Chat had been vaulting across the city, reaching great heights and falling back down and repeating the act over and over again when a devious idea sprouted from his mind.

He had had a photo shoot not too long ago, which had ended rather quickly but contained none of the mirths that usually came whenever he was allowed to break his intended schedule and have an unplanned respite from the average day of being the son of a famous fashion designer. Instead, he felt… empty.

Despite this, or perhaps because of this feeling, he had transformed into the leather-clad superhero bad-boy (as he liked to believe himself as) Chat Noir to get a breath of fresh air.

Had a person seen the skies at this moment, they would have thought that it was a daredevil raven or any other bird with black wings that was testing the limits of his flight. Of course, he was not a bird but a wannabe one.

Whether or not this metaphor applied to the leather-clad hero, however, was up for debate.

And now, he came up with an idea that could test the limits to the utmost extreme.

With a cocky and self-satisfied smirk, Chat planted his staff on the ground as he extended the stick upwards. He saw clouds passing him by, the blue sky becoming increasingly bluer. He saw the sun getting closer and closer to him.

The thought filled him with glee.

He extended and extended and extended… until he didn't.

Slightly annoyed by the sudden lack of movement yet not willing that get to him, the superhero raised his hands up, wanting to grab something - anything.

He didn't know why he did this, but he had long learned not to question his gut feelings. They usually led him to the right ways, and overthinking things just made the experiences much more miserable.

But he soon forgot about his own advice as he thought about trying to grab the sun, yet held back. That is preposterous, he chastised himself. Because even though the ball of heat had fascinated him to no ends ever since he was in diapers, he knew he was insufferably and irrevocably far from actually being in its proximity. And now, he wasn't a kid. Trying to delude himself into thinking that he could have the sun in his fingertips was for little kids who knew little about the world, not teenagers who had had experiences that some in their fifties wouldn't experience.

It's for the best, he thought with a bitter taste in his mouth. If he was to get close to the sun, after all, he would be scorched to heaven.

So he tried to grab something more… accessible. With another try of the hand, he managed to fist a tiny amount of clouds inside his hands. Or, at least, he saw that he had. His gloved claws didn't feel any different from they did before, but with a certain gleam in his eyes that was confident he had carried out his objective to completion, he looked at his prized fist with an unrestrained smile. He opened it, expecting the world, a change, a warm giddiness. Something - anything. It did not matter what. It was probably better than what he had. Whatever it was, he would be perfectly content with it and would cherish it as one of his few dear memories in a childhood gone terribly wrong.

But when he opened his prized possession, he was faced with… nothing.

Of course, he thought bitterly. Of course it would! What had he been thinking? He ducked his neck and huffed disappointment from his nose. This - this was stupid. He was no longer five; he was fifteen, for god's sake!

He looked down at the busy city underneath. What used to be buildings of all different shapes and sizes now all looked the same: all rectangular and grey. There were some things moving on the streets, which he guessed were cars, that should have been a nice refreshment from the dull monotony of it all.

However, it wasn't; it was just another kind of monotony: they all uniformly trod along like ants in a single file line. The colors and size were not that different from ants, either. The motion made it so that differences in color were not caught with his eyes, making the entire experience as unpleasant as possible. It brought a foul taste in Chat's mouth, and he forced his tongue out in a show of disgust.

He hated it.

But however dreadful his first experience in the clouds had been, Chat couldn't find himself to stop going up there as much as it was humanly possible. Whenever he wasn't out patrolling with Ladybug, he always - somehow, he didn't know why or how - was among the clouds, his head never looking down in fear of a repeat like last time. He hated the ground, and so stayed as far away from and avoided looking at it for the longest time possible.

It wasn't that he was afraid of heights, per say. How could he be, as a superhero? But something about looking down at the suffocatingly dull city just rubbed off on him in the wrong way and made him want to clench his fists. He never wanted to see that ever again. But he was addicted to being in the sky and among the clouds. Therefore, to resolve his conflict, he delusionally shut his eyes from the world whenever he had to come down, only opening them when he felt his boots clack on the ground.

It only took a couple of days for Parisians to wonder about the "silver light" that led upwards to the heavens. Because Chat Noir always extended them in dark alleyways and places that were, in general, hidden from view unless one specifically set his mind to find it, it appeared to many Parisians as if a silver metal had just appeared on the sky one day. Gossips and many theories were exchanged among hushed whispers, some saying that it was the work of Hawkmoth's latest akuma, while some were convinced that the silver light was actually connected to the heavens. Angels used the magical metal to descend down to Earth, they would say. Others thought that it was the signal for an apocalypse.

