Lords, Lies & Ladybirds

by unforgetabELLE

A girl with a dream and a boy craving an escape both find themselves at Plagg's Players. A group of talented misfits, none bat an eye at the two men who join their theater, despite the costumer's diminutive frame and the newest player's peculiar name. Despite all the lies and secrets between them, the pair find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other again and again...

1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello! I am updating this daily on ao3 and tumblr as a part of Ladynoir July (that's why each section starts with header that was the prompt for that day), but I wanted to post it here as well. The second half will go up on the last day of the month, but enjoy the first 16 days!

This takes place loosely in Shakespearean/Elizabethan England (think late 1500s, but altered because I am not an expert on the period, so any inaccuracies-ie. the Pixar reference halfway in and the fact that Ivan is apparently writing quotes that are Shakespeare's-blame on artistic license) I've been watching the TNT series "Will" which is what inspired this (which is where the Reformation-hunting of the Catholics story-line comes from-true, btw), but you've all seen Shakespeare in Love, right? Think that kind of loose take on history!

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First impressions

Marinette perched on the edge of the fountain. In the center of the town square, it was the perfect location to watch the town drift by to the calm melody that was a Sunday morning. Usually, she was content simply to watch, smile at the children playing or stare longingly at the outfits of the ladies as they passed, but today she had other diversions. Bending over the small bunch of bound papers her betrothed had gifted her the day before, Marinette's charcoal stained fingers few across parchment. Her designs small and notations compact to conserve as much space in the precious booklet as possible, she was no less giddy at the prospect of having some implement to carry with her to document her ideas. They had paper in the bakery, of course. Despite it still being a luxury item to some, and certainly intended for men's use, her father was a learned man and business owner who didn't always follow the rules. Whether it was marrying her mother on a trip to the orient, teaching his only child to read, or indulging his little Ladybird's "designing fancy," Thomas Dupain was a prince among men, even if as second son he'd been relegated to a humbler life than what he'd been raised in. Still, even with her parents' doting, a blank book to fill with her ideas was a pleasure Marinette would not soon pass up.

The clock bell sounded and Marinette looked up in shock, mentally recounting the number of tolls. Had it really been three hours since she left that morning?

"Wipe that worry off your face, Birdy," a voice called from her left and Marinette turned to find her best friend Alya, one of the few who knew her peculiar nickname, walking towards her with a small basket. "I came to find you after my meeting, only to be told you'd hadn't been seen since dawn. But mama Dupain sent us sustenance, so here I am to insist on a picnic."

Alya stopped in front of her, waiting while Marinette closed her book and tried to wash her hands in the fountain. Drying them thoroughly on her skirt before slipping her booklet into a hidden pocket she'd added to her frock, Marinette stood and linked her arm with her friend before starting them towards the grassy knoll on the edge of town.

"How did your meeting go?" She asked once they were away from the crowds of the square.

"My suitor," Alya began with a smile towards Marinette. "Thinks we have a very bright future ahead of us."

Marinette shook her head, but couldn't help but smile back. Alya had plenty of suitors, with her curvaceous figure and connections to nobility abroad, men had been vying for the girl's hand for as long as Marinette could remember. Luckily for the independent Cesaire girls, they had an overprotective father who had yet to deem a match good enough for any of his four daughters. But, in this particular instance, Marinette knew they weren't really talking about any of Alya's potential husbands. Her friend, along with being one of the few women in town who could read and write, was also profusely interested in politics, and as of late, had taken to writing anonymously for a local agency that produced pamphlets once a month. Her analysis on the facade of morality amongst the English lords last month had been so rousing the editor of the pamphlet had quickly commissioned her for the rest of the year. Marinette had never been prouder of her friend, and it gave her hope that maybe her own dreams weren't so fanciful after all.

"I'm happy for you," she squeezed Alya's arm. "You've been practically glowing since your first...meeting. And he'd be a fool not to recognize a gem when he sees one. You're living your dream."

"You could too," Alya prompted the old discussion, but Marinette didn't change the topic like she usually did.

"Maybe," she allowed. Alya stopped in her tracks, eyes glowing, but as she opened her mouth to respond, they were jostled by a man nearly knocking Marinette over.

"My apologies," the man's hands grasped her forearms as he steadied her and their eyes met. Twin green pools stared back at her captivatingly for a moment, and Marinette was shocked at her own paralysis under his gaze. The man seemed equally frozen, and had Alya not placed a hand on her shoulder in concern, Marinette might have gotten lost in his captivating stare.

Then, a shout sounded from the plaza up ahead and the man seemed to startle out of his stupor. Hurrying a bow in her direction with furthered muttered apologies, he ran away, disappearing in the maze of alleyways.

Marinette looked away just as an imposing man barreled into the narrow street, heading in the direction her stranger had fled. Before she had a chance to question it, movement and shouts from up ahead caught her attention, and without a word, Alya was pulling her towards the increasing din in the plaza. Marinette instantly linked their arms back together, recognizing the investigative haze in her friend's eyes and determined not to lose her in a crowd today. But even as they plunged into the crowd, her mind kept turning back, unable to completely shake the image of the blonde man and the hauntingly familiar quality of his emerald eyes.

End of chapter note: Different types of Ladybugs/ladybirds are indigenous to different places, but there is an invasive species from Asia that is all over the world now. For the sake of this story, let's say that this is the only species that exists and it hasn't been introduced to England yet. Sabine nicknamed her daughter that using the English word for this beetle from records of people's travels to "the orient"-and that's why the family and close friends call Marinette "Birdy".

Akuma

Arriving in the alley, Alya stood on her tippy toes to peer over the amassing crowd and see the cause of the noise. Marinette didn't bother, knowing with her shorter frame that it is useless to try. Alya was sure to give her a play by play, and she had a suspicion as to what was going on anyway, having spotted the royal guard as soon as they entered the plaza. It was a scene that had become increasingly familiar in the last year and one that churned her stomach everytime.

The guard had found Catholics.

Or at least, supposed Catholics. The truth didn't seem to matter to these people as long as they instilled fear in the town. Marinette had watched friends and neighbors she'd known her entire life fall under suspicion during the Queen's tirade against the supposed traitors. More than a few vanished from their homes, never to return. She and her family were safe as loyalists to the Church of England, but she still hated the spectacle made of the arrests; men who'd never known a single day of hardship or controversy in their life smugly parading out poor souls in shackles whose only crime was believing something different. Something the government had in only decided to make illegal in the last few decades.

Marinette thought of the booklet in her pocket, filled with clothing and costumes she'd never professionally be allowed to create because it simply wasn't done, and she knew what she saw in front of her was wrong. She felt stifled just not being able to follow her dreams, but to be hunted for your most personal thoughts and beliefs?

No one should be persecuted for what is in their heart, and even then, Alya had been right her her article. Those who cast stones shouldn't live in glass houses.

"Disgusting," Alya scoffed next to her, arms crossed and eyes trained on the man who must have been the highest ranking official and leader of the raid. With A crisp white collar and expensively tailored suit of the finest black fabric she'd ever seen, Marinette was inclined to agree. The man's silver hair was clean and combed back with precision and his chin lifted in superiority even as his eyes cast downwards at the restrained group in front of him being led into a caged transport trailer of rotted wood and rusted metal. The door slammed. Their fate sealed with a shrill scream and bang of the metal gate, and the man's indifferent expression broke momentarily to allow a sadistic smirk, before he gave a signal with a flick of his hand and the whole group departed the square, leaving only the jostling of a quietly murmuring crowd.

She watched the man walk unhurriedly-unconcerned-to his simple, but clearly costly, carriage and caught just the flicker of annoyance on the man's face as the grim line of his mouth spat irritated words at whoever was waiting within. The exchange was over in the blink of an eye, but while the rest of the square had turned away, moved on with their chores for the day, Marinette felt herself watching the austere carriage depart, befuddled by the glimpse of blonde hair on the blurry figure of a man within and mentally admiring the way he'd been able to quietly irritate the silver-haired lord.

"Mari," Alya said, apparently not for the first time, as she waved a hand in front of Marinette's face and successfully snapped her out of her trance. "Did you even hear me?"

"No," she admitted, her eyes flickering back to where the carriage had left. "Did you know them? The family?"

Alya sighed, nodding her head, and Marinette linked their arms again as they started to walk away. Her friend may be higher born than many in town, but Alya's natural inquisitiveness made her friends wherever she went.

"Did you know they were…"

"No, but does it matter?"

"No," Marinette agreed.

"And you know what? I wouldn't be surprised it they weren't!" Marinette watched Alya's mind churn through a new theory and dutifully kept quiet. "Alix isn't exactly a calm and obedient maid. It wouldn't surprise me if she'd just offended the wrong person."

"You think the crown would do that?"

