Adrien isn't sure what compels him to visit Luka as Chat Noir hours after defeating him as Silencer. He tells himself it could be any number of reasons. Technically, he and Luka are friends, even if they rarely hang out except for the occasional jam session. And, of course, he needs to make sure Luka is okay after being akumatized, since that can't have been easy for someone as kind and laid-back as him.

And really, shouldn't Ladybug and Chat Noir be doing follow-up visits with akuma victims more often? That's a thing in the medical field. Adrien thinks maybe it applies to akumas, too. There's definitely some lingering trauma that needs to be addressed. Since they've had a few repeats at this point—the worst offender being Monsieur Pigeon—Adrien is starting to wonder if their approach to consoling akuma victims might possibly be lacking.

Also, Adrien is seventy-five percent sure Luka has feelings for Marinette, and as her friend, it is most certainly his responsibility to interrogate—uh, investigate the guy. Just to make sure they're a good match. That's all. Someone as sweet as her should only be pursued by the best of guys. There's also the fact that Adrien feels weirdly jealous when he sees the two of them together, but he tells himself that's because he envies their intimacy—definitely not because he's drawn to two different sets of blue eyes. Nope, not at all. He only has eyes for his lady.

And, so, entirely uncertain of why he is doing this (and armed with plenty of flimsy excuses to tell himself at night), Chat Noir silently drops down onto the deck of the Couffaine family's houseboat. Stowing his baton behind his back, he creeps across the boat with only moonlight and his night vision to guide the way. The wood is monotone in the night, the entire place eerily quiet in the absence of the boat's usual boisterousness.

For a moment, Chat feels like he shouldn't be there, and almost turns to leave. But then he hears a quiet curse from somewhere below deck, and when he slinks to the edge of the boat, he sees light from Luka's windows sparkling on the water. Chat's ears twitch, searching for any sounds of music.

None. The only noise is the quiet shush and plip of water against the side of the boat, and aside from the muffled cuss a few moments ago, Chat doesn't hear Luka's voice again.

With memories of the akuma battle rippling through his body, Chat climbs down to the window, claws clinging to the side of the boat. Luka, awake but silent? Not picking at his guitar or humming to himself? No, Luka might keep to himself sometimes, but Chat doesn't think he's ever been this quiet.

Focus. Now that he thinks about it, there's any number of reasons Luka could be awake and not making music. In fact, it belatedly occurs to Chat just what sort of thing a teenage boy could be up to this time of night—and wow, okay, he is definitely invading this guy's privacy. Way to go, Agreste. Fantastic misuse of superpowers. Just go home and pretend you were never here. There's still time until you become a full-on weirdo.

But against his better judgment, Chat is already peering inside, eyes squinting against the brightness of Luka's room.

There's Luka, hunched over on his bed, guitar lying abandoned on the floor. He's still wearing his day clothes, including a hoodie and even shoes. He doesn't seem to be doing anything besides stare into the distance and fiddle with a guitar pick.

Chat freezes. Should he leave? Luka looks like he's not in the mood to talk. Then again, Chat has been home-schooled for most of his life, so he's not exactly an expert when it comes to interacting with people.

Maybe Luka needs a friend? But surely he has closer friends than Adrien—and he's not even Adrien right now! He's Chat Noir, creepy leather-clad superhero who has even less of a reason to be here than Adrien Agreste. What was he thinking? He shouldn't be here. He should just go home. He can just send Luka an anonymous gift basket tomorrow morning.

Then Luka heaves a sigh, his head hanging low, and before Chat can stop himself, he's tapping on the glass porthole with his claws.

Luka startles, whipping around to lock eyes with him. Chat gives an awkward wave and feels his signature Cheshire grin melt into more of a grimace.

Pocketing his guitar pick, Luka unlatches the window and gently pushes it open. "Chat Noir." His voice is more subdued than usual. "Is…everything alright?"

"What?" Chat says, mind going blank.

"Did you need something?"

"No! I mean, yes, ouais, that is—is everything alright?"

He can feel his cheeks heating beneath the mask, his usually quick tongue tying itself in knots. He honestly hadn't thought this far ahead. As he usually does when he's Chat Noir, he'd operated on instinct, leaping onto the boat without planning what to do or say once he got there.

Luka's mouth twitches into a confused smile. "You tell me?"

"I…tell you…yes?"

Oh, god. Chat is glad Ladybug isn't here to see this. She already thinks he's an uncool dork. If she saw this, she'd never take him seriously again.

Luka's looking more concerned by the second. "Chat Noir?"

