"And I…am Ladybug."

Simple. Factual. Words spoken without a trace of the fanfare they deserve. And the little attic bedroom is quiet, too quiet, as though all the life it holds within -- and Alya is suddenly quite certain it's more than just the two of them -- is holding its collective breath.

Her eyes widen and she leans away slightly, catching her own breath. But she can't, with Marinette in this state, bear to put any more distance between them, even as the words rotate and blur in her mind.

Of course you are. That's all Alya can think now, although a moment before she'd have said she'd considered every possible candidate in Paris, in depth. Of course you are, and how is it that the one possible Ladybug she's never taken seriously is her own best friend…whose age, slim frame, and blue-black pigtails should have put her at the top of any reporter's list? Whose innate goodness has shone through in any interaction Alya has ever had with Ladybug?

Because she's her best friend, that's why, because Alya knows her altogether, the good and the bad and the insecurities, and it's impossible to imagine the girl who stumbles over her own feet in the school hallways slinging herself gracefully through the air, dangerous and competent and self-assured. Because Marinette is a mess, that's why, a hideously lovable tangle of poorly executed good intentions, of which the attempt to push her friends away is only the most recent example. While Ladybug's polish has always held up to scrutiny even while Rena Rouge has fought at her side.

But that's what the Miracules do, don't they? Amplify the good, efface the bad? Is it such a surprise, the way Marinette's Kwami smoothes her movements and guides her considerable native intelligence, when Alya has felt that same grace creep through her own limbs, quicken her own mind?

Of course you are. Because this is Marinette, Marinette all over, spending herself to the last cent on the protection of friends and strangers for months, years, without thanks or relief either from the demands of a normal teenage life. Throwing herself into everything, always wholeheartedly, ignoring the boundaries of what is advisable or even possible for the sake of another design, another good deed, another smile. Juggling school and friends and parents and extracurriculars while saving the whole damn city every twenty-four hours. And holding her tongue. Holding her tongue all this time.

Not even Chat Noir, Alya remembers suddenly, knows that Marinette is Ladybug.

But of course you are, and of course you're sobbing in my arms right now. Mon Dieu.

And all Alya can do is hold her own tongue and thousand questions back. Lean in, and not away.

(It will spoil everything between us… How much fear in that voice! As though a person like Marinette is a cheap trinket to be thrown away! As though Ladybug herself is some sort of automaton, an embodiment of power sufficient unto herself, and Marinette simply an afterthought!)

Alya isn't Rena Rouge right now, to spin beautiful lies and elaborate comforts. She's just…just Alya, as she now realizes Marinette is just Marinette, twenty-three hours out of twenty-four, and still carrying a city on her shoulders. Two can shoulder that burden better than one, and if this is all Alya can do, damn it, she will still do it. Lean in, cradle her dearest friend in her slim, non-heroic arms, and be there. Be with Marinette in a way no one has been able to in years.

Of course you are.