"I think the longer this damn witch hunt goes on, the more and more I'll start to believe our good and just rulers are capable of just about anything," Alya's mouth set determinedly, and her chin lifted in defiance. "And I know exactly what I am going to do about it."

Marinette stared at her, pride overshadowing the worry she felt over her friend's rebellious spirit. How many times had she wished she could be as bold? Marinette was no hardened investigator or skilled writer like Alya, but she had talents and could challenge the status quo of their world in her own way, if only she knew how.

"What?" Alya looked down at her with half a smile. "No warnings or words of caution? I'm not sure whether to be grateful you believe in me or worried that you don't care."

Marinette narrowed her eyes and poked her friend's side.

"You know I trust you not to be too foolish, and of course I care, but I was actually thinking that I am very proud to be your friend."

"Aw, Birdy-"

"No, honestly! You're living out the dream you've held since we were girls, and while the smallest part of me is envious, I am mostly extremely proud of all you are accomplishing."

"I don't know why you're envious when you could be doing the same."

"Oh? Does your suitor require clandestine tailoring, too? Saving the monarchy from moral ruin, one petticoat at a time?"

Alya rolled her eyes, but chuckled at her friend's antics.

"There are far more ways for you to realize your designing dreams than costuming spies. Not everyone was born to a life as dramatic as mine," Alya flipped her hair over her shoulder, but paused suddenly in her movements before turning slowly back to Marinette with a grin spreading across her face. "But then again, maybe dramatics is exactly what you need."

Marinette looked over her friend's shoulder and instantly spotted what had caught her attention. Three men, young and jovial in flamboyant but outdated attire that clearly marked them as actors, walked down the street joking and exchanging...well, questionable prose. Alya couldn't honestly mean…

"Costuming in costume," Alya mused as she separated their arms to step back and size Marinette up, chin in hand and eyes narrowed in concentration. Eyes glancing back at the retreating men before returning to Marinette's shocked face. "Yes, I think a life of drama is definitely what you need."

Lucky charm

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Marinette fidgeted with the belt on her pants and the billow of her sleeves as Alya checked that her hair was completely hidden under the cap she'd donned. It was an older hat, too large and definitely out of fashion, but at Marinette had a mass of hair and this was the best compromise they could find.

"It's not a good idea," Alya reminded her for the hundredth time. "It's a brilliant idea."

She stepped back, surveying her work and then nodding.

"Okay, now, remember how we practiced. Head up. Shoulders back, and for the love of god, try not to walk like a woman."

"Thank you. Very descriptive and helpful," Marinette muttered, near a growl. Unfortunately, only ever having been a woman, walking like anything else wasn't exactly in her wheelhouse of skills.

"And perfect, talk just like that," Alya grinned. "Low and quiet. Better for them to assume you just aren't chatty than for them to find you feminine."

"I'm here to sew, not to make friends," Marinette repeated the mantra to herself, trying to focus on living her dream and finally being given free reign to create instead of the danger of what she was doing.

"Exactly," Alya agreed with a smile, but Marinette barely heard her from where she was mentally spiraling down a hole of worst-case-scenarios.

"Alya, maybe this isn't-I mean what if I can't-"

"Are you afraid of getting caught or being bad at it?" Alya leaned down to look directly in her eyes and Marinette realized the answer instantly, and while being discovered was a risk, it wasn't what had thrown her into a circle of anxiety.

"Because if it's the former, no one is forcing you to do this. You can leave at any time, go back to your normal life, and no one will ever be the wiser," Alya continued with a knowing smile on her face. "But if it's the latter, then you are absolutely wrong, because I've already seen what you are capable of and am beyond certain that you are going to be the finest customer this town has ever seen. And have I ever been wrong?"

"No," Marinette admitted with a reluctant smile.

"No," Alya smiled. "Oh! And you'll have this!"

Alya reached into the small bag at her side, producing a small pin with a painted wooden ladybird on the tip.

"One of Nora's more eager suitors brought this back for her from his trip...before she had officially turned him down," Alya reached to un-clip Marinette's overcoat and secure the small pin within. "She told me to give it to my friend with that 'funny nickname', and since you told me they were good luck, I figured we could use all the help we could get."

Alya did her coat back up and Marinette placed a hand over where the pin sat near her heart, wondering how she'd been so lucky to have found a friend like Alya.

"Ready, Birdy?" Her voice was low and encouraging and Marinette took a deep breath.

"Birdy?" A voice from behind them sounded, and Marinette spun to find the door to the theater open, a stout man peering at them from the illuminated doorway in suspicion. Alya quickly made her excuses and disappeared down the street, leaving Marinette to fend for herself. They had agreed it would be better if they weren't seen together while she was in costume, but she still spared a glare towards her friend's retreating form as she left her to deal with the mess she'd just inadvertently created.

"B-B-Bertie!" Marinette exclaimed quickly, feeling the elaborate cover story of the fictional 'John Farlowe' that she and Alya had carefully concocted fade away as she did. "Albert Thomas," Marinette murmured, trying to negate the shrill voice that had just escaped her lips as she stuck a hand out towards the man. "Your new costumer."

The man didn't accept her hand, but after a moment of suspicious perusal, did usher her into the theater. Plagg, as he'd introduced himself, gave her a brief tour of the house as he regaled her with how their last man had 'found god' and now 'spat' on the 'immorality and vanity' of their theatre. He glanced at her as he ranted, and Marinette made sure to scoff and grunt in agreement at all the appropriate moments, all the more thankful when he finally led her to the wardrobe.

"Repair those by tonight, and the job's yours," Plagg pointed to a large pile in the corner of the loft, and before Marinette even had a chance to question what exactly was in need of repair, the man was gone, descended back to the stage where Marinette already heard rehearsal beginning.

With a sigh, she got to work, and in no time fell into the engrossing rhythm she adored so. The rip of stitches and the snip of thread lulling her into a peaceful tranquility, it was deep into the night before the sounds of the men's performance ended downstairs and Plagg peeked back into the loft. He took one look at the costumes, now carefully hung on whatever pegs were available or stacked on a desk, each impeccably mended and more than a few embellished with pieces from a scrap pile, before turning her her with a nod.

"See you tomorrow," he stated simply, turning to leave without further acknowledgement of her work. Marinette waited until he'd disappeared back down the ladder before letting her face split into a smile, hopping up and down in her quiet celebration. She'd done it!

With a few calming breaths, she composed her face as much as possible before grabbing her satchel and blowing out the candle. Still riding on a high, she barely noticed the two men lingering in the hall on her way to the door and doesn't have time to slow before running straight into one. Her eyes widened as she caught the man's profile, the golden hair and green eyes undoubtedly familiar to her, but ducked her head before his gaze turned towards her.

With a muttered apology, she rushed out the door. Hat pulled low and hand clutching her lucky charm through her jacket, she cursed at herself for ever thinking this might be so simple.

Clumsiness

Adrien slumped on the the hard seat of the coach, staring out the window and steadfastly ignoring his father where he glared at him from the opposite bench. Gabriel insisted on taking Adrien on more raids, but thankfully had ceased pontificating on the worthiness of his duty on these excursions, as it was clear that his words weren't doing much to convince his only son and heir on the merits of his 'sacred office'. One day, as he was frequently reminded, Adrien would be Lord Agreste, and he was happy to let his father believe these "educational escapades" were helping to prepare him for his future post so long as they got him out of the house. Ever since his mother had been killed in supposed retaliation for his father's execution of some prominent leader of an underground group of Catholics, Gabriel had put his only child on veritable house arrest. Over the years, Adrien had formed a list of escape routes from his gilded prison, but as he got older, and his father looked at him more and more to begin demonstrating the responsibility befitting his future station, route after route was slowly being discovered, and blocked. A part of Adrien wanted to scoff at his father's ridiculous attempts to patch holes in a sinking boat on fire-clearly Adrien's moonlit walks are not the root of their problems-but it honestly wasn't worth the energy. Besides, in a way his strategy worked: It got Adrien to agree to accompany him on his work outings, if only to appease Gabriel just enough.

Still staring out the small window, and trying not to feel too manipulated by his own blood, Adrien was roused out of his musings by his father's voice.

"Are you accompanying me today?"

"No," he answered automatically, harboring absolutely no desire to watch his father tear yet another sobbing family from their home and loved ones.

Adrien turned only to see Gabriel's indifferent expression carefully hiding the judgement in his eyes. He never did understand why Adrien didn't share his hatred of the traitors, the very people that had killed his mother, but Adrien had spent enough time alone with his books and his thoughts to have come to terms with the events that ripped the only person he'd ever truly loved from the world. His father had killed someone they loved. In vengeance, they had killed someone he loved. Even if their true intention had been to kill Gabriel, which Adrien has always suspected, the debt had been paid. Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth.

