning in closer to whisper conspiratorially so that no one else can hear. “Don’t think this means I’m just gonna hand you my good graces on a silver platter. I will still work to kick your ass and everybody else’s asses when I have to.”

Marinette cups her chin in her hand, looking positively smug. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a person as competitive as you.”

Chloe sticks her tongue out. “Winky face emoji.”

Marinette suddenly looks taken aback and stares back in amusement. “What?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Are you being cheeky with me?” Marinette gasps in delight.

“Shut up .”

Marinette pouts and hangs her head to the side like a kicked puppy. “Frowny face emoji.”

“See, now you’re just being childish.”

Marinette winks. “You get a kick out of it, admit it.”

“I can already feel it. You’re just going to start being a completely different brand of annoying, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I never said you were getting any silver platters from me, either.”

Marinette ignores the incredulous stares from her classmates as she walks towards Chloe’s desk the next morning and gently squeezes her arm. “Hey, Chloe.”

“Morning, Marinette,” Chloe smirks. She turns in her seat and catches Marinette’s hand. “Oh! Before I forget. I found that old maths study sheet my tutor gave me a couple of weeks ago for the next unit. I have it photocopied if you want it.”

“Oh seriously? That’d be amazing thank you. I’ll have your croissant payment tomorrow in exchange, I promise.”

Chloe pouts. “Ooh, put a chocolate one in there for me?”

Marinette rolls her eyes affectionately. “I’ll remember.”

“Thank you!” Chloe grins and lets Marinette go so that she can sit in her own seat.

There’s a hilariously long silence that permeates through the classroom while the two of them start to get their books out for the next lesson. It lasts about twenty seconds before Alya cracks and breaks the silence.

“What in the holy fucking hell was that!?”

About a month later, Chloe notices that she can’t remember the last time she’s had a nightmare. But calling Marinette every few nights to talk themselves to sleep has become a habit that Chloe still hasn’t broken.

It never occurs to Marinette that Chloe’s cease fire would ever extend to the rest of their classmates until Chloe is leaning across their study table, tapping Rose on the arm, and complimenting her new haircut.

Rose reaches behind her to rub at the back of her head. “Really? Oh, I’m so glad to hear, I’m still getting used to it.”

“It’s nice,” Chloe shrugs, as if she doesn’t realize the weight of what she’s done. “Looks better when you keep it short in the back.”

Rose giggles and thanks Chloe before smiling down at her assignment and humming to herself while she works. Marinette shoves her elbow into Chloe’s side and raises an amused brow at her, but Chloe merely sticks out her tongue, rolls her eyes, and turns back to the geography assignment that Marinette spent close to an hour over the phone last night convincing Chloe to attempt.

Sabrina, on the other hand, leans over from the other side of Chloe and mouths a surreptitious “oh my God” before darting her eyes towards Chloe and covering her mouth in shock. Marinette’s shoulders shake as she laughs silently in return, trying to not make a bigger deal out of it so as to avoid Chloe’s annoyance.

She plays a small game with herself where she tries to count the amount of times Chloe picks a fight, throws an insult, or mocks someone in their class over the course of the day. With the exception of a brief tantrum over their upcoming maths test and a snappy insult aimed at Alix when she told Chloe that her makeup was clashing with her clothes, Chloe is on her best behavior. Marinette can’t even attribute it to a lack of opportunities. Nathanael clipped shoulders with her in the hallway that morning, but she merely rolled her eyes and said nothing. When Nino gently teases her for the late slip she gets after coming back from their lunch pause too late, she merely gives him a quick bras d’honneur without the teacher seeing and hurries to her seat without any words spoken.

It certainly isn’t perfect, but Marinette knows Chloe enough to discern containment and control when she sees it, especially coming from someone who usually bursts from the seams with contempt and desperately begs to be seen. The timing of all this is not lost on her either.

She thinks that it shouldn’t be easy for Chloe and Marinette to be huddling together in the hallway, shoulders pressed together, gushing over the Fall makeup line that Chloe had been praising last night on the phone. But the gigantic rift that’s separated them for years has suddenly been filled in one fell swoop, and Marinette is still sitting in awe at how something so incredible could have happened. It feels like a slate that was never meant to be filled in the first place has finally been cleared and everything is as it should be.

It sounds narcissistic, but Marinette can’t help but wonder if their new friendship is pivotal in some way — central in a way that Chloe’s friendships with Adrien and Sabrina haven’t been. All of that hatred that Chloe had thrown her way for so long suddenly feels like a veneer covering something deeper that she never planned for Marinette to see.

