Adrien's pretty sure that Marinette hates him.

Only pretty sure, mind you, because Marinette has never obvious about it. She's never said that she does, at least not to his face. She has always been perfectly civil with him—which is far more than she's ever done for Chloé. But civil is pretty much where their entire relationship starts and ends.

It does seem like she's making an effort to be nice to him. They are friends-of-friends-of-friends, which means that they occasionally end up in the same group outings, and it would be awkward for everyone if they couldn't at least tolerate each other. Sometimes, on occasion, they even manage to make polite conversation, about the weather or their schoolwork or some joke that Nino made. But she never lets it go beyond that. Most of Adrien's clumsy, tentative attempts at friendship are met only with awkward silences and glazed eyes.

He understands why she doesn't like him, of course. That doesn't make it hurt any less.

If you tried to pin down the exact moment that everything went wrong, you might start with that first meeting, two ill-fated teenagers crossing paths on an ill-fated day. You might chalk it up to bad luck, spread your hands in defeat and say, what else were you expecting, on Friday the 13th?

You might, if you were a millenia-old cat deity trapped in a ring, say that things really went wrong when an obnoxious, meddlesome old man chose two Parisian children to be the wielders of unimaginably huge cosmic power, subtly imbuing their entire lives with magic and thus ensuring that, for good or ill, their fates would be permanently intertwined. For reasons have never been clear to Plagg, this kind of magical entanglement never seems to go smoothly. In thousands and thousands of years of Ladybugs and Chat Noirs, there has never been a relationship between the two that could be called normal.

And you might, if you were Adrien, trace it all back to a moment that previous weekend, when Chloé Bourgeois's eyes lit up with particular delight as she read aloud from the latest issue of Elle, "Scrunchies are not, and will never, be making a comeback."

Adrien's friendship with Chloé has always been a strange creature. At first glance, the two children have plenty in common: rich families, important names, distant fathers.

But what does any of that really mean, when it comes to friendship? Looking deeper, you would find that they are nothing at all alike. Adrien is soft where Chloé is hard, kind where she is selfish, forgiving where she is vengeful. Adrien is Paris's golden boy, made out of sunshine and smiles, adored by almost everyone who meets him. Chloé is the kind of girl that your mother warned you about.

There are some people in this world who get along so well that you might say they were made for each other. Chloé and Adrien are quite the opposite of that. You would be hard pressed to find anyone less made for each other than they were.

And yet: rich families, important names, distant fathers. You wouldn't think that would make for much of a friendship, but here they were anyway.

So they were friends. They dance with each other at galas and go to the ballet together and sometimes, when Adrien has a gap in his schedule and Nathalie is feeling particularly benevolent, they even hang out like normal teenagers. Chloé comes over to his house and they eat junk food and watch movies and talk about the latest fashion.

At least, Chloé would talk about the latest fashion. She reads fashion magazines like a priest reads the Bible, and she is always eager to share her favorite pieces of the latest fashion gospel. Adrien, despite being the only son of and part time model for fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste, does not know anything about fashion. But he likes to listen to Chloé talk about things that make her happy. It is a welcome departure from Chloé talking about the many myriad things that don't make her happy.

And somehow, this all adds up to a disastrous first meeting with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It goes like this:

He does not see her at first. She is just one new face in a sea of strangers, and he is already so overwhelmed by everything—public school, classmates, teachers—that he does not pay any particular mind to one face in the crowd.

(Later, he will wonder about that. How, he marvels, was there ever a time and place in which Adrien Agreste's eyes were not immediately drawn to the love of his life? Where his gaze could just glance off of her, where he could be indifferent about her? Reality, alas, is not always as poetic as Adrien's imagination.)

He does not see her when Chloé reaches out and grabs him by the wrist after class. And he certainly does not see her when Chloé flashes him one of her self-satisfied smirks and says, quoting from the very same issue of Elle that she had been reading out loud to him that past weekend, "Scrunchies are not, and will never be making a comeback. Please leave them in the nineties where they belong."

Adrien, who has never been a very cunning person, does not wonder what Chloé is up to. He just smiles politely and finishes the quote.

"Anyone who wears scrunchies in this day and age should kindly escort themselves into the dumpster that they so obviously shop at," Adrien quips back. Chloé's grin widens, and for just a brief split second, he feels very pleased with himself. He is truly glad that he shares such a lovely friendship with Chloé, where they can have these kinds of intimate, inside jokes.

