EDITED 1/4/20

Chapter 3: Hum

. . .

Twelve Hours Later

. . .

Alya slowly traipsed her way to Ms. Bustier's classroom, both exhausted from the disastrous events of the previous night, as well as in no rush to reach her destination anytime soon. Everyone was surprised to wake up and find that the Miraculous Cure had been released sometime in the middle of the night, and despite the trauma of everything that happened yesterday, with the building repaired and the akuma defeated, the school board didn't see any reason for classes to be canceled.

As she passed by them, Alya pointedly avoided looking at the groups of students flanking both sides of the hallway, who were whispering to each other with wide eyes and astonished voices. It wasn't that she was upset or uncomfortable with them, but rather, that she was upset and uncomfortable with herself.

Because she knew, she knew, had Ladybug been revealed as a faceless student she didn't personally know, she would have been one of them. She would've been babbling like an idiot, excited and astonished—and of course worried for her hero—but wow, Ladybug was a student at her school! Her idol had been right under her nose! And after that, she would have liked to think of herself as being much more sympathetic and mature than the others, when in reality she wouldn't have been any less shallow and foolish.

The words 'ignorance is bliss' had never held quite resonated with her as they did now.

A yawn escaped Alya's mouth, accidentally interrupting her thoughts, and she rubbed her eyes tiredly beneath her glasses. The girl had, unsurprisingly, received a grand total of zero hours of sleep the previous night, too overcome with freaking out and fruitlessly trying to answer the millions of questions rampaging through her brain to even consider the prospect of lying still.

The one time she did attempt to rest and close her eyes, Alya ended up reliving the exact second that Ladybug had hit the ground turned into her best friend with a flash of pink light. She relived the air rushing out of her lungs like an avalanche tumbling down a hill, and the ugly scream bubbling up her throat and threatening to spill out of her lips. She remembered how reality altered, and the voices and movements of the bustling people surrounding her went completely unregistered. She remembered her hands going slack and her arms falling to her sides, unintentionally dropping her still-streaming phone to the pavement.

And Alya relived the sickening instant that the fear for her favorite hero's life exploded into something far, far more acute than she'd ever experienced, than she was even prepared for. Granted, she hadn't exactly been prepared to discover that Ladybug was Marinette Dupain-Cheng in the first place. Especially not like this.

Alya could still feel the ghost of Nino's fingers unconsciously digging into her forearm as Marinette had begun to sit up. It was then that something snapped, and a waterfall of broken thoughts crashed through Alya's head, clearing out any coherent ones that might have been trying to cling for life on the edges of her sanity. The memories were more blurred and chopped from then on—all she'd known was that, superhero identities aside, Marinette needed her and she needed to get to her, but Nino wasn't letting go—

. . . And then, in a blink, she was gone.

She didn't remember Nino guiding her home. She didn't know at what point she'd stopped resisting his pull, or when his and her feet started walking side by side away from the frantically dispersing mob. The authorities had finally arrived, and they were trying to contain a situation that had already crumbled to pieces. The paramedics helped the nearly forgotten akuma victim. Police officials discussed starting a search. Alya was numb.

Why didn't she fight? Why didn't she go after her? Why was she walking away? She tried to turn around, but something was holding her back, and it wasn't just Nino's hand. Something deep inside of her was telling her to keep walking. She didn't know why she was listening to it.

She hadn't even realized that they had made it to her apartment until she was standing in the doorway, with her mother's arms wrapped around her tightly. Alya quickly looked over her shoulder, but Nino had already vanished. The numb feeling was still there.

(Nino made the right call holding her back, because Alya was not thinking straight and running to Marinette could have further damaged an already fragile situation. Not that it ended up mattering.)

Marlena led her daughter inside the house. The television was droning on in the background, and Alya almost immediately picked up Marinette's name get mentioned by a news reporter. Shaking, Alya rediscovered her strength, and she disentangled herself from her mother's grip as gently as she could, before quickly walking to her bedroom and locking the door shut. She stumbled over to her bed and sat down on the edge, staring stunned at the wall, and finally let the newfound information present itself.

