Marinette sat on the floor, staring up at the wall in front of her.
It was peppered with useless red lines of string, pictures, and news articles. She'd spent an hour on the whole mess—trying to root around the apartment to avoid using tacks, highlighting bits of information, etc.—and it was all useless.
It was supposed to be like in one of those detective shows. The investigator puts all the stuff up on a board or a wall, puts some red string between the connecting things, and the bam comes the realization. It was all supposed to click like that.
However, it didn't seem to work outside of the TV universe. She'd really only wasted paper and made funny faces at the wall.
An hour, wasted. She'd just sat there and stared at the papers hoping something would happen. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting—maybe some sort of "aha!" moment where everything seemed to click together, or a grand realization where she'd see the one thing she was missing—but she knew she expected something to come out of it.
She sat there on the floor like an idiot, sighing. Over and over, she agonized over every scrap of information she'd so carefully printed out, and it'd amounted to nothing more than a wasted ink cartridge and a whole lot of tape.
"You know, you're never going to figure anything out like that," Alya said. She sat down next to Marinette. "Trust me, I've tried."
Marinette frowned, but decided to keep on sitting there. Given that she had no idea where to go next, she decided it was the best option. She knew that Adrien didn't fit in with the rest of them. That was easy. She knew that, for reasons unknown, Adrien seemed okay with being at the rotten end of Chat's attention. That was also easy.
The only problem was figuring out Chat's side of the equation. Why had he gone after Adrien? And the thing was, nobody knew anything about Chat and nobody knew why he'd gone after Adrien, meaning she was back at square one: sitting there staring at the wall like an idiot.
Alya pulled off a low-hanging piece of paper, looked at it funny, then put it on the floor in front of her. "Will you listen to Nino?"
Marinette looked up. Nino sat on the couch across the room, all set up with a blanket tossed haphazardly on his lap. She hadn't even noticed him come in, yet there he was slouched like he'd been there for hours.
"Hey Nino," she said.
"This is all old information," Alya said, scrutinizing the paper in her lap.
"That was posted three hours ago," Marinette said. She tried to snatch it out of Alya's hand, but Alya held it away and crumbled it up in her fist.
"Hey!"
"Think. Someone had to get the info, write the article, edit the article, and then post it. The information's gotta be a day old. My blog is much more efficient."
The poor article was tossed at Nino's head, where it smacked him square in the forehead with a satisfying thack. Alya giggled and grabbed for another sheet.
"Stop it!" Marinette said. She yanked on Alya's arm, trying to keep her from murdering any more innocent articles, but Alya was stronger. Soon another paper was being squished in Alya's fist.
Not even a full second later, it hit Nino square in the glasses. "It's not even useful," she said. "It's BBC News. I bet they don't really know squat about Chat Noir." She grabbed for another article, picking up one with CNN blaring out from the top—aka, another one she considered useless. It seemed any major news article was on her "useless" list.
Marinette humphed.
"Just so you know, I'd consider this obsessed," Alya said. Another paper ball went soaring over Nino's head. "Damn it."
"I would too," Nino piped up.
"Nobody asked you Nino. Shush, I'm busy coaching," Alya said, grabbing another article. Just as Nino finally returned fire, Alya chucked it at him, only for him to catch it in his hands and fire it right on back. She was hit square in the jaw with a paper, earning cackling from across the room.
"I'm being coached?" Marinette asked, smiling.
Alya and Nino kept throwing paper back and forth at each other.
Alya paused. "Yes. If you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right- Nino!"
A ball of paper had somehow ended up perched at the bottom of Alya's v-neck, sitting right above her décolletage like it'd simply meant to taunt her. Nino just laughed some more.
"But-"
Alya stuck a finger up in the air. "No buts. I'm the journalist, my word is law," she said. But it was hard to take her seriously when another piece of paper went sailing by her head. Grabbing the paper from her shirt, she flung it over at Nino.
"I feel like that's a general rule," he said, "Alya's word is law."
She nodded. "Yes, it is. Thank you Nino."
"Okay then," Marinette said, a smile coming to her face, "What advice do you have for me, oh wise journalist Alya?"
Alya laughed. "The wise, divine journalist Alya says…" she looked up at the wall, pondering it for a moment, "That this is a waste of paper."
"What? I'm trying to be a detective," Marinette said.
"This is all online though."
"On your blog?"
"Yes, on my blog. All the information you could ever possibly find about Chat Noir is at your fingertips, and you decided to waste paper instead." Alya shook her head in mock disappointment. "Shameful."
"You and Nino don't seem to think it's a waste," Marinette pointed out. Another piece of paper went sailing past Alya's head, landing in Marinette's lap.
She glared at Nino.
"You started it," he said, shrugging.
She turned back to Marinette. "For your purpose, it's a waste. Nino and I are just innovators," she said.
