Slavic Hero here, and this is my first fanfiction. I'm currently obsessed with the NathanaëlxChloé Pairing, to which fellow enthusiasts have dubbed "lemato." But if you ask me, there isn't nearly as much of this pairing as there should be, so I might as well throw my hat into the ring. Here ya go you savages.

Comments and Critiques are welcome!

No actual explicit stuff in this story. It gets close, dangerously close, but trust me, it's all good. There is some casual swearing, though.

Chapter 1

"Looks like someone's been a naughty girl…"

Chloé shivered at the delicate whispers that made her spine tingle with excitement. She was laying back on her bed, her hands tied above her head in a soft, yet unbelievably strong fabric. All she wore was a loose pair of pajama pants and a soft old t shirt that was riding up her back, giving her an exposed midriff. Her hair was loose and sprawled across her pillow. Only the moon from the dark midnight sky was providing any light into her bedroom.

A white gloved hand was gently caressing her soft golden strands of hair, while the other was moving alarmly close into her pants. It tickled past her stomach, causing her breathing to quicken. The figure above her was impossibly close. She could feel the warm breath from his pale purple lips. Despite the darkness of the night, his turquoise eyes still managed to burrow into her heart. Had her hands not been currently restrained, she probably would have found them running through his messy orange locks.

Despite this, she desperately tried to hold onto intimidation, "When Queen Bee finds out, she's gonna-," She gasped.

He had leaned over to her neck and had softly kissed the sensitive flesh right by her collar bone. He grinned into her skin as her breathing became heavier and erratic. Chloé was desperately trying to maintain some sort of control, but it was a lost cause. Without warning, he softly bit onto her neck. This time, Chloé moaned. He sucked against the sensitive skin, wanting more of the blonde's moaning. The pleasure tingling through her brain made her body struggle and contort against his strong hold. Her hips bucked against his.

Chloé's brain was short circuiting. She should be calling out for Ladybug. She should be wishing for Chat Noir to bust in her bedroom any second. But she didn't. Instead, she was giving into the pleasure of this deranged artist. And she didn't want it to stop. She only wanted more.

"...O-oh... N-Nathanaël…"

He stopped and leaned back from her neck, admiring his handiwork. A pink love bite on Chloé's neck was now visible for all to see. He crawled further down on the bed, his lips leaving soft kisses across Chloé's stomach. His hand played with the hem of her pants, ever so slowly pulling it down, exposing more and more of her hips.

Her breathing stopped all together as she felt his warm breath against her thighs. He looked up at her, with a devilish grin, "Hey Chloé… wake up."

"Huh?"

"...wake up... c'mon Chloé!"

"...mmmm... noooo.." She groaned at the invasive loud noise that startled her from sleep. Not only was there an alarm clock that was so loud, it may as well be a city wide siren for all of Paris, but she had an annoying yellow creature yelling right into her ear. She just wanted to burrow further into the warm white sheets and retreat back to dreamland.

"Get up, Chloé!"

"...five more minutes…"

"Chloé! You're going to be late! What's your father going to say?"

The blonde grumbled at her Kwami's common sense. Tiredly, she pulled herself out of her blanket cocoon and slammed her fist down on the alarm clock. Without the deafening chirping, she was able to hear the soft pitter patter of raindrops. She looked to her window. Sure enough, the sky was a depressing shade of grey, and a soft drizzle was coming down. She didn't mind the rain. In fact, she sometimes enjoyed it. It made her feel comfortable and relaxed, something that was desperately needed in the fast-paced political campaign that was her home life. But she wasn't all too thrilled about walking to school in it.

Chloé's father was off in Spain meeting with some important people. Who were they and why was he there? She had no idea, nor did she care all that much. As for the rest of the staff at Le Grand Paris, well that was mostly on her. Being the responsible High School Senior that she was, she had gotten into the habit of being more... "self reliant." She would make her own lunches, she would buy her own clothes, she would clean her own room, et cetera, et cetera. She was also even looking at getting her own apartment for when she would move out for college. Her dad had more time to work, the Staff at the Hotel could focus on their work, and she was prepared for independent adulthood. Everybody wins.

