You carried me bridal-style in one akuma attack and now Paris ship us together

Marinette lifted her head from her book as she heard the sound of someone landing on her balcony near her. She glanced up, blanket wrapped around her shoulders to look at the boy standing gawkily by the railing and scuffing the toe of his right foot across the floor in an awkward gesture.

He opened his mouth a little to talk, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking. "Hi Marinette," he said, seeming to relax a little when she smiled at him, "How are you doing?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "About as well as can be expected considering all the attention I've gotten since yesterday."

"Sorry," he said, eyes creased with guilt.

"Don't be. You saved me." She gestured for him to sit down in the spot next to her on the sun lounger and although he moved forward at the motion, he sat on the edge of the table in front of her instead. He seemed worried and she quickly spoke up to reassure him. "You've probably done the same for hundreds of other girls, it was just unfortunate that so many people got videos of you saving me instead of them."

"Yeah. Well, none of them were wearing shorts-" -he gave a humourless snort- "-And I don't often have to carry them all over Paris for close to an hour trying to lose the speed akuma chasing them."

Marinette shook her head at the memory. She'd fallen during the sports day race for the girls in her year group in her own typical clumsy fashion and unfortunately, she'd taken out the girl beside her as she'd gone down. Louise was athletic and had been training for weeks so she had been furious at Marinette for ruining her chances to win.

Of course, when Marinette had run, the girl had kept cutting off all of her attempts at escaping and she'd been unable to find somewhere private to transform. She might have been a goner if Chat hadn't shown up and taken her to the rooftops in an attempt to avoid Vélocité. After all, the rooftops had fewer barriers than a lot of the walkways but she'd been fast enough that she had managed to circle around every building he'd tried to lose her on. They'd only gotten away because Marinette had suggested to him that they wait for her to curve around and get out of sight for a few moments before dropping low to the roof, letting her think she'd lost them and giving up with a growl of fury.

But ever since then, everyone had speculated on just why Chat had been so keen to carry her the way he had, as if it was some kind of romantic gesture. Going back to school had been hell. A lot of the kids and even parents had showered her with questions, asked if they were dating (she had adamantly denied that immediately), or if he had at least flirted with her. There were similar speculations trending on the internet not long after and her social media pages had blown up with messages from strangers.

"You carried me bridal-style in one akuma attack and now Paris ship us together," she snorted.

"Not all of Paris," he added worriedly.

And it was true. There were just as many people calling outrage at the presumption that Chat Noir, famous superhero, would dare have any interest in her. Many claimed people were only seeing things that weren't there like they were a non-canon ship in a kids TV show. Some, namely his fan-girls, were screaming for Marinette to be called out as a monster of some kind for daring to try and turn his head. And worst of all, were the ones who assumed he was much older and that it was disgusting and predatory for him to like a teenager.

In the last twenty-eight hours she'd been questioned, dragged through the mud and now she was even being pitied and warned against any possible grooming from him as if he was some kind of paedophile.

Which meant he was the one she was really worried for. "A lot of people aren't being so kind to you over this either," she said, "They think you're a grown man and I'm just a little girl."

He shrugged, a sad little look of disappointment on his face. "It's the Miraculous. It distorts how we look to people," he said, "at least, as far as age goes. No one can agree on how old we are. Everyone sees us as the age they expect us to be. If someone thinks kids shouldn't be superheroes, they see us as adults. "

She frowned. "How do you know that?" she asked curiously. It was something she'd never really considered before. She knew that a lot of people thought she was much older than she was but she hadn't dwelt on it too much to consider it was actually a trait of the magic that kept them masked. She hadn't even considered asking Tikki or Master Fu about it because it had simply been convenient to let people think she was anything other than herself.

"I have a...sort of magical helper. Called a Kwami. He can be useful - when bribed of course." He grinned fondly and Marinette smiled softly in response, thinking of how much he'd complained about him during the odd patrol in the past. "Only other Miraculous holders can see us as we actually are, but when it comes to regular people, it's those in their twenties that tend to see me as closest to my real age the most."

"So...how old are you?" she asked gently. She didn't need to know. From what he'd said already, she now knew she could see him as he was. But Chat didn't know that and she had to keep up the charade. Besides, she really wanted to see how he'd respond. Would he lie, or tell the truth? Or would he simply deign not to answer? And just how would he tell her? She wondered if he'd be excited to share or hesitant. As long as he didn't go cold. She wasn't sure she could handle that from him, even if he wasn't aware he was talking to Ladybug.

She waited. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and looked at the concrete floor for a long moment before finally, finally he spoke. "I'm fourteen," he said softly, his voice like a secret on the wind. He looked up at her through his lashes to see her reaction and he was so shy and vulnerable that Marinette felt completely unprepared.

"Oh," she said, "I'm fourteen too."

"I know," he said, and she supposed he did, considering the amount of coverage she'd gotten online. "How old did you think I was?"

"About fourteen or fifteen. I'm just...after what you told me I'm surprised to be right." It was a lie and it felt awful in her mouth. What had really thrown her, was that he wasn't about her age, he was her age. And he'd told her. And been shy about it. She fought down the heat creeping up her neck.

"Is that...okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she mumbled, before shaking herself a little and speaking with more conviction, "Yeah. I think I like that you're my age."

She pointedly refused to acknowledge the blush that had finally forced it's way onto her skin when she saw the grin he gave her in response.

From MariChat May prompt 6: You carried me bridal-style in one akuma attack and now Paris ship us together