A veneer for dreams, fears and thoughts — maybe even something far more precious that Marinette hasn’t even gotten the chance to see yet.

Things start to shift when Marinette drapes her arm over Chloe’s shoulder for the first time.

They’re sitting on the steps in the courtyard crouched over Chloe’s phone while she scrolls through all of the new Ladyblog footage posted last night. She’s tapping her screen in frustration, trying to get the next video to load, when Marinette slides her arm around Chloe’s shoulders, leans in close, and swipes her fingers across Chloe’s screen to try and get the video to buffer more quickly.

It makes Chloe raise a brow, but she doesn’t bother to say anything about it. She sees how clingy and affectionate Marinette and Alya can be, and it’s easy to chalk it up as lingering muscle memory bleeding into her interactions with Chloe. Besides, it’s not a bad thing and something as innocuous as an arm over her shoulder doesn’t seem like something worth getting worked up over.

But when they’re staying after school to study off the detentions they both got for that day, Marinette dozes off in the middle of her French reading and drops her head on Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe’s suddenly aware of their thighs pressing together under the table, of her hand just barely brushing against Marinette’s, and of the feel of Marinette’s warm cheek against her bare shoulder. She doesn’t know why a head on the shoulder feels more intimate than an arm around the shoulder, but it simply does. It makes her smile, brush Marinette’s hair out of her eyes, and lean her head against hers as she keeps reading and annotating her book. It’s so different from a friendship that exists in words and thoughts — this feels unmistakable, something that no one looking from the outside in can possibly deny.

Sitting like this feels so clean and simple. There is nothing to decode and no ulterior motives to sift through because somewhere along the way Marinette has started to look at her with pure, honest sincerity. Marinette’s already told her that she does things because she wants to, and not because she’s trying to achieve an end or intrude where she isn’t welcome. Their friendship isn’t heavy with uncertainties — it simply is, just like Marinette snoring on her shoulder simply is.

Their fighting was always something Chloe wanted the whole class to witness, so that no one could possibly misunderstand where they stood. She wants to do the same thing again.

So when she sees Marinette in the morning, talking to Alya near the entrance to their classroom, it’s so easy and so lovely to just wrap her arms around her waist, rest a chin on her shoulder, and compliment her on the fishtail braids she’s decided to wear to class. The best part is that Marinette doesn’t even bat a lash despite the incredulous and amused look that Alya gives them. “You told me I’d look good in them,” Marinette says as she gently knocks her head against Chloe’s. “I thought I’d try them out for a couple of days.”

Chloe hasn’t gotten the chance to experience something this fresh in a long time. She loves being able to give her a peck on the cheek as they say goodbye for the day and know that Marinette is only going to smile back. She loves seeing Marinette come towards her and warm in anticipation for the feeling of their arms linking as they walk to class. It’s still such a beautiful thrill to be able to just touch her and know that it isn’t strange or wrong.

It’s such a sweet relief to know that Marinette is always there.

“Okay, if I outlined Chapter 10, Sabrina outlined Chapter 11, and Marinette photocopied all of the practice problems from the past month, what the hell are you contributing?”

Chloe looks up from filing her nails. “I’m your calculator, sweetheart.”

“I know this is a bit of a learning curve for you,” Marinette explains, “but Chloe’s actually really good at maths. Like. Really good.”

Alya shakes her head. “No, I call bullshit. Because you don’t do a scrap of homework. And you’re always getting marked down for not submitting corrections.”

Sabrina starts shuffling through all of their notes and pulls out a worksheet covered in eraser marks and cross outs. “This was the homework problem you were having trouble with, right Alya?”

“Yeah….”

Sabrina slides the sheet over to Chloe and pulls out a timer on her phone. “Ready, Chlo?”

“Yup, I’ll tell you when.”

“Alright. Start!”

Chloe immediately picks up a pencil and starts writing out equations in the margins of the sheet while Sabrina leans back in her seat and waits. “Her maths tutor used to reward her with shopping trips. Worked wonders.”

Alya turns to Marinette. “Are we serious right now?”

Marinette snorts. “I’m telling you, just wait for it.”

It only takes forty five seconds for Chloe to announce she’s finished and hand the completed solution back to Sabrina. Sabrina thumbs through her binder for the answer sheet and hands them both to Alya with a flourish.

Alya lines up both sheets, darts her eyes between both of them, rubs her eyes, and stares up at Chloe in horror. “How in the fresh hell did you do that?”

