"Pawn to B5"

The sound of a chess piece resonated through the tower. Another click echoed.

"Queen to F3, Checkmate" Another piece moved and a hum escaped Chat lips. "I win again, purrincess." He chuckled a bit, letting the pun roll off his tongue. If it wasn't for the fact she was going to turn him in, Mari would have skinned this pun-loving kid.

It had been three days since he'd woken up. The first day Marinette had been nothing but questions, trying to annoy him with her curiosity. However, He was surprisingly patient, answering every question she had eloquently. Even the ones she had about social standings. The next day she painted him, having Chat stay still for hours. For the first few, it was calm and peaceful. But the more she looked at him, the more things seemed... wrong. Granted, she may not have had a lot of experience with other humans, but she was sure of this.

The smell of oil and chemicals danced around Marinette's nose as her brush smoothly glided across the canvas. Expertly, her wrist flicked from one side to the next, giving depth to the bed and shadow to her own red hair. She had started with his frame, and as that was now done, began to work on the background and fine details. Moving from brush to brush to get the next few pieces just right.

Now, Marinette being Marinette, she would have much preferred to make clothing, but seeing Chat there, it was hard not to want to paint him. His bright blonde messy hair, his lime green eyes, his shades of black that emphasized his pale, almost porcelain skin; She could probably do his wardrobe justice. But he was her prisoner, not a doll, and as time went on, her fingers itched to feel fabric. Mari kept to her portrait, steeling herself to the task at hand. Perhaps later she could make something.

As time went on, she began to paint Chat. His features, his hair detail, his fingers that stuck out of her hair; everything Marinette could find. The curves of his jaw were flawless, his skin unblemished, and it was hard to tell if he had any imperfections at all. When she was mildly happy with the rest of it, she moved onto his face. His face. His...- His eyebrows were perfect, and well taken care of. His nose was button-like, slightly tilted up. His eyes, they seemed... They reminded her of...

The more she looked at him, she noticed something that put her off. She thought he would have been tired and annoyed, having to stay still for hours and hours. Yet as Marinette gazed at him, his lips tight, eyes looking toward the opened window, she found a lifelessness that perplexed her. So much sadness and regret in those green eyes, so much unhappiness. All she could do was stare, watching his eyes glaze over and swirl further into the foggy haze of the mind. It took her a while to look away, but when Marinette did, she couldn't find it in herself to paint anymore.

"Hungry?" She asked him, putting away her paints and brushes. His eyes cleared up, consciousness coming back to him in milliseconds. He looked at her, then to the painting, and back at her.

"You're not going to finish my luxurious meow-volous face?" Marinette could hear his smirk as she picked up the easel and moved it into the corner of the room, making sure to mark the ground where it had stood.

"I'll give you a break, you look like you need one." He looked touched, honest to god, might-just-cry touched. Marinette, again, was confused as she went down to the kitchen to make some sandwiches. Plagg lay on the countertops, munching on a piece of cheese. Absentmindedly, Mari pet him as she worked, still thinking about the boy she was going to turn in by the end of the week.

Since then, Marinette had done nothing but keep him entertained. He taught her card games with a deck she found in Papillion's things, she taught him how to tell the difference between types of fungi, and lastly, they had played several games of silent chess. They would forget their situations and boundaries for moments at a time. The only thing reminding them were times when Chat moved a bit in her hair, causing them both to recollect who the other was. But in the times they forgot, She was the Clever Girl in the Tower, and he was the Punful Boy in Black Clothes. They didn't talk much, but when they did, Chat was a rather interesting and nice person to talk to.

"I blame you, If I didn't have to sleep on a duvet I wouldn't be so stiff and distracted." Marinette got up and stretched, Plagg hopping out of her lap and resting beside Chat. Chat Noir grinned and looked up at her.

"You could always knock me unconscious and move me downstairs." She pondered this for a moment as she opened the window, pocketing the lock, but shook her head.

"And ruin the painting by moving you? Not a chance." Giving her mind time to cool off, Marinette set up her easel and gathered her paint supplies. She heard a small sigh come from his lips and watched as his head tilted back toward the window, in the same exact position as the day before. Her heart seized only a tiny bit as she saw the light in his eyes begin to fade away. Marinette picked up a brush, dipping it into the green paint, and brought her hand up to the canvas. Her hand stayed there for a moment, not moving at all.

"You know," Marinette began, setting down the brush and picking up a different one, texturing the clothes a bit more instead, "You never told me your name."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of an Alias, Princess?" She chuckled, glancing ever so often up at his face as she kept his attention.