This brand new Chloé also walked to school herself, even on rainy days. This wouldn't be much of an issue if she actually had an umbrella. The last Akuma attack had happened about a week ago and was also in the rain. Chloé had been walking home, as usual, when a lightning themed Akuma decided to take his rage out on the pedestrians who just happened to near Le Grand Paris, Chloé and her umbrella included. Long story short, she nearly burned her hand and had dropped it into the river. The good news was that her burned up umbrella was repaired by Ladybug's miraculous. The bad news was that it was still at the bottom of the Seine.

Chloé stood unmoving in her hot shower, wishing for a better, less stressful Friday. The last thing she needed was to be embarrassed by showing up to school drenched. She rested her forehead against the ceramic walls, warm water running down her back, her thoughts still focused on a certain red head.

"You were moaning in your sleep again."

Chloé, in her white fluffy bathrobe, continued on combing through her wet messy hair, unphased.

"It was with the redhead again, wasn't it?"

She said nothing.

Her Kwami let out an exaggerated sigh, "Why haven't you asked him out yet?"

Chloé shot an angry glare at the annoying bee, "For the last time, I do not have a crush on him, okay? Just drop it."

The first dream she had about Nathanaël had been months ago, during Christmas. It was a throwaway dirty dream between her and the Evillustrator. At the time, she had dismissed it as nothing more than her hormonal teenage brain trying to make a mockery of her dignity. He was handsome, definitely. Thanks to that stupid recent growth spurt of his, and the way he began to cut his hair so that it was just short enough to see his face, even if he sometimes has to brush it out of his eyes.

Chloé kept telling herself, religiously, that it was just a physical attraction. As far as she knew, they would probably hate each other in a relationship. So he was nothing more than a fairly attractive classmate, and she would soon forget all about every dream with him. Of course, the dreams didn't stop. If anything, they got worse.

The yellow Kwami floated obnoxiously in her face, "I bet a sexy rich girl asking him out would be the highlight of his life, especially for a looser like him."

Chloé growled.

"I mean, have you seen that greasy red mop on his head?"

Okay, she had enough. Chloé, quite childishly, stuck a finger right in her Kwami's face, "He is not a loser! He is sweet, he is kind! If he asked me out, that would be the highlight of my life. And also, his hair is not a greasy mop!"

The little bee grinned devilishly, "When's the wedding?"

"I- you-uhhgh... shut up!"

With a quiet chuckle, the Kwami zoomed out of the bathroom, leaving her chosen alone with her thoughts.

Chloé groaned. What a mental case she was. She walked out of her steamy bathroom, feeling a chill in the air. Her Kwami had already shown it's own self hypocrisy by going back to sleep herself. The little bee was curled tightly in a ball deep within her school bag, something Chloé wished she could do on a rainy day like this.

The walk to school wasn't too bad. The rain seemed to be calming down while the temperature was just cool enough to wear her favorite teal sweatshirt. The lazy bee that was Chloé's Kwami was residing peacefully inside her bag, most likely still asleep.

The small puddles that formed along the sidewalk splashed quietly under her footsteps. The distant sound of birds chirping echoed through the streets. The smells of nearby bakery filled her nostrils. It was a pleasant morning.

Rain aside, Chloé enjoyed the short walk to School. The crisp spring air felt nice, especially considering the long frozen winter Paris had gone through months earlier.

While waiting by herself at a crosswalk, Chloé's phone vibrated.

Ladyblog Update: Akuma spotted by Françoise Dupont

Uh oh. Now this was bad.

A loud crash made her jump. She turned towards the school and sure enough, a brightly colored super villain had crashed through a storefront window riding on a black motorcycle. Broken glass and chunks of brick lay scattered across the road. The few people standing around early in the morning bolted away, screaming. He wore a dark black jacket that flowed with currents of neon magenta lights. On his head was a black motorcycle helmet that had a purple gleam to it.