Marinette was Ladybug. The same Marinette that Alya had known since school started. The same Marinette who stood up for all her friends against Chloé any and all injustice. The same Marinette who was kind to everyone and was unbelievably dedicated to everything she did. The same Marinette who made birthday presents for her classmates and was constantly sharing sweets from her parents' bakery. The same Marinette who wanted a future in fashion and had worked for years to get as talented as she was. The same Marinette who was clumsy and shy and a worrier but was also loud and reckless and a risk taker. The same Marinette who adored Adrien Agreste so much that she could barely look him in the eyes, because she somehow believed she wasn't good enough for him.

That same sweet, goofy, brave Marinette was now in a calamitous amount of danger, just because she was more brave and burning and amazing than Alya had been too vacuous to realize.

Alya swallowed back her tears and leaned over to where she'd dropped her backpack. She opened the flap and pulled out her laptop, noticing that a certain someone had carefully slipped her phone back inside there as well. Luckily it hadn't suffered any damage from its fall, completely uncracked and clearly functioning. There were already nearly a hundred text messages and over three hundred notifications from the Ladyblog, but she just turned her phone on silent.

She had half a mind to text Nino and thank him, or say she was sorry, or some combination of the two. Instead, she placed the device on her nightstand, promising to do it later, and powered on her computer.

The rest of the night was spent with Alya sitting on her bed in front of her screen, constantly checking for any news or updates about Ladybug's whereabouts. However, most of the stories, posts and reports were discussing the shock of the heroine's impromptu reveal, who she was, what this meant for Paris. The sources she did manage to find didn't have anything new to report; Ladybug nor Marinette had been sighted since she left the Eiffel Tower. She was still missing.

It wasn't until the early hours of the next morning that Alya finally took a short break from her laptop. She snuck out of her room, past her sleeping sisters' room and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She quietly grabbed a cup and filled it slowly, not wanting to attract the attention of and be forced to confront her still-awake parents in their nearby bedroom. Their voices were soft, but Alya's trained eavesdropping ears only needed to pick up a few choice words to realize they were trying to console Marinette's parents over the phone. The water did nothing to make her mouth feel any less dry.

A few minutes later, when she was back in her room, Alya finally decided to post something to the Ladyblog. She had been avoiding it all night, mainly because she had no idea what she was supposed to say to her significant mass of followers. No matter what she said, she wouldn't have been able to fix anything that mattered. She couldn't undo Ladybug's fall or her detransformation or her frantic departure. She would undo it all if she could, even if it meant that Marinette would still be keeping this secret from her. If Marinette was with her, in sight and in reach and loving and happy, Alya would allow her to keep as many secrets as she pleased.

And, honestly, Alya wasn't all that perturbed by Marinette keeping her identity a secret from her. Even though it was a major, mind-blowing deal, Alya knew who Marinette was at heart, and her best friend being Ladybug didn't change that. Because the two people she admired the most turning out to be one amazing girl only gave her more reasons to love and cherish her best friend.

She knew that Marinette would've only kept this from her if she believed it was the right thing to do. And in what position was Alya to counter that?

So, was she angry? No. Upset? No. Disappointed? Never.

Scared? Try terrified.

Alya wished she could put all her feelings into words. It should've been easy—as an aspiring journalist, putting her thoughts on a page in an organized way was something she could do in her sleep. At least, it usually was.

It took hours of Alya typing and re-typing paragraphs of her thoughts before she decided this wasn't working. She had been trying to make her words sound sincere, but they alternated between being too emotional or too professional. She deleted the entire script and stared at her screen with bleary eyes. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she typed out one sentence, and finally clicked send, just as the sunlight from the window started to spill over the end of her bed:

Please come home, Marinette. ︎

...

Alya paused in front of Ms. Bustier's classroom, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip. She wasn't even in the room yet, but she was already beginning to regret declining her parents' offer to stay home and rest until she was more emotionally and energetically sound. But, she knew that if she didn't go to school, if she didn't at least try to act like everything was normal, then the stress and fear would consume her. Alya needed the distraction of other people and schoolwork to occupy her thoughts instead of everything else hanging over her head.

Most of the students had already arrived by the time Alya walked in, but the room might as well have been empty. Almost everyone was silent, barring a few people engaged in hushed conversations here and there. The atmosphere was dismal and tense, and the usual upbeat pre-class chatter was unnervingly absent, missing along with their black-haired classmate. Even Chloé, notorious for dishing insensitive comments whenever and to whomever she pleased, was strangely untalkative (although, clearly not quite as affected, as she casually touched up her makeup and didn't bat an eyelash to the sobriety surrounding her).