However, as the silver light seemed to do no harm nor good to the people of Paris except garner new theories for fervent discussion among friends, none of it was actually taken seriously by most of the inhabitants of the city of love. The only reason why the silver light was talked with such interest in many social circles, in fact, was due to the nature of its locations; so far, all lights were evenly spread throughout the city without any set pattern. Many people talked excitedly about where the next ray of light could possibly be at, and some even dared others to touch it if they came into contact with the light.

However, when a week had passed and someone had posted a video of a black blob on top of an expanding silver light, it had sent the people of Paris into a frenzy. Some talked with excitement, some with dread, as they pondered what the black entity could be. Was it the devil? Was it an evil spirit? Was it a ghost? Or was it just a black object? If so, what was the purpose of that object?

Some entered discussions on the nature of the light itself. Many people had thought that it had come from the heavens, which had turned out to be far from the truth. Therefore, the questions of whether it was a benevolent or a malevolent influence was highly discussed among the locals, and the light was regarded with a sort of odd, frightened fascination among the people of Paris. A few lucky souls would find the source of the light in dark corners of the city, and a few of the reckless would even dare touch it.

"It was smooth," the reckless would say. "It feels exactly like metal."

The internet exploded with such discoveries, and countless theories were made and revised with each new information.

Such was why Marinette Dupain-Cheng was here at one of the most dangerous alleys in the streets of Paris: her best friend, Alya, had dragged the poor bluenette into the frenzy, and she had yet to find a way out.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Alya's efforts. No, of course not. It was more that, as Ladybug, she knew that this… whatever it was was ultimately harmless. Thus, she didn't see the whole point in fussing. As Ladybug, Marinette had even given an interview about the mysterious new urban legend. She had said that the light seemed to be of no inconvenience and that she was certain that it wasn't Hawkmoth's akumas. She didn't know why or how she knew, but she had to trust her gut for this. There was nothing else to trust.

But as Ladybug had not given a clear and decisive answer as to what the silver metal was and why it was there in the first place, Alya - bless and curse her overly curious mind - had taken it upon herself to investigate the mystery for herself.

As a result, Marinette was now face to face (or stick?) with the thing that had started it all, smiling defeatedly at Alya, who was jumping up and down with a sense of morbid fascination with whatever it was that was in front of her.

"Be careful, Alya," Marinette said for what was likely to be the millionth time. This neighborhood was bad news and from her peripheral vision, she could see broken windows and moldy walls. The yelling that constantly occurred did not help much either in soothing her nerves, and she was thus constantly on guard.

This-this was definitely outside of her comfort zone, but Alya had been too excited about the prospect of finding out more about the mysterious silver light that the blogger had yet to see the designer's face for the past hour and a half that they had been scavenging for the urban legend. Fortunately, the appearance of the mysterious metal was in a sunny afternoon today, which meant that they didn't have to cower in fear for every second they were in the streets of the most dangerous part of Paris. If it had been at night, Marinette may have just transformed into Ladybug the moment she stepped in this dangerous part of Paris and keep an eye out for Alya. It would have disappointed her best friend, of course, because it would look as if Marinette had flaked on her - again. But her best friend's safety was more important than whether or not she liked her, and so if Marinette were to ever be in such a position, the answer would be obvious.

Marinette looked back at her best friend to see what she was up to. They had only talked about finding the silver light, after all, and had not talked about what to do after they had found it. It was one of those things that made Marinette simultaneously grateful for and want to curse Alya for her spontaneity.

And now, Marinette noticed that Alya was relaxed.

Too relaxed.

"It's fine, girl," Alya chuckled, evidently seeing her face. Alya's red hair bounced as she turned her neck towards Marinette's vicinity. "Can you believe the luck!" Alya said, pumping her fists up and down, looking as if she could spring anywhere at any moment. "We are seeing the mysterious light-metal in person!" She squealed from excitement for a few seconds, which brought a smile to Marinette's lips,

However, the blatant excitement was short-lived; after that brief session of unrestrained gushing, Alya took a deep breath, collecting herself.

