A/N: I will be replying to guest reviews here because I can't reach you through an account.
Julia: Yes, thank you for your suggestion! It does make things clearer.
FyreCrystalz: Thank you so much!
Star-the-writer: :D
This has been edited. Enjoy!
Marinette fumed as she stormed out of the restaurant. The meeting had been terrible. It had been postponed for a month because of busy schedules, and first impressions seemed that her love life would be a disaster.
Adrien, rich and handsome, was nothing she expected.
She'd thought him to be anything but the aloof, mercurial blond she'd met tonight. She could handle people; hell, she was a self-proclaimed people person. But the one type of person she couldn't handle was the one that didn't care.
From what she'd seen from him tonight, he only cared about himself. His smiles and manners had struck her as odd until she noticed his smirks and unnatural facial expressions, leading her to realize that Adrien only constructed a facade for the world to see.
She huffed angrily.
Four failed petitions and fate had handed her Adrien. Sighing, she hurried down the road. There was nothing to do now; the law strictly dictated that matches, once broken off, could only be paired again once, and both partners had to be single. All of her previous matches were happily married, leaving her no choice but to marry Adrien.
He was infuriating, not at all like Chat.
Saying his name made her float a little inside, because he was the only person she'd met so far who fit her image of a picture-perfect prince. Gorgeous and charming, he was kind and intelligent. Chat knew what to say and when to say it. Even though she constantly rolled her eyes at his puns, she had to admit they were ingenious.
The only problem was that they would never be matched together. Even if Chat had liked Ladybug, he had dialed back on the flirting a year or two ago, leading Marinette to believe that Chat no longer reciprocated her feelings. Furthermore, Chat had mentioned seeing a potential spouse a few weeks back, and Marinette instinctively knew that Chat was already happily paired. Her heart had clenched during the conversation, but Marinette reminded herself that Chat deserved a chance of happiness as well. She should be happy for him, so she pasted a smile on and nodded along.
She wanted to tear her hair out in frustration.
Stomping into her apartment, she shoved open the door. The small apartment was cozy, boasting a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen that doubled as the living room. She had decorated it in light colors and furnished it with comfy chairs. Her closet featured her own creations, and one cabinet was filled with sewing supplies.
She quickly checked if her roommate was around, then quietly whispered, "It's safe," to the empty air.
Her kwami popped from the hidden pouch sewn on the inside of Marinette's blouse. "Patrol?" she asked.
"I think so." She set her purse out on the counter, digging through it to find her phone. If memory served, there was patrol tonight. She pulled out the phone triumphantly, tapping the notifications on her calendar to see 9:00 Patrol written on the slot.
Marinette nodded. "Patrol with Chat. If only he could've been matched to me," she groaned.
Tikki's expression shifted before settling onto a sympathetic one. "Being with Chat would have made things much easier, wouldn't it?"
Marinette sighed. Tikki floated over the her charge, gently patting her hair. "I know Adrien isn't who you wanted, but he's the only one you have now," she said softly. "Things will get better. And give him a chance – maybe he had a bad day, or he likes someone else."
"Then why did he petition for me? Oh, I know," she snapped her fingers, answering her own question. "He just wants the benefits that come with being married."
"You have to admit you're doing it for the benefits too," Tikki scolded gently. "Don't pretend they aren't a motivating factor."
Marinette nodded, the anger slowly seeping out of her as she viewed the outings–pre-match meetings, outingsimplied some type of positivity – as a business arrangement. It wouldn't be too bad. Her gaze landed on her phone's calendar. Of course. How could she have forgotten? Patrol with Chat. Her traitorous heart fluttered at the thought.
She turned to Tikki, silently asking permission to transform into Ladybug. After receiving a nod, Marinette quickly packed her bag with cookies for Tikki and locked the door to her apartment. Receiving a nod, Marinette yelled, "Transform me!"
She sprinted across the rooftops, the wind whipping her face. Ladybug loved racing in the cool fall air. There was something about seeing the leaves turn red and yellow that caught her attention, and the air always seemed crisper to her after Paris's hot, humid summers.