Eyes fell on Alya as they heard the door close, and she struggled to stop herself from ducking her head. She quickly walked towards her desk and kept her eyes trained on her seat in an effort to ignore the sympathetic stares of her peers. Any student that had ever met Alya and Marinette, especially their classmates, knew that the girls were two of the closest friends to ever walk the school halls. If anyone there was affected the most by yesterday's events, it was Alya. But she didn't want their sympathy, she wanted to be left alone.

Alya felt someone rest a hand on the crown of her head. When she peered up, she found herself coming face-to-face with Nino. There were bags under his eyes, and his face was terribly grim in a way that didn't suit his normally content and relaxed features. For a dismaying second, Alya realized she forgot to text him, and she instantly felt guilty, even if he didn't ask her to do it personally.

In lieu of a greeting, he asked her quietly, "How are you?"

Alya sat up a little straighter, and tried and failed to give him a smile. She managed to keep her voice from wavering as she responded, "I'm . . . doing okay. Considering the circumstances."

Nino nodded and fiddled with his headphones. He seemed to be floundering for something to say to cheer her up, but Alya didn't blame him. She wouldn't know what to tell him if he were in her place, either.

She decided to help him out. "Do you think Adrien would mind if I stole his seat? I don't . . ." She let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to sit alone today."

The question made Nino light up. "Are we even talking about the same Adrien? Of course he wouldn't mind."

Gathering her stuff and sitting next to Nino did end up helping her feel better, at least a little bit. But later, when Ms. Bustier arrived and class finally began, she ended up not even attempting to listen to the lecture. All she could focus on the entire time was the daunting stillness from the empty seat behind her, and how she wished she could believe that Marinette was just coming late to class like she always did. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend. But that didn't make the chair any less vacant.

She was so preoccupied with her inner turmoil that she didn't even notice when Adrien failed to show up.

Alya thrived on excitement and surprise. She loved crawling into uncharted territory, loved the idea of digging up clues and secrets and solving mysteries. She'd never feared the unknown—she was the one who went out and sought it and challenged it. She loved charging into battles head first (both figuratively and literally), without giving herself any time to doubt or think twice. It had gotten her into trouble before, and she knew it would get her into trouble again, but she couldn't recall a time where she'd ever regretted being bold and taking risks. Injuries or punishment or disappointment weren't seen as consequences, but rather were brushed off as occupational hazards.

But this . . . this was not the excitement she liked, the one whose danger and uncertainty and ability to take her breath away made it all the more thrilling. This time, there was so much more at stake: relationships and dreams and lives that she wasn't willing to lose. The danger and uncertainty shook her to the core and left her breathless in a bad, bad way.

Alya needed to find Marinette. Because, without Marinette, she was going to lose herself.

...

...

Chat took it back. He took everything back. He didn't want to know who she was anymore.

He didn't care if that meant he would've never found out. He would've lived. He would've moved on, grown, realized that it didn't matter how desperate he was to find out his partner's identity. It had nothing to do with him or what he wanted. It was her choice, all her choice, and if her choice was to stay masked, then so be it.

Chat had imagined the day that he discovered Ladybug's identity in a radically different way. For one, they would've been alone, Hawk Moth would be gone, and it would have been her decision to release her transformation. And then he'd see the girl behind that mask, and it wouldn't matter if he knew her or not or if she wasn't exactly what he expected her to be. Because she would still be smart and funny and brave and so wondrously gorgeous that Chat wouldn't understand how an unlucky enigma such as himself could've gotten so lucky as to have such an amazing person in his life.

And then, he—he'd have her. He'd have all of her, and she'd have all of him, and for once in his broken life he could finally have something complete.

Chat Noir was feeling anything but complete right now.

The hero landed with a weighted 'thump' on the roof of a building. He bent over with his hands on his knees, finally letting himself catch his breath. He had searched all the way through sunset and sunrise, with no breaks except ones to recharge and the one for Plagg to Cataclysm the akuma. Chat's tired, beaten body was in no shape for a workout of this measure—or any workout, for that matter—but he couldn't dare to quit. He needed to find Ladybug. Marinette. Both of them.

Now that he knew they were the same person, he couldn't help but feel sort of stupid. The longer he thought about it, the more connections and similarities he made between his partner and his friend, and the more he realized just how obvious it had been. Of course, he'd made comparisons between the two in the past—most of the time, they were hard to overlook—and he'd had her higher on his subconscious 'possibly Ladybug' list than most. But how ignorant he'd been to brush those suspicions off as illusions.