Chloe shrugs. “By doing it?”

“You two totally suck!” Alya exclaims, throwing a pencil at Marinette and glaring at Sabrina. “You’ve been sitting on a gold mine this entire time? All I had to do was be friends with Chloe for me to do well in maths?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Chloe says, holding up a hand. “Who said I was going to help you do well? I’m not that nice.”

Alya smirks. “Oh please, ever since you and Mari have been hanging out you’re like a broken in house cat. Only scratches when her tail is stepped on.”

“I resent that comparison.”

“ C ome on,” Marinette adds, poking Chloe in the cheek. “We all agreed to help each other study. You taught me this stuff last night. You can teach Alya.”

“Um, Sabrina pays me in homework and you pay me in coffee and baked goods,” Chloe explains. “I expect payment from Alya as well.”

Alya clicks her tongue against her teeth and nods. “Alright, I’m game. You teach me all this crap….and I will let you interview Ladybug this Saturday.”

Chloe’s eyes blow wide and she sits straight up in her seat. “Shut up! The one about the akuma at the Notre Dame last week?”

“That’s the one!”

“Oh my God, deal!!”

Marinette frowns. “You pay attention to the Ladyblog?”

Chloe turns to Marinette and stares at her flatly. “Honey….don’t insult me.”

“I’ll text you details but remember you will be representing my brand and my livelihood,” Alya warns. “And you have to attend a mandatory interview question screening and pass before you get to sit in front of her.”

“Holy shit, fine,” Chloe groans.

Sabrina gets up from her seat and stares at the clock near the entrance of the library. “Alright, I’m losing steam. Someone wanna help me sneak coffee inside?”

“I’ll go,” Marinette offers. “I have to stretch my legs. Black for you Alya, right?”

“You got it, babe.”

Chloe reaches out for both of Marinette’s hands. “Wait, get me a large latte. But put two extra shots in it.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “You had two extra shots in the last one. I’ll put in one.”

Chloe whines, pulls Marinette towards her, and links their hands together. “Noooo, this’ll be the last cup I promise.”

“Actually promise?”

“I’ll….do my best.”

“Ugh, fine. Large latte, two extra shots.”

Chloe kisses the backs of Marinette’s hands. “Thank you!”

Marinette pinches Chloe’s cheek and laughs when she bats the hand away. “Yeah, yeah. See you guys in a bit.”

Chloe blows a kiss at the both of them and turns back to shaving off one of her hangnails until Alya slaps her on the arm and stares at her smugly. “What?” she asks.

“What do you mean what? ” Alya counters. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“The kissing and the hand holding and the hugging and the whole ‘ please get me a coffee’ thing.”

Chloe sniffs and raises a delicate brow. “If you’re trying to make fun of me, it’s not working.”

“No, no,” Alya laughs. “That’s not what I mean at all. I guess I’m just….still getting used to this. You guys got close awfully quick and Marinette’s been so tight lipped about it. Which is fine, but I didn’t expect for this to become so serious.”

“Serious?” Chloe questions. “Is a friendship serious to you?”

“Oh is that what you’re calling it?”

“Is there any other word for it?” Chloe turns to Alya and leans in closer to her so that they can’t be overheard in the library. “You’re getting at something. What is it?”

“Nothing!” Alya chuckles. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I’m just observing. You two are really close and I’m sort of in awe about it.”

“You and Marinette are just as close if not more so,” Chloe counters.

“Yeah, but Marinette and I are just friends.”

“So are we!”

“I’m not denying that,” Alya says, cupping her elbows. “But I’m a reporter, and I also have eyes. So I can tell when things are a little more than that.”

Chloe bites her lip and starts fumbling around with her nail file. “I don’t know about that…”

“Why not?”

Anticipating more than what they have — whatever form that may take — isn’t something Chloe is interested in. For once, she has no desire to be greedy and ask for more. Marinette isn’t easily replaced, and there is still the paranoid, terrified feeling in her chest that wonders if she’s still capable of scaring her off somehow. Marinette tells her often that her mother leaving and Adrien growing closer to Nino instead of her isn’t due to an inherent fault of hers, and Chloe does her best to try and make her body believe it. But the fear has been dwelling there for years, and it’s a hard one to shake, especially when Marinette’s companionship still seems like an almost godly stroke of luck that Chloe doesn’t want to lose.

“Don’t break what isn’t broken,” Chloe finally responds. “Especially when it’s one of a kind.”