"As if," he said. "We're throwing paper at each other."
"Repurposing paper, mind you," Alya said.
"Well whatever it is, you're balling up my research," Marinette grabbed another article out of Alya's hands and stuck it up on the wall.
"Your unnecessary research."
"Agreed," Nino said, nodding.
Marinette jabbed a finger at Alya. "You're biased, and Nino, you're just agreeing with her."
He offered up another shrug.
Marinette sighed. "Fine, I'll go look at your blog. Do what you will," she said, waving a hand at the wall. "You're cleaning it up if you make a mess."
She pulled herself to her feet and made her way to her room.
"Nino you're helping me clean it up, hear me?" Alya said.
"As you wish, oh wise one."
Marinette barely caught the triumphant look on Alya's face when she closed the door.
She sank down into her chair and stared at her laptop. Some part of her was trying in vain to stop herself from turning it on and scrolling through every bit of information she could find on Alya's blog. It was more of a matter of admitting it to herself than a matter of pride. She could call herself un-obsessed all she wanted while she was printing out and taping up articles, but finally going through "Chat's Corner"? That was just screaming it from the rooftops, finally letting herself know she was some kind of Chat Noir fanatic.
Although… when she thought about it… it really wasn't.
She opened up her laptop.
Tap, tap.
It was the first search result that came up. Up popped images of all things Chat Noir, theories and supposed 'sightings' littering her screen like the trash on the ground when the can was full.
Tap, tap.
She scrolled down, pausing when she saw the mural of Adrien Agreste cross her screen. She kept scrolling, ignoring the tingling down her spine at the sight of it. Something about it just…
"It's raining, lemme in."
Marinette stopped.
No, stopped was the wrong word.
She froze.
It couldn't be…
No.
No.
"Princesssssssss," a voice whined.
She turned around.
Oh.
Oh.
Crouched on her railing, leaned against the side of her building, was Chat Noir. He was soaking wet, with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face, looking at her through the window. He waved when he caught her gaze.
She slammed her laptop shut.
"Please lemme in," he whined through the glass.
"No," she said, turning around. No way was she letting him in, no matter how hard it was raining. Hell, even if a monsoon decided to swing by for a quick visit, she was still not going to open that door and let that mangy cat of a man inside her room. He was still a sketchy, weird possible-murderer, and he'd gone after Adrien Agreste.
He wasn't going to melt.
"I'm going to meeeellllltttttttt."
"Good."
"Come on."
"Leave me alone, or I will push you off that railing," she said, turning around in her chair.
A shit-eating grin grew, fresh from the crop, on his face. "I'd like to see you try."
She figured that, if she could manage it, it'd be the most satisfying thing in the world. Granted, he was probably heavier than he looked, but part of her believed it was possible and it'd be oh so worth getting her hair wet.
It wasn't the worst idea she'd ever come up with.
Sighing, she spun around in her chair and turned her back to him. Answers or not, she was not going to be letting him in again; he was still nothing more than a stranger.
"You know, I'm still here," he said.
Lightning flashed.
Tap, tap.
Thunder boomed.
Why her? Why did it have to be her? What had she done to deserve this?
"Marinette, it's raining. Please."
She sighed. Alya and Nino were still outside, their movie started up as they chatted through the previews, meaning there was a big chance they might hear him. He was still sitting out there, knocking away without a care in the world and yelling through the glass.
If he got Alya's attention, things were bound to go downhill. She and Nino would be doomed.
He wasn't going to leave anytime soon, and she highly doubted he'd shut up if she asked him politely. Even if she yelled some very choice words, he would most likely just keep on blabbering away outside her window like an alarm with no snooze button, no cares in the world.
Unless she wanted to call the cops, she would have to let him in.
Marinette got up from the chair.
"Oh thank god."
"Shush. I've got a roommate, you know."
He mouthed "sorry" at the window, eyes perked up.
She grabbed towels from the bathroom and piled them on the floor near the door. If she was letting him in, he was not going to be dripping all over her floor.
She opened the door, and he slipped in.
She knew, in that moment, that it had been a mistake. Anything Alya could've thrown at her would've been better than the realization that he was like a stupid stray cat. She'd shown him kindness once, and so he was going to keep coming back and coming back for more because that was what stray cats did.
Except he was not an actual cat, he was a man dressed like one.
And she was not going to be showing him kindness until he explained himself.
She threw a couple towels at him, closing the door and locking it again. "Why are you here?"
"It's raining."
Something felt off about him. It was in the way he looked at her, in the way he shivered with a towel draped over his head, in that look on his face.
There was something unnervingly off about him, and yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
So she carried on, pretending she hadn't noticed it.
"It's been raining all afternoon," she said. "Why would you go outside?"
He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. This cat doesn't do too well in rain though."
"You're not a cat."
