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Dead Stars and Lucky Lovebugs (marichat one-shot)

Rejected.

Marinette could still taste the poison from Adrien’s lips. The sun sunk below the Seine, burning like daggers into her cheeks, and all she could hear was a recast loop of the same broken record:

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m in love with another girl. But… I still love our friendship—”

Words choked and bubbled up at the core of her throat. She felt her spine curl up against the pit of her stomach, and scraped at the core of her palms until she was afraid they might bleed. Somewhere, briefly, she registered dizziness churning its dread at the base of her skull.

“It’s okay, Adrien. It’s okay. I know that girl is probably important to you, and…”

Her supply chain of vocabulary froze like ice. No matter how Marinette’s mouth echoed the shape of words, she was, very simply, a girl with no chit-chat left on the matter.

What else was there to say?

Before tears could prick her eyes, she left Adrien against the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, then walked numbly back to her balcony as sad stars dug into her silhouette.

Kagami? She wondered, dodging a sidewalk bicyclist. No. That was over. Chloe? Certainly not. Traffic swerved around her, and Alya’s name briefly toyed at the edges of her mind when the crosslight turned red. Tikki thumbed around for cookie crumbs in her purse. A light June breeze bit at her lashes.

Desperation, Marinette realized, had stolen her away.

She deserved it.

Not two hours earlier, spots adorned her figure as she recited Adrien’s very lines to Chat Noir. The boy under the mask couldn’t mask his heartbreak this time. Her rejection slumped him down like an anchor.

That’s why she needed some preuve d’amour from Adrien. Watching pain flick across Chat’s emerald eyes like that was just… too much. Too much. Marinette needed to know she wasn’t the monster who sunk Chat to deep, dark ocean cages. She wasn’t the bad guy here. She wasn’t a monster. Right?

The Dupain-Cheng bakery bell chimed. After mumbled exchanges with her parents and a treacherously exhausting battle with stairs, she let herself collapse onto the iron banister of her balcony.

She stared at the stars, wondering what she’d do now — wondering who Marinette would be with a future that Adrien could never give her.

__________________________________________

“I’m sorry, Chat Noir. I’m in love with another boy.”

He deserved it. Not two hours earlier, Chat had called her bugaboo one too many times, and let his shoulder graze an inch too close during an akuma battle.

Chat Noir knew what to say when Ladybug rejected him. He was used to it, after all. Used to the sinking anchor that weighed in his chest and tied him to shadows in the ground. So he puffed up his chest, doing his best to clench faux claws around the drooping rose stem, then muttered out an “it’s okay, m’lady. I understand. I still love our friendship.”

Before tears could pinch at his lashes, Chat let himself pounce back to the empty Agreste mansion. He hardly noticed the bite of the June breeze at his ears. Dead stars scratched at his silhouette.

Later, as he stared at the stars and imagined a future without Ladybug, he wondered who else could possibly know what it was to feel this way — until he remembered one sad, pigtailed girl, who probably understood more than anyone in Paris.

__________________________________________

Paris sucks, Marinette thought. She flung a glance to the eyesore of a billboard in front of her. Ladybug and Chat Noir: Paris’ favorite “couple” to project onto. Their lips and gloves were intertwined — a lost moment in space and time that she kept locked up only in dreams. Marinette studied the pattern until she thought she might throw up.

Then, before she knew it: the black cat himself.

“Y‘know,” Chat’s voice echoed across her iron banisters, “Paris sucks.”

Marinette jumped. As she turned, fingernails clawing away from her cheeks, she watched the end of her chaton (could she still call him that?) leaping onto her balcony.

She scoffed. “Couldn’t agree more, kitty.”

“Sorry I didn’t address you properly or anything tonight, I—” “I think we’re over formalities, Chat,” said Marinette. “A few nighttime visits to a girl’s balcony tend to cancel out French etiquette, don’tcha think?”

In another world, her words would be painted with tints of a joke. Now, she couldn’t even bring herself to smile. Chat threw her sad, half-crescent moon eyes before they turned back to stare at the moon itself.

They settled into a comfortable silence, watching the moon rise in its 11PM glory. A few shouts echoed from dimly lit street windows. Car horns beeped and sang. A world thrummed and hummed below them — a world of a city neither Marinette nor Chat wanted to belong to.

“Why do they push all this romance junk here?” Chat whispered, little fractures of an eyeroll breaking his voice. “I mean, it’s like you can’t just peacefully exist, by yourself, alone. You can’t just be a normal person. You always have to…” “Belong to someone?” Marinette finished for him.

Chat sighed something bitter, then stole away from her gaze so that she could only see his cheeks and the curves of an onyx mask.

“Why can’t we just be happy alone?” he asked.