Marinette was now witnessing reporter Alya in place of the fangirling Alya that had been there a few moments ago. With her phone out, armed and ready, Alya looked as if she could tackle the world.

"Hey peeps!" Alya began talking to the phone, "We are right here at the sight of the crime: the light-metal-thingy of the legends!" one could practically hear her excitement through the phone. Marinette muffled her chuckles, as that would have garnered her a stink eye from her best friend. Blogging Alya was a scary Alya, and Blogging Alya hated poor sound quality. Marinette meant this in as many friendly definitions of the word scary as possible (Marinette still hadn't forgotten about when Alya had been almost sacrificed for Queen Nefertiti; that still gave her nightmares.).

"Except for the sheer length of the metal," Alya said, circling around the current hot topic at hand, "it seems that there are not that many special features," she squatted to give the camera a good view of the bottom. The ground had a perfectly spherical opening where the staff was lodged in snugly. The staff had a tint of blue with a small green line going across near the bottom.

It was bizarrely familiar to Marinette for reasons she didn't know.

And something about the metal made her want to know. Maybe it was whispering to her or something, or maybe her curiosity and delusion created from that excited curiosity were getting to her.

Before she knew it, she had spread out her fingers to grip the stick.

It was as they said, Marinette thought. It feels like metal. Probably because it is one. Definitely not something from the divine. But it felt strangely familiar too, for reasons unfathomable to her.

"Ooh!" the Ladyblogger exclaimed to Marinette. "Yes girl! Work it! Feeling adventurous today, yes?"

But the bluenette did not hear her friend, as she was too lost in her strange world that was full of already familiar yet unfamiliar sensations.

This is so weird, Marinette concluded after such a momentous moment of déjà vu.

"How does it feel?" Alya asked.

That snapped her out of her thoughts.

Marinette's neck whipped to Alya so suddenly that her pigtails slapped her neck. The pain was definitely there, but that was not the main issue right here, and so the designer shrugged a response. "Feels just like any metal. I don't think it has anything to do with angels or whatnot. It's harmless, Alya."

Alya frowned. "I know, girl. But what does it actually feel like?" she said, once again animated.

"Why don't you check it out yourself?" she said smiling, as she stepped aside to let her best friend get the best access of… a stick. God, she was crazy.

As Alya gushed about the metal for who knows how long, Marinette speculated on why the object had felt so familiar.

The search was unsuccessful.

Maybe her gut senses weren't as strong anymore, she decided.

Two weeks passed without any new information, but Ladybug couldn't help but feel that Chat Noir was a little… off. He still flirted with her and made puns, yes, but a part of him seemed absent.

But maybe she was wrong.

She likely was.

She hoped she was.

Marinette's stride pounded on the footsteps of the moonlit floor, voicing excitement and nervousness. Clutching her sketchbook, she pressed it closer to her heart. She guarded it with the kind of vulnerability that belied yet simultaneously revealed just how strong she was, depending on the person who was witnessing the action.

Criminals nearby falsely regarded this as a sign of weakness and licked their lips in anticipation. This was going to be a good feast.

Of course, Marinette was not dumb nor stupid. As soon as the criminals dared think to even envelop her in a cocoon of darkness, Marinette opened her purse and kept her eyes moving, darting this way and that for the number of criminals that were circling her. Seven… no, Eight.

Tikki occasionally peeked out of the bag, covering the arena where Marinette could not look without allowing an opening. She told of two more that were at her back. The kwami relayed the information to Marinette with a silent gleam in her eyes.

They were safe, at least temporarily.

A couple of minutes passed in relative silence, but those deafening moments did not alleviate nor assuage the wariness and anxiety that Marinette felt. She even wished that the criminals would come out right now so that she could get it done and over with, but that was suicide. She wasn't Ladybug right now; she was Marinette, and Marinette needed time and a place to transform into Ladybug.

She walked faster and faster without making it seem like she was running away from something, probably because she wasn't. She looked for any spaces she could hide to transform.

They probably thought that she was a fragile and harmless young girl, she reasoned, chuckling to herself.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

The criminals were now within one hundred meters of where she was, and if they decided to attack the collégienne, it would have been now. Fortunately, she found a dark hallway that could be used for her to transform just that moment and she almost skipped with joy at the sight. Even the terrible stench from the dumpster did not dampen her mood.