He smiled back, and there was a glimpse of the Chat Noir she'd met a few days ago. The teasing one that'd been perfectly happy sprawled out on her floor while she pointed a knife at him.
"I'm purr-etty sure I recall you calling me a cat last time I was here."
She rolled her eyes. Of course he did. "So you don't like the rain because you're a cat."
"You betcha," he said, smirking. "Us cats and water don't agree."
"If you say so."
A pause. He kept rubbing his head for a moment, then balled up the towel and tossed it in her hamper with a quiet cheer. Then he sank down onto her floor with his legs criss-crossed, grabbing a new towel off the stack and draping it around his shoulders like a cape.
She watched him, sitting down on the bed with a heavy sigh. "Chat, why are you really here?
He frowned at her. "It's raining."
"If you wanted out of the rain, you would've had better luck going home."
"My house is cat-astrophically far away, princess," he said. "I simply couldn't make it."
"You didn't have anywhere close by?" she asked. Part of her wanted him out then and there, slippery railings ignored. He was sitting there, looking at her with that look on his face, and something about it all was so unnerving that it just sent a bad feeling through her.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I feel like I'm an odd choice in this situation."
He rubbed his chin in thought. "I guess you are an odd choice," he said. Hie eyes met hers, and the whole room seemed to hush. "But no, there's not really anyone."
She went stiff. "That's… upsetting."
"I'm a solitary cat. It is what it is."
She paused, thinking. So he didn't know anyone as Chat Noir—nobody was working with him, nobody really helped him. Nobody was close to Chat Noir. But the fact of the matter was, he could've just slipped off that mask and popped into one of his friends' houses.
Unless he didn't have any close friends.
"What about in real life?" she asked, tentative. "When you're not Chat Noir?"
Part of her prayed he wouldn't say the same thing, just for her own conscience. If he'd turned to her expecting a bit of company because there wasn't anybody else, then all her coldness was just… layering it on.
"Same deal, I'm afraid," he said.
She gaped. Oh no. Oh no. She'd… she'd gone off her conversation with Adrien, assumed Chat was wrong and been so cold to him just because she felt like he deserved it. She was probably just making him feel… unwanted.
He was human, and humans made mistakes. But they needed friends too.
She frowned, sliding off the bed to join him on the floor. She could soften up, just forget about the whole mess with Adrien for a bit in in favor of helping Chat out a bit.
"You don't have anybody you can actually… talk to?" she asked, her voice soft.
He shrugged.
A beat of silence passed.
"And you're fine with that?"
"I suppose so."
She sighed and leaned against the bed, looking at him. He looked on back, staring at her a few seconds. Lightning flashed, and he watched the window for a second out of the corner of his eye. Then his gaze was back on hers, and it was like a whole stadium worth of spotlights was suddenly beaming down on her neck.
"You know, that's kind of… not normal," she said, breaking the silence. "You're supposed to have friends you can talk to."
He fell silent, staring at her. "I've been fine so far."
"You're running around Paris dressed like a cat," she said.
"Claw-some, isn't it?"
"No, it's not, I mean-" she fumbled for words. "It doesn't seem like the best coping mechanism."
"Works for me," he said, smiling.
She rolled her eyes.
And there was something in those words, in the tiny little shrug that followed, that had her eyebrows dipping. It was like he was saying that he was used to it, that he didn't really need friends because he'd never really had friends. It was sad.
And she was sympathetic, damn it.
Part of her was still sitting there in the back of her brain, reminding her of her conversation with Adrien just a few hours earlier—she was supposed to be wary around Chat, not trust in him because clearly Adrien had done nothing wrong.
But the other part of her…
She was sympathetic. Chat Noir had no friends and nobody to talk to.
It was sad.
Heartbreaking, really. Sure, she wasn't sure about his latest actions, but there was no denying that he had done a good bit of good for the people of Paris. He deserved better than a life with no friends and a whole lotta loneliness.
"You know…" she said. She met his eyes again, held them for a moment. "I could be your friend, if you want."
"You don't have to-"
"I want to." She threw in a smile for good measure. "You seem like a decent guy under that mask of yours."
More rain filled the air, gentle and soft like a little orchestra playing right along with them. It was soothing, calming, and it seemed to bring a smile to his face as he looked at her.
"I'd like that. Marinette. I'd like to have you as my friend," he said.
But the moment he said it, she realized something felt wrong. His smile felt off, kinda crooked. Like someone had gone into photoshopped and pasted another smile right on top of his without caring how it fit.
It wasn't real.
It was sculpted into his face, carved there like some toddler with a piece of clay had decided that it belonged there, and there was nothing real about it.
Something was wrong. It wasn't that odd soberness she'd seen at the end of their first meeting—that seemed like it was more of a glimpse at the real Chat more than anything else—it was different. He seemed upset.
She started quiet, her voice low. "Are… Are you okay?" she asked.