And that is the moment he finally first sees Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

She is standing right next to him, petite and pale-skinned and wide-eyed. She's half a head shorter than he is, but full of so much energy that it makes her seem somehow bigger. Her cheeks are tinged slightly red, her hands curled into loose fists, as she sets her jaw and lifts her chin, looking him straight in the eye. There is a silent challenge in her expression.

Her hair, black as midnight and pin-straight, is held up in pigtails by two huge, bright pink scrunchies.

It was not Adrien's finest moment.

So, yes: Adrien's pretty sure that Marinette hates him.

It would be easier if he could just blame Chloé for it. She had walked him straight into that, after all. But he was the one who said the words, who unthinkingly let her use him to take a cheap shot at some other girl she didn't like and... well. It was a nasty thing to say, whether he was quoting it off a magazine or not, and honestly, he doesn't see any reason why Marinette should forgive him.

He likes to think that he has come to terms with that.

Still, when Ladybug tells him that he's supposed to protect Marinette while she's on a date with the Evillustrator, a strangled choking noise claws its way out of his throat. Maybe he's not as at peace with the whole situation as he thought he was.

Ladybug arches one brow. Chat Noir coughs a few times to clear his throat and then asks, "What?"

"I don't think that the Evillustrator will be a serious threat to her safety," Ladybug explains, "but I want you there in case something goes wrong." Ladybug hesitates a moment, then adds, almost wistfully, "She's just a civilian, after all."

Chat is still reeling. When Ladybug had said that they needed to talk, he had expected... well, he doesn't know what he'd expected. But it definitely wasn't this. Ladybug has always been someone who preferred to outsmart her enemies, of course, favoring clever plans over open fighting, but none of those plans have ever intentionally involved a civilian before. It doesn't sit well with him.

"Why are we even letting her get involved?" he asks. "Wouldn't if be better if we just ambushed the Evillustrator and fought him the normal way?"

"That's the thing, kitty," Ladybug says. She turns her gaze away from him and towards the city that spreads out beneath them, her eyes roaming over far distant streets. He doesn't know what she's looking for, but she must find it, her eyes eventually settling on a spot near the horizon. "This akuma isn't normal. I've never..."

She trails off, and then shakes her head. "I don't know, Chat Noir," she murmurs. "Papillon is up to something. He's changing his tactics. We need to find out what's going on."

"His villains have been getting stronger," Chat acknowledges, "but I don't see what Marinette has to do with any of this."

"The Evillustrator likes her. She can get close to him. Question him. Maybe even grab that pen of his if she's lucky."

"No," Chat says immediately. Ladybug glances back at him, her lips pursed together in a puzzled expression. "That's too dangerous. We can't ask a civilian to do that for us."

"I didn't have to ask her to do anything," Ladybug says curtly. "The Evillustrator found her before I did. And anyway, she's not going to be in any danger, because you're going to be there making sure that she doesn't get hurt!"

The tone of her voice brooks no argument. Chat Noir hesitates a moment, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He's glad that she has so much faith in him, but he still can't see any justification for putting a civilian intentionally in harms way, willing or not. It goes against every instinct.

On the other hand, he doesn't really see what else he can do agree to her plan. He's only really known Ladybug for a few months now, but in that time she has grown as familiar to him as the well-worn pages of a favorite book. He knows which pages have been dog-eared, where all the typos are, and exactly how the story will end—namely, that Ladybug won't back down on this. She rarely backs down about anything. So he bites back all the objections that are on the tip of his tongue, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"What about you?" he asks instead. "Why won't you be there?"

"I'm following a different lead," Ladybug says. She relaxes slightly, tension easing from her shoulders, as she realizes that she's won the argument. "Looking for ways to take the fight to Papillon himself, instead of fighting his puppets."

"I'd feel better if you were with me," Chat Noir says, a last-ditch effort to get her to change her mind. "This could be really dangerous—wouldn't it be better if we were both there?"

"You'll be fine," Ladybug assures him breezily. "I know you won't let anything happen to her."

"If you say so, My Lady," Chat Noir says, sounding distant.

If the look in his eyes is anything to go off of, he is not nearly as certain about that as she is.