As he drove, sparks of purple energy shot around him, burning through the asphalt road. He looked at Chloé, the only pedestrian left on the street, "I don't believe it…" He growled in disbelief, "Well if it isn't Chloé Bourgeois. Don't you remember me?"

This had officially gone from bad to worse. If there was one thing Chloé ever wanted to do, it was to go back in time to throttle her old stupid self. She didn't remember this boy, but honestly, she wasn't surprised that he was mad at her for something she said years ago. Though why he was traumatised now, she has no idea.

"You don't, do you? Well I certainly remember you…" he stepped off his bike, his boots leaving purple burnt marks on the pavement. Chloé was now terrified. She couldn't transform here, because hawkmoth and other pedestrians would find out Queen Bee's identity. But as far as she knew, Ladybug or Chat Noir weren't in sight.

"A while ago, I remember you insulting my dad's motorcycle. You knocked it over and your cute little friend laughed and laughed," Chloé officially hated herself. She wished she could see the boy's face, but it was covered by a shimmering glass panel, "That was nothing. Just stupid little taunting. I got over it. But you know, I think I've had enough with all the unnecessary hate my poor bike gets." Chloé kept backing up as he got closer and closer. "My teachers think it belongs in a junkyard. Police officers think it's unsafe." Chloé's back hit a wall. She was trapped. "So imagine my surprise when I find out that the city is planning on implementing a new public safety regulation to get rid of old motorcycles, this bike included. Can you guess what mayor came up with that idea?"

Well Shit.

Once again, the Bourgeois lineage making it's embarrassing mark on history. Chloé didn't even know about this motorcycle regulation, but it certainly sounded like something her father would make. He probably didn't know about the whole thing himself, just signed away to get some more cred with other leaders in Europe. Yet, here she was getting the raw end of it.

With his gloved hand, he grabbed her neck. Instinctively, Chloé's hands tried to pry his away, but that was an impossible task. She was now in survival mode. How could she stall this guy long enough until one of her partners got here in time?

"So, where is your dad?"

His grip got harder. Chloé was sweating, "S-Spain."

"...oh…," His grip loosened. She took a deep breath, gasping for air, "... but I guess they've got TV in Spain. Let's hope he's watching the news. Maybe watching his daughter die on live television will change his mind."

His glove sparked a bright purple lighting, burning her skin on her neck. She let out a guttural scream. Her flesh burned into a hot red as she gasped in shock. She couldn't breath. Her hands tried to pry his away, but it was impossible. She painfully tried to break away from his death grip, but he was too strong. She was choking. Tears formed in her eyes as her vision darkened.

"Hey Disco!"

What? Chloé had no time to question who yelled that as a blue feather landed into the shoulder of her attacker. He cried out in pain, dropping Chloé to the ground. She barely had time to gasp for air before a dark blue figure swooped her into his arms and leaped safely away onto a nearby rooftop. Her hands flew to the back of his neck, holding on for dear life.

He had a dark blue skin tight suit that faded into orange towards his hands and feet. A blue mask covered bright orange eyes. His brushed back indigo hair still perfect as normal. He looked down at her with the usual superhero grin until he saw the painful red marks on her neck. His orange eyes widened with worry, "You alright, blondie?"

Chloé coughed, "Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

She rolled her eyes, "Since when were you a doctor?" Then she realized something, "My bag. I left-"

"Hey bird brain!"

Le Paon, still carrying Chloé, turned towards the akuma down on the street, who had pulled the feather out of his shoulder, dropping it to the ground. The cocky blue superhero smirked, "Wow, where did you pick that insult up? 1955?"

The akuma growled while Chloé groaned. Good old Paon, focusing more on his comebacks than the safety of Paris.

"I am Motocyklista, and I will have my revenge against this city. And I will start with the Mayor's Daughter, Chloé Bourgeois!"

Le Paon raised an eyebrow and looked back down to Chloé, "I thought you were done creating akumas."

"I didn't create him… my dad did."

He chuckled, "Must run in the family, I suppose," She glared at him, "Sorry." He turned back to Motocyklista, "I'm sorry sir, but Miss Bourgeois isn't available right now. Maybe me and you can just talk it out?"