Shaking his head, Chat drags a gloved hand down his face and tries to gather his thoughts. He's usually so smooth as Chat Noir, if a bit over-the-top at times. Why is he not smooth right now? Right now, he is choppy water. He is sandpaper. He is five-o-clock shadow. He is spitting out metaphors like a broken printer. No, wait, that was a simile. Oh, no. He's definitely spiraling.

"Uh," Chat says, panic roaring in his ears. Should he fake a medical emergency? Maybe he should try get help. That worked in Thor: Ragnarok, right? That would totally work. "No, nothing's wrong," he continues. "But, well, that was quite the battle today, and, uh—"

Luka's posture doesn't betray anything, but there's something in his eyes that immediately has Chat scrambling to backpedal.

"That is to say—I—not that I minded fighting you, that was—ah, well, I didn't like fighting you either, it's—" Chat groans, words failing him. Having failed to be smooth, he decides to let more of Adrien seep into his persona. His fur-cade has clearly abandoned him tonight. "I just wanted to know how you're feeling."

Luka blinks. "Do you…usually do this?"

"Uh, sometimes?" Chat tries.

Luka raises an eyebrow.

"No," Chat admits. "This is a first." He winks, propping his arms on the window as best he can. "Feeling special, monsieur?"

Luka lets out a quiet laugh. It sounds hollow. "Was I that bad?"

Chat stiffens, then starts flailing his limbs to dispel Luka's words, almost falling off the boat in the process. "Bad? No! No, no, no. You were great. I mean, you're good. Excellent. Fantastique. I mean—I'm not complimenting you, though I'm also not insulting you, I'm just—" He makes a garbled noise of defeat, hiding his face behind a hand. "I don't know."

"Do you want to come inside?" Luka asks. "It's a little weird, talking through the window."

"Really?" Chat says. "And here I thought it was romantic."

Luka snorts. Chat realizes a few seconds later what he's just said, and his entire face burns as if he's just stuck it inside an oven. Why did his flirty self have to come back now? He had finally gotten the conversation under control!

Okay, no, he hadn't, but he's pretty sure he just made things weirder.

He has a feeling he's only going to get worse without a window to separate him from Luka. Luka's right, though. This arrangement is awkward, and it's not as if the physical separation is doing anything to spare Chat from embarrassment.

Nodding, he clambers through the window and drops to the floor, fumbling the landing. It seems he's completely lost his usual grace—he's surprised he didn't fall off the boat earlier.

Luka gazes at him expectantly. "So," he says. He doesn't sound angry, though it's clear he still doesn't understand why Chat Noir is here.

Hell, even Chat doesn't know why he's here. He pauses, taking in the multicolored floor and ceiling, the cabinet above Luka's bed, the Jagged Stone poster above a display of guitar picks. He feels strangely exposed right now, full of the social awkwardness that usually comes with being Adrien.

Damn it. Chat Noir is supposed to be his carefree self, the one who does and says whatever he wants. So why is he so uncomfortable right now? Luka wouldn't hurt a fly. What is Chat so worried about?

"Do you want a tour?" Luka asks.

"No," Chat says, too slow to notice the mirth in the other boy's eyes. His cheeks flush again. "Oh. That was a joke."

"Why are you here, Chat Noir?" Luka asks again, softly. He's not irritated…yet. But courtesy of today's akuma, Chat now knows that Luka Couffaine is, in fact, capable of getting intensely angry. Best not to test him.

Chat clears his throat. Clearly, this is not one of his most suave moments, but he's come too far to turn back now. "From what I've—heard about you, you're usually pretty laid-back. Whatever happened today must have been…really bad, for you to, uh…" Chat trails off, gesturing uselessly at Luka. After a moment passes with no response, he adds, "I'm sorry! Desolé, you must not want to talk about this so soon. Obviously. Uh, cats, curiosity, what can I say? This was terribly inappropriate of me. I'm so sorry. Many apologies, Monsieur Couffaine."

Luka tilts his head to the side. "Are you saying you're here for…research?"

"I…" Chat pauses, contemplating. Would it make more sense if he goes with that? Should he say yes? Unfortunately, his traitorous mouth plunges ahead, and not for the first time, he severely regrets his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. "No. I was worried about you."

"Me?" Luka almost looks taken back. Oh, no. Has Chat offended him? He's definitely offended him. "Why?"

Why, indeed. Chat wishes someone would tell him. He's still not sure, and now he's drowning in embarrassment. "Good thing there are life preservers here," Chat says, then gapes when he realizes he said that part out loud.