“What makes you think you’re gonna break something?” Alya frowns. “Feelings like that aren’t destructive, they can’t break anything. Marinette would agree, I know it.”

“We haven’t been friends for that long and I don’t want to start putting pressure where it doesn’t have to be,” Chloe sighs. “Besides, we both hated each other for almost three years before this, it’s kind of hard to expect so much to change in that short a time.”

Alya tilts her head and stares at Chloe strangely. “Marinette never hated you.”

Chloe scoffs. “Are you senile? Of course she did. We both did. That was kind of our thing.”

“She may not have liked how rude and mean you were, and she may have thought you were stuck up and entitled,” Alya explains, “but she never hated you. If anything, she was always trying to figure you out.”

“Figure me out?”

“I’ll admit,” Alya begins, “Marinette is a huge reason why I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt right now. I admittedly never liked you much until recently, but I’m sure that feeling was mutual. But Marinette wasn’t like me. She always had these theories about why you did and said the things you did. I swear, after your worst fights, once she got all the angry tears out, she’d feel sorry for you. Because she always thought there had to be some horrible thing that explained why you treated her that way.”

Chloe lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding. “She….never told me that.”

“Eh, not surprised,” Alya laughs. “She’s notoriously horrible at articulating herself when it comes to how she feels. She shows it better than she tells it.”

“She wasn’t showing me that,” Chloe insists. “I swore she hated me.”

“That’s because you seemed to legitimately hate her back and I think that blinded you. And hey! I get it! Things are different now. But, that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

“Well, then what’s your point?”

Alya leans over and places a comforting hand over Chloe’s. “I mean that Marinette’s a very honest person. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and even though she’s not good at articulating her feelings, she isn’t subtle about them in the least. Getting good at reading her is the best way to understand her. So if you’re feeling something from her, it’s not your imagination.”

Chloe never really took the time to wonder about what she’s been feeling, only that what she’s feeling has been warm and inviting and she doesn’t want to lose it. They’ve been calling it a friendship because that’s what the two of them proposed when they were sitting together in class and deciding that they could not lie to themselves about what they have now become. But Chloe isn’t close with many people and isn’t used to this complicated process of decoding what things mean. Differentiating friendship from other more powerful things seems like an advanced skillset that Chloe will privately admit she lacks. The advice is appreciated, but now it just leaves her whirling.

Alya sees the confusion on Chloe’s face because she squeezes her hand and waits for Chloe to meet her eyes. “Look, I get it,” she tells her softly. “I do. Just don’t hold yourself back because you think you’re picking up the wrong signals or because you’re afraid you’re going to ruin something. If you see something, or if you feel something, I think you should pursue it. For both of your sakes.”

One weekend, Chloe’s father is away on business and Sabrina is having dinner with her parents. So she calls Marinette and asks her if she wants to come over, simply because it’s depressing to be in the hotel suite all by herself.

Marinette hesitates only because of the novelty of the invitation, but she has nothing better to do this weekend, so she packs an overnight bag and tells her mother she’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.

Chloe opens the door to her bedroom sans makeup, hair down, and in a fluffy, yellow robe that seems like the perfect thing to wear when you want to spend a day laying about. It’s a charming image that Marinette allows herself a few seconds to burn into her brain so that she’ll never forget it and always be able to think back fondly on. She kisses her cheek and offers her a box of macarons and a small stack of romantic comedies as payment for her entry.

They spend most of the day curled up in blankets and lying on the mounds of pillows on Chloe’s bed while they cackle through movies and gorge on sweets, ignoring the guilt gnawing away at their stomachs the more they indulge. They sing loudly along to musical numbers, attempt to quote entire scenes from memory, and play silly little Rock, Paper, Scissors games to choose the next movie.

Eventually, they decide to stream a season of an old sitcom they haven’t seen in years. At some point, Chloe’s head ends up in Marinette’s lap, and Marinette is massaging the tips of her fingers into Chloe’s scalp while idly twirling the ends of her hair in her other hand. During boring episodes, they simply sit there with each other and talk as the sun slowly dips below the horizon outside and makes Chloe’s room darker and lit only by the illumination of the television on the wall. By the time it’s midnight, Chloe is dozing off in Marinette’s lap. Their hands are interlocked, and Marinette keeps rubbing her thumb along the inside of Chloe’s palm to lull her into a calm sleep, free of awful dreams and intrusive thoughts.

