"Your hair is so soft."

Her fingers run through his recently blowdried hair, combing and parting it. She's putting little ponytails in here and there, tiny braids in his bangs.

A soft hum is all he can give in response.

Her fingers feel nice raking over his head. He likes the way her nails scratch him, gently so it doesn't hurt. Warm palms and quick fingertips work their way through his curling hair, making him hum again. In this moment, he thinks to himself that he really is like a cat.

"Have you been growing it out?" She asks as she brushes another lock of his hair to make the third strand for another braid.

He's been meaning to cut it, but it's gotten a little long. Shaggy.

Unruly is what his father likes to call it. He doesn't approve of it, his father. The deeply set lines in his brows only emphasize the disapproving frown on his face whenever Adrien is in his line of sight.

To be honest, he's surprised his father hadn't tried cutting it himself while Adrien slept. He wouldn't put it past him.

But right now, he isn't Adrien. He's Chat Noir and he can't tell his classmate, his friend, about these thoughts. So he simply shrugs.

"Kind of."

This time, she hums. "It's fun."

He smiles at that.

There's something exhilarating about his longer hair. Having the freedom to keep it this way. But no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, he can't quite ignore the sickening guilt that settles in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. It's an uncomfortable feeling that weighs on his shoulders, an uncomfortable tickle in the back of his mind.

His shoulders sag and he leans into her touch. "I think I'm going to cut it soon."

There's a slight tug and then her hands are gone. She's finished the braid.

She turns his head to face her and she studies him, tilts her head in consideration. He likes the color of her eyes, how warm they are despite their cool hue. They're like the shade of blue when the sun sets on a summery night. The corners of her eyes crinkle when she thinks, and he likes that too.

"I like it," she finally says. She reaches for the towel in his lap and gets up from the bed. Leaning over the rail, she quickly tosses it into the laundry hamper. "But, if you want to cut it, that's up to you." She turns back to him and finds her spot again next to him.

He leans into her shoulder, thinking. "I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it."

He brings a gloved hand up to the golden strands in his face. His mind is quiet, not really thinking about anything.

It's comfortable here with her, in her room on a rainy Friday evening. The sounds of raindrops tapping on her skylight fill his thoughts with rhythms and sounds and melodies. The overcast skies are a dark gray, not quite night, but not quite day either. The air smells fresh of wet dirt but also of her. He's not really thinking about his hair anymore, lost in the moment.

"Chat?"

He blinks. "Yeah?"

"You're spacing out on me."

"Oh, sorry."

She rubs his head and starts working her way through the ponytails she's made, releasing each one from the bands one at a time. For some reason, he feels disappointed.

"Hey," he whines. "I liked those."

"You didn't even see them," she says with a snort. There's a tap on his nose and then he realizes she booped him. He wrinkles up his nose in mock annoyance.

She's taken out all the ponytails and braids now as he can feel his hair tickling the back of his neck. It's amazing to him how smoothly her hands work their way through his hair, twisting and winding it into patterns he's not sure of. But then again, she was good with her hands, whether it be video games or sewing.

Maybe he should keep it long.

"Can you show me when you're done?"

Her breath tickles the back of his neck when she laughs and he feels his face go warm. He hadn't really registered just how close she was to him until now. Suddenly he's aware of how her knees press against the mattress behind him, how her hands cradle his head, how her scent overwhelms him entirely. His blush is so bright he's nervous she can see it on his neck.

"Sure thing, Kitty."

He sighs internally, relived that she hadn't noticed. Or at least ignored it.

It's happened a few times, moments like these where he feels things he really shouldn't for a friend. After all, he had his Lady. And he's heard more than a few times about Marinette's crush, about how wonderful and amazing he is. His heart always seems to sink when she mentions him, but he can't quite figure out the reason why.

He wants to turn around and ask her why he's been feeling this way for the past year or so, but he doesn't want to burden her with his muddled emotions.

For whatever reason, whenever he's around his Lady, his heart no longer beats like it's trying to escape from his chest. It's a content feeling, a fun feeling, like when he's with his friends. Is it normal for feelings to change seemingly out of nowhere? Is he betraying Ladybug by unwillingly feeling this?