"Is…are you about to—"

"Because I'm drowning in embarrassment, yes," Chat hastily finishes. "And no, I didn't mean to say that out loud. Zut! What's wrong with me? Something's most definitely wrong with me. Feel free to make me leave anytime." He clamps his mouth shut, blushing furiously.

"I'm sorry," Luka says. "I didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed. It's kind of you to check on me. I just didn't expect it." He leaves unsaid the obvious reasons why: I don't know you, we've barely spoken before, it's been hours since I was deakumatized, you never visit akuma victims after the fact. Chat appreciates Luka's silence on the matter, since mentioning any of those things out loud would probably make him die of awkwardness.

Where, where is Chat's chivalrous purr-sona? His usual composure in the face of danger? It's completely abandoned him. No, worse—Luka has somehow stripped it away, leaving Chat clumsy and devoid of charm. Why can't he act the part around this guy? Why does this all feel so serious and sincere? He doesn't do serious and sincere. He can't let himself.

"I admit," Chat says, "I can't quite explain it. Trust me, I'd love to give you an answer—really, I love giving answers, I'm an expert at interviews, no question I can't handle—but I'm…not sure." He hesitates, then adds, "I think I just never expected you to get akumatized. It caught me off-guard, is all."

Luka laughs, though there's no smile in his eyes. "Yeah. Me too." He shakes his head. "Honestly, I've never been that angry before. Something just came over me."

"Well, I can't blame you," Chat says. "Monsieur Roth attacked Marinette. Never a good move. I'd have unsheathed my claws for sure, if I'd been there."

"You know Marinette?"

"Sure," Chat says, relieved that he's met her a few times in the suit and doesn't have to lie. "She's helped me with akumas once or twice. And caused them once or twice. And been chased by them once or twice. But, well, c'est la vie." He shrugs. "She's a great girl. I can see why you'd get upset. Neither of you deserved that."

Luka seems to be mulling that over. "But didn't you say you didn't expect me to get akumatized? From what you just said, you weren't surprised."

Chat swallows. As usual, trying to talk around his double identity puts him in dangerous territory. He can't let on that he knows Luka in real life. "Well, it's like I said before all of that. From what I've heard about you—from, um, your friends—you keep your emotions under control." He waves a hand awkwardly. "I mean, me on the other hand, I can't do that. My feelings are all over the place."

"Really?" Luka says. "I've never gotten that impression. From what I've seen of you, anyway."

"Oh, well, you know," Chat says, definitely starting to sweat. "I'm impulsive. And obsessive. Definitely overdramatic. I mean, I almost gave up my miraculous once because Ladybug wouldn't tell me about—well, it was stupid. And every time she rejects me, I act like the world is ending! I don't know why. I mean, it's not. A little rejection never killed anyone, but I always act like I'm going to die when someone so much as shakes their head no. Probably because my père only really taught me to hide my emotions, not deal with them or talk about them or anything healthy like that."

Luka's staring at him, a strange emotion crossing his face. Is that—is that pity?

Chat stops and thinks back over everything he just said. And oh, god, that was too personal. What was he thinking? Why did he say that? Do they sell brain-to-mouth filters on Amazon? Chat resolves to check when he gets home.

Before Luka can respond, Chat says, "Forget I said that! I'm…I'm so sorry. This is supposed to be about you. And I'm, um, a superhero. That was weird." He cringes, forcing himself to continue despite the strange look Luka is shooting him. "Anyway! At least things worked out, right? Roth gave you credit and let Kitty Section play at the end of the broadcast. Bien joué, ouais?"

Instead of smiling, Luka just shrugs, his mouth twisting in a frown. "Yeah, that was nice, I guess. But I'm still angry that he plagiarized us in the first place. And that it took me getting akumatized to change his mind. I should've taken the high road."

"Oh, I—I don't know," Chat says. "I mean, he stooped pretty low, so I'm pretty sure your road was…still higher?"

Luka does smile at that. "Maybe. But…" He glances at the guitar lying on the ground. "He'll probably do it again to someone else. And we might not be able to stop him next time."

"Ah," Chat says, "I see you have a heart that values justice. Monsieur Couffaine, I assure you—if we ever need another Miraculous holder, you'll be at the top of my list."

"Really?" Luka says, looking skeptical.

"Well." Chat rubs the back of his neck. "Ladybug has chosen all of the other wielders so far, and I'm not allowed to know who they are. But I'll definitely put in a good word for you. I'd be happy to have you on my side."