While Gabriel had let a simple duty be turned into a personal vendetta, Adrien refused to follow in his footsteps and perpetuate the cycle of violence. He'd lived the past few years in near isolation and learned first hand how sitting and stewing in your problems was likely just to drive you mad. Introspection was only helpful up to a point before a person needed to interact with other human beings to be sane as well as wise.

It was why when his father left the carriage with hardly a backwards glance, Adrien waited the appropriate amount of time before slipping out the other side and away from the well-meaning, but easily distracted, eye of his guard. He walked gingerly a few steps, before dashing down the closest alleyway...which would have been a smooth exit had he actually bothered to look where he was going. As it was, instead of pulling off the great escape, he nearly toppled over some poor maiden and her friend.

"So sorry," he reached instinctively to steady her and then just as quickly dropped his hands, not at all sure of what the etiquette was with females one did not know. Despite being one of the most sought after, yet elusive, men in town, the only son to a prominent fortune and title, Adrien was decidedly hopeless with any woman that was not Chloe, arguably his only friend and certainly the only woman he saw on a regular basis.

And despite all the joking between them, and not so subtle hints from her father, Adrien had never seen Chloe in anything more than a sisterly way. Yet one glance at this woman, with exotically slanted eyes bluer than the clearest sapphire, had Adrien forgetting all pretense of decorum.

A shout from behind him, broke him from his stupor, and with a hasty bow, Adrien continued down the alley, away from his guard but also away from the enchantingly beautiful girl. He shook his head as he turned a corner down an impossibly narrower street. If one look was all it took to send him into poetic ramblings, clearly he needed to get out more. Adrien looked up, refocusing on his escape, only to find he'd cornered himself into a dead end. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he heard his guards footfalls far too close to consider doubling back and looking for an alternate route.

Halfway through a muttered curse at his short-lived freedom, Adrien felt a hand wrap around his arm and yank him behind a cleverly camouflaged break in the wall. He struggled momentarily, but a hand descended on his mouth effectively silencing him as a man's voice quietly shushed him from behind. His guards footsteps paused, most likely at the mouth of the alley, before resuming at a twofold pace down the road and away from his hiding spot. The man behind him relaxed, releasing his hold as he pushed to peak out into the alley.

"All clear," he held open the fabric door and Adrien got a good look at him for the first time. Taller than he and built with a lean strength, the man had a darker complexion than was fashionable, but a kind smile that put Adrien at ease. He seemed to be similarly sizing Adrien up, which was why his next words weren't a surprise.

"You look pretty clean to be a thief," he pursed his lips and lightly punched Adrien's arm. "But I felt those arms, and you're not scrawny enough to be one of those weakling lord-ettes."

Adrien smirked, grateful for some of the bulk built up from the swordplay his father insisted on. It had helped him on more than one precarious escape from the estate, and apparently was a good cover as well, not that anyone really knew what the young Lord Agreste truly looked like.

"I'm just you're run of the mill man of mystery," Adrien settled on and the man smiled at that.

"Well I'm not," he stuck out his hand. "Name's Nino. Nino Lahiffe."

"Chat," Adrien grasped Nino's hand, choosing the first name that came to mind: his cat's. "Chat Noir."

Nino's smile only widened, clearly spotting a lie when he heard it.

"Quick," he observed, nodding his head in approval. "I like you, Chat, or whatever your name is. If you ever decide to escape your guard again and want to learn something from a professional liar, come find me."

"He's not my guard," Adrien started, but Nino just took one look down at the man's perfectly fitted and pressed clothes and chuckled.

"Can't fool a jester, brother," he playfully punched Adrien's arm, but when his guard's footfall's seemed to be making a comeback, Nino quickly pushed past him and started towards the dead end of the alley. "But seriously! Plagg's Playhouse! We're having a reading tonight. You should try to come. Willow and Second! Toll twice!"

And then, with the loping grace of a gazelle, the man vaulted over the wall and out of sight just as his guard rounded the corner and Adrien's fun for the day was officially over.

Bell

Adrien ran a nervous hand through his hair before shaking it haphazardly and glancing down at his clothes. He'd taken the 'jump over the back wall' route of escape that night, and while it left him covered in ivy leaves with knees stained with dirt from a few slips in the garden, all he had to do was remember Nino's notice of his daywear earlier to realize a little filth would probably be for the best. All he wanted was one night of people looking at him like a person, not the heir to a title or son of a...well, a saint or the devil, depending on the crowd. Adrien still couldn't decide what was worse, the open scorn or idol worship with which people often regarded Gabriel, and Adrien by extension.

But tonight, he wasn't Adrien, son of Lord Agreste. Tonight he was Chat Noir, kinda-friend of the man called Nino and just an average guy.

He stopped at the cross street Nino had specified, and with a single glance around, finally understood his subsequent instructions. Hanging above a small side door was an antiquated iron bell which, after allowing himself only a moment's hesitation, Adrien rung twice.

A muffled shuffle was followed by a low creak as the wooden door swung inward to reveal a slight man with aquiline features and a shock of red hair tied at the nape of his neck. His brow furrowed and mouth opened, and Adrien could tell from the look on his face that he was about to be told to get lost, when a familiar face appeared over his shoulder.

"My man!" Nino's brilliant smile immediately put Adrien at ease as he gently pushed the redhead aside.

"Nathaniel, Chat. Chat, Nathaniel. He's cool," Nino introduced them, giving Nathaniel a reassuring look as he pulled the nervous blonde boy into the building and addressed him directly. "Welcome to Plagg's Players! Home to ruffians, thugs, and liars alike."

"Actors," Nathaniel stage whispered to Adrien with a wink, and he tried not to let his surprise show.

"This is a theater?" Adrien looked over at Nino who just grinned at him.

"I told you I thought you'd have a career as a professional liar. Where else would I bring you? Now this," Nino led them into the main room and his voice fell to a whisper as the sounds of other men echoed towards them from the stage. "This is our sanctuary."

Adrien stopped at the back of the standing section, gaping at the scene before him. It wasn't grand like the few theaters Adrien had been in, on the few occasions the subject matter had not been deemed too vulgar by his father. It was dirty, with wood beams darkened by god-knows-what and floors scuffed, warped and dented. The walls were a dull, yellowish plaster and the sparse draping of fabric around the stage had the effect of making the whole room look more disheveled instead of ornate.

No, it wasn't the setting that stopped him in his tracks, it was the way the room pulsed with life. Men waltzed across the stage in a constant flurry of movement as they peeked at a bundle of papers held by a large man in the center before laying down lines as if they were coming up with them off the top of their head. It was a scramble of chaos, the actors joking and improvising as they went, but somehow managing to orbit each other in an engrossing and whimsical narrative.

Nino had nudged him with a smirk before jogging to join in on the revelry, looking over the shoulder of the man with the script and calling out his lines with the perfected timing of someone completely at ease in his element. Even Nathaniel, the introspective-looking man who had answered the door with a scowl seemed to come alive on the stage, his features morphing into one of wonder that perfectly reflected the character of the maiden he was inhabiting.

The scene unfolded as Adrien slowly made his way towards the scene, marveling at how he'd lived his life thus far without experiencing this.

"Taurus!" Nino called, and when no one immediately jumped into the roll, Adrien leaned into impulse. Vaulting onto the stage with the ease of someone used to jumping over much higher walls, he followed the men's lead and glanced over the shoulder of the man who must be the playwright at the center, eyes scanning for the line.

"My lord?" He responded, head inclining in a bow towards Nino. His lips twitched in amusement, but he remained in character, stepping forward to address the new personage on stage.

"Strike not by land…"

And the scene continued. It ended up being his character's only line, but by the end, Adrien found himself invigorated in a way he'd never remembered being before.

"Good work!" A stout man entered the heart of the theater, keen eyes alight despite the stern expression on his face. "Ivan, fix that second to last scene. She's a queen, not some simpering maid."

"No problem, Plagg," the playwright, Ivan, nodded, before walking backstage and grabbing his things.

"Oh, and Nino," the man called before turning to leave the room. "Fresh meat can stay."

Plagg, who must have been the proprietor let a small smile slip as he nodded at Adrien while Nino called a quick thanks to his retreating form. Once out of sight, his new friend let out a deafening whoop.

"New player initiation!" His voice cried even louder, bolstered by the responding jeers of his new colleagues.

Friends, the word floated through Adrien's mind and he couldn't hide his smile as Nino started pulling him out of the room, already lagging behind the over-eager horde of actors heading for the nearest pub.

He was just turning to grab the vest he'd discarded about halfway through the night when a small boy knocked into him from the side. He took a moment to right himself before turning to check on the well-being of the small battering ram, but the child, perhaps a teenager from the looks of his wiry frame, was already fleeing. He was nearly out the door before Adrien heard the muttered apology or spotted the long wisp of hair escaping his oversized hat.