Again, guilt stirs his stomach with it's ugly sensation.

He really should cut his hair soon. At least his father would approve of it. Maybe even earn him a smile.

Yeah, right.

"And...done!"

Before he knows it, she's in front of him, holding out a mirror. When he takes it, she quickly scoots beside him. He can feel her tensing with anticipation.

"Wow...!" And he means it.

His reflection stares back at him with round eyes. She's braided the sides so they trail behind his ears, human ears. Fully exposed. He cracks a smile at that. His bangs have been brushed back, scooped up into a tiny pony tail at the top of his crown. The rest is left loose and flowing. On further inspection, the braids are a little uneven and the ponytail a tad off center, but he has never felt more amazing.

When he feels her cheek press into his, he knows he's a goner. His face is red by the time he catches her eyes in the mirror. In that moment, he's thankful for his mask when he notices only a little pink creeping at the edges.

"So?"

"I love it," he says without thinking. "It's mew-tiful!"

Her reflection rolls it's eyes, but he see's the smile creeping up. There's a hint of pink to her too, but it can't possibly be for what he hopes for.

"Oh." He feels her say it more than hears it. It's almost like a whisper of a breeze, soft on his cheek.

Curious, he turns to face her, forgetting, for a second, their proximity. His nose brushes her cheek, lips skim her jaw, and she shoots back, limbs flailing.

This time, her face is on fire and he's shocked. There's an odd, warm tingling in his gut when he see's how red she is. Again, he can't place this feeling either.

They're both blushing like tomatoes as they stare at each other for what feels like hours before he finally cracks. "Oh?" he asks, voice squeaking.

Smooth.

She flinches. "What?" Suddenly, as it's as if she realizes just how she's sitting and quickly scrambles to regain her composure, tucking her legs underneath her and straightening her back.

"You said 'oh' just now," he says after clearing his throat.

"Oh," she giggles awkwardly and he can't help but find it cute. "Oh yeah, um, I-I thought of another hairstyle to, uh, to try."

She's brushing at the wrinkles of her bedsheets, avoiding his eyes and he's reminded of when he entered her bedroom earlier that evening, soaking wet. At first she had attempted to towel him off herself as she tried to avoid getting rain on her bedsheets. When she had finally realized what she was doing, he couldn't help the smirk on his face when she looked up, almost surprised by her actions.

She had pushed his face away and threw the towel at his head. The sound of her footsteps growing faint had caused him to panic and he was almost ready to call after her and jump over the banister. He hadn't wanted to make her angry after all. But she showed up a minute later with the hairdryer.

He wishes she would touch his hair again and he's startled by the thought.

Actual cat, Adrien Agreste.

"Well," he shakes his head then turns around, resting the mirror in his lap. "Have at it then."

She doesn't come at first, so he peeks behind his shoulder to make sure everything's okay. "Princess?"

She's still sitting a few feet away in the same position, eyes watching him. They're distant like she's somewhere else, looking at him but not really. The corners of her eyes aren't scrunched up. She's not there at the moment but he wants her to be.

For some reason, these dazes have been happening more frequently as the weeks go by. Something important had happened, a moment to herself where she had seen something he hadn't, and he's remained oblivious ever since. In these instances he's left behind.

It feels lonely.

He turns around to reach out for her, to call her back to him, but then her eyes focus on his face, suddenly alive. Her eyebrows are set determinedly and her blush has died down to a light pink. For some reason, the last part disappoints him.

"Marinette...?"

The bed shifts as she makes her way over to him, sinking into place when she's beside him again. "I- Sorry. I'm sorry, just spaced out for a second." She raises a finger and says "Let me do one last hairstyle?"

He's hesitant about this, wondering what she had been thinking just a moment ago, but obliges and lets her return her hands to his hair. Maybe letting her do this will give him a glimpse at what he missed.

Her fingers are hesitant in his hair, a little shaky. He wants to hold her wrists and tell her it's okay, wants to kiss her hands and stop their trembling. He's not really sure what 'it' is, but he figures it wouldn't hurt to try and help (maybe those moments to herself had been her worrying silently about something).