"I am going to get my revenge on Mayor Bourgeois by killing his daughter for all to see, and no colorful superhero is going to stop me!"

This time, Le Paon didn't crack a comeback. All of a sudden, the feather that had been discarded on the ground bursted in a blinding orange light. Motocyklista flew back into the side of a building, cracking the brick walls and falling onto the concrete. He groaned in pain as a thick layer of smoke was filling the street. It filled his lungs and blinded his vision as Le Paon bounded across rooftops, away from the confused akuma.

The Peacock hero sprinted between houses and apartments, Chloé in toe. She closed her eyes as wind rushed through her hair before finally, they stopped. She was back in her bedroom.

He placed her down on the bed, "You okay?" He was still worriedly looking at her burn mark. His gloved hand brushed over it. Chloé gasped at the painful touch, and his hand flew back, "Sorry," Chloé tensed up, "How bad is it?"

She carefully felt it herself and it still stung, "Manageable," Her eyes widened, "My bag! Where's-?" The blue-suited hero had, slung over his shoulder, her school bag. He gave it to her and she snatched it away without hesitation, "How did you-?"

"I've learned a thing or two from a foxy friend. Your welcome, by the way."

"Thanks," He turned his back to her, looking out the window to find red and black blurs leaping into his dissipating smoke cloud, fighting against the motorcycle akuma. Chloé made a brief glance into her bag to find her Kwami hidden inside. The little bee gave her knowing nod. Chloé needed to transform.

Le Paon walked back out on her balcony, "Are you gonna be safe here, Chloé?"

She brushed off his worry, "I'll be fine. Now don't you have some heroes to be helping?"

He chuckled, "I guess you're right. See ya blondie," and with that he lept off her balcony and ran down the rooftops to help take down the Akuma.

Her Kwami immediately flew out from her bag, "I thought he'd never leave. Ready to go?"

"You bet."

Chloé Bourgeois bursted through the doors of Miss Bustier's classroom out of breath. The fight with Motocyklista lasted way too long and she was certain she'd be in detention for how late she was. But, she was surprised to find most of the class empty. The only people there were Nino and Alya, who had decided to take the front row seat, Adrien and Marinette, sitting right behind them, and Nathanaël, still sitting by himself in the very far back, sketching some doodles in his notebook. Not even Sabrina was there.

"Ah, good morning Chloé. I'm actually surprised that of the few responsible students I have in this class, you're one of them."

Alya snorted and Nino elbowed her. Marinette gave her an apologetic smile. Chloé had spent the last couple of years trying to mend what her and Marinette had torn apart since the start of school. Gone were the insults and glares, replaced by strained smiles and awkward exchanges.

She took her normal seat, this time by herself. Miss Bustier walked over and placed a small piece of paper on her desk. On it were instructions for… a poster?

"Instead of a test for this unit, I've decided that an arts and crafts project might be a little more engaging. So, you and a partner are going to create one to display your historical event of choice by monday. I wish I could have told that to the rest of the other students, but…" Miss Bustier looked around the near empty room, "It seems that they will take an akuma attack as an opportunity not to come to class. Hopefully, they do check their emails."

"Um, Miss Bustier, can I have my friend, Sabrina, as my partner?"

"Sorry Chloé, but it seems that Sabrina called in saying that she won't be here on monday," Miss Bustier looked up from her desk, "And I don't want you to overstrain yourself on the project all by yourself," Great, "But you know who doesn't have a partner?" Oh no. "Nathanaël." She looked up towards the back of the room, "Mister Kurtzberg, are you working back there?"

Nathanaël shot up from his drawings, startled by his name. His hair was a bit messy and disheveled. He had a simple grey sweatshirt over a standard white t shirt. Chloé smiled at his appearance, Cute. Wait, what? Since when was Nathanaël ever cute? Objectively attractive, maybe, but cute? Definitely not. No way. Nope. Never. Not a chance.

...okay… maybe just a little...

"Chloé, why don't you go sit back with your partner?"