Why had he done that, anyway? Why didn't he let himself believe it was Marinette? That was the only connection he couldn't seem to make. Now he couldn't help but wonder if knowing her identity in advance could have prevented this from happening. Maybe he would've been able to help her faster, with less shock and confusion clouding his head. Or, at the very least, he might've had the chance to convince her to stay . . .

No. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd known. She still would've fallen, and she still would've been revealed. Besides, she made it conspicuously clear that they could not reveal their identities with Hawk Moth still active, which made this whole mess that much worse.

Nonetheless, he still wondered what it might have been like if they'd revealed themselves to each other. Maybe she would've been more comfortable around him if she'd known he was her heroic partner. She did seem to be growing warmer to Adrien as of late, even if it was only marginally so. He imagined them acting as tenderly out of the suits as they did in, and he could see it easily: the two of them bantering throughout the day and making jokes with each other, sharing secrets. Sneaking off in unison during akuma attacks, holding hands and going on lunch dates, Marinette whispering something in his ear in the middle of class, the ends her pigtails accidentally tickling the back of his neck . . .

Chat put his head in his hands.

Call him selfish, but in addition to all of the other horrible things that had gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours, the timing of Marinette's reveal could not have been more inopportune for him, because he had just started to move on. He'd begun taking a few steps away from Ladybug—not too many that he completely lost sight of her, but enough for him to view "other" options without being completely blinded by black and red—and, at the very least, he'd been willing to try. But now she had him tangled up all over again, entwined in something so unbelievably labyrinthine that he knew he wouldn't be able to get himself out again.

He wished he knew where she was. He wished he could know she was safe. He wished he could hold her in his arms. He wished he could be with her right now to help her battle her fear, because he knew from experience how dangerous a troubled mind could be when it didn't have someone there to help take their troubles away.

He really wished he could see her face.

Chat Noir was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice that his ring had been beeping for the last five minutes. Without any more warning, there was a burst of green light, and Plagg flew out of his ring. And, without the extra strength provided by the suit, Adrien's legs gave out and he plopped on the ground. A few seconds later, Plagg landed face-down on the boy's head and groaned, involuntarily receiving a mouthful of dirty golden hair. He spat it out. "Eugh, someone needs a shower."

Adrien ignored his kwami and reached into his shirt to pull out more cheese. He looked mournfully at his penultimate box of camembert; at the rate his search for Marinette was going, this wasn't going to last them as long as he would need it to.

Plagg seemed to notice this as well, because his ears flattened against his head, and his voice softened, like he was trying to brace Adrien for something harsh. " . . . Adrien—"

His hand tightened around the box. "No, Plagg."

Plagg frowned. "We have to."

"I'm not turning around."

"This isn't a choice."

"There's two more boxes! That's still hours left—"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not just talking about the cheese, and you know it."

The two of them stared at each other angrily. Plagg's eyes narrowed further. Adrien was the first to look away.

Plagg moved closer to his charge's face, his voice growing increasingly more exasperated. "I thought you were supposed to be smart. What was your plan? To search until I couldn't transform you anymore? Until you wore yourself out so much that you couldn't move any further? Whichever one came first?!"

Adrien clenched his hands into fists.

"Great strategy. But there's one problem—what were you going to do after that? How were you going to get back home? Were you going to crawl across the city? It doesn't matter how badly you want to find her. You're not invincible, kid!"

Adrien flinched, and the only sound that followed was the kwami's heavy breathing. Plagg backed away as his anger quickly wore off, and went silent. Heart aching, Adrien refused to look at him.

"I'm sorry," Plagg eventually said, his voice softer. Adrien was mildly impressed that he even had those words in his vocabulary. "I know it's hard, and I know it's not fair, but we can't keep going like this." He'd never seen Plagg look so upset. "Please. Listen to me."

Adrien wanted to. He really wanted to. This was Plagg taking a risk—being open and honest and laying out all his emotions on the table, and Adrien wanted to honor that. But this wasn't about himself. "I don't have a choice," he whispered. "I can't."