"I suppose it would." The conversation fell silent for a moment, but Chat decided to pick it up again.

"I have yet to catch your name, though."

"That's because I never threw it, Kitty Chat." He groaned, laughing a bit.

"Hitting me with my own a-mew-sing puns? You may be just as bad as I am."

A few seconds passed without an answer. He did need to know her name, after all. Princess would start getting annoying. "Marinette." Chat smiled warmly at her.

"It's a nice name, who picked it? Your mother or your father?" Her hand stopped and she bit her lip. He was just going to be turned in anyway, so what was the harm in telling him?

"I don't know. The only person I've known for as long as I can remember is Papillion, and that's what he told me my name was." She could feel his stare against her face, but she didn't mind. She didn't know to mind in that situation. She thought it was fine not to know your parents. After all, her's had given her up. Why would she want to know the people who left for a different life? It wasn't practical, especially when she had Papillion, who cared about her. But that didn't stop her from wondering.

Mari had had dreams in the past, about meeting her parents. A tall plump man who smelled of flour and a smaller woman with black hair, who wore a kind smile. They would always be sitting down in a large open field, flowers all around them, a blanket lain in the grass, bread and cheese set out to snack on. As time went on in the dreams, she began to notice the walls around them, rising higher. She saw the waterfall begin to trickle. They were always too far away to save her as the bricks began to form and hoist her into the air. In minutes, she was inside the tower. She'd look out the window, and her parents were gone. She'd wake up, tears trickling down her cheeks. No one was there to comfort her, but even if there were, she didn't know any better. Being alone was natural.

"Marinette?"

She popped back into reality as her name was sounded, "yes? Sorry." She saw him smile patiently.

"I said, Who's Papillion?" Mari put her finger to her chin and thought about it for a moment.

"Kind of like a caretaker mixed with a father figure."

"What's he like?" And with that, she told him, paintbrush accenting her words.

"Papillion is fancy and neat. He is also very patient with me, after all, I am a clumsy person at times."

His eyes brightened a bit, and his finger pointed at her dress. "I can see that." Marinette looked at what he meant and cursed. She had gotten paints, very expensive and staining paints, on her new clothes. Mari sighed. "Speaking of clothes, how is it that you're in different clothes despite being in this very hairy situation, and looking rather clean, might I add." She saw the curiosity fill his eyes. Picking up the green brush again, she told him a story.

"When I had been younger, about 6 or 7, I had been playing around and my hair caught in the rafters. Being a child, I didn't exactly know how to untangle my hair without it hurting, so I made do. Instead of roaming around nude, I decided to cut open my dress and slip into a shirt of Papillion's, one of the ones he has here just in case he has to stay the night. I tied it so it would be as loose on me. But there was a problem as my legs began to feel cold. So I looked around more and found a pair of pants. His pants were much too long, so I took it upon myself to fashion a pair of shorts and tied them to my waist with one of my hair ribbons. When Papillon returned a day later, he was very surprised to find me in his clothes. I thought he would have been mad and angry, but he wasn't. He just laughed and pat my head as he untangled my hair. If anything, he had been proud of my bold and adaptive thinking..."

His laughs rang out through the tower as she continued both telling her story and painting. They talked and swapped small stories for the rest of the time she painted. His smile and light returning and lighting up his entire face. Now this, this she could paint happily. But as she painted and chatted, warning signs went off in her head. He had stolen from people. He was a criminal. He was Chat Noir.

He was a...

He was...

He...

He was nothing like Papillion said he was.

A/N: So, I made this a bit longer than the others, I hope it's okay. I know it seems weird but bear with me. It's going to get better. I promise. And again, for those wondering, Yes the Red hair is one purpose. I'm going to be moving here pretty soon, my mother, sister and I, but it's a month away. I hope to have at least two chapters done by then and two more to release as we move so you guys still have new content coming your way.

Thank you, for all the comments and everyone reading this. I know I say it a lot, but seriously. I write to make you all happy and to brighten up your days. Even if I can do that for just one of you, It makes my time writing so much more than just me stringing together the English language into a story.

A Small tidbit about me: I don't really watch TV anymore. Youtube, Netflix, and Hulu are practically my sources of relative TV entertainment anymore.

Just finished Detroit: Become Human. Holy cow, what a mind game. It's like Undertale had a child with I, Robot. Also, Wolf 359, one of the greatest podcasts I have listened to in a long while. I love it to pieces.

And on a further note, Anyone else excited for the Confirmed Kwami swap?

Thank You for Reading and Stay Tuned for More!

~Pheonix