She grumbled something incoherent and marched herself towards the back of the room. Nathanaël looked up at her and she was briefly frozen by his soft gaze. Silently, he scooted over. Sitting down next to him, Chloé pulled out the piece of paper.

He should be paying attention, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. Nathanaël Kurtzberg, artist, introvert, famous superhero of paris, often found himself stressing over the littlest of things.

As Chloé talked on and on about what French battle she thought would make the best poster, he had found himself stealthily glancing at her neck. He had seen it earlier, a painful and unhealthy red spider web spiraling down to her collar bone. Burned into his memory. He had protected Paris with Ladybug long enough to see how, quite humorously, miraculous her power was. Even today, he had seen the side of a building that had fallen away return right back to normal in the blink of an eye. Yet here, he was somehow worried that an injury sustained by none other than Chloé Bourgeois wouldn't heal.

Nathanaël looked back up to Chloé's eyes just in time, "-so how about we pick Waterloo?"

He nodded, absentmindedly.

"Great. I think I have some ideas on how we can-"

She trailed off again. He took in more of her appearance. His gaze glided back down to her neck, soaking up the smooth pale skin. Since when did Chloé start looking so-... different? Was it her hair? Clothes? Makeup?

His eyes climbed up to her usual, if less tacky hairstyle. Just an old fashioned new there. Her clothes, maybe. Granted, he had seen her wearing less and less designer jackets. But at the same time, she goes to plenty of business parties with her father wearing dresses that were so elaborate, they might as well have been a costume in Star Trek. As for her make up, there was certainly a change. Particularly, the lack thereof.

Gone was the heavy eye shadow and intense blush, instead replaced by her natural complexion. She looked… nice. Beautiful even. Nathanaël never thought in a million years that he would be saying that about Chloé Bourgeois, and yet here he was. Something about her had definitely changed though, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"-so my house, then?"

He shook from his gaze, "huh?"

"After school, for the project. Want to come over to my place?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," She smiled and looked back down at her bag. Nathanaël laughed, "I never expected you to be the type to let a commoner in your house."

She snorted, "What makes you say that?"

The bell rang. The few students who had even reached school that day dispersed down the large steps. Thunder echoed through the streets of Paris as think torrents of water pounded on the cement. Chloé looked out at the daunting street. All she had was a sweatshirt. Perfect.

Nathanaël wasn't that much better off. His zip up hoodie was as protective against the storm as tissue paper. He walked right up beside Chloé and stuck his hand out into the rain, "Man it's really coming down."

A high pitched squeal caught both of their attention. Down the steps, right at the street corner, was Adrien and Marinette, kicking water at each other laughing and giggling like children. Despite herself, Chloé did break out a small smile. Even though it was hard for her to get over Adrien, she was still his friend. If he was happy, so was she. The two lovebirds walked hand in hand across the road. Luckily for them, they had a nice big umbrella, not to mention the fact that Marinette's bakery was right across the street. Once again, Chloé cursed at just how far she lived from School.

Nathanaël rubbed the back of his neck, "Listen, I have an idea. I live just around the corner. It wouldn't even take a minute to get there. You wanna come to my place instead?"

Chloé looked back out at the rain, "...I don't know…"

"Come on, me and you can work on the project and wait until the storm passes. Unless-," he held out his hand, already dripping wet within seconds, "you want us to get soaked instead."

Her eyes met his. She grumbled something incoherent, "...fine…"

All of a sudden, he grabbed her hand, "We're going to be in kind of a hurry."

"Wait, Nathanaël, I- ah!" Obviously he wouldn't wait for her. He pulled her out into the rain, the heavy drops immediately soaking her sweatshirt. Together, they ran down the slippery pavement, Chloé not having the slightest clue where to go, and instead just relying on Nathanaël. She should have probably asked where he lived, but then again, she also wasn't planning on being dragged out into a thunderstorm.

The two sprinted down the path as thunder boomed in their ears. Chloé's feet were soaking wet by the time they rounded the corner. Every puddle she stepped in sent a wave of water upwards in her face. It was cold, it was wet, it was… okay, a little fun. Not even Chloé could keep a straight face, even as a car went whizzing by, sending a tidal wave of water onto her once dry clothes. Nathanaël couldn't help it, and he snickered at the blonde stood drenched in water.