"Of course you—"

"No," Adrien said, his voice more forceful. More desperate. More frightened. His thoughts were growing increasingly disarrayed, and his words began to ramble. "Plagg, this is all my fault. It was so stupid for us to split up. I let all my guards down. I knew the akuma was bad news and I knew it was a huge risk but I let her go anyway. It was my job to protect her, but now she's lost, hurt, and everyone knows who she is. Hawk Moth knows who she is." He clenched his eyes shut, his voice wavering. "I managed to fail her three times over in less than that many seconds."

It was true. His Lady had been relying on him. Paris had been relying on him. He had been relying on him. And he let them all down.

He needed to find her. Right now, that was the best he could do to make up for his failures.

Adrien felt his throat tighten, his composure quickly deteriorating. It was all his fault. "Plagg, I—I can't stop. I can't stop looking. She's hurt and alone and she could be dying and I need to find her and fix this before—"

"Whoa, whoa, breathe, Adrien," Plagg commanded, and after a second Adrien closed his mouth. He tried and failed to take a deep breath, and ended up coughing up his lungs. Plagg was staring at him, and for the first time the kwami appeared truly alarmed. Adrien found himself nearing dangerously close to hyperventilation.

In his tired state, a memory that had been shoved in the darkness of Adrien's mind had bubbled to the surface. It was distant, but he was recalling something his mother once said to him as a child when he woke up crying from a nightmare.

'Shhh, don't cry. Don't cry. It's all right Adrien. Take deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in and count with me: un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept; good, very good. Now breathe out: onze, dix, neuf, huit, sept . . .'

He listened to his mother's counting repeat in his head, and he let it guide his own breathing pattern. It took a few minutes and numerous cycles for Adrien to finally calm down, but when he got there, he felt no relief. If anything, with his head more clear, he felt even more defeated.

It was all his fault.

Adrien felt a small pressure on his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Plagg pressing a comforting paw on his head. The kwami's voice was soft, if not slightly fearful. "Adrien?"

Adrien swatted his hand at Plagg, but Plagg moved out of the way before his palm could make contact with his face. He wanted to sound snappish, but his voice came out too weak. "I'm fine."

". . . I know this is a difficult decision," Plagg prefaced, his voice underlying with irritation, but sounding mostly crestfallen. "I can't force you to go home. But if you do manage to find Ladybug now, you aren't going to be any help to her when you can't even stand on your own two feet."

"It doesn't matter. She needs me," he murmured. He curled his legs up to his chest. "The longer I wait, the longer she's alone, and I can't just sit down and relax while she's . . . she's frantic, or . . ." Adrien put his head to his knees, unable to complete the thought. "And you know how important her identity is to her."

Plagg's face softened with understanding. "I know," he agreed.

Adrien glanced up from his knees, not expecting to have received a concurring answer.

The kwami moved forward. "I also know that your partner would want you to put yourself before her, even at a time like this. Especially at a time like this. She wouldn't care what you were doing or how important your mission was, she would want you to stop and regain your bearings."

He bit his lip, still hesitant.

Plagg pressed on. "Ladybug can handle herself for a little longer. She's a fighter. And even if she doesn't have you, she's got Tikki with her, who's actually good at this whole 'cheering up' thing."

Adrien cracked a small smile, but quickly wiped it off. Plagg's words were breaking him, but he had to stand his ground. "I don't deserve to rest. I let myself get caught, and now she's hurt. I couldn't protect her, and now her identity is out there for the public. I couldn't stop her in time, and now she's gone." His voice cracked on the last word, and he hugged his legs tighter. "This is all my fault."

Plagg slit his eyes. His nostrils flared. "This is not your fault, Adrien."

"It is."

"It's not."

"It is!"

"It's not."

Adrien looked down at his hands pensively for the longest time, slowly mulling over his thoughts. Plagg sounded so sure, and he desperately wanted to believe him. Eventually he looked up. "Plagg."

"Kid."

". . . I'm scared."

Plagg was quiet. "I know."

"I don't want to go back."

"I know."

"Marinette needs me."

"I know."

"I feel like I'm giving up on her."

Plagg shook his head sincerely. "You're not. We're going to find her. This is the right choice."

Adrien swallowed. Took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Opened them.

...

He sure hoped it was.

...

"Plagg, claws out!"

...

...

i got approximately seven billion requests for adrien's reaction. i gave you adrien AND alya. i'm an overachiever.

(the aforementioned adrien and alya are way too stubborn and hard on themselves and it's no one's fault but the author's.)

i'm in love with all of you why are you so nice to mee