In light of the morning's events, the school decides to cancel classes for the day. It's the fifth time they've closed school for akuma-related incidents, though only the second time that the school was directly involved. When Marinette detransforms in an alley near her parents' bakery, she discovers a dozen new text messages from Alya, updating her on the unfolding situations with both the Evillustrator and the school. Marinette thumbs through the messages with a weary sigh, and decides that answering Alya can wait until after she's had a nap.

Sluggishly, Marinette trudges into her family's bakery. The bell over the door tinkles pleasantly, drawing her father's attention from the back of the shop as she walks in. He turns towards the doorway, looming large over the front counter, grinning broadly.

"Oh, Marinette," he says when he realizes that she's not a customer. He glances upward uncertainly. "I thought you were already home," he says slowly, as if half-expecting her to descend from the family's apartment above.

Marinette laughs nervously. "I was," she says, "but I had to go out again. I, uh, forgot my bag at school."

Her father seems to accept this excuse, although he is frowning now. Marinette makes her way towards the back of the shop, squeezing behind the bakery counter, and her father stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder before she can escape into the stairwell to their apartment.

"Be careful when you go outside," he says. He tries to cover his concern with a light-hearted tone, but Marinette can still hear the worry underneath. "It's dangerous, you know, with that akumatized boy still out there..."

"Oh, Papa," Marinette says. She reaches forward to pull him into a quick hug. "It was fine. I'm not hurt."

"I know," M. Dupain says, lightly hugging her back. "But I'm your father. Worrying is what I'm supposed to do."

His attentions are diverted when the bell over the shop's door rings again, this time announcing the arrival of a genuine customer. M. Dupain returns to his work and Marinette slips away, wearily climbing up the three flights of stairs to her bedroom.

"Oh, Tikki," she mutters to her kwami. "What a weird day—"

She stops abruptly just as she's climbed through the door to her bedroom. Marinette breathes in slowly. Out of the corner of her vision she sees the toe of a black boot, looking decidedly out of place in her pink-hued bedroom. Almost reluctantly, Marinette drags her eyes up the leg attached to the boot, and she presses her lips into a thin line when she discovers that the leg is attached to an entirely too familiar face.

Sitting awkwardly on the edge of her chaise lounge is none other than Chat Noir himself, looking slightly startled.

Marinette breathes out heavily, and she stomps up into her room. Tikki makes herself scarce. "What is with costumed boys breaking into my room today?" she mutters, slamming the door behind her.

"O-oh," Chat Noir says nervously. That, as much as anything today, makes Marinette want to laugh. Chat Noir is normally so suave and overconfident, she almost wouldn't have believed he could be nervous. But here he is, hands clasped together tightly over his knees, as he fixes his gaze solidly on the floor by her feet. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I—um—I didn't think—"

"What are you doing here?" Marinette demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

Chat Noir blinks, and after a pause he seems to morph into an entirely different person. He stands up smoothly, bows slightly, and flashes her his biggest, flirtiest grin. "I'm here to rescue a damsel in distress, of course. I hear that you've got an Evillustrator problem, and I'm here to help."

Marinette fights the temptation to roll her eyes. This was not part of the plan.

"Oh my goodness," Marinette says, trying to keep her temper under control. It wouldn't do her any good to start antagonizing Chat Noir after all the convincing it took just to get him to agree to this mission. "I'm flattered, M. Noir, really, but I think you're a little early—the date isn't until tonight?"

Chat Noir fidgets awkwardly where he stands. "We don't know what the Evillustrator is planning," he says, voice sounding strangely strained. "Ladybug thought it would be safer if I kept an eye on you until then, just in case he does something unexpected."

Marinette covers her mouth with one hand and looks away. Chat Noir is a terrible liar, and for some reason she finds it terribly funny. She spends a moment trying to regain her composure, and once she manages that she smiles prettily at him.

"Oh, that does make me feel much safer!" Marinette exclaims with forced cheerfulness. She wonders whether it would be too over-the-top to swoon.

Chat flashes her one of his huge, cheshire grins. Something about his face makes her irritation slowly fade away, replaced instead with a strange affection bubbling in her chest. She's still a little annoyed that he couldn't have at least knocked first, of course, but there's a comforting familiarity in his presence. Marinette hardly needs Chat Noir to sit around protecting her, but maybe he's right—it might be nice to have him around in case something unexpected happens.