Luka shakes his head. "No, see, this sort of stuff happens all the time in the music world. And I got akumatized the first time it happened to me. I don't know if I'm cut out to be a musician, much less a—"

"Stop!" Chat says, holding up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence. I heard your playing earlier. It would be a crime if you didn't keep sharing your gift with Paris." He crosses his arms and fixes Luka with the sternest glare he can muster. "And you only got akumatized because you were standing up for what's right. To tell you the truth, I was kind of rooting for you. Roth deserved to be put in his place. Even Ladybug got fed up and taped him to a chair." When Luka looks like he still wants to argue, Chat adds, "Look, you didn't injure anyone. I even hear you went out of your way to make sure Marinette was safe. If that's what you're like as an akuma, I can't think of a better person to be a Miraculous holder."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not so sure about that," Luka says. "I honestly never thought I'd be akumatized. Now I'm—well, I feel less…good."

Chat reaches out and rests his hand on Luka's shoulder. "No one's perfect, Luka. Don't beat yourself up over this."

"Luka?" he echoes, amused. "What happened to Monsieur Couffaine?"

"I, um—that was stupid," Chat says. "I was trying to be professional. But we're, like, the same age. I think. So it's kind of dumb to call you that."

"Huh," Luka says. "Yeah, I figured. You and Ladybug always seemed pretty young. I just wasn't sure. I thought maybe it was some miraculous magic."

"Oh, I assure you, Luka," Chat says, waggling his eyebrows. "My age and incredibly good looks are all natural. No magic involved."

Luka presses his lips together. It looks like he might be holding back a smile. "Did you just come here to flirt with me?"

Chat yelps. "What? No, I—well—tell me something," he says. "Why is a musician as talented as yourself storing his beloved guitar on the floor?"

Luka glances away. "I tried to play earlier, to sort through what I was feeling."

"I guess it didn't go so well?"

"No," Luka says, smiling ruefully. "There's too much going on in my head."

Chat feels his ears droop. Luka had seemed fine at the TV station, but now Chat realizes that was probably just a front. Maybe he was right to come by, after all. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Luka shakes his head. "I appreciate the offer. But I don't communicate well with words. I usually do that with my instrument. Sometimes music is clearer, you know?"

"Yeah," Chat says. "I do. I—I play, too. Piano. Not guitar. But I know what you mean." He takes a tentative step forward and bends down next to the guitar. When Luka doesn't protest, Chat gently lifts it, then stands back up, cradling the guitar in his arms. "Whenever I'm overwhelmed, playing helps. I mean, playing anything. Even something like Heart and Soul or…or, I don't know, Frère Jacques." He leaves out the part about how sometimes he hates playing—when his father forces him to practice for hours, or points out tiny mistakes, or uses piano as an excuse to keep him from spending time with his friends. Instead, he smiles encouragingly at Luka, offering the guitar to him. "Why don't you try?"

"I'm not sure," Luka says, but he takes the guitar from Chat Noir anyway. "Like I said, my head is a mess right now."

"Then play about something else," Chat says.

"My music is about people, though," Luka says. "I…" He raises his eyebrows. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"You," Luka repeats. "I play about feelings. They don't have to be my own, though." He lowers himself onto the bed, then starts fiddling with the guitar's tuning pegs. "I could play how you feel, to me." He pauses. "Or does that sound stupid?"

"No! No, that's fine," Chat says, his cheeks flushing again. "So you're a mind reader, Monsieur Luka?"

Laughing, Luka finishes tuning the guitar and gives a few experimental strums. The resonance of the chords sends vibrations through Chat's body. "No, I'm not," Luka finally says. "A bit of an empath, maybe. At least, that's what my sister says."

"Okay," Chat says. "Um. So what do I…sound like?"

With a smirk, Luka picks out a quick tune on the guitar. After a few notes, Chat recognizes the song. He chokes on a laugh. "The Meow Mix jingle? Really?"

"No, I was just warming up," Luka says, chuckling. "You can sit down, if you want. I'll play for real now."

Muscles stiff and awkward, Chat perches on the foot of Luka's bed. It's odd, how human he feels right now. Usually, he would embrace the chat part of his name and crouch on the bed, or maybe even jokingly sprawl across Luka's lap. (He tries not to dwell too much on how nice that might feel.) Instead, he's sitting like a—well, a person.

Is he…nervous? No, of course not. This is Luka. Why would Chat be nervous around Luka? It's just his classmate's brother. No reason to worry.

His concerns fly out the window the moment Luka starts playing. Chat sits, hypnotized as Luka's fingers press low on the fret, beginning the song in a high octave. He plucks the strings to a quick melody, one that feels like dancing and smiling and laughing. The song leaps between octaves—leaps like Chat Noir, he realizes—and moves fast, never slowing down or pausing.