The great view was also a benefit, too. While the rooftops weren't always maintained well, and she had to constantly watch out for stray rocks and pebbles that would trip her, there were some things that could only be seen from a rooftop. The top of a gargoyle's head, for instance, was one of those things. It seemed funny when she first thought of how she freaked out over seeing the patch of rough stone, but they were something she looked forward to every time.
She quickly swung her way past the last few blocks in front of the meeting point, before climbing the Eiffel Tower. The lights were blinding, and while it didn't make for a good spot to find crime, the monument was ostentatious and close enough that she could get here quickly.
Chat was already there, standing on the observation deck. He turned, and she was struck by how similar his hair and eyes were to Adrien's. Their hair was almost the same shade of blond, the eyes identical shades of sea glass green. Her heart beat furiously in her chest.
"Ready to get this patrol on the road?" he asked.
He didn't look at her, a clear indication that something was off. Chat always paid attention to those he spoke to unless he didn't want them to see his facial expressions. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, my Lady." He didn't miss a beat, glancing at her as he spoke. His face was wiped clear of emotion, then replaced with a grin. "You know purrfectly well that this cat isn't ever down."
"Down on the ground, you mean," she said. "You look more like a cat who was forced to take a bath. Anything good or bad happen today?"
He dropped the grin. "Like the Spousal Act of 1978?"
"I thought you already had a partner." He was happily paired, wasn't he? So why was she getting the impression that the Act was causing him trouble?
"I thought I did. Until I realized I would be getting a mutually beneficial arrangement at best."
"She can't be that bad," she suggested. Now she was even more confused. He had mentioned that he was paired with a person a few weeks back, so why was he realizing that his match was horrible a few meetings down the line? Most people usually revealed their true colors soon. There was often no need to hid behind false masks during these meetings. Incompatibility, if present, would rear its ugly head soon enough.
Chat frowned. "We're not compatible. I can tell, and it's only our first meeting."
"Really? I thought you mentioned being matched a few weeks back."
Chat nodded. "I did. But since we didn't have time in our schedules, we postponed the meeting until today. I had such high hopes, but she dashed them all within the hour."
It seemed that he wasn't happily paired at all, so he mentioned the match as an agreement. "If she's so bad, then petition for another spouse." Unlike him, she reflected bitterly, she had to marry the person she was paired with.
"I can't."
His words took her by surprise. She stared at him, thoughts running through her head. She'd rarely heard of anyone being locked into his situation – most people married before the age of 25, and usually people found someone compatible within three or four matches. People who were forced to stay with their match were rare, and it was usually because they were on their last petition.
"This is personal, but if you don't mind me asking, why not?" she asked. She was curious, and itching to know about his life. But by the time she wanted to share her identity, Chat seemed keen on protecting his own. He no longer constantly asked her questions about her life, and in turn, she'd never asked about his. The parts she knew about his life were tidbits she had gleaned from conversations, parts that were never talked about or expanded on.
He hesitated, searching her eyes. A long second passed before he spoke. "Promise you won't judge me once I tell you why?"
She nodded, honored that he trusted her enough to tell her. "Of course not! We've seen each other in too many situations to judge each other based on our matches."
He smiled dryly. "I've got no choice...because she's my last petition."
Oh. It didn't take a genius to understand why he was reluctant. Few people reached their fifth pairing, and those who did were considered shameful because they couldn't settle down. Like her, an inner voice whispered.
"It's hard not to like you." How come he wasn't married already? she mused. He was caring, loyal, and had a nice sense of humor. And he was quite attractive, too.
Chat snorted. "Depends on who you're talking to."
"So what did you do that made her so mad?" There was a lingering smile on her face.
"Why do assume that I made her mad? She could be a complete idiot," he retorted.
It was so typical of him to defend himself so quickly. Her heart fluttered.
"Knowing you, not so much." She smirked. He laughed lightly. "So, what did you do?"
"So, what did you do?"
"I pretended I cared about her." His face was tilted downwards, and a red blush suffused his face. He was ashamed.
"So you were a fake." A neutral tone masked her feelings. If she were there, she wouldn't have liked him either. But he was her friend, and she knew him well enough not to judge him immediately. He would explain if she didn't say anything soon.