Of course, Marinette is still completely exhausted, and with no time commitments between now and her date with the Evillustrator, she is hardly going to let a little thing like Chat Noir interfere with getting her plans to get some much-needed rest. If he wants to sit around and watch her sleep, then honestly, she doesn't really care. "Well," Marinette says, heading towards her bed, "after all that excitement today, I think I need to take a nap."

Marinette starts to climb the steps up to her loft, and Chat Noir suddenly looks nervous again. "Oh—I, er—I can go wait outside, if you prefer?" he suggests, voice strained. "I'll keep watch from your balcony."

Marinette waves one hand at him dismissively, then settles comfortably under her sheets. "Isn't it a little cold for that? Stay here, I don't mind, just don't make too much noise."

Chat makes a small sound of protest, but Marinette is already asleep.

Adrien, having been homeschooled his entire life, is not well-versed in social situations that aren't posh, upper-class parties or private tutoring lessons. That said, he's pretty sure that this is extremely awkward, as far as social situations go.

Marinette spends the first three hours of their time together sleeping. Chat Noir tries to avoid watching her while she does—it feels weirdly intimate. Instead he distracts himself with the seemingly endless baubles that decorate Marinette's room: her walls are plastered with cutouts from fashion magazines, her desk is heaped with half-finished sewing projects, and there are a dozen ceramic animals sitting in a careful arrangement on her windowsill. There are beads dangling from her closet, a dreamcatcher over her bed, six chrysoberyl gemstones that rest atop a throne made of yarn and knitting needles and crochet hooks. Marinette's bedroom might be a fraction of the size of his own, but it has so much more life crammed into its tiny space.

He stares at her room, eyes crawling over every surface, until eventually he begins to feel slightly awkward about that, too. Like he's invading her privacy or something. Chat Noir eventually settles down by her window and turns his gaze outside instead, monitoring the crowds below for any hint of trouble. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. It is not much of a distraction.

After about twenty-minutes of people watching, his mind starts to wander. He works a little bit on some art-themed puns, only half-watching the crowds at this point. He easel-y comes up with a few, though most of them are pretty lame, even by his standards.

He's trying to work out a pun using paint and pain, when Marinette finally wakes up, lifting her head up from her pillow and casting bleary eyes about her room. She stares at him blankly for a moment, confused.

"What are you doing here, kitty cat?" she asks sleepily.

Chat Noir opens his mouth to begin to explain, but then Marinette shakes her head. "Never mind. I remember now," she murmurs. She climbs out of bed, her hair sticking up every which way, and settles down in her desk chair.

She doesn't say anything else. Marinette starts working on some homework, and Chat Noir continues his watch-slash-punmaking, and the next few hours pass in a strange, companionable quiet. She breaks the silence a few times, to ask him if he's hungry or to announce that she's going to grab something from downstairs and on one occasion to ask for help with her physics homework, but largely they spend their time together without speaking.

At half past eight, Marinette sets down her pencil and closes her textbook. "Alright," she says, standing up. "Turn around, I have to change."

Chat Noir finds himself obeying before he's even fully processed what she's said. He's already turned to face the nearest wall, hands clasped behind his back, when he hears the rustling of clothes behind him. "O-oh, I can leave the room, if you'd prefer?" he offers, wincing a little at how painfully awkward he sounds.

"It's fine," Marinette says casually, "just don't peek."

Chat spends the next minutes carefully analyzing the pastel pink of Marinette's wall, trying to think more about the imperfect little bubbles and flecks in the paint than about the sound of zippers being pulled, clasps being undone, and clothes rustling on their hangers.

He wonders if this is normal behavior for teenage girls. Do they usually trust total strangers enough to change in the same room as them? Then again, Chat Noir is kind of a superhero. Maybe that makes things different? He resolves to ask Chloé about it later—not that she's exactly a typical Parisian teenager. On second thought, maybe he won't ask. Maybe—

"Okay, you can look now," Marinette says. Slowly, Chat Noir turns around.

Marinette is standing in front of her mirror, mouth full of bobby pins, as she carefully works her hair into an elaborate updo. She's swapped her casual jersey knit dress for something blue and satiny. Her skirt flutters slightly around her knees whenever she moves her arms, expertly twisting locks of hair into a stunning arrangement that wouldn't look a bit out of place in one of his father's photoshoots. She finishes the look by delicately working in a silver floral hair clip just behind her right ear.

