The summer night was still young but far too late for him to be out with friends at this hour. Having felt guilty for needing to cancel another outing with Nino he told him that tomorrow, even though he had fittings all evening, they could register and play the new MMO that would be in open beta. It was as good a promise as it was going to get. It's not that his schedule was so jam-packed he didn't have leisure time—in fact he wouldn't start getting busy until the start of fall—it was that their schedules just didn't mesh. Nino had gotten a part-time job to start saving up, and it just so happened that his days off were pretty sparse.

"I don't know how you normally do it, man."

"Do what?"

"Juggle that massive schedule of yours!"

"That's Nathalie's job, Nino."

Chat smiled at the memory, fond as he propelled himself across another alley. Having been cooped up all day got him all kinds of stir crazy, but his texts with Marinette kept him occupied while watching television with Plagg. Over the last couple years, the two of them had steadily been forming a stronger friendship. They wound up having similar classes and sitting next to each other when they didn't recognize any faces at the start of the year. Their interactions were pleasant and as his restrictions lessened he could go hang out with her more often.

Over the last month or so he'd been noticing her face screwing up in pain, and she'd simply reassured him that it was just a sore throat.

"The constant weather change is not kind to me is all, nothing to worry about."

The following day he brought her cough drops, and apparently, she found it so funny it tickled her into a coughing fit. Adrien had his suspicions but she insisted that she was okay and that he was sweet for being so concerned. He had taken her word despite the overwhelming need to hover, and wished her well.

He winced at the memory, sticking another landing before coming to a full stop.

Surveying the area, he saw the Notre Dame not too far off and hummed to himself, debating if he should check up on Marinette. Just this last week he's noticed her becoming lethargic and, if he didn't know any better, her clumsiness seemed to have returned. The other day he had to prevent Marinette from braining herself on a lamppost when they'd gone to meet up with Alix and Max. Now that he was chewing on the memory maybe it was a good idea to go pay her a visit…

Pursing his lips, he began moving with purpose.

Moments later as Chat Noir landed on Marinette's balcony he quickly realized that his visit didn't need an excuse. On the ground he found the designer curled up beside herself in pain, smothering herself as she tried to suppress her coughing. Not wasting any time, he began to sit her upright—to which she began to shove and push him as if fighting off an attacker.

"Hey, hey! Princess, it's me!" Chat gently restrained her by her arms, and almost immediately Marinette stopped resisting him and settled herself against his side.

It looked like he caught her during whatever it was she was hiding from him, based on the tissue she was trying to discreetly fold up—unfortunately for her, he already saw the blood staining the fabric. It took her a moment to compose herself but eventually, she found the courage to look up at him. It would be a sweet death to drown in her deep blues he realized, but his eyes wandered to another spackling of blue. Clinging to her lips were small blue and bloodied flower petals, and with it a rush of memories he'd long since locked away.

Suddenly he was a young boy again, standing outside his father's office with a million questions blasting around his head. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to understand but couldn't just then, yet there he was. Nathalie — freshly promoted to full-time nanny — was fussing over him, fixing and adjusting his clothing needlessly as she thought over what to tell him. He just really wished she'd say it already.

"Adrien, your father isn't feeling well today and needs his rest."

The adult version of no kids allowed, or keep out, or this doesn't concern you. But her palpable stress only served to grate against his already sensitive nerves. Adrien began to hiccup as he tried to suppress his tears, Nathalie stiffening up as she visibly became uncomfortable with what was happening. He'd give her brownie points for trying, but he could be given the world just then and it wouldn't save his tears. As he stood there in the foyer crying and curling away from Nathalie's attempts at soothing, he felt his world crumbling at his feet. It was then that he realized that it wasn't that he didn't understand, it was that he didn't want to understand.

Chat mindlessly reached forward and brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth, swiping at the — what he now identified — forget-me-not. The small flower clung onto his digit as emotions seemed to hold onto his heart with a vice grip. He wasn't sure what was going on around him but apparently, he was visibly panicking. One moment he was burning holes into the damned bud, the next he had hands on his cheeks redirecting his gaze back to Marinette's sad blues.

"Breathe."

His lungs seemed to agree, thanking him as he gasped a lungful of air. There was a pressure in the back of his mind, and an insatiable itch to just do something, and suddenly he just couldn't get enough air. Chat Noir, one-part Parisian duo, was trying to pick himself up while simultaneously unraveling on his friend's rooftop. Fortunately for him she didn't seem perturbed by this and sat there with him, much like he did for her the day he handed her cough drops, running soothing hands up and down his arms. Was he staring? He was staring. Her mouth was moving he figured he should probably be listening.

"—ay, I'm okay. Kitty, please."

Okay? Marinette was okay?

Chat barked a laugh, and one laugh lead to another… and another… before finally he rocked forward, resting his head on her shoulder as he failed to suppress his hysteria. This isn't funny. He wasn't sure if he was telling that to himself or if he meant to tell her that, but he realized with abrupt horror that he'd been crying. Marinette didn't speak anymore, just kept the repetition of running her hands up and down his arms as the mass of leather in her arms slowly reassembled itself back into something akin to Chat Noir.

Abruptly, he sat up and looked her dead in the eye ready to give her a piece of his mind for withholding something this important, but she insisted on having the first word.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Chat shut his jaw with an audible click all while his nerves screamed at him to do something, anything. But years of modeling made him almost immune to their demands, instead, he burned. But he wouldn't take it out on Marinette. His anger was not at her, no. Never her. It was with the damn disease crawling around inside her lungs. Was it possible to cataclysm a disease?

But to have her tell him outright that she didn't want to talk about it, that she was shutting him out, it hurt. Chat — Adrien — wasn't about to relive that again. Flashes of his father in pain, hiding where he thought no one would see, were replaced with fabricated images of Marinette writhing in pain. In her bed, alone. Passed out in the stalls at University. Swaying dangerously in the subway. The itch to do something increased exponentially and he needed to scratch.

With a sigh, he resigned himself to begging and gave her the biggest kitten eyes he could muster, all while trying to not crawl out of his skin. Marinette visibly shied away, looking anywhere but him. That wouldn't do, he needed her to look at him if it was going to work. Pushing just a little bit further he gently laid his hand over top of hers and dared to bare his heart a little more.

"Listen, Marinette, you mean… so much to me," he begged. Brushing his thumb against her hand, taking his own free one and gently — carefully so as to not startle her — he turned her head so that he could look her in the eye, "and I only want to do what I can for you. Please—for me—talk to me."

When Marinette gave in and sighed he suppressed the urge to celebrate.

"I, I don't know what you want me to say. You saw it, you very clearly know what it is based on your reaction—which I'm sorry by the way—but what is there to say? I have magical flowers growing and weaving their way around my lungs?" she was rambling now that he got her to open up, but now she was also gesticulating wildly and he had to back up from her trajectory, "I mean he very clearly isn't interested in me if he's talking to me about this other girl, it's not like I've been pining after him for the last five years! It's not like I haven't been trying to win him over, it's not like I haven't been trying."

Chat watched her as she ranted and ranted, pouring her heart out. He watched her as she visibly wilted in front of him, her very obviously suppressed tears pooling at the corners of her eyes spilled over. She either didn't notice or didn't care, but he figured it was her turn. When she finally stopped flailing her hands around he pulled her to close and cradled her head to his chest.

What felt like an eternity later, in reality only a few minutes later, she stopped sobbing into him. He kept cradling her dead weight, carding his fingers through her hair as he rocked her back and forth.

"Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"I don't want to lose my ability to love, Chat."

"You won't."

"I don't want to die."

A beat.

"You won't."