It was like stepping back into the past, seeing how many people had gathered around the Eiffel Tower to try to get a peek at the hero sitting on top. Cameras flashed, people called out, but the figure sitting stayed still. It wasn't just civilians staring, as a certain heroine sat on a rooftop across from the tower, paying no heed to the huge crowd below, eyes only on the dark figure.
She didn't know quite what she was feeling– only that it was hot and pulsing, sharp and bitter– the emotions coursing through her with a power she hadn't felt in many years. For a time she sat on her perch just watching, as if that dark figure would vanish at the slightest gust of wind, that perhaps he was just a mere illusion. That she would jerk awake and all of this would just be a dream, that he wouldn't be there.
But soon not even that fear could keep her back, and she let her yoyo fly once more. It zipped through the air, needing to bridge the large open space that surrounded the tower. In the darkness nobody noticed her line as it wrapped around one of the beams, everyone still gawking up at Chat Noir until she leapt from the building, swinging across to where he was waiting. Waiting– like she had for him so many years before.
She barely made a sound as she landed across from him on the metal beam, but he heard her. Like always his enhanced senses kept him so aware of what was around him, his whole form turning towards her. She stood still, pushing herself to her feet as his gaze met hers, and she felt her breath get caught in her throat. No part of him moved, crouched down on all fours. Despite the people below, who had become even louder with both heroes in sight, it felt like silence surrounded them, nauseating and suffocating.
His green eyes glowed in the night, the same gaze that had always haunted her dreams. Though still a deep black, his suit had changed over the years, thick leather padding across his broad shoulders, and no bell zipper at the base of his neck. Instead pinned to his chest was a lavender brooch– the Butterfly Miraculous. He was clearly unified with it right now, the flares on his boots and gloves were purple and loosely shaped like butterfly wings. Lavender highlighted his entire costume, along the seams and his belt, even on the edges of the cat ears and mask.
His baton no longer rested near his waist, but instead was crossed across his back with the purple cane of the Butterfly Miraculous. His ears were perked up, facing towards her, and his metal claws dug into the beam they stood on. Chat Noir didn't say a word, just staring at his partner. She took a step forward, and immediately his ears went back. The tension in his posture did not seem to be from anger, just a powerful caution.
Yet anger coursed through her– burning and bitter. She felt her fingers digging into her palms, the fact that he was just... there. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he had the right to wait for her right where she had been left alone for so long. Her jaw grit together, vision blurring slightly.
"Chat," she said; voice soft, yet tense. One ear slowly raised up, belt tail swaying behind him.
He studied her, and like him her costume had changed over the years. More black adorned her suit, stretching up her arms and legs like gloves and boots, and a large patch of black was draped over her shoulders. Her spots had become smaller and more scattered, though her mask and yoyo remained the same. Two red ribbons were still tied in her hair, which fell loosely around her shoulders instead of up in the two pigtails she had once so often worn.
"Ladybug," he replied, and it was like a single day hadn't passed as he spoke.
Tears stung her eyes at how familiar his voice was, deep tones making her heart race. It was him, messy blonde hair and stunning gaze– it was all just like she had remembered. He had changed, yet somehow he still seemed to be the same. The distance between them, the hesitancy, it all simply felt wrong, and it hurt.
She took in a ragged breath, and she couldn't keep herself back.
Chat Noir tensed as she came at him, pulling back as she flew right into his chest. She didn't care, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her head into his shoulder as more tears came, the familiar scent of him and leather tickling her nose as she broke down crying. He was still for only a moment, before his muscular arms enveloped her. The anger had drained from her the moment they had touched, and she struggled to breathe, because it just wasn't fair how well she remembered him despite how much time had passed. His arms still brought a sense of safety, and the familiar shape of his chest beneath her... she knew it all too well.
"You're back," she whispered, and he took in a sharp breath. "I thought... I thought I would never see you again."
"My Lady," he muttered, holding her tighter.
It felt so right to be this close, but also so wrong. Six years was a long time, she had changed so much herself and she knew the same had to be true for him. If anything he was a stranger now, a stranger with boundaries she shouldn't have so readily crossed, yet neither seemed to mind as they held the other.
Down below the crowd had let out a cheer, and a hiss escaped Chat Noir. She pulled back ever so slightly just so she could see his face, and his pupils had narrowed to slits as he glowered down at those below. His embrace shifted, one arm wrapped around her waist, and the other going to his back and drawing out his baton. It expanded with a quick tap of his finger, and she did nothing as he scooped her up, just wrapping her arms around his neck.
He leapt off of the tower, the staff elongating into a pole, slamming down into the midst of the people below them as he vaulted them across the square. Cameras flashed up at them, Ladybug tucked against Chat Noir's side as he carried her to the nearby rooftops. When they were young they had been similar in size, save for their height– but these six years had been generous to him. He towered next to Ladybug's lean build, a force to be reckoned with even without the power of destruction on his side.
He set her down as they reached the roofs, staff once again returning to his back. They didn't even need to look at each other, both heroes racing out into the night, leaping across Paris as they had done in their youth. They ran away from the crowds, away from the cameras, seeking shelter– whatever that might be. The only thing they understood at that moment was the need to be alone with the other, locked away from the world, even as it rejoiced with their return.