"Okay," she sighed to herself. She heard boots clanking to the ground not far from her, which made her heart beat even more rapid. They were here. "Tikki," she whispered. "Spots o-"

"Marinette?" A voice asked from the direction of the previous sound.

Marinette faltered, the ground becoming closer to her face. How did they know her name?! Oh god, this was going to be tougher than she thought. Maybe they might know where she lived, and come to kidnap her and try to ransom her parents for money, and they wouldn't be able to find her so she would have to transform into Ladybug, and…

She wailed her hands as she tried to gain balance again, curling her toes and biting her lips as she braced herself for the fall.

Black leather replaced concrete. What?

"Are you okay?" a familiar voice said gently. Which was weird, because she didn't think she knew any criminals personally.

Marinette opened her eyes slowly, making her way up from where her hands were to where the face was. She could make out an outline of a mask, and she would have known those eyes anywhere.

"Chat Noir?" she asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" He asked in return. "It's one in the morning," she heard the frown on his face. "You should be in bed, sleeping."

Great. Just great.

"I was working on some designs," she replied. "And I got… carried away," she averted her eyes from him. She hugged the sketchbook in her hand closer.

Chat Noir sighed. "You are aware that this is one of the more dangerous parts of the city?"

"Inspiration does not discriminate."

He frowned.

"And what are you doing here?"

"Superhero work," he said smoothly, but his heart was not in the answer.

She raised a brow. "In a dark corner of the street? Next to the foul-smelling dumpster?" She said, pointing to the wall at the front and then shifting her hand rightward.

"Of course," he replied. "Why wouldn't I?"

She frowned. "I don't know," Marinette crossed her arms and tilted her head in a questioning gaze, clearly not buying his excuses. "This is the exact opposite of fighting akumas, don't you think? Doesn't have much of the glamor, either."

"I was out on my patrol and thought that I should go to the more often… unvisited places in the city."

It would have made sense to ordinary civilians, Marinette reasoned, but she didn't buy it. Ladybug knew that Chat Noir wasn't patrolling tonight.

However, Marinette didn't know that - wasn't supposed to know that. As much as she did not appreciate him lying to her, she had to pretend.

"Oh!" she said, voice a bit too high and squeaky to sound genuine. "Okay. That makes so much sense."

God, she was terrible at this.

She should have been more experienced from the full year and a half ever since she became Ladybug, but acting was not her forte. Luckily, Chat Noir didn't seem to pick up on anything strange. "Sorry for doubting you," she said as an afterthought.

Chat Noir looked at her, confused. "No problem," he said with a smile on his lips. "Maybe I should take you home-"

His voice was ceased to a halt by the footsteps that came from all directions from the dark corner of where they were. Everywhere, that is, except behind them: two human figures jumped from the wall behind them with a smug grin on their faces.

Dark shadows with human-like proportions crept closer and closer to the two in a slow gait.

Marinette pulled away from him with a strong expression on her face.

A sound of laughter came from the direction which Marinette had come from.

Marinette clenched her fists. "What do you want?" she scowled.

The laughter soon turned into a sinister chuckle. "Feisty, are you?" he said with a mocking tone in his voice, the light hitting the back of his hair. He probably thought that she was faking her confidence.

Well, if it had been any other girl, it would have, but Marinette was Ladybug. And she had her partner by her side.

They didn't know it yet, but she had already won this fight.

Chat Noir... growled?

"Leave us alone," he said. She turned to see his face but she could see nothing with the darkness.

The chuckles only turned into full-blown laughter. "How nice of you to lead us to your boyfriend, missy."

He's not my boyfriend, Marinette thought with irritation, but that wasn't the problem at the moment.

She heard Chat Noir take a few steps towards the sinister voice. "I wouldn't do this if I were you," he threatened.

"Oh. I would." With those words, the footsteps that had been a slow gait all broke into a run.

The fight was on.

Marinette grabbed forearms to ram the body into new shadows and ducked blows. Most of the attacks were deflected by Chat Noir, however, and so she was rarely needed to fight on her own, but she had to occasionally defend herself due to the sheer number of criminals there were.

She cursed the darkness. She had to constantly be on the lookout for enemies that may or may not be within arm's reach of her, and when she spotted a shadow or a difference in the flow of air, she only reacted mostly from instinct and gut feelings. Had she not been battling akumas for more than a year, she would have definitely been knocked out unconscious already.