But, karma got back at him. His foot slipped on the wet ground and it wasn't too graceful. Had he not been holding onto Chloé, he would have landed on his butt right on the curb. Instead, they both clumsily slid on their knees, landing in a puddle. The two looked at each other, faces both full of shock, before they laughed their asses off.

By the time they had made it to Nathanaël's house, they were both drenched, cold, and out of breath. Their faces were red and they held their stomachs from laughing.

The inside of the foyer was a little small as the two teens had to brush up against each other just to get through the door. Once they calmed down, and their abdomens stopped hurting, the uncomfortable wetness became apparent. Chloé pulled off her pullover only to find her shirt just as sopping wet and clinging to her body, "Uh, Nathanaël…"

"Oh, right. I'll get you something to wear, hold on," he climbed on the stairs, leaving Chloé by herself.

She took a brief glance around the small apartment. Despite it's small size, it still felt warm and cozy, and that meant something since it was coming from someone literally dripping wet.

Nathanaël poked his head out from the top of the stairs, "You can come on up," Begrudgingly, the shivering blonde took slow steps up the fairly steep stairwell. At the top was a cramped hallway, with a bathroom door held open by the redhead, "I have some clothes for you in here. Go get changed so I can dry those," He pointed to her sweatshirt.

She nodded and stepped into the small bathroom, the door shutting behind her. A little yellow bee came flying out of her bag, "Wow, only the first date and you're already undressing yourself."

Chloé, despite her red cheeks, glared at the kwami "What are you doing? What if he hears you?" She hissed.

"Relax, he won't hear," she stretched, "Man, what a nap. Waterproof hand bag, your best purchase yet."

"Oh, thank god you're dry."

"I know. Wouldn't want you worrying about me."

Chloé picked up the pile of clothes Nathanaël left for her. A soft red t shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants. The clothes were warm and soft to the touch. His clothes. Her eyes narrowed. Would embarrassment beat hypothermia? Well, dry clothes were dry clothes.

She peeled off her shirt, the gross fabric clinging to her skin. Then came her jeans, not as bad as her shirt but horribly soggy and wet. With a towel, she wiped down her legs and tried to dry her hair, but it was still damp and messy.

Slipping into the sweatpants felt nice. They were loose, obviously, but she was able to tie them tight enough so they rested comfortably on her hips. Nathanaël's shirt, however, hung down loosely over her body. Damn him and his stupid tallness.

Her Kwami didn't let up on her remarks either, "How does the saying go? A guy's shirt on a girl's body is like a flag on a conquered fortre-" Chloé flicked the little bee away. Pulling her hair back into her ponytail, she walked out into the hallway.

Nathanaël pulled off the wet sponge that was once his shirt, the cold material leaving goosebumps along his skin. From his bag flew out a little blue peacock, in a surprisingly happy mood. She fluttered about the room, humming to herself gleefully.

He was used to it.

She landed on the messy red mop that was his hair, contently laying there as if Nathanaël existed purely for her leisure, "Duusu, you're going to have to stay up here. We've got a guest over."

"You've got a guest over," she continued humming to herself, "You seem pretty happy for someone who's working with… you know… a bully…"

"Duusu!"

"What? I'm just looking out for you! I don't want anyone hurting my chosen's feelings, much less a manipulative girl like her!"

He sighed, "She's changed Dusuu… okay?"

She eyed him skeptically, "Whatever you say…"

He scoffed, "Like I need your approval," He pulled the t shirt over his head, knocking the little Kwami off. He stepped towards the door.

"Wait! Nathanaël!" Duusu hovered up to him, "I just want you to be safe. It would kill me to see your feelings crushed all over a stupid girl."

"I know, Duusu, but at least trust me on stuff like this, okay?" He nuzzled the little peacock, "I've already got parents looking out for me."

"Well their both gone at the moment, so someone has to step up."