“Because being alone doesn’t sell, Mister Noir.” Marinette smirked, the spark not quite reaching her eyes, and she let herself scoot closer to Chat. “It doesn’t sell restaurant dates or rose stems or cruises on the Seine.” She vaguely gestured to the river beneath them. Her eyes darted to the billboard again. “It doesn’t sell the illusion of love,” she sighed. Chat followed her eyes.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “I think I’d rather be alone.”

When Marinette turned back to see the fringes of a tail swish, her heart sank. She knew what he meant. Knew Chat Noir was lost in a memory he wanted to forget. Briefly, she pondered whether she was worse than anyone Hawkmoth had akumatized, and scratched at her palm again.

“Well,” Marinette sighed, “we can be alone together.”

Chat whipped around and pinged ghost ears towards her. She couldn’t quite pin the guilt behind his eyes, or the reason his brows knitted up in sad knots.

“You’re feeling it too, huh?” he asked.

Marinette looped the scratched record to an invisible audience of one, feeling the same burn on her cheeks as the invisible tears she ached for.

“Rejected,” she breathed. Her manicure had never looked more interesting. “No one wants Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Chat. They just want a dream version of her.” Sticky summer air rose from the streets below. A mix of bakery scents made her nauseous.

“Ha. You’re speaking my language tonight, Miss Reject.” Marinette hated the edge that clawed at his voice. “Well, hey,” Chat said, suddenly twisting his legs this way and that to stand himself up and offer her a hand. “Wanna be rejects together, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” he asked, smiling the first real smile Marinette had seen all night. The breeze suddenly felt like a blanket.

She quirked an eyebrow, then flitted a glance to his open hand. “And what do you propose two rejects do together, oh Great Protector of Paris?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” he said, lazily inspecting a claw. “Forget they’re in Paris for a while. Laugh, forget romance exists. Dance a bit.” He peered green eyes up through a shadow mask. “Maybe pop a visit over to Buttercup.”

“Chat!” Marinette gasped, drifting her way closer to swat at Chat’s shoulder until he was laughing and retracting his leather claws to nurse the hit. “You can’t say things like that, you stupid alley cat!”

“What?” he asked, throwing a hand up in mock theatrics. “Romance doesn’t exist right now, remember?” “Says who? Mayor Noir?” “Yep. Buttercup should obviously mean nothing to you, humble citizen,” Chat teased. Marinette narrowed her eyes, then flicked them down to Chat’s hand that lay on his waist. “Fine,” she settled. “But there’s no music.” “I… what?” “Cat got your brain, kitty?” Marinette floated a centimeter closer to tap the bell around his neck; she felt a flush of satisfaction when his eyes widened the same centimeter. “For dancing, dummy,” she said. “I thought if we were forgetting about romance, Chat Noir rules say that we’re supposed to dance for a bit.” Finger quotes curled around her.

“Wow,” Chat said, gasping in feigned awe. “Really? I thought you’d never ask, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Well, if you absolutely insist on whiskering me away to dance…”

Before she could protest the bait and switch, Marinette felt claws and leather curl around the small of her back. She twirled and spun and twisted by the work of a shadow noir hand, and the street sounds below turned to giggles.

Maybe that was her.

“This feels like a waltz,” Marinette said. She hadn’t realized how quickly or naturally her hands had fallen to Chat’s shoulders. On her right, they intertwined hands in the sticky summer air. She forgot about the billboard behind her, where she’d done the same with Chat already. Different life. “It’s like we should be at a fancy party or something,” she remarked. “If you want,” Chat said, twirling her again, “I can sneak us into a Bourgeois party. It’s not even midnight. I’m sure the house is still paw-sitively crazy with partiers.” “Ugh. I’d rather get akumatized.”

When Chat snorted at her joke, it kissed his eyes; Marinette felt a tiny spark bubble through her core. Adrien never made her feel that.

“Worst way to get akumatized?” Chat quizzed, making casual conversation. Twirl, dip, lift. Marinette hardly noticed the cement of her balcony. “Mm… Anything that turns you into a black cat,” she said. Her thumb flicked the edges of his counterfeit ears. “What?!” “Yeah,” she insisted. “So unlucky, don’t you think?” “No, no, no,” Chat sang, and his hand slid Marinette another centimeter closer. She ignored the butterflies pirouetting in her chest. “Turning into a lovebug would be worse.” “Lovebugs don’t exist, smarty-cat.” “Ya never know with akumas,” Chat teased. “Think about it. Lovebugs that make you more obsessed with romance than all of Paris? Claw-ful. Romance is way more unlucky than black cats, anyway.” “Wish you had Lady Luck here, then.” Marinette stumbled over her ballet flats until Chat pulled her back up. A stream of roses spun around the base of her skull. “Nah. We don’t need her. You’re enough right now, purr-incess.” “Really?” Marinette asked, feigning flattery. “Mhm.” “Huh. Then why are you about to... fall?”