"Who-"

"The new costumer, I think," Nino readily answered, and Adrien tried to shake off any strange feeling of familiarity as his new friend led him down the street, and he celebrated the start of a new era in his life.

Secrets

Over the next two weeks, Marinette did her best to keep her head down, disappearing into the costume loft well before the actors arrived, and making sure not to leave until every last one of them was gone. The only person she saw even somewhat regularly was Plagg's wife, Tikki, and even she only interrupted Marinette to make sure she remembered to eat. Marinette had to admit she liked the woman, petite and nearly as silent as she had learned to become. While Plagg was the owner, his wife was clearly the backbone of the establishment, but as kind as she was, Marinette couldn't help but feel far too seen each time she dropped off her small cakes with a wink. Marinette was touched by her concern and motherly notice of the costumer's habit of working herself with abandon, but the last thing she needed was another person suspicious of her identity. She already had the blonde boy to worry about.

She'd seen him again. With the amount of time as she spent at the theater as of late, it would be impossible not to, and despite his questionably disheveled and less cleanly appearance, Marinette knew with a certainty that burned through her that he was the same man that ran into her that day on the street. The same golden hair, and the same emerald eyes, just staring back at her in the clothing of common folk. Marinette didn't know which version was truth, nor did she have the luxury of finding out. She avoided interaction with the other men as much as she could, but she hid from him like the specter of death himself. She was finally making something of her skill, and one accidental meeting on the street had the potential to rip it all away. So she stayed silent, and watched her steps, ignoring the not always unpleasant way his presence made her heart clench and praying he wouldn't remember the stranger on the street, much less recognize her in her disguise.

When, a few days before opening night, the actors started coming in to be fitted into their perspective costumes, Marinette was a mess. While she knew players with minor parts like his were responsible for their own costumes, she still watched from the darkest corner of what she'd come to regard as her loft as each appointment ascended the ladder, only feeling her heart start to beat again when she was certain it was not him. Not...Chat, as she remembered the others referring to him. Her nose crinkled just thinking of the name. It was strange, no doubt, but that wasn't what bothered her. It had to be a nickname as surely no one would name their child 'cat', but if it was only a stage name why did it...fit so well.

"Do I smell?" The man standing above her asked, taking note of her expression with furrowed brows. She could tell he was joking, but ever the thespian, moved to sniff his underarm. Marinette managed to surpass her smile, shaking her head no at Nino. He was definitely her favorite of the small theater family, but also the one she was in the most danger of forgetting herself around and blurting out responses in her normal voice.

"Are you sure? I think tonight is the night that I ask your fair cousin for her hand in marriage."

Marinette paused from where she was mending Nino's pantaloons, to look up at the man with a raised eyebrow. Unfortunately, Nino had spotted Marinette saying goodbye to Alya one day what the girls had both assumed was a safe distance from the theater. It hadn't been, and had taken the most words Marinette had spoken in her entire time at the theater to convince the man that the parting hug between the two did not mean the beauty was her betrothed, but rather her cousin. While he eventually let it go, now the man didn't bother to hide his infatuation, constantly claiming that today would be the day that he would win Alya's heart.

Marinette straightened, looking Nino up and down in exaggerated appraisal, before giving him a disbelieving look. Nino pouted in response.

"Have some faith, my friend! Under this shabby facade, I ooze charm."

Marinette ducked her head, hiding her smile and shooed him towards the ladder, the hole in his costume fixed sufficiently to last the rest of the performance

"You're done. Go ooze charm on stage."

He flashed her his best smile before scampering down the ladder for his character's reappearance. Marinette hesitated, but followed along in case there be another costume issue.

Other than Nino's unfortunate run in with Kim's far too realistic prop sword, their opening night was going off without a hitch, and Marinette had heard more than one appreciative gasp over Nathaniel's gown in particular. But while her costumes created that initial impact, the actors truly drove it home.

By the end of the play, Marinette was so engrossed in the performance, clapping furiously, she hadn't even realized someone had sidled up next to her.

"They were really good, weren't they?"

She turned to find Chat, face open and earnest as he awaited her verdict, and for a moment,she forgot that she was supposed to be avoiding him.

"You all were."

"I only had one line," the man ducked his head, hand rising to rub the back of his neck nervously, and Marinette had to stop herself from lifting a hand to his arm in comfort.

"And you supplied it perfectly," she risked a smile at him and was rewarded with one in return. She'd maintained eye contact for far longer than she should have and was trying to find the will to look away when Ivan's booming voice saved her.

"Brilliant, boys!" The large man stampeded backstage. "Drinks on me!"

Chat turned to her in question, and she searched her brain for some excuse that wouldn't completely demolish the friendly, hopeful look on his face, but any words she'd found fell unused from her mouth as a far too familiar face strode back stage. His blue eyes scanning the dimly lit antichamber, Marinette's veins seemed to freeze even as her body felt suddenly emerged in flames of panic.

"Bertie?" Chat's concerned voice broke through her haze.

"I have to go," she responded in a deep whisper, grabbing her sewing kit off the prop table where she'd left it and fleeing. Marinette felt her vest snag on something there, doubtless another casualty of Kim's sword, but despite hearing the fall of more than one button, she did not stop.

Because while Chat clearly didn't recognize her from before, her betrothed definitely would.

Partners

Adrien watched the peculiar man rush off, tearing his vest and nearly knocking the entire prop table to the ground in his haste, and felt his face fall. He seemed to get along well enough with the rest of the players, but Adrien was starting to get the feeling that Bertie was deliberately avoiding him. As if he were...afraid? But then he remembered catching him applauding the cast, finding him in a moment when his guard was clearly down, and there was something so easy and familiar about talking with him. Bertie had finally seemed at ease around newest player, until something changed. Until he got spooked, Adrien realized, remembering the way the man's eyes had darted over his shoulder, widening in shock before he spun and fled.

Adrien risked a glance in that direction and his eyes landed on the stranger who must have set Bertie off: tall, with hair so black it shone nearly blue in the candlelight. While the man was not bulky, he certainly exuded a confidence as he moved with a lithe strength. He walked with the bearing of an upper class upbringing, but his eyes shifted so intelligently around the room, assessing it from all angles, Adrien found himself wondering if the man was part of the royal guard. Perhaps Bertie had seen the same, and had reason to fear.

When the man spotted Nathaniel, though, and all his keen focus shifted to the shorter man as he stooped to quickly embrace him, shouting compliments over the din of backstage, and Adrien sighed, turning away to right the mess of props that had fallen. Clearly the man was a friend of Nathaniel's and no threat, but Adrien did still begrudge his appearance.

He got on very well with everyone at the theater...everyone but Bertie, the costumer who, despite having started at the theater not long before him, seemed to have already won the respect of all the players, and the friendship of more than a few. Nino was included in this exclusive group and seemed to find it hilarious that Adrien was so fixated on befriending the quiet man to no avail.

The tingling hint of familiarity the few times they did cross paths made Adrien worry that he'd somehow offended the man in the past without even realizing it, but seeing as Adrien barely ever left the house when he wasn't 'Chat' and that he certainly didn't interact with those below his class when he did, he quickly dismissed the notion.

Shaking his head in confusion, he was picking up the last prop—Kim's not-as-dull-as-he-promised sword—when he noticed something else on the ground. A button, from where Bertie's vest must have popped, and something far more interesting. A pin with a small wooden insect painted a vibrant red on the tip. A ladybird, Adrien recognized the creature after a moment, remembering the particular coloring from one of his books. Another moment later, he realized it must have fallen from Bertie's vest along with the button.

Adrien glanced up towards the door through which the man had disappeared only a minute before, and deliberated. He didn't want to follow a man who had seemed to be doing his best at avoiding the newest player, but then again, the pin looked valuable and was no doubt sentimental. It wouldn't be right to let him believe he'd lost it…

Mind made up, he stood and strode towards the door, not stopping to say goodbye to his cast mates as he started to jog in the direction he usually saw Bertie leave. He could probably catch him before he got too far.

Adrien had jogged a few blocks and nearly had dismayed of finding the man when a sound echoed from an alley and his eyes spied the top of a familiar hat from behind a stack of crates.

"Damn," a higher voice than expected echoed towards him as he started down the alley, freezing as the stack of crates toppled to the ground.

Behind them, waist length hair hanging in a tangled curtain and throwing her face into shadows, was unmistakably a woman. Blouse only half-tucked, and skirt rumpled, Adrien stared as the maiden struggled to untangled herself from the mess of crates while stuffing Bertie's signature hat into a bag at her side.

"Bertie?" He finally found his voice, all his suspicions confirmed as the woman looked up at him with the same wide eyes that had haunted him for a week, but that he could only now place.

The girl from the street.

Hand kiss

Marinette froze in her movements as soon as she heard the voice say her name. Not just any voice. His voice.