One by one, bodies fell to the ground. And they were not Marinette nor Chat Noir.

When she had managed to catch a breath, she found the man with the sinister laughter now reduced to a cowering, blubbering mess. His eyes were dilated and mouth wide open from shock, and his hands began trembling.

"C...Chat Noir?!"

The superhero only growled in response.

"I…" he took a step backward. And then another. And another. "Forgive me!" the criminal said, voice trembling, still taking steps back. "I didn't know that you...you…" his fingers were shivering.

"No," he said with an unexpected coldness in his voice. It sent shivers down Marinette's spine. "I won't."

At the words, the man shrieked and broke into a run. Marinette saw Chat Noir catch up with him easily. The superhero grabbed him by the end of the man's collar and looked at the man with… hatred in his face.

She hadn't even known that he could even have such an expression on his face.

Chat Noir scowled, gripping the staff on his right hand in anger. The man cowered in fear.

The superhero, after glaring at the criminal for what seemed like forever to Marinette, threw him to the wall nearby. The body crashed into the wall.

Marinette saw Chat Noir in his seething fury slowly walk towards the groaning man. The hero gripped his staff even tighter, she noticed.

She almost screamed when Chat Noir planted the staff onto the groaning man's stomach. The man would have let out a cry of pain if the pain hadn't been as painful as it was. What made it even worse was that the moonlight illuminated every pain in his face, every corner of the man's body. Meanwhile, Chat Noir was hidden from the light in everything except for his face, which was still in that seething anger. It radiated hatred.

She snapped out of her horrified and frozen astonishment when she heard the criminal let out a scream of agony. But instead of retracting the staff, Chat Noir dug it even deeper into the stomach of the man with a twisted smile on his face. He… reveled in the person's pain and suffering.

It made her sick to her stomach.

"Leave me alone," the sound came out as a growl.

At the sound, Marinette broke into a run, tears of fright running down her cheeks and those of blood running down her lips. She gripped the hands holding the staff, pleading silently for the superhero to stop. Her entire body trembled, goosebumps covering every inch of her body. Her sighs came out ragged and broken. She looked - pleaded - as she looked into the eyes that had once been familiar, the pair of eyes were now filled with anger than love.

After a few ragged breaths, she saw realization dawn on the young leather-clad boy as he looked at the face of the criminal. The superhero's pupils dilated with horror and his breathing hitched, eventually exiting from the body as shattered breaths of disbelief. He looked into the cerulean eyes of hers with devastation as his grip loosened.

The baton fell down onto the ground with empty clanks.

Marinette finally raised her eyes from the empty baton to the feline eyes of her partner. "Chat Noir, I-"

Chat Noir broke into a run, gripping his baton and vaulting away from the scene of the crime.

On her walk home, she spotted the familiar shadow of the leather-clad hero, following her home yet still keeping his distance. She saw the familiar shadow now crouched on the rooftops from the comfortable distance of her window.

She was sure that he wasn't aware of her presence from the way she saw him stare emptily at her house as if he wasn't even there. He was empty, ripped apart, not thinking, not feeling.

The leather-clad hero must have eventually stood up from his position to go back home, as Marinette saw the next morning that he was gone.

The silver light became an even more frequent occurrence within the city as the days passed. What used to be once a day now happened twice, sometimes even three times. However, despite with such frequent appearances, some people began to notice that the silver light never appeared near Collège Françoise Dupont.

Some people began to speculate that the school was cursed, while some said the exact opposite. But whatever it was, people decided, the collège was somehow related to the silver light. Many theories were stated and argued, while Marinette was worried sick for her partner.

Meanwhile, Ladybug looked on with dread as Chat Noir no longer had the same gleam in his eyes. He looked… dead, and she didn't know what to do. What had spurred him to such action? Why had he acted like that?

Most of all, what could she do for him?

Nothing, she eventually realized one evening with a hopeless pang in her stomach. She couldn't help him, not without probing into something that she assumed was deeply personal for Chat. Not without jeopardizing her identity.

It pained her, knowing that her partner was crumbling right in front of her yet being powerless to stop it.

It didn't help that Adrien had now started actively ignoring her, going to far lengths so that he wouldn't even have to talk to her.

After the incident, Ladybug noticed that Chat Noir was more reckless than ever.