"I didn't care for her. But I thought that if I did, it would make things easier for both of us – I could talk to her more easily and she would be getting a spouse who listened," he confessed.
"You don't seem to be the type to judge from the start." That wasn't like the Chat she knew.
He sighed. "It wasn't that I didn't like her; it was that she wasn't the one I wanted. So I tried treating her like she was the person I wanted to be married to, but it didn't turn out so well."
"No wonder," she muttered under her breath. "No one wants to be seen as a substitute for others. She must have had a horrible time with your behavior, wondering why you were so...off."
"Actually, she was the one who called me out on it," he recalled. "She just went ahead and lay into me about how I was a false person, and scolded me about being aloof. She was smirking while she was doing it. It seemed like she had some fun," he joked.
Ladybug held back a grin. "I wish you luck on your impending marriage." That was exactly what she would have done, had she been there. She began to feel more amused than irritated.
"I wish myself luck too." He smirked. "If I don't kill myself first." A pause passed before he swung around to ask her another question, almost as if he had suddenly thought of something. "What about you? How's your match going?"
Her face was pained. "Don't remind me."
"Not so well then? I thought you were already matched."
She shook her head, the words coming out in a stream. "I'm on my last match too, and so is my most recent partner. We're clearly not meant to be together; our first meeting tonight consisted of arguing half the time. Funnily enough, I've never really clicked with any of my matches."
He hummed in agreement. "Neither have I. Hey, do you think that Hawkmoth could be the one behind all this?"
Her head whipped around at the unexpected question, her ponytail slapping her face. "Ouch! You were saying?"
Chat repeated himself. "Could Hawkmoth be the one sabotaging our matches?"
"What makes you think that our matches are sabotaged?"
"He did threaten us a few years back about ruining our lives. And how many people do you know have reached their last petition? Furthermore, what are the chances that both of the superheroes of Paris aren't matched yet?"
He had a point. "But, I haven't been the best person to be paired with. I've had an image of who I want to be my match ever since I was young, and none of my pairs have fit that fantasy. Maybe it's not Hawkmoth who's sabotaging the pair system, maybe it's me."
Chat sighed. "And I've had such a fixed image about who I want that I've been neglecting my pairs too."
"Treat that poor girl nicely, will you?" She admonished gently.
"What makes you think that I haven't been treating her nicely? For all you know, I could've been the one who's been abused." He mimicked a sad kitty.
"When she had to confront you with your behavior? She is your future wife, the person you'll be living with for eternity." Ladybug reminded him.
"It's not eternity, it's just seventy-odd years," he retorted.
Ladybug was rendered speechless. What were the odds? Adrien, the insufferable prat, had just said that to her today. Did they share the same mind? She scrutinized him, taking in the blond hair and green eyes, the long lean build, and the occupation in fashion he just so happened to share with Adrien.
She didn't notice that she had taken his face into her hands, analyzing his almond-shaped eyes, almost symmetrical across his face. She took in the gentle green irises that were the runway trend. What would his measurements be, she wondered, and abruptly snapped the string out of her yo-yo.
"Stand straight," she barked, automatically moving into designer autopilot. She wanted to see if he could be a model, and the skintight suit was perfect for getting accurate measurements.
As he stood stock still, she smoothed her hands up and down his body, wrapping her hands around his legs and torso to guess at his measurements before checking them with her yo-yo. Ladybug had marked lines on the string years ago when she wanted to measure the distance between two buildings but hadn't had a ruler. It made for a handy measuring tape as well.
The string snapped in and out of the red disk as she pulled it around him. She checked the numbers twice, quickly memorizing the numbers in neat font imprinted in her head. Height: 6'2". Hips: 32". Inseam: 34". Chest: 41". He fit into runway standards perfectly.
Stepping back, she assessed his weight, estimating it to be at 150-160 lbs. That wasn't a good enough estimate; people could look lighter than they actually were. She wrapped her arms around him and attempted to life him up, grunting when she couldn't. He was definitely in her estimated weight zone. She had lifted – or tried to lift – models his size before, and Chat could've been one of their twins.