She lets the last episode end and nudges Chloe awake, suggesting they should probably turn in for the night.

“Um,” Chloe mumbles tiredly. “I guess you can take my bed. And I’ll just take the chaise.”

“Why the chaise?” Marinette frowns.

“You’re the guest,” Chloe shrugs. “Plus you’ll have more room.”

Marinette shuffles her bare feet against the carpet and tugs at the hem of her t-shirt. “I-I don’t….I mean, if you’re okay with it I don’t mind….sharing the bed. It’s big enough for us both.”

Chloe stares at her with wide eyes and then slowly turns towards her bed. “Y-Yeah. That’s fine.”

They crawl into Chloe’s bed and curl up on their sides to that they’re facing each other. This is usually the time of night where one of them initiates a nighttime call, but this is the first time that they can do it in person. It feels just as private with the added pleasure of being able to see Chloe’s cheek smushed against her pillow and watching her eyes grow soft as they search for something to say. Marinette quite likes being able to lay here with her like this. It shaves away all of the harsh, defensive edges that still sometimes crop up while she’s around others in school and leaves the two of them suspended in a small, private little moment that only ever has to make sense to them.

Chloe pulls the comforter under her chin. “This isn’t weird, right?”

“No,” Marinette whispers. “Why would it be weird?”

“I dunno,” she admits. “I’m sort of still waiting for us to hit a point where we just stop clicking. Or hit another snag. And go right back to where we started.”

“Why? Did I make you think that?”

“No. Opposite actually. I think it’s just a force of habit. It happened with Adrien a little. Not that I mind, he deserves to make friends but….”

Marinette shimmies closer to her and grabs Chloe’s hand in her own. “You’re afraid I’m gonna leave you.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Chloe protests weakly. “You’re here, and you don’t flinch away, and I like it. It feels nice. But I don’t want to do anything to push you off. I have a habit of doing that.”

Her vulnerability seems so untapped when it’s laid out in front of Marinette like this, and it’s so easy to stop living in a past full of ugly moments and simply hold what’s in front of her in her hands and promise to keep it safe and unmarred. She understands the insecurity. She doesn’t want to lose this either. Marinette takes the hand she’s holding and holds Chloe’s knuckles to her lips. “I don’t put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” she explains. “Remember what I said when you asked why I let you call me?”

Chloe nods. “Because you wanted to. You wanted to help.”

“That hasn’t changed. I want to be here. I want to do this. I want to do things like this with you. I wouldn’t be doing any of it if I didn’t like you.”

She realizes in that moment she’s never really vocalized this in a manner so straightforward, and it feels almost silly that they’ve skirted around the words. She smiles and says it again. “I like you, Chloe.”

There’s a long moment where Chloe doesn’t say anything — just stares at Marinette with her mouth pulled into a small ‘o’ and her fingers clutching even tighter onto Marinette’s. Her head shifts against her pillow as she moves closer to Marinette until their knees are knocking together under the covers and Marinette can feel Chloe’s exhales against their hands. “Doesn’t that feel strange on the tongue?”

Marinette grins. “Not strange. Just different. Good different.”

Chloe bites her lips and pulls Marinette’s hand back so that Chloe’s lips are pressed against the tips of her fingers. “I like you too,” she mumbles, so softly Marinette almost doesn’t hear. “And your company. And your talking, and just….being not as terrible as I always thought you were.”

She feels her chest fill and suddenly she’s too excited to fall asleep. “That means a lot.”

They talk until the gaps in between Chloe’s curtains starts to turn from black to blue and the occupants of the hotel below them are only just beginning to stir to life. At some point Marinette’s hand moved to rest on Chloe’s hip, and one of Chloe’s legs had slipped in between her own. They’re both blinking against the desire to fall asleep, and Marinette knows that they’ll inevitably sleep well into the afternoon, skipping breakfast and staying wrapped in their blankets like they usually do when they talk late on the weekends. The covers are warm, and Chloe is warm, and Marinette dreads the moment when she’ll have to move.

She’s almost asleep when she hears Chloe sleepily say, “I’m sorry, by the way. For everything. For the past three years. For just….all of it.”

Marinette squeezes Chloe’s hip. “I know.”

Lately, Chloe’s thoughts have been drifting to Ladybug.