He laughed, "I'll be downstairs, please no racket up here,"

She made the zipping motion over her lips. Nathanaël quietly stepped out of his bedroom, now in some warmer and much more comfortable clothes.

Chloé found herself mesmerized by all the little photos and pictures hanging along the wall. It was an unorganized mash of old, nearly crumpled up drawings and worn family photos.

There were the obligatory vacation photos, many of which had a small and, dare she say adorable baby Nathanaël and his parents, both looking fairly young at the time. Holding the infant was his mother, also a redhead herself. She was quite short, but certainly gorgeous. She wore a stunning blue sun dress and had a motherly beauty to her. Nathanaël's father had messy brown hair, and was quite tall in comparison to his wife. His genetics were obviously responsible for Nathanaël's recent growth in height.

As she continued along the wall, the wrinkles on their faces grew as Nathanaël became older, but their smiles were always beaming. Chloé found one photograph of a large family gathering. It looked to be dozens of relatives, probably cousins and aunts and uncles all gathered together in a group photo. Humorously, the photo was nearly half filled with redheads, Nathanaël and his mother accounting for two of them.

The occasional drawing of Nathanaël's was seen hanging from the wall. Sometimes, there were elaborate paintings brimming with bright colors. Other times, they were just rough doodles sheets of looseleaf paper.

"Hey."

Startled, Chloé jumped, her head spinning around to find Nathanaël, also in dry clothes. Though his weren't as loose as her's. His hair was wet and hung down in front of his eyes. He pointed to the living room, "My parents are gone for the weekend, so we can work down here."

She nodded.

The redhead waltzed into the living room, Chloé following shortly behind. The room, despite its size, felt expansive thanks to the large windows on the far wall. Connected to the living room was an open kitchen, much smaller than the ones Chloé had seen at the hotel.

Nathanaël swung open the refrigerator door and pulled out a half empty pizza box, "You wanna piece?"

Chloé wrinkled her face in disgusted, "No."

His face morphed into utter confusion, "Why not?"

She scowled, "None of your business."

He shrugged, "Fine. More for me anyways," He took a large bite out of the frozen goodness, "Guess girls like you can't handle commoner food."

She groaned, "I never said that."

"Whatever you say."

Chloé clenched her fists and plopped herself down on Nathanaël's rather comfy couch. He came in right after her, throwing himself on it in a haphazard fashion. Chloé's irritation grew.

Nathanaël still prodded, "Seriously, though. Why on earth don't you like Pizza?"

She clenched her eyes shut, "How would I know? I just don't like it, okay? Can you just drop it?!"

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "I was just wondering," He stretched, obnoxiously poking his feet against Chloé's, "Welp, let's get cracking on that project."

"So what made you pick Waterloo?"

"Hm?"

Nathanaël was sitting on the floor, a now colorful poster partially completed with him. Chloé was lazily sprawled out on his couch, textbooks and notes scattered across her body. They had been working for two hours, yet the rain outside showed no signs of letting up.

"You picked Waterloo for our project. Why?"

"...I… I don't know. Did you want something else or-"

"No no. Waterloo is fine. It's pretty fun to draw, actually," He looked up at her, "But that's a very complex battle. Why didn't you pick something easier, like from World War Two?"

She shrugged, "It looked… interesting…"

Nathanaël still wasn't convinced, "The research you gave me was pretty thorough, almost as if you had some prior knowledge about it," A sly grin crossed his face, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a… history nerd."

Chloé rolled her eyes, "As if. I couldn't care less about history. I just want my report card to look spotless once I go off to University."

Nathanaël smirked, "I bet you couldn't wait to do a project all about the Old Guard facing down the British with their Lebel rifles."

"Actually, the Level rifles weren't used until World War One."

His shit eating grin grew. Chloé realized his trap, but it was far too late, "You are totally a history nerd!"

"I'm-No-... shut up…," She muttered.

"Oh, so you don't deny it?" She didn't say anything. He laughed, "Who knew, Chloé Bourgeois, the staple of 'hip' trends, was a history buff."

"It's… I find it interesting, okay? Just lay off."