As he descended down the stairs to head for another photo shoot after school, Adrien was forced to a stop by the red-headed journalist. She had her arms crossed and looked expectantly at Adrien, fists clenched. There was no backpack in her hand.

He raised a brow in confusion. Why was she angry? Had he done something to hurt her? "Alya, I'm sorry, but I need to," he began, pointing to his ride when-

"Why are you ignoring Marinette?"

He froze.

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't. How was he supposed to tell her that every time he looked into Marinette's eyes, he saw her eyes full of desperation, tears running down her cheeks and blood running down her chin as she shivered and silently begged for him to stop? That was only something that Chat Noir knew.

"I…" he breathed. His shoulders hunched, his eyes averting from hers. "I can't tell you."

When Adrien dared look back at Alya's face, he saw that she was livid. He winced inwardly.

"It's not her, is it?"

Adrien's eyes widened. "No, of course not!" he exclaimed. "It's just…" he looked down at his shoes. He sighed. "It's me. I'm a terrible person," he said, as he clenched his fists and bit his lower lip.

He willed the image of Marinette from that night to go away, but it clung to him.

As if it didn't punish him enough by appearing in his nightmares.

"Okay," Alya's voice became softer, but there was still an edge to it. He hoped that this meant that she was not mad at him. He opened his eyes.

Alya was still irritated, he noticed, but no longer fuming. He let out a sigh of relief. "But you better fix it," Alya threatened. "I will not have my best friend devastated for something that she didn't even do."

Guilt rushed through his veins. Marinette was hurt because of him? "I… I'm sorry," he said, still unable to quite meet Alya in the eyes.

"Say that to Marinette," the anger was still in her voice. She walked towards him until she was finally side by side with him.

"Just because you're my boyfriend's best friend doesn't excuse you from being a jerk." The tension was palpable. He shuffled his feet. "Fix it."

He spent the entire car ride pondering how to do just that. None of his ideas were good enough.

Chat Noir planted the staff on the ground like he had done for the past two months. Maybe seeing the clouds again would clear his mind and help him figure out a way of apologizing to Marinette.

He had made his way to Marinette's bakery after he had been finished with the photo shoot, which was around seven PM. After he had eaten dinner at a table for twelve with only two prepared meals as the sole person there, he replaced his sadness from the vacant seat for guilt and dread that he had done unforgivable things to Marinette. Alya was right - he had to apologize, both as Adrien and as Chat Noir. It was unfair and despicable of him to object her to such a gruesome experience and then just turn the other way and ignore her for three weeks.

And the faster he did it, the better it would be for Marinette.

But when he had seen Marinette leaning on top of her balcony, looking out with a forlorn expression, his nerves became over-racked with guilt. How was he supposed to apologize to her? Can one apologize for doing something as… horrible and gruesome as that? He was supposed to be a hero! What terrifying thoughts must he have subjugated Marinette to? She was an innocent, harmless, fragile civilian. (Well, he had seen her hold her own that night against criminals, which had been very impressive. But she was still a civilian. She couldn't take hits; she'd crack with just a hit from his baton.)

And then he had been a self-absorbed jerk and had ignored Marinette as Adrien. He had forgotten about her, save for the few moments when he saw her face and tried his hardest to not see it, not see her face. They weren't that close, what with the girl's stuttering problems, but he valued her as a friend and had only hoped that Marinette felt the same way.

With the way he had hurt her, he realized that the feeling was mutual - maybe had been mutual, but he pushed that thought aside - and it sent him silently wishing that she hadn't reciprocated the sentiment at all in the first place. Then at least she wouldn't have been as hurt by him.

He would have certainly deserved it. He wouldn't have objected if Marinette no longer wanted to be friends with him.

His thoughts had consumed him, and he had… run away.

It was ridiculously childish of him, he knew. He was a hero, and he ran into danger every day. This shouldn't have been a problem.

But why was it that whenever a confrontation had nothing to do with fighting, he couldn't be as brave as he could be?

Why was he such a coward?

Why was he so weak?

He had never fancied himself as being incredibly brave or any of the sorts. No; just his encounters with his father proved otherwise in record time. But he always felt helpless and powerless whenever it was not akuma related, and he hated it. Despised it. Despised himself for being like that, for being so weak. So afraid of confrontation. Desperately needing everyone to like him, like a sad lost puppy. Not knowing what to do when someone didn't like him, when something had gone wrong.

He couldn't fight, so he had chosen flight.