Until it does. The major begins to slip into minor, nothing grim, but the song soon becomes melancholy. This is the opposite of how it began: now it's thirds, fourths, chords holding for two or three beats at a time, each one melting into the next. And then a melody begins to slip away from the chords, almost as if it's sneaking through a crowd. It's slow. Lonely. Single notes pick their way across the chords, occasionally clashing with them, sometimes disappearing in the chords altogether.

Chat Noir's eyes begin to sting. He squeezes them shut and continues to listen, willing the tears to go away. He knows this feeling. He knows exactly what Luka's song is saying. But how does Luka know to say it? How could Luka possibly know, when he has no idea who Chat Noir is?

This is how he feels when he eats dinner alone because his father has cancelled once again; it's how he feels when he lingers on a rooftop after an akuma attack, wishing Ladybug would stay a minute longer instead of running back to her real life, her real friends. It's the feeling when he sits in class and realizes that no one there knows him, not really—when he drops into bed exhausted by his father's demands—when he's forced to smile for the camera every day—when he sits on top of the Eiffel Tower and wonders, what if I just de-transformed and—

And then he's crying, breathing through his teeth as hot tears slide down his face. He clenches his jaw, curls his hands into fists. Even though it hurts, he doesn't want Luka to notice. He doesn't want him to stop playing.

Whether he realizes Chat is crying or not, Luka keeps playing, and slowly but surely, the original melody emerges from the soft chords underneath. It's more tentative than before—slower in places, sometimes an octave lower—but it's there. The chords continue below it, still drifting into minor on occasion, and they transform the main melody into something new, something more complex. Before, it was a jovial tune, light and carefree. Now, combined with the second part of the song, there's weight to it. Chat can hear the sadness underneath. It's his. This song, this sadness is his.

How did Luka know?

The song slows down, tapers out, and then it ends, ringing on a major chord. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chat registers that it's missing the third—that it could just as easily slip into minor, depending on the middle note. That, too, sounds like him.

He sniffles, struggling for words. His hands keep clenching and unclenching uselessly in his lap, and if it wasn't for the suit's gloves, he has a feeling his claws would break the skin of his palms.

"Chat Noir?" Luka says. His voice is gentle. "Are you okay?"

Chat nods, still at a loss for words. He swallows heavily. Snot drips from his nose to his lips, and his throat is thick with mucus. Beneath the tears, the hiccups, he realizes this is not what a superhero should be doing. Chat Noir shouldn't be visiting random civilians and crying in their bedrooms. It's ridiculous. Ridicule, totalement ridicule, Chloé would say. And yet, here he is, doing just that.

How pathetic.

"You're allowed to cry, you know," Luka says softly. "You—you mentioned that you don't know how to deal with your emotions. Crying is okay." He pauses. "I didn't realize my music would have that much of an effect on you."

Chat sniffs, then opens his eyes to glare at Luka. "Are you kidding me? That was beautiful, Luka. And you were saying you don't have what it takes to be a musician? That's—that's—absurd! Absurd. You're absurd." He scrubs his face with his hands, trying to wipe the tears away. Luka hands him a tissue box, which he immediately pilfers, practically smothering himself in wads of tissues. "Really, thank you," Chat adds. "At least, I think. Should I really thank you for making me sob uncontrollably?"

Luka laughs, his cheeks slightly pink. "Maybe I should apologize. You came here to make me feel better about the akuma attack, and instead I made you cry."

"The song made me cry," Chat corrects, even though it's basically the same thing. "You just…you read my mind. No one's ever been that on-the-nose before."

"I wouldn't have guessed you were so lonely," Luka says quietly. He avoids Chat's gaze, his eyes dropping to his guitar instead. He runs his fingers across the strings silently. "In the videos you seem so lively and outgoing."

"I am," Chat insists. "It's not—I'm not faking that."

"But no one can be like that all the time."

"No." Chat deflates. He wonders how small of a ball he can curl into. Maybe he can just keep folding himself up again and again until he disappears completely. "I try. I really do—"

"You don't have to try, though," Luka says, resting his hand on Chat's wrist—and oh, that's warming his heart in a weird way. "It's impossible. I mean, look at me. You said I've always got my feelings under control, right?" Chat nods. "But I don't. Chat, you said it yourself. No one is perfect. Why are you trying to be?"

New tears sting Chat's eyes. He looks around the room, hoping Luka won't notice. "I don't know." When it feels like the tears are gone, he chances a look at the other boy. "And I'm not that lonely. Honest."