Skirt only partly secured, and hair a twisted mess from having been stuffed in her hat all day, she certainly didn't look like the respectable young woman he'd run into on the street that day weeks ago, but she just as certainly didn't look like the man she'd been leading him to believe she was either.

"I can explain," she begun, just as he said, "You're the girl."

"Yes, I'm a girl," Marinette confirmed, trying to take a step forward, but finding her skirts still tangled in the crates she'd knocked over. "But please, you can't-"

"No," he shook his head, confusion finally starting to clear in his eyes. " Not a girl. The girl! You're the girl from the street that day!"

Marinette felt her heart falter in her chest as she heard the near awe in his voice. Even though her worst fear was realizing itself in front of her very eyes, some traitorous part of her rejoiced that he had remembered. That he'd seemed as stuck by her as she had been by him.

"Yes," she confirmed, a small smile coming to her face as a grin stole over Chat's expression. Then, true to his name, he scrambled with a feline grace towards her, hopping over the mess she'd created until he was directly in front of her. Bowing at the waist like the finest gentleman, he held out an open palm. Courteous to a fault, Marinette instinctively placed her hand in his, although the formal greeting seemed out of place in the darkened alley at sometime near midnight.

"A pleasure to meet you…" He paused, straightening and looking at her in confusion. "I suppose your name isn't Bertie, then?"

"You can call me...Ladybird," she supplied hesitantly.

"Ladybird," he repeated with a smile, cupping her hand between both of his in such an earnest gesture Marinette nearly forgot why she had hidden from those eyes for so long.

Nearly.

"Chat," she squeezed his hand between hers and threw decorum aside, stepping even closer to him. He already knew she disguised herself as a man and worked illegally as a costumer. A charge of impropriety was the least of her worries. "Please, you can't tell anyone. Please. Sewing...Creating...It's my dream, and as a woman…"

"You're expected to be one thing when all you dream about being is something completely different?"

"Yes," she gasped out, daring to let herself believe that he understood, that the kindness and camaraderie she found in his eyes were true.

"I understand better than you would believe," he squeezed her hand back and smiled. "Do not fear, M'Lady. Your secret is safe with me. That's what... friends are for, right? "

Chat's face peered down at her, its expression blindingly hopeful yet unsure. She'd heard the way he'd halted over calling her a friend, and suspected he was still unsure if her standoffish behavior was a response to him, or merely a self-preservation mechanism to protect her identity. She'd also watched him throughout the week, and while the other players had accepted him without question, he seemed on edge around them. It was as if he was waiting for the wool to be pulled off, only to find none of it was real. Despite his apparent joy around others, Marinette could tell he was a man used to solitude, but looking at how he thrived on stage, she couldn't imagine anyone being able to deny him that happiness. She wondered who could meet him and not immediately want to lose themselves in the sunny glow of his smile for an eternity.

"Thank you, my friend," she breathed out, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as a burden fell from her shoulders. Chat's responding resplendent smile was all she needed to confirm her suspicions, and she instantly knew she wanted to make sure this man was surrounded with the love and friendship he clearly craved so desperately.

"And now, I must insist on escorting my friend home."

"Oh no, I'm-" Marinette cut off, a loud whistle coming from the mouth of the alley as a group of drunkards peered down, took in Marinette's disheveled state and Chat's proximity, and made their own assumptions. "Actually, yes. Please."

Chat smiled gratefully at her, grabbing her bag as she finished securing her skirt and twisted up her hair into something halfway respectable.

"Oh, and this!" Chat held up his hand, and Marinette could just make out the colors of Alya's ladybird pin in the dim light.

"My charm!" Her hand automatically flew to her breast, where the pin clearly no longer was, watching as Chat reached down and attached it inside her satchel where he had it slung over his shoulder.

"There. Safe and hidden," his eyes lifted to hers again, mischievous in the low light. "But no less lucky."

She watched him through narrowed eyes as he again bowed over a proffered hand. Pursed lips hiding a smile, she shook her head at the way he'd gone from innocent boy to absolute trouble with just the quirk of his lips and slant of his eyes.

"Are you saying you believe in lucky charms, minou?" She asked, slipping her hand into his and blushing as he brushed his lips across the top. Eyes peering up at her from underneath a mop of golden hair, he responded easily.

"I do now. I've found myself a Ladybird, haven't I?"

Claws and bugs

"Ouch!" Nino whined as she stuck him with another pin. "I know it's a recent script change, Bertie, but you did hear my character doesn't get stabbed to death anymore, right?"

Marinette paused, glaring up at him from where she knelt next to his leg, but saying nothing. Nino, usually her perfect mannequin, had been a pain in her neck today. Hands waving as he talked animatedly about some street musicians he'd met the other night, Marinette usually would have no problem keeping the boy motionless while still letting him gush about his newest acquaintances. She and the theater's star player had found a balance between them in his many fittings, and after Nino's squirming drew blood during his first fitting, she had he learned his lesson: he could jabber as much as he wanted as long as he remained still as a statue.

But no, here he was, reciting from his frighteningly accurate memory some hilarious conversation he'd had with the group of travelling frenchmen, whole body contorting as he shifted characters, and making the fitting of this already difficult bear costume twice as long for her and thrice as painful for him.

But she didn't blame Nino. Not entirely, at least. He was an excitable person, an actor who revelled in telling a story. The man currently leaning against the wall with an unapologetic smirk on his face as he egged his friend on, was a different story. The blonde's eyes had turned in response to her grumbling more than once throughout the fitting, and a single glance at the amusement held within them was more than enough to convince Marinette of who the true culprit was here.

She heard Chat chuckle as she glared at Nino and turned her gaze on him instead. He immediately fell silent, pursed lips suppressing his smile.

"Maybe you should stop moving so much, man," Chat said, laughter evident in his voice. "Before Bert decides to stab you on purpose."

Marinette couldn't stop her smirk then, glancing up at a nervous-looking Nino and letting it spread. She watched in satisfaction as he visibly gulped.

"I like you Bertie," he began, brow slightly furrowed in unease. "But for a small man who doesn't talk much, you are surprisingly terrifying."

"Thank you," Marinette responded, standing and surveying her work, before spotting one last issue.

"Why is that? Chat, what is it about our cataclysmic costumer that instills such awe?" Nino continued as she held a piece of the faux fur against Nino and reached blindly for the scissors with her free hand.

"Because," Chat's voice responded, much closer than he was a moment ago as he placed the implement she was looking for into her searching fingers. "He is the expert wielder of all the pointy things in your immediate vicinity." Marinette looked up, her head turning a fraction to catch Chat's smile. "All needles and pins, as far as the eye can see."

Chat shot her a wink before moving away, and Marinette hurried to focus on her task, lest her flaming cheeks give away more than either of the men in the room needed to know.

"Well, except for these bad boys," Chat raised his hands, fingers wiggling within the clawed gloves she was working on for Nino's costume. "These are yours, but even then, only if Bertie is feeling generous that day."

Nino's eyes lit up and she felt his body tense as he stopped himself from rushing to look at the last part of his costume she hadn't shown him yet. Glancing down at her with a pout and clearly waiting for permission, Marinette rolled her eyes at the boy and, with a final snip, nodded, acquiescing to his freedom. He was off in a flash, grabbing her invention gingerly in his hands as his eyes shone in wonder.

Clearing her throat, she stood, taking advantage of Nino's distraction and smiling sweetly at Chat.

"And this expert wielder is ready for her..his next victim," she stuttered,voice still low, but near slip evident as she forgot herself for a moment and watched Chat's eyes shot to Nino. Luckily, the boy was still engrossed in his new toy, but Marinette made a mental note to be more careful. It was far too easy to lose the facade of Bertie in Chat's presence.

Despite her near disastrous error at the start, Chat's fitting was much easier. She'd adapted a toga from the Roman themed play, dyed it blue and added wisps of fabric to replicate butterfly wings. Just like that, the boy had become a fairy.

She moved through his fitting in a contented haze, none of her previous awkwardness around the man present as she adjusted and embellished the costume with ease. Chat fell into her choreography effortlessly, moving and freezing according to her needs, hardly without her even having to ask. It was only when she'd finished, sitting back to survey her work and offering her fist for Chat to bump as had somehow become a ritual for them in the past few days, did she notice how silent the room had fallen.

Nino cleared his throat from where he'd gone to sit by the window.

"Chat, is there something you'd like to tell me?" Marinette looked up and watched as Chat's face went ashen, his eyes darting down to her as he opened his mouth, but no response came. Luckily, Nino wasn't done.

"When did you and Bertie become so buddy-buddy?" Nino's smile was jubilant as he leaped from his seated position and came to throw and arm over Chat's shoulders. "And here I was, chattering away to avoid awkward silences, and you two are clearly already pals."

