iv.
Months went by. Quiet months, filled with reflection and quiet companionship.
It was winter, again. The cold gray skies reflected in the cold waters of the Seine, the same color as the metal railing on the bridge. The streets were empty and silent, the trees barren and off-white branches stretching towards the sky.
Marinette peered over the edge of the bridge, ignoring the sharp cold bite of the railing through her thin shirt. Reflected back at her was the face she knew was hers, but didn't look like it.
Dull blue eyes, sorrowful and missing Tikki. It was long since she had passed on the mantel of Ladybug, but she felt the emptiness every passing day.
Long black locks cascading over her shoulders. After the grand finale against Le Papillon, she would do anything to escape the past. They had won, but paid the price.
She wasn't sure if her tired eyes or her longer hair made her look older.
Or maybe it was just that she was older, with her face leaner and more angular than it was before. Sometimes, she found it hard to go on these days.
Her parents were well. School was fine, and she was accepted by a fashion school in New York.
New York. The name tasted of foreign prestige and fledgling dreams taking flight.
A mirthless smile reached her lips.
It was funny, how things turned out. She had been accepted by one of the most prestigious colleges for fashion and design that would no doubt kickstart her already prodigious career. It was everything she had ever wanted, but not.
She wanted to be able to fly over the roofs of Paris again, cloaked in night and waxy yellow light. She wanted to giggle with Tikki as she stayed up all night trying to do her homework, like they used to. She wanted to be able to throw puns back and forth with Chat, gracelessly taking down Akumas. She wanted to forget what she had given to win, when the Akumas became darker, more powerful, more deadly and she and Chat kept fighting and winning but somehow losing at the same time.
A familiar feather-light touch on her shoulder shook her out of her reverie, and she turned.
Life had been treating Adrien well. In the time lapsed, the already-handsome boy became a groomed young man, quickly rising as an independent model and the head of his own fashion line. Known for his kind nature, beautiful sad eyes, and delicate features and presence, Adrien Agreste would continue his path as a successful model.
"Hey," he said, flashing her a quick grin. It would have melted anyone else's heart, but she knew the sadness that smile belied. Instead, her heart ached.
"Hi," she replied softly, returning to gazing out to the Seine.
He joined her, and the two watched the water swirl beneath them.
"So you're leaving. For America." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah." A pause. "You're staying."
"Yeah."
They fell into a tense silence.
His hand edged over the cold metal to hers, and like the old days they linked hands. It was warm, familiar, and reminded her of better days.
"You won't forget?"
"How can I?"
She smiled a melancholic smile at him, and with his eyes closed and thick eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones, he leaned in close and kissed her softly.
She tried to imprint this in her memory, the feeling of him against her lips, just them and their world.
"I love you," he whispered against her chapped lips.
"Always," she agreed.