"If you weren't lonely," Luka says, his words measured, "wouldn't you be spending your evening with friends or family, instead of checking up on a random akuma victim?"

Chat jumps to his feet and whirls around to face Luka. "That's not true! Of course I'd make time for you, Luka." He blushes, realizing how that must sound from a guy who supposedly doesn't know him. "Uh, that is, you…or…any other random stranger that I've never met. Like you. Who I have never met." Luka stares at him. Chat clears his throat. "Like, ever."

Luka nods. Chat silently thanks him for pretending to believe that. "You know, the same goes for you. I'd happily make time for you. Or any other random superhero that I've never met." Amusement sparkles in his eyes when he adds, "Like you. Who I have never met."

"Ever," Chat says tightly.

"For the record," Luka says, standing and setting his guitar on the bed, "it was incredibly kind of you to come check on me. Thank you. My head feels slightly less chaotic now."

"Glad to be of service," Chat says. He wishes he could say the same, but if anything, this night has only made his head spin. He's not used to feeling this much, or this intensely. Catharsis is foreign to him. And exhausting. Smothering a yawn, he continues, "Anyway, apologies for holding you up with my…chat-quetage. But I'm glad I came by."

Luka smiles. "I wouldn't call it that. We were having a serious talk, not prattling. And I'd be happy to lend an ear again, if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone."

Chat presses his lips together and nods, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he holds his hand out to Luka to shake.

Seconds pass. Luka makes no move to take it. Doesn't he see it? He almost has to. Does he know he's supposed to shake it, then? Maybe Anarka Couffaine has banned handshakes on her houseboat. It would fit her anti-establishment aesthetic, after all. Or is Chat wrong? Mince, maybe he's even more socially awkward than he thought. He thought you were supposed to shake hands in situations like this.

Luka's eyes land on Chat's outstretched hand. His mouth curls in a smile. "A handshake?"

"Uh." Chat retracts his hand and tugs at one of his zippered pockets instead. "Is that…wrong?"

For some reason, Luka laughs. "I was thinking maybe you could use a hug."

"A hug?" Chat echoes. Why would Luka hug a guy he barely knows? Chat always thought that sort of thing was reserved for family, friends, lovers. "You don't have to. I mean, there's no obligation. Just because I cried on your bed—"

"Come on." Luka opens his arms expectantly. "I could use a hug too, you know. I was akumatized today."

"Oh, mon dieu. I—I'm so stupid," Chat says. "That didn't even occur to me. After all, that's why I came here in the first place."

"Just to give me a hug?" Luka teases.

"To comfort you!" Chat exclaims. "Not—not just for a hug. Which I will, of course, give you." Hesitating, he curls his arms around Luka, letting his hands hover an inch away from the other boy's back. He's careful to maintain space between their chests.

That doesn't last long. Almost immediately, Luka wraps his arms around Chat's middle, tightening his grip and pulling Chat toward him. Even through his suit, Chat can feel the warmth of Luka's body. Blaming his cat-like tendencies, he sinks against Luka's chest and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Luka's hair brushes his face, and it's soft, not at all spiky like Chat expected.

Chat takes a shuddering breath, daring to press his body a little closer. Luka doesn't retreat, just rubs his hands against Chat's back and holds him.

Something's rumbling. At first Chat thinks it's the boat. Then he thinks maybe it's thunder. Then, to his horror, he realizes he's purring.

Oh, god, no. He'd forgotten he could do that. The last time he purred was when his lady—

Chat's face is hot. He doesn't need a mirror to know it's flushed crimson. Mortified, he tries to yank away, but Luka tightens his arms like a vice—a soft, very comfy vice—and traps Chat in the hug.

It occurs to Chat that if he pulls away, Luka will see how red his face is. Perhaps it's better if he just…stays where he is, for now. It's less embarrassing that way.

The strange rumbling in his chest continues, but Luka doesn't say anything. He hums quietly, still rubbing Chat's back. This is nice. Chat practically melts under Luka's touch, face still pressed against his neck. He really doesn't want to move. He could probably fall asleep like this.

His eyes drift shut. He relaxes in Luka's arms, his body going limp. Mind hazy, he rubs his chin against Luka's hoodie. Like his hair, it's soft. Everything about him is warm and soft.

So soft…

"Chat?" Luka murmurs.

Blinking, Chat pulls back enough to see Luka's face. For a moment, everything is slightly out of focus. Then his vision clears, and he finds two aqua eyes staring straight at him, twinkling with amusement.