Except, it wasn't flight. It was avoiding the inevitable. There was a huge difference.

He gripped his staff tighter. Why couldn't he be more like Ladybug? Why couldn't he be more like Marinette? Why couldn't he be more like everyone else? Why couldn't he be as strong as them?

What made him so different like this? Why was he so different?

Before he knew it, hot tears ran down his mask, drowning his thoughts into an ugly combination of self-pity and hatred. After some of his thoughts had subsided, he stared off into the distance, thinking about nothing.

He cleared his mind of clutter, numbed his heart of pain, and pressed the button of his staff to extend himself upwards, to put him above his pitiful existence once again. He wished for nothing but the cold wind on his cheeks. He wished for silence, he wished for the dead kind. It would have been a breath of fresh air from his life.

His staff now extended upwards, upwards, and upwards, away from the pain, until-

"Chat?"

The beautiful and innocent blue haired girl with worried cerulean eyes saw him ugly, bruised, and battered.

Chat Noir looked at her with astonishment and incredulity. "Ma...Marinette?" he breathed. He looked down to meet her gaze, which sent him thoughts of that night again. With guilt sitting unpleasantly in his stomach, Chat averted his gaze, pushing the button once again to extend upwards.

He knew he was running away, he knew he would regret it once he got up there to gain an empty mind. But he couldn't stop himself. He wouldn't stop himself.

Coward.

"Stop!" Marinette shouted. "Chat, I-"

He heard her but ignored her.

Until his staff leaned downwards and he face-planted into the concrete.

It hurt like hell.

"Ow," he grimaced. He grabbed his face with his right hand, groaning in pain.

Footsteps came closer. "Sorry!" a feminine voice squeaked. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I-I didn't mean to - well, I did - but I didn't mean for you to get hurt! I mean, I should have thought about the consequences before I did it, but you-"

At the words, he chuckled. What grand irony, he thought. He was supposed to be the one saying those words, not her.

"A-are you okay?"

He broke into a full blown laughter at the words.

This… this was ridiculous.

Okay? That I am not.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. The magic cushions the fall," he pointed towards his face to show his unbruised face to her. He tried a smile.

With the way she sighed in relief, he knew he had successfully deceived her.

"That's good," she smiled.

"To what do I owe this favor?" Chat said, wearing his bravado once again. He smirked.

Marinette frowned at this. "I heard you crying."

At the words, he froze.

"S-sorry," she apologized. But she smiled gently and continued. "If there is something wrong, you can come to me," she said. "N-not that you can't go to anyone else or anything like that! I mean, I think you can go to Ladybug but with the whole mystery identity thing going on, I don't know if you feel okay with… I mean, but that doesn't mean that I can, anyways too, and…" she sighed in frustration. "You can talk to me, Chat Noir. T-that is, if you want to talk."

Marinette stared at him with an intensity that Chat had never known she had. "I want to help you."

At the words, warmth coiled his heart and enveloped it in a cocoon of light. He let out a relieved smile as Marinette blurred and then became clear, and then blurred and then became clear once again.

"Thank you." He knew he was saying the wrong words, but he couldn't help himself.

At the words, Marinette smiled gently at him, with such kindness. It warmed his frigid cold body that was worn with exhaustion and reminded him of a fireplace.

He wondered just what he had done to get such kindness.

"Let's get you some cookies and some hot chocolate. It is getting chilly, after all," she said, smile ever so radiant. "Meet me at my balcony? It's on top of the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie."

He nodded.

He instantly felt colder when Marinette's gaze swayed away from his, but the cold was, somehow, no longer insufferable.

A/N: Next chapter is a trip down fluff town!

With so much of the angst focused here, I thought that it would be a nice break.
It's going to be updated on Sunday at 6 AM Pacific Time (I have already finished writing the chapter. It's a lot easier that way for me.)
ALSO, I will be updating half of Chapter Two on my Tumblr (hallythelantern) on Saturday so that people can get a sneak peek.

For those who are wondering about my other fics, A Red Candle is on indefinite hiatus because I have no idea how to use the prompts. I'll update when I find a way!
As for The Blue Rose, I wanted to start writing another fic first so that it could lead nicely. I have no set time for when I will release it. I apologize for the delay.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like the story so far!
I LOVE feedback of all types. I eat them for breakfast (deliciously).
(This story is also posted on )