Chloe has never genuinely admired someone before. There have always been people she liked, people she respected, and people she loved, but not anyone who represents everything that Chloe wishes she could be. Because Ladybug is willing to risk her life to save people because it’s the right thing to do and for no other reason. She’s such a young girl under that mask, and Chloe knows that she must be scared and daunted sometimes. Any normal person would. But Ladybug cares fiercely for her city, cares fiercely for the people in it, and stands up to forces and evils that she can’t even comprehend and swears to rid them for the safety of those she’s sworn to protect.

Seeing Ladybug face up against Hawkmoth on the very first day of her appearance took Chloe’s breath away, and the only thing that rang through her head that day was how wonderful and beautiful Ladybug was.

It was the closest thing to love at first sight that Chloe ever had, and she wanted it desperately.

She’s always known it was a long shot, but it’s the first time that Chloe was ever willing to work for something. She wanted Ladybug to like her back, to see her appreciation, to see her adoration, and to see how much she cared for her. In the very deep, private parts of her head, Chloe always hoped that if she worked hard enough, Ladybug would feel all those things back.

But recently, Chloe’s come to admit that Ladybug’s aloofness is not only necessary but inevitable. She watches the newscasts and Ladyblog interviews where Ladybug and Chat Noir explain how pertinent their secret identities are to their safety. Silly things like love don’t fit into such a strong sense of duty, so Chloe’s slowly been realizing that her admiration will always be platonic, and from afar. Ladybug is a civilian who deserves to find love without hiding behind a mask, and Chloe knows that someone will come to her that is more within her reach.

Then, Chloe remembers a thought that she had early on in her nighttime calls to Marinette. That Marinette, just like Ladybug, was a person who cared about doing the right thing over anything else — who cared more about bringing down a frightened girl over the phone than dwelling on a rivalry.

Marinette is loud. Marinette believes strongly. Marinette has convictions that she defends with a ferocity that Chloe fears even rivals her own. Marinette tries so hard to be good, and admits that over the phone with her some nights when she worries about making sure that everyone is happy, everyone is cared for, and no one is disappointed. It’s a burden, just like being a hero is a burden, and Marinette takes it all on with a grace that Chloe’s come to find is so reminiscent of Ladybug.

So some days, when she’s watching Marinette out of the corner of her eye, she feels the stirrings of what she felt for Ladybug start to crop up whenever Marinette laughs hard enough for tears to come to her eyes. She feels it, the very thing that Alya told her to reach out and take.

But when Adrien innocently asks her in the middle of maths class whether or not she and Marinette are dating, all of those wonderful feelings suddenly paralyze her and leave her uncertain as to how to answer his question.

It was never something the two of them had discussed because there was never really a need to. Things between them formed and grew and stretched so easily and naturally that there was never any need for them to stop and question why or how. Naming things wasn’t as important as learning each other from the ground up, and pinpointing what their behavior meant wasn’t as important as simply doing and being .

But Chloe can see the the benefit of having just a small touch of clarity. She knows that, if she lets herself, she’ll start reaching for something in the distance that she’ll realize only too late isn’t even within her grasp. She doesn’t want that to happen again. She wants to be able to want something that won’t slip away when she least expects it.

Late that night, after they’ve both been silent for almost an hour and when Chloe feels herself about to slip off into sleep, she asks, “Mari, are we dating?”

There isn’t an answer, and Chloe doesn’t expect for there to be. She always had a bad habit of asking serious questions when Marinette was already asleep. She tries to tell herself that she didn’t just do it this late at night because she was scared — because she almost didn’t want to hear the answer for fear that it would be one that she didn’t like — but she’s too tired to bother convincing herself of that. One day, she’ll get up the courage. She promises herself, right before she goes to sleep, that she’ll start taking chances, doing things that are hard, doing things that may seem scary because that’s the kind of person she wants to be. That’s the kind of person that Marinette has made her want to be.

Chloe isn’t as vapid as people like to think and isn’t as flawless as she says. If there is anything she’s learned from growing up, it’s that everyone is flawed and everyone has gaps to fill. Chloe has much to prove and much more to fix. Chloe still finds herself struggling with how to be brave for other people and not just for herself. But her misdial all those months ago feels like a sign — a second chance to make things right and surround herself with people she cares for and who care for her back. Marinette makes her want to do it. Marinette makes her feel like she can do it.

The next day, Chloe is walking to class and looks up to see Marinette dropping her bag at Alya’s feet and sprinting in Chloe’s directly. She barely has the time to lift her arms before Marinette is throwing her arms around her, burying her face in her neck, and laughing more sweetly than Chloe has ever heard her laugh before.

“Yes,” Marinette nods. “Yes, yes, of course, yes.”