"Well?" she asks, a little cheekily. Marinette turns to face him, one hand on her hip, smiling impishly. Now that she's facing him, he can see the delicate silver beadwork adorning the front of her dress, a swirling floral design that's perfectly matched to her hair clip. The dress is high-collared but sleeveless, so Marinette has draped a gauzy black wrap over her shoulders, though Chat doubts that it'll do much to guard against the autumn chill.

It also does little to conceal the ugly gash that's stretching across her left bicep. It's a nasty cut, and it looks deep. Chat Noir frowns.

"What happened to your arm?" he asks, talking half a step closer to her.

Marinette waves him away with one hand. "An accident in the bakery," she says, almost sheepishly. "I'm a total klutz and, like, the unluckiest person in all of Paris."

Chat Noir somehow finds himself smiling slightly. "You're talking to the human embodiment of bad luck, ma chère," he says. "I think I've got you beat."

"Oh?" Marinette asks. She presses one finger to her lips and her eyes sweep up and down over his body, as if inspecting him. "You don't seem that unlucky to me. Magic superpowers, cool costume, pretty face..."

"Pretty face?"

"As if you didn't know." Marinette rolls her eyes. "Do you break a lot of mirrors? Spill a lot of salt?"

Chat pauses a moment in contemplation. "No," he eventually says. "Actually—I don't think I've ever broken a mirror in my life," he admits. "I guess that's kind of ironic."

There's a flicker of something in Marinette's eyes, an expression that he can't quite name. The exaggerated playfulness fades away, leaving behind something that's softer. More sincere. "That is ironic," she agrees, almost solemnly. "I've broken twelve mirrors in the past seven years. Bad luck really seems to love me."

"I'll try to avoid crossing your path," Chat jokes.

That succeeds in bringing back Marinette's smile. She grins at him, eyes twinkling, and says, "Don't bother. I've been unlucky since the day I was born."

"Oh?"

"August 13th," Marinette says, waggling her eyebrows at him. Her expression has turned dark and mischievous.

Chat Noir spends a moment trying to figure out the significance of the date. After a moment, the realization dawns on him. "Oh no," he murmurs, shaking his head sympathetically. "Don't tell me..."

"Yes," Marinette confirms. She sighs dramatically and presses one hand to her forehead in a fake swoon. "It was a Friday."

"Wow," Chat says, wincing slightly. "That really is unlucky."

"Well, hopefully luck is on my side tonight," Marinette says, turned serious again. "Come on, tomcat. I've got a date to get to."

She meets the Evillustrator at exactly nine o'clock, standing in front of the Notre Dame cathedral while the bells chime the hour. The area is normally swarming with tourists, but something about the surprise appearance of an akumatized supervillain makes them all keep their distance. The young couple are left in relative solitude as the Evillustrator uses his magic first to conjure up half a dozen red roses, then a small barge at the edge of the Seine. Marinette lets him help her into the boat, and then they sit side by side as the barge floats lazily up and down the river.

Their conversation meanders at first, idle chit-chat about schoolwork and classmates and teachers. She uses the discussion to feel out her opponent, checking for any hint of the blind rage that was so characteristic of Papillon's other akuma victims. When she finally feels confident that the Evillustrator is not on the verge of breaking out into villainous monologuing, she leans in slightly closer to him, and starts the real interrogation.

"So," she says, trying to sound as casual as possible. "What kind of powers do you have? Other than making your drawings come to life, I guess."

The Evillustrator gives her a half-hearted shrug, still focused on drawing the musical notes that curl up off of his tablet in a slow, tinkling melody. "I don't know. I haven't tried to do anything else."

Marinette leans back against her seat and dares to gently touch the Evillustrator's arm with her hand. He glances up at her, eyes wide, before quickly looking away. Marinette can't tell in the dark, but she thinks he might be blushing.

"Do you have any super strength?" Marinette asks, keeping her voice light and friendly. "Enhanced reflexes?"

"I, um," the Evillustrator begins nervously. He swallows audibly. "I'm not really sure, I suppose."

Marinette pulls away slightly, and forces herself to keep smiling. The Evillustrator might be cooperating with her, but he hardly seems to know anything more than she does. It makes for a pretty lackluster interrogation. He returns to his drawing, devoting his full attention back to his art, and while he's distracted, Marinette allows herself a quick glance upwards towards the rooftops. She catches the slightest glimpse of a shadow as Chat Noir darts from one building to the next.