So, when he goes to say something like 'you're doing great' or 'it's okay' and says "This situation isn't that hairy, is it?" instead, to say he cringed would be an understatement. Face scrunching up in distaste, body shrinking in disgust, he feels his whole being rejecting the terrible pun.

That was bad, even by his standards.

But when he feels more shaking behind him he quickly gets over his own cringe fest and turn back towards her, trying to come up with something to say all the while. She has a hand to her mouth, shoulders bouncing and before he can make anything of this image, she's laughing loudly and hiding her face in between his shoulders.

"The-The look," she gasps between each breath. "The look on your face!" She finally manages and it's an odd feeling having someone laugh on you, he thinks. Her forehead is warm on his back and he can feel her whole body shift when she takes a deep breath.

His face feels warm again under his mask.

"W-What did I do?"

She comes back up from her hiding place and tries to imitate him, face curling up ridiculously, arms folding in on themselves and hands clawing the air. The impression is ruined when she falls onto her back, giggling.

"I would have," she interrupts herself and giggles again. "I would have said something, but you pretty much did it for me."

She's looking up at him from where she's lying and he can't do anything about his thumping heart. Seeing her with such an open face, cheeks still red from the laughter, fills him up with this weird giddiness and he suddenly wants to laugh and hide at the same time.

She makes a noise that's a mix between a grunt and a laugh and she's sitting back up on her elbows. He's smiling at her, widely, like and idiot, he can feel it, and she scrunches her nose at him. He laughs at her and her smile widens.

Well, it wasn't quite what he had meant to say, but it had worked. Or had done something at least.

"Alright, Kitty. I still have that hairstyle I want to do." She's back on her knees again, coming over to him and the mattress dips when she gets closer.

His heart is beating in his ears and he doesn't trust himself to speak, so he nods, gulps, and turns back around.

Her hands are confident now, brushing his hair out of his face as she pulls the strands backwards. She ties a ponytail just a little past his ear and repeats it. But he's not really paying attention to what she's doing, instead savoring the heat from her hands and the tingles her fingers leave behind on his scalp.

But, she's done all too soon.

"Finished," she says happily.

The mirror is shoved in front of his face before he can say anything and suddenly he's doubling over.

Pigtails!

She had given him pigtails! The giddiness is back and he suddenly wants to hug her, to kiss her, because for some reason, this is the silliest thing ever. His body rocks with laughter and he turns towards her.

"Just like you!" He says through a laugh.

"Like Ladybug," she corrects.

He pauses and suddenly the warmth is gone and replaced with guilt.

He shouldn't be feeling this way towards Marinette. He shouldn't be having these thoughts. Not when his Lady was his true love (he tells himself that he's not trying to convince anyone, that it's simply the truth).

He had wanted to kiss her.

His body feels cold. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He shouldn't. It's not fair to either one of them. He looks over at her and she's watching him, a tiny smile on her face, eyes soft (but...sad?). No, he really shouldn't be doing this to her.

But he smiles weakly back at her and says, "Yeah, like Ladybug." And he tries to shove back the guilt.

She boops his nose and he can't help but laugh a little at that. Her eyes are studying him, watching his reaction and despite the guilt, his face heats up anyways.

"You should probably get going Kitty," she whispers gently.

There's something about the way she says it, like it's a precious secret she's just told him, and he feels like he needs to listen to it.

He nods slowly, waiting. For what, he's not really sure.

She looks at him a little longer, leaning in slightly, and his heartbeat picks up. But she's turning away scooting back before he can even think to do something and she's left space for him to climb back out the skylight.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" She's asking him as if she won't ever see him again and he feels a pang in his chest.

"Yeah," he says. And then he smiles to reassure her before he scrambles out the window, quick to avoid getting rain on her bed.

He's out before he can see her reaction to see if he really had reassured her, flying across rooftops and trying to avoid thinking all together.

It's not until he's crawling through his window that he realizes he'd kept the pigtails in.

Now he really doesn't know what to do with his hair.

authors note: i forgot to put this here but better than late than never i guess. anyway, i might continue this?