"Yeah, pals," Chat echoed, his face finally regaining some of its color as Nino continued to talk.

"See? I told you Bertie didn't dislike you. He's just a man of few words. Right, my friend?"

Marinette, keeping with with expectations, simply nodded, trying to hide her smile and hoping Nino would keep chattering away, anything to keep that embarrassed flush rising to Chat's cheeks. As if she could have ever disliked him…

"See what I mean?" Nino, nudged her with his shoulder before steering a still shocked Chat towards the ladder. "Now let's leave our friend in peace so he can finish up work. You, my boy, have lines to learn."

Nino plodded down the ladder first and Chat sneaked a glance back at her once their friend was out of eyeshot. She wiggled her fingers at him in farewell, and had to muffled her laughter behind a hand at the menacing glare he sent her in response before descending out of view.

Friends

"Alright," Nino slammed down his tankard, the thud pulling Adrien out of his daydream and pointing his attention back at his friend. "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean?" Adrien asked, deliberately taking a bite of the meat on the plate, even though it was tough and overly salted. While he envied the freedom of the common folk, if pub food was anything to go off of, he did not begrudge them their food.

"I mean, you've been in dreamland since we've sat down. Either you're nervous about tomorrow's performance-which would be noble, but boring of you- or," Nino's face broke out in a grin as he leaned forward. "You not been dreaming of the play at all, but rather something far, far sweeter."

"What?"

"Please, you're a young, handsome man. You're certainly eligible enough, and probably not scrimping for cash if my memory of your fine clothes when we first met serves me," Nino smiled as Adrien's eyes went wide. "Well that, and the clear way you're forcing yourself to choke down this food."

Adrien slumped in his seat, pushing the plate towards Nino who had already eaten his share with gusto. If he wasn't fooling anyone anyway, he definitely wasn't going to eat whatever mystery meat the barmaid had slapped on his plate.

"Your point?"

"My point is you are a man in your prime and clearly someone has caught your fancy."

"You mean a girl?"

"If that's what you like," Nino replied with an unconcerned shrug and Adrien gave into defeat, flopping over at the waist and dropping his head into his hands. "What's her name?"

Adrien rubbed his eyes, but when he looked up, the smile on his face cut through every emotion.

"Ladybird."

"What?" Nino asked, confused but letting a smile creep onto his face as well.

"Who," he corrected. "And I am so in over my head, but when she smiles, I cease to care," he admitted. Nino just shook his head in what Adrien felt was commiseration. Without a word, they clinked their glasses.

"Well, my friend, if you think you have lady troubles," Nino smiled sadly at Adrien. "Let me tell you about …"

---

"Lady Alya!" Marinette cried in mock scandal, smiling as her friend entered her room and immediately unlaced and dropped her corset. She tossed it against the wall dramatically, both girls cringing as it narrowly missed the small stand where the bowl housing her goldfish sat, another talisman of goodluck from her mother on the announcement of her engagement.

"If I have to go to one more formal introduction, I might scream," Alya dropped to the floor in front of her, her petticoats billowing like a cloud around her as she glared toward the whale-bone torture device and addressed it directly. "Do you know how satisfying it would be to watch you burn?"

Marinette snorted from behind her embroidery, hands still moving in a trancelike manner as she outlined the flowery border of the handkerchief in the darkest thread she owned, a near-black brown.

"What are you adding there?" Alya had leaned up onto her knees and peered down at the linen in Marinette's hands in confusion. She looked down herself, taking in the border completely for the first time and noticing what Alya meant. She was so accustomed to working without thinking on these little trinkets her mother always like to send to relatives that she hadn't even realized something new was emerging in her typical flowery border.

Peeking up from behind a red poppy was an unmistakable pair of animal ears. Cat ears, she realized. Black cat ears. She felt her face flame, and tried to hastily put away her stitches, but Alya was far quicker than her, especially when she sensed a secret. Her friend grabbed the cloth out of her hands, and then fixed Marinette with her stare.

"And just why, miss, are you blushing over a…" she glanced down, squinting momentarily to make out the form, before looking back up triumphantly. "A black cat?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Marinette tried to raise her chin indignantly. "He's just a cat."

"He, hmm?" Alya smirked, and Marinette mentally cursed her best friend and her quick mind. Alya missed nothing. She stared her down for a few silent moments before letting her smile drop and giving Marinette a pointed stare instead. "Spill."

"He's a new player at the theater and his name is Chat Noir and I met him before when I bumped into him on the street one day and he knows I'm a woman and his eyes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen and his smile does dangerous things to my heart-"

"Woah, woah! Slow down there, girl!" Alya dropped the handkerchief and placed her hands on Marinette's shoulders, watching as she took several measured breaths.

"You mean to tell me," Alya began again, after having processed Marinette's nearly incoherent ramblings. "That you are in love with a boy at your theater who is helping you keep your secret."

"Yes."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"Yes."

The girls both stared at each other in silence before Alya spoke once more.

"He really chose the stage name 'black cat'?"

Marinette opened her mouth to find some defensible response, but only came up with one thing.

"At least it means he's educated in french?"

Alya allowed her that, giving a dubious nod, before both women broke out into peals of laughter that ended with them sprawled out on the floor, shoulder to shoulder as their legs pointed towards opposite walls.

"And I'm not in love with him," Marinette protested belatedly.

"Oh no? What about his dreamy eyes and gorgeous smile?"

Marinette paused, trying not to get lost in the memory of his laugh as it flew unbidden into his mind.

"It's just a crush, some harmless flirtation."

"He's keeping your secret, Birdy," Alya reminded her softly. "He clearly cares about you, too."

"He's just a friend," Marinette insisted.

"So nothing to worry your betrothed then?'

Alya's words brought her up short, and Marinette realized she hadn't thought of the man she'd promised her hand to since she'd run from him in the theater that night. The same night she revealed her true identity to Chat.

"No, nothing to worry about," Marinette managed, hoping the more she said it, the more she'd believe it herself. Because she had to. She had to believe it, because it had to be true. Marinette had known for years who she would marry, and had not resigned herself to her match, but rejoiced in it. Not many maidens got to marry one of their dearest friends and the kindest man she'd ever known. Her hand fell instinctively to her pocket, where the notebook he'd given her always resided, and she felt her heart warm at the love she'd already held for her future husband.

But then she thought of the way Chat's fleeting glances and secret smiles had made her feel, something she'd never hoped to experience and felt her heart clench with guilt.

She turned her head to find Alya already looking at her, her hand reaching up to touch her friend's head in concern.

"Just be careful, Marinette. Our dear Luka could always find another match, but he doesn't deserve to be publically betrayed."

"It'll be fine," Marinette tried again,but Alya still looked unconvinced.

"Okay," she responded regardless.

Habits

Adrien rolled over in bed, the sunlight oppressive from where it streamed through the windows at an alarmingly high angle. Blinking past still weary eyes, a sharp scratch on the glass caught his attention and he reluctantly rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the window. Grabbing a small plate of chicken he'd hidden from last night's meal, he opened the shutter and placed the small offering in front of the real Chat Noir, the ornery stray Adrien had befriended years before through bribery of various meats and cheeses.

Adrien lightly scratched his old friend's ears as his eyes wandered to the back garden, his vision just able to make out the time on the sundial there, and cursed. He'd meant to start getting up earlier, afraid that his sleeping habits would become suspicious, but it was already nearly noon, and his stomach moaned as if to drive the point home. Donning some clothes sloppily, he lumbered out of his room and down towards the kitchen. His late nights at the theater were really starting to mess with his sleep schedule, not to mention the extra hours he'd been putting in to try and prepare for his larger role. At least one benefit was he hadn't seen his father in a week. With Gabriel's tight schedule, Adrien's late mornings and the sheer size of the house, the last time he'd seen his father had been at least ten days ago.

He hopped down the last step, smiling a good morning towards one of the servants that wasn't as terrified of him as she was of his father, and turned the corner towards the kitchen. At the late hour in the day, he wouldn't bother the cook for any type of formal meal. His father wasn't in attendance after all…

As if the mere thought had conjured the man into existence, Adrien froze in the doorway of the dining room at the sound of an exaggerated cough. He turned his head slowly to put off the inevitable, but when his eyes met his father's, Gabriel only had one word for him.

"Sit."

Sighing, but trying not to be petulant about his spoiled plans for the morning, Adrien took a seat at the opposite end of the long table, still supplied with breads, meats and tea from the morning meal. He looked at his father expectantly, but when it became clear that Gabriel was waiting for him to say something, Adrien covertly rolled his eyes and instead began to serve himself food, only looking up to shoot his father a glare when he opened his mouth to call a servant. Gabriel rolled his own eyes in response, the action a chillingly reminder of how similar the two men could be at times, and turned back to the pamphlet in his hand as Adrien filled his stomach.