Feeling emboldened, Marinette leans back in towards the Evillustrator, close enough that their heads are almost touching. He glances up nervously from his drawing, and the slow music fades into silence once again. "Can I ask you something kind of weird?"

"O-of course, Marinette."

"Why aren't you... doing supervillain things?" Marinette asks. She fiddles a little with her shawl. "I mean, I don't think that any of the others went out on dates while they were transformed."

"I'm still me, Marinette," the Evillustrator says, sounding almost hurt. "Papillon gave me powers. He didn't change my personality."

Marinette narrows her eyes. "Not at all?" she asks, feigning curiosity. "You're really just normal Nathanaël under there?"

"Who else would I be?"

"I guess that makes sense," Marinette says. She presses one hand to her cheek and turns away, not trusting herself to keep her expression straight.

She doesn't know Nathanaël that well, she'll admit. But they've been in the same class for a few years now, and all of this—the grandiose gestures, the unsubtle romantic overtures—seems uncharacteristic. Maybe there's something of the same person at the core of the Evillustrator, but he is unquestionably different from Nathanaël. He's bolder, more confident, less considerate... Marinette sucks in a breath and files away her thoughts for later consideration.

"So Papillon's not controlling you?"

"No," the Evillustrator says. Again, he pauses from his drawing. Their barge passes under a bridge and for a moment they are shrouded in darkness. When they emerge on the other side, the Evillustrator looks thoughtful, twirling his pen between his fingers. "Papillon is more like... a voice in my head."

Marinette's eyes widen, but she stays silent.

"He wants me to go after Ladybug and Chat Noir," the Evillustrator continues. "To take their Miraculouses. I told him that I didn't want to, and he—I don't know what he did, but it hurt. He didn't control me, though."

"You can talk to him?" Marinette asks, forcing herself to keep her voice level.

The Evillustrator nods. "He can see everything I see. Hear what I hear."

"He reads your mind?"

The Evillustrator furrows his brow. "I don't think so," he says. "I have to talk out loud for him to understand me."

"So why aren't you out there looking for Ladybug and Chat Noir right now?"

The Evillustrator shakes his head. "It's not like that. He can't force me to do anything. I'm not his slave. We have... I guess you'd call it a truce. I will get the Miraculouses for him. But until then, I'm free to do what I want."

Marinette smiles sweetly. "Of course you are," she says.

She doesn't look towards the sky, this time. The Evillustrator is staring straight at her, looking right into her eyes, and she doesn't want to do anything that might tip him off to her true intentions. She reaches out and rests her hand gently over his, and both of them are slowly, slowly leaning in.

Marinette closes her eyes, and tilts her head gently to the right. The Evillustrator leans in and their lips meet in a soft, chaste kiss.

Then she grabs his pen.

She pulls it out of his grip easily, and before he can respond she practically throws herself away from him. The Evillustrator sits for a moment in shocked surprised, unmoving, as Marinette makes a dash for the far side of the barge. The boat sways unsteadily beneath her feet when she runs, and she grabs the edge to steady herself.

It's at about this moment that Marinette realizes that she hasn't exactly thought out this plan beyond get the pen. She's got the akumatized object, but she can't exactly transform into Ladybug right now. She's trapped on a boat, with nowhere to go, and she might have stolen the source of the Evillustrator's biggest, most impressivepower, but she's pretty sure that he's still stronger and faster than she is.

"You used me," the Evillustrator says dully.

Marinette spares a moment to glance back at where he's sitting. He hasn't moved, but his posture has grown stiff. He doesn't look at her when he speaks. His eyes are fixed out on some uncertain point in the Seine River, glazed and unfocused.

"I should have known." The Evillustrator stands up slowly, and Marinette can see that his hands are trembling. "You're just like Chloé. Did you think it was fun to lead me on?"

Marinette makes an indignant noise somewhere in the back of her throat. "I am not—"

She doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence. The Evillustrator lunges at her and the whole boat rocks. Marinette manages to dodge him the first time, ducking under his arms, but she's not quick enough to escape him a second. He tackles her to the ground and they both fall heavily. The pen skitters across the bottom of the boat.

The Evillustrator doesn't attempt to take it back. He doesn't even glance at it. He has Marinette pinned to the ground, and there's something cold and cruel in his eyes.