"Are you a model?" she asked. Chat was lean and tall, one of the hallmarks of the industry. "You have the perfect body size for one. You've also told me that you have an associate's degree in fashion, which all models need. Really, it would be a shame if you weren't." She could see the drape of fabric across his body, carefully settling on his shoulders and narrowing at the waist. Chat's slender musculature would give the cloth enough to cling to while being thin enough to hint at the shape of other structures. And even if he had to wear skin-tight clothing, he wasn't bulky enough for the muscles to detract from the catwalk's slinky moves.
Yes, he could make outfits look good. She almost wanted to drag him away and make a body cast so she could design clothes forever with it.
When he didn't answer, she lifted her eyes to his face impatiently, noting that his skin had taken on a rosy hue, and he was resolutely staring away from her. As she absently noted the perfect shade of pink flushing his skin, she was unclear as to why he was embarrassed. Why was he blushing? There was nothing for him to worry about. Surely he knew his body was fine. So why was he – oh.
She felt as if a ton of bricks had landed on her head.
Clarity rushed into her body, understanding flooding into her , not the designer, was the one in the controller's seat now. Of all the times to do so, she had just ran her hands over Chat's body without any apparent reason. And he had let her. But why hadn't he stopped her if he was so uncomfortable? She shoved the thoughts out of her head, resolving to think about them later. Right now, she needed to focus on solving the major faux pas she had committed.
"Oh-my-god-I-am-so-sorry!" The words came out in a rush. "I was completely inappropriate. You just reminded me of my match because both of you look like models and I just wanted to check your measurements and it turned out that you do have the measurements of a model." She paused to take a breath, then launched back into her apology. "And I know that models need a fashion degree and I know you have one and you're working and I'm sorry but I just wanted to know."
He shook my head, the heat slowly receding from his face. She was so cute when she rambled."Apology accepted. Just ask me next time, alright? I nearly thought you were going to tie me up when you whipped out that yo-yo of yours." Although he wouldn't mind being tied up by her. It might never happen, but it didn't stop him from dreaming.
She chuckled. "It's not like you haven't been tied up before."
He shuddered at the memory. "And dangled upside down while hanging from a telephone pole. No thanks. And to answer your question, I am a model." He remembered the way her practiced hands had handled the yo-yo string.
"I'm guessing you're studying fashion?" he added.
She nodded. "Fashion design, actually. Trying to live the dream." She looked out over the Seine River, catching sight of the clock tower. "It's gone on ten!" Ladybug launched herself off the tower. "We've got to patrol!"
Chuckling, he hopped off onto the adjacent roof. "Until next time!"
Her faint reply was an echo in the dark.
As he hopped from building to building, taking a separate patrol route as was our routine, he could only think of how her hands had run over his suit. Lithe fingers with a light touch, dexterous and agile. Her hands were almost a blur with speed, indicating her skill and practice.
It had felt nice, and he couldn't bring myself to stop her. Usually, he only allowed fashion designers to touch me, and only for the minimum amount of time required. But with Ladybug, she had him standing straight with the first words.
But Ladybug was studying design. Who knew? Maybe they could meet one day. He was sure he could recognize her anywhere, even in civilian form.
He returned home, hopping in through the window. After getting his degree, he had moved out of the mansion, choosing to live instead in a small apartment. Adrien still worked with Agreste Industries. He just wanted a taste of the freedom he had been denied in childhood. After flopping onto his bedcovers, fantasies of meeting Ladybug in civilian form dominated his sleep that night.
Marinette flicked her computer on after patrol, searching for Adrien's profile in the electronic match folder she was given. She had a hunch she wanted to explore further after measuring Chat's body. She scanned the folder frantically, rapidly clicking the mouse through the pages. Found it. There it was, Adrien's physical measurements, staring back at her in black letters: Height: 6'2". Weight: 157lbs. Occupation: Model. Education: Associate's degree in fashion design.
And the most damning thing of all: when she stared into Adrien's portrait, Chat's green eyes stared right back.
Adrien was Chat.
Chat was Adrien.
A/N: I am looking for a beta reader. If anyone would like to beta this, please pm me. Thoughts, anyone?