"Gluttony is a sin, son," Gabriel finally gave in and broke the silence after a few minutes, peeking a disdainful eye over the paper. "But then, perhaps it should be slothfulness that I warn you about? It is, what? The fourth time this week you've risen long after the sun."

Adrien met his father's eyes, smiling as he ate another slice of meat before responding clearly.

"Not all of us are fueled with the fire of hunting Catholics."

"It is God's will."

"It's a personal vendetta," Adrien shot back, the familiar argument between them falling silent, as it always did when Adrien spoke his mind. Gabriel refused to 'engage' with his son's taunting, as he saw it. Anger was of the devil, and Gabriel refused to succumb to it. Adrien considered it having an honest conversation, but despite Gabriel's most earnest evangelizing, his only son was forever a heathen in his eyes; his opinion on religious matters invalid. The problem was, everything was a religious matter with Gabriel.

He and his father rarely had a functional conversation.

"You know," Gabriel sighed, placing the piece of paper on the table and sliding it towards him. "If I didn't know from your tutors how poorly you performed in grammatics, I might accuse you of writing this. Your disdain for my work is clear enough."

Adrien glanced at the article, skimming the title and first paragraph to deduce enough that it was an attack on the persecution of people for their religious beliefs. He read further to find more than a few paragraphs dedicated to defaming the morally superior character of those like his father, tasked with their misguided judgements.

He looked back up at his father, who had stood and started to fasten his cloak to leave. Steeling his face in indifference, he responded.

"Interesting."

"Foolish."

"Is that a veiled threat at the author father?" Adrien cocked his head in question. "I'm sure they write under anonymous for fear of your wrath."

"It is not my wrath they should fear, my boy," his father responded, and then with a flourish of his cape, left the room. Adrien waited until he was gone, but couldn't completely suppress his smirk. Perhaps he wasn't the only dramatic one in the family.

His eyes turned back down towards the article and his grin gave way to a pensive frown.

Nor, apparently, was he the only one who was ready for things in their world to change.

Time

Marinette tilted her head to the side, letting more light shine down on the small notebook as she scrutinized the lines of the gown. She'd experimented with shapes and draping extensively with Alya and her sisters as willing subjects, but it was a very different challenge to achieve the same effect with Nathaniel. He was slighter than the rest of the men, with sharp features that aided him as he played the more feminine rolls, but his overall shape was still a V: broad shoulders that tapered into a slim waist. It lent itself to corsets well enough, but she was struggling with how to create the illusion of hips without adding a rather obvious bustle. The next few plays called for a more ethereal look, something far from the heavy fabrics and large skirts of what was typically in fashion, and Marinette wanted to work with the gauzy materials that would float across the stage with his character without seeing the obvious rump roll they'd been using in his other costumes.

Hand still tweaking and annotating her current design, Marinette imagined various draping and bunching techniques that would achieve the desired effect, and was almost completely oblivious to how the man next to her fidgeted in boredom.

"You seem very inspired as of late," Luka finally spoke from where he sat next to her. "You've hardly have had time for me in the last few weeks."

"Sorry," she muttered, finishing a line and then closing her notebook to give her betrothed her full attention. He smiled down at her, taking the notebook gently from her hands to quickly flip through its pages.

"Never apologize for your passion. I'm glad you're enjoying my gift so thoroughly," he smiled down at some of her more whimsical designs before returning the book to her grasp. "Although, I must say my father was getting agitated when you wrote to postpone our last two meetings. Between that and your hesitation to set a date…"

"I know, I know," Marinette frowned.

"You know I don't mind," he nudged her side with his elbow and she looked up to catch his sad smile. "I'm already asking so much."

"Oh yes," she agreed. "And I'm the one at such a disadvantage to be marrying one of my best friends who on top of being one of the kindest men I know, is also educated and handsome."

"Don't forget my burgeoning wealth and envied swordsmanship," Luka added with a chuckle.

"Yes, of course," Marinette waved a hand in his direction. "I truly am misfortune incarnate."

"Still, despite all my obvious charms, our deal stands."

"Luka-"

"No," he cut her off. "Marinette, you know I would never deny you love if you had found it. Not when I - well, not when it is what you deserve."

She glanced up at him, lips pursed.

"What did Alya tell you?"

His smile was answer enough.

"Not nearly enough," he admitted. "Our dear friend was less forthcoming than normal with the details, but I got the impression that maybe there was someone on your mind. That maybe that same someone was what was delaying the crying of our banns as well."

"No," Marinette hurried to answer, but then closed her eyes and faced the truth. "Maybe."

"Birdy-"

"It's just a crush, Luka," she turned and looked at him desperately. "It has to be, and I will not throw away all our plans for a crush."

He looked at her in silence for a moment, reading something in her eyes and nodding.

"Alright, but if you turn out to be wrong-"

"Luka," she warned, but he ignored her interruption, leaning down to place a kiss on her temple.

"You know I would do anything to help you."

She grabbed his hand between both of hers, tears coming to her eyes.

"I don't deserve you, Lulu."

"No," he agreed with a squeeze of her hand. "You deserve so much more."

Food

Adrien was well on his way to wearing a track into the stage with his pacing when he heard a bang. His head whipped towards the noise and saw the soft glow of candlelight as it shone down the ladder from the loft. A quick glance at the sky through a nearby shutter, and an irritated groan from his stomach, confirmed that it was very early morning. Without meaning to, he'd somehow been practicing all through the night.

Not that anyone would know it from the state of his character. His first big part, and if he couldn't nail his performance by tonight, there would never be another.

What he really needed was a distraction, something to get him out of his head. He looked back towards the shaft of light, now accompanied by a flitting humming that danced towards him from the loft, and started to walk towards the ladder without having consciously made the decision to do so. Adrien felt his heart start to race at the thought of being alone with Ladybird for the first time since the night he'd recognized her. So much had progressed between them now, and he felt as at ease in her company as he did Nino's, but he couldn't deny that there was something more between them.

At least, there was for him.

Each time he passed her in the theater or had to see her for costume adjustments, his day became exponentially brighter. And Adrien didn't know what to make of that. She was part of the theater family. A friend. He knew her true name, but nothing else despite seeing her day in and day out. There were so many reasons why he should distance himself- why he should let his crush smoulder out- but his body didn't seem interested in this logic as his feet ascended the ladder.

Knocking lightly on the wood beam as he reached the top, he jumped at Ladybird's screech of surprise, her hand immediately flying to secure the haphazard placement of her hat.

"Chat," she sagged in relief before turning to grab a baguette and pelting it at his face. "You frightened me!"

"Sorry," he laughed, deftly catching the loaf out of the air and nearly moaning when he felt the crispy crust crunch under his fingers, the golden treasure still warm in his grasp.

"Hungry?" She asked with a smirk and he realized he might have not been so silent about his moan after all. He nodded and Ladybird stepped aside to reveal a basket, loaded with breads and cheeses. His mouth watered at the bounty.

"I will share, if," she enunciated. "You give me one good reason why you are lurking in the theater at this hour of the morning."

She crossed her arms and fixed him with a stare.

"To scare fair maidens?" He attempted with a smirk, but Ladybird continued to look unimpressed, so he went with the truth. "Because I'm working on my character."

"Oh," her sass fell and she looked uneasy. "Um...Does your character even speak."

"No," he admitted. Ivan's mysterious 'will-o' the-wisps' were on stage the majority of the show, yet had no lines. "But I need to emote."

He watched as Ladybird tried to suppress her smile, but she didn't mock nor laugh.

"Come here, minou," she sat on the ground and patted the spot in front of her. "Let's eat, and then we can work on your...emoting. Okay?"

"Really?"

"Really. I need to finish the costumes, and I'd enjoy the company."

"Thanks, M'Lady," Adrien hurried to sit at her side and placed a deft kiss on her cheek as he grabbed some cheese. "You're the best."

She stared at him with a dazed smile and Adrien blushed, belatedly realizing his actions.

At least he had one answer, though.

It definitely wasn't just him.

Encouragement

"Ten minutes!" Plagg's voice sounded through backstage just as Marinette finished securing Nino's costume. She stood up, tugging on where it clasped in the back for good measure before giving Nino a nod and sending away.

Sinking with a sigh, she fell onto her work stool, trying to catch a breath in the pre-show madness. She'd worked since early that morning, staying long after Chat had left to rest in order to finish up last minute alterations that matched Ivan's script changes.

"Bertie," she heard a voice call up the ladder and tried not to groan in annoyance at her interrupted moment of peace. "I think there's something wrong with my costume."

Marinette looked over towards the ladder and saw Chat emerge, his eyes darting around nervously, but costume looking impeccable. She wasn't ashamed to admit she'd spent more time on his than was strictly necessary, not when the subtle green embellishments she'd added brought out his eyes like that. He seemed to relax the moment he realized they were alone, and Marinette knew his real problem wasn't with his costume.