He wants to kill me, Marinette realizes. Her blood suddenly runs cold.

"I was so stupid," the Evillustrator spits. Marinette lashes out against him, but he knocks her hands away easily. His fingers curl around her throat, choking off her air. "You're both the same."

Marinette claws ferociously at his hands, digging her nails into his skin, but the Evillustrator hardly seems to notice. He tightens his grip around her neck, and Marinette begins to feel dizzy.

She needs to transform. Ladybug would be able to fight off the Evillustrator easily. But it is awfully difficult coax the words transform me out of your mouth without any air in your lungs, and Marinette doesn't seem to be able to make any sound other than a sad little gurgling noise.

Marinette turns her eyes towards the sky. It's a starless, moonless night, the cloud cover leaving nothing but blackness above. It's so dark that she almost doesn't notice the shadow descending towards her until its glowing green eyes appear above her head.

Chat Noir slams into the Evillustrator, and they both go rolling. Marinette scrambles to her feet, gasping for air. She wastes no time watching the boys fight, and dashes for the Evillustrator's pen instead. She snatches it up just as the boat rocks heavily, knocking her back down to her knees.

A glance back over her shoulder reveals that Chat Noir has been disarmed and that he's fighting the Evillustrator with nothing but his hands. It's a fairly even fight. Marinette whirls back around, her gaze roving over the barge until she spots a glimmer of silver.

She strides purposefully towards Chat Noir's fallen staff. When she gets closer to it, she bites down on the akumatized pen, holding it between her teeth like a pirate, and grabs the fallen weapon with both hands. She raises it up above her head and runs straight at the Evillustrator.

He doesn't notice her until it's too late. Marinette gets the briefest glimpse of his wide, terrified eyes before she brings the staff down over his head with a loud crack. The Evillustrator collapses in a pile at her feet. The boat rocks again, and Marinette sways unsteadily. The Evillustrator doesn't stir.

Chat Noir is breathing heavily. If Marinette hadn't known better, she might have said that it was from the exertion of the fight.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly.

Marinette spits the Evillustrator's pen into her hand. "Just fine," she says airily. She's a little surprised by how true it is. Her neck is sore and she's sure that there will be a ring of bruises around it by tomorrow morning, but standing here, having beaten the Evillustrator with no magic and no superpowers, she honestly feels pretty great.

Chat Noir takes a few steps towards her, his eyes fixed on her neck. "Ladybug should never have asked you to try to take the pen away from him," he says grimly. "I'm sorry."

"Ladybug didn't ask me to do anything." Marinette holds out his staff to him, and he takes it back from her gently. "I just saw an opportunity, and I thought I would take it."

From the floor, the Evillustrator groans and starts to sit up, clutching at his head. Both Chat Noir's and Marinette's eyes immediately dart over to him.

"Give me the pen," Chat Noir says quietly, holding out one hand. His eyes don't move from the Evillustrator. Marinette hands it over without hesitation.

"Are you going to take it to Ladybug?"

"No need," Chat Noir says. He snaps the pen in half and a small black butterfly flies out from it. Chat lets the pieces fall and reaches out to snatch the butterfly in one hand. It flutters helplessly against his hold, one wing pinched between his thumb and his forefinger.

"Sorry, little butterfly," he says, almost ruefully. A single spot of decay appears on one wing, then slowly spreads, eating away at the butterfly until it has disintegrated into nothingness. The Evillustrator transforms back into Nathanaël.

Marinette stares open-mouthed and the space where the butterfly used to be. "I didn't know you could do that," she says distantly.

"I don't like to do it." Chat Noir steps towards Nathanaël and kneels down by his side, inspecting the lump on his head thoughtfully. "It's kind of unpleasant."

Unpleasant was certainly a way of putting it. Marinette thinks that she prefers her method.

Chat Noir rises to his feet, swinging a very confused and only semi-conscious Nathanaël over his shoulders. "I'm going to take him to the hospital," Chat explains. "I think he might have a concussion. Will you be able to get home on your own?"

Marinette laughs softly. "It's not that far away," she says. "I think I can handle it."

Chat Noir nods his head at her in parting. "Until next time, ma cherie," he says, and then leaps to the sky.

Marinette watches him until he disappears, then turns to her purse. Tikki flies out the second she cracks it open.

"Marinette—"

"I know, Tikki," Marinette interrupts. "But it was fine. I'm fine."