He looked back at her, smiled wider. "I just made a new friend. I'm amazing," he said. "Why'd you ask?"
"You seem… mellow. More than before, at least," she said. "You look like you're upset."
"I'm not upset."
He'd said it a little too fast, his tone just the slightest bit harsh, and Marinette found herself with no doubts anymore. "Are you sure?"
"Marinette, I assure you I'm fine."
A beat of silence passed, and they sat there.
"You've had a friend before, right?" she asked. Start small, work up to the big leagues.
"I suppose so."
"Suppose?"
He sighed. "Things are different now. She… it's hard to explain."
She nodded, understanding. 'Hard to explain' seemed to mean it was personal, something he was reluctant to say. She didn't mind—he was the one with the secret identity, not her—he had every right to keep certain things from her.
She went on. "Well," she said, "I don't know if you know, but friends tell friends when they're upset."
"Hm."
She smiled. "And since we're friends…"
He was quiet for a moment, his face creasing in thought. "It's… okay. I don't wanna trouble you with my mellow thoughts." He grinned in an attempt to distract her, but she just ignored it. She was on a mission. He'd obviously sought her out for some company, since he apparently didn't have anyone to talk to, and she was happy to listen. Maybe it'd give her a little insight on how his head worked.
"I really don't mind."
"No, it's-" He swallowed hard, eyes looking down at his lap. "I don't think that's best."
"I think it is."
"Is it?" he asked. "You don't know me."
"That doesn't mean you should bottle it up," she said.
He seemed hesitant, fidgety. He pushed a piece of hair out of his eyes, letting out a sigh. "I guess so."
She gave him a minute to figure it out, sitting there patiently across from him on the carpet. Rain still pitter pattered away outside, but it wasn't quite the pouring sounds from before. It was softer, gentler.
"I… made a mistake." He looked up to her. He was asking for permission to go on, saying 'is this okay?' without saying it.
"What kind of mistake?"
"I…" he stopped himself. "This is stupid."
"It's not stupid, or you wouldn't be upset about it," she said. She nodded, trying to get him to go on.
He still sat there a moment.
"I… er- I said some things to someone. I'm not sure it was really the best decision to talk to them in the first place." He looked up, and their eyes locked. "I don't think I realized what I was saying at the moment, and I… I messed it up."
"You messed it up?"
"Pretty much," he said, shaking his head. "She- she thinks-" He stopped himself, fiddling with his hands in his lap.
"Go on."
He sighed. "She thinks Adrien Agreste is innocent, and it's all my fault. I didn't think, I just walked up and said stuff. And it was a terrible idea. Terrible."
She looked at him.
"But he's not innocent. He deserves what I've done, trust me when I say that, Marinette. I- I have my reasons," he said. "I just… I thought she was upset with me, civilian me, but the topic changed and it all just ended up going wrong. I don't think she trusts Chat Noir anymore."
"Which is kinda hard when you're Chat Noir."
A nod.
She paused. "I doubt she doesn't believe in you anymore. It may be easy to lose trust, but it's not that easy."
"She still trusts me some, I think… but she doubts me." He let out a sigh, his gaze drifting down to stare at his lap.
"Chat, look at me."
His eyes drifted up to hers.
"Everyone makes mistakes. It's okay. I bet this isn't nearly as bad as you think," she said. It seemed like something an apology could fix, if he tried hard enough to fix it. Or maybe he'd get lucky, and it'd fix itself.
He fell silent, looking at her. "You don't get it."
"I can try to understand," she said.
"No Marinette, you don't get it," he said. "It's not simple, it's- it's not as simple as you think it is."
"It's probably simpler than you think."
"I highly doubt that, princess." He shuffled awkwardly, fiddling with a string on his hoodie. He was staring down at his lap. "I think I'm simplifying it, really."
Marinette looked at him. He looked like he'd just broken someone's arm, he looked so guilty. It really was kind of… sad.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder boomed.
He looked outside, watching the sky as the thunder rumbled along. "The rain stopped," he said.
She hadn't even noticed. A look outside and, sure enough, no more water ran down to the streets below. The only pitter patter was the sound of gutters dripping. Lightning still flashed and thunder still boomed, but the rain had been reduced to nothing more than a sprinkle that came down one drop at a time and plopped into puddles.
He got up from the floor. "I guess it's time I take my leave."
"I guess so," she said.
He turned to the door, put his hand on the handle.
"Chat?"
"Hmm?" He turned back to her.
"I was serious about being your friend," she said. "If you ever want to come back, my door is open. Within reason."
"Noted," he said, laughing. He pulled the door open and climbed up onto the railing again. "I might just take you up on that offer."
"Within reason," she said, smiling. "I don't tolerate peeping toms."
"I never thought you would," he said, smiling. "I guess I'll see ya then, princess."
"See ya."
Obliviousness at its finest.