Chat squawks, jerking away when he realizes that their faces are only an inch or two apart. He can't go far, though, when Luka's arms are still wrapped around him. "I—um—"

"I think you fell asleep," Luka observes.

Chat wants to bury his face in his hands, but that would require letting go of Luka, which he isn't feeling too inclined to do. "Sorry," he manages.

"There's no need to apologize." Luka raises an eyebrow. "I don't think I can stay standing here all night, though."

"Oh. No. Of course not." Chat steps back, carefully withdrawing his arms from the hug. "Sorry again. I guess I don't get hugged often enough." He cringes, realizing how that sounds. "Ah, merde. That sounded a bit pathetic."

"My hugging is almost as good as my playing," Luka says. "I'm happy to volunteer my services anytime."

"I'll—I might take you up on that." To Chat's own surprise, he actually means it. "I should get going now."

"You'll have to let go of me first, you know."

Chat folds his arms, frowning. "What do you mean? My arms are right here."

Luka points to something black wrapped around his waist. It almost looks like a belt.

Oh. Oh.

Chat wonders if it's actually possible to die from embarrassment. It was bad enough that he purred when Luka hugged him—but now his tail has been wrapped around Luka the entire time? Next time he dies fighting an akuma, he's going to ask his partner not to Miraculous Ladybug him back to life. Just end me. Please.

Laughing nervously, Chat unwinds his tail and snatches it back as quickly as possible, knowing that his face is probably permanently stained red at this point. But then Luka starts laughing too, and before long, Chat's embarrassed sounds give way to earnest laughter. The two are practically guffawing when Luka's eyes widen and he shushes Chat, pointing down the hall where his mother's and sister's cabins are.

Chat presses a hand to his mouth, doing his best to muffle his laughter. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't realize. It has a mind of its own sometimes."

Luka's brow creases. He peers at Chat's tail curiously. "So you don't control it?"

"Well, I can. Sometimes," Chat says, absentmindedly stroking the tail. "Like when I unwound it just now. Other times it just does its own thing. Same thing with my ears."

"Doesn't it come off, though?"

"Oh, yeah." Chat reaches back and detaches the tail from his back, then holds it up for Luka to see. "Ladybug's used it for her Lucky Charms a few times. Good thing I included in the costume, I guess." He shrugs, reattaching the tail to his back.

Luka's eyes widen. "You made the costume yourself?"

He looks so impressed that Chat hates to correct him. He'd rather just bask in Luka's praise, but alas—a liar, Chat is not. "Not exactly. My kwa—uh, ma compréhension is that the costume comes from my imagination? So the first time I transformed, I ended up in this." He waves a hand to dismiss Luka's awe. "I didn't sit down and design it or anything. It's just magic."

"But this is how you wanted it to look," Luka says. "I still think that's pretty cool. I doubt I could come up with something that creative."

Chat stares at him flatly. "You just improvised an entire song that completely, accurately captures my complex and tortured psyche, and you say you couldn't come up with a magic superhero suit?" He wags a finger at Luka, pretending to admonish him. "Monsieur Couffaine, don't underestimate yourself." He taps the bell at the collar of his suit. "Also, don't make your zipper this big, or someone will accidentally pull it down at some point."

Luka gapes. "Are you saying that Ladybug—"

"Idontwannatalkaboutit!" Chat whisper-yells. "Please. Please, no. I've had enough embarrassment for one night. That story can wait until next time."

"Next time," Luka repeats. Chat worries for a moment that he's going to say there won't be a next time, but then he just smiles and nods. "I'm looking forward to it."

Chat groans. "Of course you are. It didn't happen to you. I'm the one who will have to relive the embarrassment."

"You know," Luka says, slowly, "embarrassment is just another emotion, same as sadness or joy. There's nothing wrong with feeling it."

"Ah, but see," Chat says, "if I blush too much, there won't be enough blood for the rest of my body, and in addition, I fear that my head shall explode. In fact, I suspect I've come rather close a few times tonight. Do you really want the brains of Paris's most eligible bachelor splattered on your walls? I think it would ruin the décor."

"Oh, I don't know," Luka says. "I've got the whole rocker vibe going for me. Brains are a little more metal, but they could work."

Chat gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. "Monsieur! You would waste this beautiful face on grunge wallpaper?"

"I suppose you have a point," Luka says. "Why put Paris's most eligible bachelor on my walls when I can have him on my bed?"