"Still nervous?" She asked, standing to stretch her weary limbs as he walked completely into the room. Marinette delighted in the way his eyes followed her and forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be getting over her crush on the mysterious boy and not digging herself into the hole further.

"Yes," he admitted, coming to lean on the wardrobe next to her with a pout. "And I know you think I'll be great, but I just don't want to let anyone down."

"You won't," she turned to him, soft smile on her face. "Stop borrowing trouble, minou."

She leaned into impulse and patted his cheek twice. It was something she'd done with countless friends over the years, but the moment her skin touched his, she knew it was a mistake. She should know better by now than to assume such things with him. Chat made every experience brand new.

He grabbed her hand, holding it to his cheek before she'd regained enough composure to pull away.

"Why do you call me 'minou'?" His voice whispered softly to her and she had to gulp before responding.

"Why did you name yourself 'black cat' in french?" She finally retorted.

"You're educated in french," he smiled, still leaning into her palm. "You must be a true lady, then."

"So are you," she immediately deflected, trying to keep some mystery about her other life. He already knew so much, but she was suddenly desperate that he never know she was promised to another, lest he stop looking at her like he was in that moment. "Perhaps you're some grand Lord moonlighting as a player."

He smiled ruefully then, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm, before freeing her hand from his grasp.

"What nickname should I create for you then?" he asked, and Marinette noted with confusion that he didn't respond to her joking accusations at all. "'M'Lady' unfortunately does not always fit with your facade of the moment."

"Friends call me 'Birdy'," she admitted and watched his eyes alight in realization.

"Ah, so the little ladybird pin does mean something!" His eyes darted down to her chest to where the pin was hidden before coloring and finding her face once more. "A lucky charm from someone? Perhaps your co-conspirator in this charade?"

His face took on a mischievous glow, and while Marinette did trust him, his eyes were far too keen for her liking.

"Nino does keep mentioning a Lady Alya," he continued, and Marinette felt her face flame. "Our good friend Bertie's fair cousin.."

"Aren't you supposed to be freaking out over your role right now? You have five minutes before curtain."

As soon as she mentioned it, Marinette wished she hadn't, although watching his face transform from playful to panicked did save her from further discussion of Alya, and all the connections to her daily life that it entailed.

"Come on," she grabbed his hand lightly and pulled him towards the ladder. "You're going to do great. You emote beautifully," she emphasized and watched him color prettily at her words.

"Thank you...bug," he added, with a tender smile and it was Marinette's turn to blush. Of all the sweet nicknames, leave it to him to make something most found repugnant somehow sound wonderful. God help the audience if this boy was ever given a speaking role; they'd all fall into puddles at his very command.

"Two minutes! Places!" Plagg's voice echoed up, as if directed solely at them, but Marinette felt lost in his gaze.

"M'Lady," he whispered, head bending towards her, and though she knew she should stop it, push away and leave that instant, her heart wasn't feeling very logical at the moment, and her body had already chosen its side.

His hand on her cheek, Marinette had given into her denied desires for the man in front of her and lifted onto her toes to meet him halfway when a sudden screaming tore through the theater and the two jerked apart in shock.

"Raid!" A call reverberated through backstage followed by a thundering stampede of footsteps, running to avoid the oncoming onslaught.

"Ivan Bruel," Marinette could make out in the distance, her blood chilling as she realized that this wasn't a raid, but an arrest.

"No," her voice came out in a whisper just as Chat's hand grabbed hers and tugged her towards the nearest window.

"We can't be caught here."

"But Ivan-"

"Ladybird," his voice was low, but frantic as it struck her. "They cannot find you here."

His words reverberated through her and Marinette finally realized exactly how much danger she was in if discovered like this. There was nothing she could do to save Ivan if the witchhunt had been leveled against him, but imagining what they would do to her family if she was discovered…

Marinette snapped out of her daze as a feminine shout she recognized as Tikki yelled up to the loft.

"Run!" The woman commanded in gastes, her yell followed by the collapse of the loft's ladder. It wouldn't give them long, but Marinette knew Tikki was buying her some time. For not the first time, she wondered how much the doting woman knew, or at least suspected, but at present, there wasn't a moment to waste on such quandaries.

"Hurry," Chat called, pushing open the shutters and climping to the roof of the theater with the ease of his namesake animal. Hands reached down to lift her up, and after a moment's hesitation, she shouldered her satchel, grabbed his hands, and swung out the window.

Race through the city

Adrien grasped Ladybird's arms in his, lifting her easily onto the roof thanks to his extensive career of escaping the confines of his own home. He steadied her on the roof as they waited out the raid, but when sounds of the guards flooded into the loft, Ladybird grabbed his hand, and together they ran across the rooftops.

Adrien kept pace without a word, helping her keep her balance on the more angled roofs, but following her lead. Ladybird and he carefully picked their way across rooftops until they were a few blocks away, in a part of the city foreign to him, but apparently not to the girl by his side. She glanced around with a keen eye, ducking low when they reached a dead end as she listened for the sounds of the guards. The buildings were much closer together than he'd ever seen here, but with an open marketplace opening up in an expanse before them, they had no further to go unless they chose to double back.

Ladybird turned to him in a whisper.

"I think we're okay, but…" she looked around them. "How do we get down?"

Adrien glanced around him, deliberating whether the ledge he saw on the building's facade would be enough to hold their weight, when suddenly a thundering footsteps sounded past them. Without a thought, he grabbed her and threw them both down, laying silently against the flat roof as the guards got progressively closer, shouts of pursuit echoing in the otherwise still night.

"I say we don't, for now," he finally responded and Ladybird turned, her eyes giving him a sarcastic look, though her hands made no attempt to remove his arm where he'd slung it protectively over her waist.

"So now, we wait," she sighed, looking up towards the sky and Adrien smirked, flipping onto his back to do the same.

"Now we wait," he echoed, smiling broadening as he rolled his eyes towards her dimly lit face. "And while we do... have I ever told you I dabbled in astrology, M'Lady?"

Stars

Marinette couldn't help but snort at his admission.

"Just a regular ol' Renaissance man, aren't you minou?" She smiled and nudged his side with an elbow. "Already you command the stage like a seasoned actor, have the prowess of a practiced polyglot, run across rooftops like a hardened cat burglar, and now you're an astrologist. Is there anything you haven't dabbled in?"

"Pastimes of a bored and rebellious child, M'Lady," he replied with a sad smile, and again Marinette was struck with the feeling that there was much more to Chat that he allowed her, or anyone, to see. Why did a man decide to leave a life that had clearly provided him with the education and opportunity necessary to create someone of his skills to become an actor?

"What are you running from, Chat?" She asked softly and waited a moment until she sensed his eyes meeting hers. Even in the darkness, she could tell he knew instantly that she wasn't talking about the guards after them.

"The same as you," he admitted. "A life of what is expected of me in pursuit of something...real."

"So you chose acting," she replied with an ironic smile and revelled in the gleam of one he'd rewarded her in return.

"I'm an enigma."

"Yes," she agreed. "You certainly are."

The silence stretched between them, seemingly as infinite and intimate as the galaxies above, before Chat spoke again.

"Ladybird," he began, a hesitant determination ringing out in his voice. "I think there's something-I need to know if-"

"Kiss me, Chat," she interrupted swiftly as a rush of adrenaline coursed through her, emboldened by the blanket of night around them and the encouraging light of the stars above.

"Bug-"

"I need to know, too," she whispered, turning on her side and facing the shadow of his form. "Please, I need to know, too."

She watched him through the veil of darkness, the outline of his body turning and hand moving towards her. His palm rested on her cheek so gently she closed her eyes to savor the sensation of his warmth coursing through her bod... his breath as he leaned closer and finally,his lips as they found hers.

It was like nothing she'd ever imagined and everything she'd ever dreamed. She felt tears come to her eyes as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss with a contented sigh, and she knew there was no turning back. There was no denying what was between them.

In that moment, she felt the path of her life irrevocably shift, and it terrified her even as his lips exhilarated her.

"Here, kitty, kitty," a voice echoed from the street below and Chat startled back from her. She could still feel his breath on her face, his reluctance to part evident in his grip on her waist.

"Bug, I-"

"Here, kitty, kitty," the voice called again, closer, and even Marinette vaguely recognized it.

"Nino," Chat groaned, disentangling them and moving to lean over and whistle at his friend in the street.

"All clear my man," the other player whispered loudly up at them. "There's a clothes' line on the west side of the building you can shimmy down."

Chat simply nodded in response, but Marinette had to stifle her laugh as Nino's next words nearly caused Chat to stumble off the roof.

"Oh, and have you seen Bertie?"