Marinette spun and spun and spun Chat around in a whip of noir and green, their shouts and stumbling clamors ringing across her banisters, until Chat landed on her striped chair with a splat. Marinette quickly followed suit. When she opened her eyes — blurry with laughing tears at his ridiculous fall — Chat was staring beneath her with wide, just-landed-to-safety eyes.

Laughter struck them harder than any akuma could.

“A little warning next time?” Chat asked, poking her sides. “Nope,” Marinette said, pawing his hand away. “Gotta keep ya on your toes before the evil lovebugs strike.”

She steadied herself against Chat to sit upright beside him, realizing how easy it was to do that with him, and how hard it was to feel this way with Adrien. Stutters, sweat, panic. Was that even love? A secret, lock-and-key part of her wished for this breeziness with Adrien. A wish for Chat, but in the form of…

“Don’t have to worry about lovebugs if I’m looking out for a Maribug.”

Marinette let her thoughts float through car horns and window cracks. She sat fully upwards, resting elbows on languid knees, and tilted a head for Chat to follow. “Hey,” she hummed. She nudged closer. When her knee hit Chat’s, a protest of meow-ch chorused somewhere. “Thanks, Chat.” “For what?” Chat asked. “For protecting Paris from the evils of romance?” He stuck up fake claws like a monster, and Marinette giggled before shoving him away. “Something like that.”

Silence cloaked them again, and Marinette snuggled into it — into the scent of bread, vanilla, and warmth wafting up from the bakery below. She caught a star twinkle especially bright in the corner of her eye.

“It’s kinda sad, though.” Chat’s tone, low and scratchy and teetering on broken, snapped Marinette from the dough-dream trance. “This would be a really nice sight for some couple in Paris.” Marinette tilted a glance at him, expecting his stare to be far-off — maybe with some luckbug spots reflected in the green — but she could only see her own eyes reflecting back.

“It’s a good thing we’re just friends,” Chat said after a beat, and turned back to the shadow of the moon. “This could be pretty romantic. Hawkmoth might get to us.” “And you’d be failing your duties of keeping us away from romance.” “Good thing you’re fur-tunate enough to be in the presence of—” “Hey,” Marinette snapped, suddenly feeling the weight of her partner’s cat puns during real akuma fights and Hawkmoth crusades. The balcony felt like it might shrink twenty square feet. “Do you, uh…? I have a favor to ask,” she settled on. “Shoot,” Chat said. “Well…”

She bolted upright, letting his tufts of blonde slip away from her shoulder as she criss-crossed her bouncing knees. “Can you come over here more?” Chat blinked. “Why?” Marinette cowered. “No, no, Marinette, I didn’t mean—” “It’s okay,” Marinette gulped. “You don’t have to. I know Ladybug is important to you, and she takes up a lot of time, and—” “Hey,” Chat begged. She hadn’t caught her shaking shoulders until Chat steadied them with leather hands and pure calm. Marinette breathed in his cologne, smelling eerily like Adrien’s signature fragrance. Her heart stumbled on mishmashed rollercoasters. “I’ll come over when I can,” he said. “Promise. I need this, too.”

Marinette curled an eyebrow and the corner of her lips, suddenly recapturing the confidence that Chat Noir always managed to give her: whichever her she was. “Need what?” she tempted. “The lucky charm against romance that only friendship can bring?”

Suddenly, Marinette became acutely aware of her senses. The glitter-flash of moonbeams above them. A vacuum of Parisian street silence below. Windows cracking, closing, and shutting out the world as the summer air turned raw. The cinnamon from Chat’s breath. The pulse of her heart pounding in her ears. Was he always this close?

“Yeah,” Chat whispered, flicking his glance between each side of her wispy bangs. “That.”

...Was he always this close?

Then:

HOOOONK. “Quitte la route, imbécile!"

A car horn and its impassioned driver ripped Marinette and Chat apart. They sank back into opposite sides of her rose and beige cushions, both toying with their fingers and darting glances over to the other. Marinette focused idly on the headlights below them.

She felt like she was seven again, caught holding hands with a boy beneath timber school desks.

“Thanks, Marinette,” Chat trilled, finally taking a claw to the silence. “This was fun. It… helped. A lot.” Marinette smiled. When her eyes crinkled like the moon, she offered Chat her hand in a feigned negotiatory shake. “It’s nice to have a friend like you, Chaton.” “Couldn’t agree more, Maribug.”

Before Chat pounced away into the now midnight air and left her with two French goodbye kisses, Marinette couldn’t help but notice her cheeks burning— for the second time today.

She replayed the night as she walked inside. She replayed it when Tikki interrogated her for clues, and maybe some cookies, Marinette? She replayed it as she lazed into bed, slipping beneath covers and rooftop-hidden stars, feeling safer than she had all day.

All Marinette could hear was a recast loop of the same perfect record.

...Maybe a future without Adrien wouldn’t be so bad.

(Ao3)

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