Chat's entire brain stops functioning in that moment. His mouth hangs open, and he estimates that his face is actually, legitimately five seconds from exploding. Did—did he just—

Luka's eyes widen. "Chat. Chat, I said on my bed. As in, you were just sitting on my bed ten minutes ago. Remember? When I was playing guitar?"

Chat nods. Yes, of course. Luka definitely hadn't been implying anything untoward. And Chat's brain definitely hadn't just taken up residence in the gutter. After all, what else could Luka Couffaine possibly have meant by I can have you on my bed?

After taking a few moments to compose himself, Chat grins. "Ah, I must have misheard, monsieur. I suppose it was wishful thinking on my part." He winks. "After all, this cat's quite the fan of your rocker vibe. It goes nicely with all this black leather I've got."

Hourra! Chat mentally pats himself on the back for that one, relieved that he's back to his usual debonair self. He was beginning to think he'd never recover from embarrassment.

"Does that mean I get one of your famous hand kisses?" Luka asks.

Chat's celebration grinds to a halt. Why. Why is Luka.

He searches Luka's face for a joke, and although there's the hint of a smile on his face, Chat can't find any mockery in his expression. But surely, surely he's teasing. He can't actually want Chat to kiss his hand. Sure, Chat's done that with a few of his friends—for example, Marinette and Rena Rouge—but for some reason, it feels different with Luka. He's not sure he can shrug it off as easily.

Objectively, he concludes, the best move is to kiss Luka's hand. If Luka is joking, then Chat will just be playing along. And on the off chance that Luka was serious—well, maybe Chat can finally get the upper hand in this…well, whatever this is.

Flashing a toothy smile, Chat takes one of Luka's hands in his. He stops to run a claw along the bracelets decorating Luka's wrist, then lifts the hand to his face. Luka's nails are black as always, but tonight, Chat realizes they're chipped in a few places.

He wonders if Luka's been picking at them. He wonders if it's because of being akumatized.

Chat hesitates, his joking demeanor evaporating. It occurs to him that Luka went through a literal nightmare today, which he'd forgotten among all the laughing and crying and talking. Yes, Luka might laugh now, might smile and tease Chat—but once Chat leaves, what then? Will Luka feel some of that same loneliness from the song he played earlier?

Chat's posture relaxes, his movements no longer dramatic or overexaggerated. Instead, he moves slowly, delicately bringing Luka's hand to his face. He closes his eyes and lightly presses his lips to the knuckles—and although Chat is used to being playfully pushed away, Luka makes no move to do that, instead allowing Chat to linger for a few seconds.

Once those few seconds have passed, Chat pulls away and lowers Luka's hand. Steeling himself, he risks a glance at Luka's face.

Luka's smiling that same serene smile he always wears, and at first, Chat thinks the moment didn't have an effect on him. Then he realizes that Luka's cheeks are a light pink, and that the seconds are ticking by in silence because his mouth seems to be frozen in that smile.

"You, uh," Chat stammers, dropping Luka's hand. "Are you—that—you asked, so, uh—yes?"

"Yes," Luka says, as if he's never said the word before. He blinks, and it's as if some sort of spell breaks. "Yes, I did. Thank you, Chat Noir."

Chat clears his throat. "You're welcome, Luka." It's a struggle to keep his voice from going up an octave. "And really, thank you. You didn't have to humor me when I came by. You could have just left your window closed."

"Would you have left if I did?" Luka asks. It doesn't sound like a challenge—more like he's genuinely curious.

After a moment of thought, Chat shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a very stubborn cat. Once I have an idea in my head, I'm sticking to it."

"I'm glad you stayed," Luka says. "Though I'm sorry if my song was…overwhelming."

"It was perfect," Chat assures him. "Thank you for that, too. It actually gave me some much-needed clarity. Food for thought." His jaw stretches in a yawn, and he's suddenly aware of how very exhausted he is. "Apologies. I really should get going."

Luka nods. "Of course."

Grinning, Chat gives one of his signature sweeping bows, then straightens and crosses back over to the window. He grabs onto the sill and boosts himself up, pausing to crouch in the tiny opening like his namesake. "Bonne nuit, Luka."

Luka smiles back. "Bonne nuit, Chat Noir."

Just as Chat starts to leap from the window, though, a hand on his arms stops him.

"Oh, and Chat Noir?" Luka says.

Squatting, Chat tilts his head to the side. His hands grip the outside of the window as he prepares to pull himself up the side of the boat. "Yes?"

"There's a keyboard in the living room," Luka says, winking. "Maybe next time you visit, you can compose a song for me?"

Splash.

This time, a flustered Chat Noir does not manage to hold onto the boat.