Nathanaël returned to coloring the poster, Chloé meanwhile wishing she could burn her history notes.

Another hour went by before Chloé's stomach audibly growled. She was starving. She kept stealthily glancing back towards the kitchen, still contemplating whether or not to go for the greasy peasant food that Nathanaël called pizza.

Despite her attempts at hiding her own hunger, Nathanaël still noticed, "Are you sure you don't want just one slice?"

Chloé wanted to say no. She wanted to make a snide remark, or to make a clever sarcastic comeback. But her thoughts were interrupted by her stomach again. With no other option, she caved in.

"...fine...whatever…"

Nathanaël leaped off the ground and bounded for the kitchen. After some rustling around in his refrigerator, her came back with a slice of pizza, unceremoniously held by a paper towel. In a mocking gesture, he bowed to her, "Oh great Queen, please accept this commoner's lowly gift."

She snatched it from him, "You know, you could learn some manners."

"That's rich coming from you." She stuck her tongue out at him. Nathanaël watched her take the first bite, "Well?"

She gave him a blank expression, "It's alright. But that's only because I'm hungry."

He shrugged and went back to the poster. Chloé, herself, would never, in a million years, like greasy fatty pizza.

Unless she was very hungry.

And it was frozen.

And it came from a certain redhead.

The sky was now considerably dark, and while the rain had calmed down, it was still pouring outside. Nathanaël decided to call it a day, and he gave Chloé her now dry clothes, so he could walk her home. Chloé tried to protest, but of course Nathanaël was having none of it. His excuse was that he had one umbrella, and he didn't trust her on giving it back. But he also had some other… more worrying reasons.

Maybe it was the superhero in him, but he did like the idea of Chloé, an objectively attractive young girl walking alone on the streets at night.

So, with her sweatshirt back on, and Nathanaël and his umbrella in toe, the two set off into the dark parisian streets. Nathanaël did find the walk actually quite beautiful. The colors of the yellow street lights reflecting off the pavement were just waiting to be painted. Chloé, meanwhile, enjoyed the peacefulness to it. The sounds of the rain pattering off the Umbrella and the distant sound of traffic made her feel comfortable.

By the time the redhead and the blonde had made it to Le Grand Paris, Chloé was ready to fall asleep. The lobby was empty, and much of the staff had already gone home. Only one of the hotel's receptionists was there.

"Well, this is where I get off."

Nathanaël yawned, "Do you wanna meet tomorrow… or-?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow's good. When were you thinking?"

"Nine in the morning?"

"Sure," She stretched, her eyelids quite heavy, "My place or yours?"

"How about yours?" She nodded. Nathanaël walked towards the doors of the hotel, before turning back to her, "'night Chloé."

"Good night, Nathanaël." With that, the redhead pushed open the doors and strolled into the night.

Chloé, on the way up to her bedroom, suddenly found herself feeling… strange. It was indescribable. Her stomach was fluttering, her heart still beating fast. She felt an odd sense of loneliness, and yet at the same time, bubbly enthusiasm.

Once she walked into her bedroom and her door was shut, the little yellow fuzzball flew out of her purse, annoyed at being cooped up for hours.

The blonde, now changed into loose pajama pants, jumped onto her soft mattress. She reached over and grabbed her laptop, the homescreen already on the ladyblog forums. She browsed through a couple posts, annoyed at the oversaturation of all the fangirls gushing over Le Paon. "Le Paon's so hot this, Le Paon's so cute that." The amount of attention the peacock hero got made her want to throw up.

With nothing to do, she slipped her laptop away and laid back onto the bed. The little bee had curled herself on top of one of Chloé's pillows, somehow already tired. Chloé's eyes began to flutter shut, her thoughts still focused on a certain artist. Her body relaxed, her limbs went limp, and her mind went into dreamland.

Though this time, it wasn't sultry dreams with the Evilllustrator. Instead, she dreamt of owning a home with a dorky artist. She dreamt of wedding bells and honeymoons. She dreamt of a little girl with eyes as blue as Chloé's and hair as red as her father's.