your eyes are killing me softly.
There are certain constants in life.
For instance, the plethora of flowers that blossomed under the dew of spring, and the thunder of rain that coincided with lightning. Other more noticeable examples were the constant motion of the waves, the glimmer of the moon who always wept for the sun, and the stars who ached to kiss her mortals.
There are other constants, of course, but they are linked to everyday people, which make them all the more valuable, the more sought of. Dreamers deemed love as a constant, cynics thought better ― differently.
Chat Noir was a dreamer whose dreams consisted of smooth skin, masks barred and a beautiful name scrawled in calligraphy. They were tinted with the smooth polished tone of midnight, a little reckless, a lot careful.
His love for Ladybug was a constant, his adoration never to waver, a circle with hardly any breaking points.
Marinette, on the other hand, experienced love as a constant, very akin to the permanent rotation of the planets she could count, from her parent’s warm suffocating hugs to her friend’s husky giggles to jokes she had long forgotten.
Missing Chat Noir ― her partner, her incredibly loyal yet stupid , stupid partner ― was a constant.
He was everywhere in ways she could hardly take time to understand, sometimes. Some days, she would pass by a building and remember screaming his name when he took a hit for her.
Other times she would pass by an ice cream shop and wonder if Chat went out to eat with his friends? Surely he must have, the friendly boisterous boy she believed him to be. What was his favorite ice cream flavour? Was her minou a fan of the summer, or the winter?
And, then she would come home and scroll through Tumblr, laugh at a meme of a cat with frosting on his snout and wish, wish more than anything she could send it to Chat.
Perhaps, that was the problem. Somehow, despite all her insistence, her partner who might have just hung her the stars and moon, secured a prominent place in her heart, and was reluctant to leave. She caught herself stumbling, barely blushing when Adrien caught her, and creating a folder ― the Chat Folder ― of screenshots, gifs and videos that were rubbish really, but granted to make Chat smile.
They were friends, more than anything and his smile, mon dieu , Marinette thought he could revive the whole world with that smile. The bravado he wore quickly melted when she let him rant about Harry Potter, or about anime, and the excitement in his tone was contagious.
Dawn, no matter how glorious it had the tendency to become, with its hues of gold and blue, the very setting of a Shakespearean play commencing the start of a new day, trilling with the thrumming of sparrows, did not command her favorite part of the day anymore for that award was reserved to patrols with Chat.
Marinette might have been the most tired human on the planet, but Ladybug thrived in the spotlight.
Sprawled on a random rooftop, and laughing till their throats hurt, Marinette could easily forget that they were superheroes, but simply humans. Chat was just Chat, her best friend who she might have met at a coffee station or screamed with at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. She entertained the idea that he was in her class, her partner who sniggered with her and told her stupid chemistry jokes.
And, while she wouldn’t change her life for the world, she envied a universe where her person had met a boy who would gradually become the sole most important person in her universe, just because and not because two teenagers were tied together to fight a terrorist attacking the city, a world where if she closed her eyes and thought of Chat, she would only marvel at his kind eyes, an unfailing compassionate heart.
In this world, Marinette dreamed of that along with his blood soaking her skin, like tattoos she could never rid herself of.
She had nightmares where she was a second too slow, sometimes her yo-yo ― designed to work efficiently ― simply failed, Hawkmoth would win and in all of them, she would lose Chat.
She missed her chaton, more than he could ever hope to know, and this was all so lame because she saw him yesterday . Even when she was with him, her heart ached pathetically and she ― foolishly, if anything ― noticed her throat burn the very moment she swung away from him.
It was a universal fact of life, a constant if you will, that Marinette was hopelessly in love with Adrien Agreste, the epitome of sunshine and boundless stretches of sunflowers in a meadow. He was the reason her heart collapsed and seized, inspired the nausea that threatened to overtake her, the good kind of sickness that the infatuated receive at the sight of their loved ones.
Yet, there was an irreplaceable bond between her partner and her, an incomparable one that she prized above all others. Chat was her best friend, the yin to her yang. nothing less, nothing more.
Perhaps, she might have been dramatic but Chat and her created memories that she would never allow herself to forget, ones that would sustain the crushing momentum of time and war. They were practically ingrained in her DNA, at this point, and she frequently walked through those memories during particularly bad days.
There were bizarre moments that popped up during the day, for example his wince as Zeus struck the heavens with his bolt, a collection of coloured green, reflecting starlight peering at her under a cone of ice cream, his yawn under the faint glow of the setting sun, beautiful raw organic moments of human life.
How could she compare the boy with sunshine in his eyes to the one with moonlight in his?
They both held her heart, a precious little thing that was ready to shatter at a moment's notice. The statement held neither drama nor significance if one merely considered the importance of each boy in her life.