Tikki sighs, then floats forward to touch Marinette's cheek. "I won't lecture you, then," her kwami says sagely. Marinette leans into the touch, closing her eyes. "You were very brave today. I'm not happy about everything, but I am proud of you."

"Thanks, Tikki," Marinette murmurs. "Come on. I think it's time we had a chat with a certain cat."

She waits for him on top of the Notre Dame. Somehow, he knows where to find her. It's a weird magic that Ladybug has never really understood, but he always seems to know where she is when she needs him to. There is a strange, tenuous connection between them that never fails to bring him to her. Sometimes, on rare occasions, she thinks that she can sense him too, the slightest whisper of a location prickling at the back of her mind. But the tug has never been strong enough to bring her to him.

Chat Noir is normally as silent as a shadow, so she knows that the faint sound of impact when he lands on the roof is entirely for her benefit. He walks delicately across the slanted roof of the north tower, careful with his steps, until he's just inches away from her.

He doesn't say anything. Ladybug tilts her head bad slightly to look at him. She can't make out much of his face in the darkness, but she can see his eyes, two spots of light against the night. They are cold and hard. Chat Noir is angry.

"Marinette almost died because of us," he finally says, his voice flat.

Ladybug huffs. "No she didn't."

"And how would you know?" Chat snaps. Ladybug is slightly taken aback—has he ever snapped at her before?—but Chat doesn't seem to notice. "You weren't there. You don't even know what happened!"

Ladybug rolls her eyes, because she does even know what happened, thank you very much. Not that she can tell Chat Noir that, of course.

"Yes, but you were there," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I knew that you wouldn't let anything happen to her. I'm sure that whatever happened, she's just fine."

Something changes in Chat Noir's expression, the briefest flicker of doubt. "She got hurt, Ladybug." All the anger has drained out of his tone. Now, he just sounds sad. Ladybug feels a twinge of sympathy for him, and she almost wishes that she could tell him the truth.

"But you saved her," she says gently.

Chat Noir closes his eyes and breathes out heavily. "I can't do that again," he says. "I don't—we can't ask civilians to do that for us."

Ladybug bites down on her lower lip. "Okay," she eventually agrees. She doubts that she'll have another opportunity to pull a stunt like that, anyway. She hesitates a moment, letting a comfortable silence sit between them, before she asks, "So, what did you find out?"

Chat spends the next ten minutes recounting facts that she already knows. Ladybug listens diligently anyway, taking note of anything that stands out to her. They discuss their findings in low murmurs, volleying ideas and theories back and forth, but they keep ending up in the same place: they still don't know much of anything.

The Evillustrator gave them some insight about how Papillon's powers work. He didn't give them any insight about why this attack had been so different from all the previous ones.

Ladybug is just about to give it up and call it a night when she notices Chat Noir staring thoughtfully at her. He catches her eye and then looks away.

"What?" she asks.

"It's nothing," Chat Noir says quickly. "Just a silly thought."

"Well, I'm all ears," Ladybug says, smiling. "We've already run out of serious thoughts. Maybe silly is just the breakthrough we need."

"It wasn't about Papillon," Chat Noir admits. Ladybug arches one brow. "I just—your hair. It looks nice."

Her hair? Ladybug reaches up and gently touches her head. Her hair is still twisted up into a loose chignon, knocked slightly askew by her fight with the Evillustrator.

It is exactly the same hairstyle Chat Noir saw on Marinette not even an hour ago.

Ladybug feels a slight panic coming on. Has Chat recognized her? But when he turns back to meet her gaze again, there's no recognition in his eyes, no sign that he meant anything by the comment other than to compliment her. She relaxes slightly.

Of course he hasn't recognized her. That's not how the magic works.

"So," Chat eventually says, "what do you think Papillon's next move is going to be?"

Ladybug closes her eyes. The November wind is cool on her face, the sounds of the city quiet beneath her. "I don't know," she admits. "But I'm worried."

She feels the light press of Chat Noir's hand on her shoulder, and she shifts slightly to look at him. Chat's glowing green eyes are inches away from her face, and all his previous frustration seems to have melted away.

"It'll be okay, LB," he says, squeezing her shoulder. "Whatever he's planning next, we'll be able to handle it."

"Yeah," Ladybug agrees weakly.

But privately, she doubts.