"I did have one friend who knew. We basically grew up together, so even my father wasn't able to hide it from her," Chat laughed softly, almost a sigh, the sound at odds with his suddenly tender expression. "She… well. She's not exactly a good person, but she was there for me. Once I came out, she was the only thing in my life that stayed the same. Sometimes it seemed like she didn't even notice, even when she used my new name and pronouns."

"That sounds… kind of nice."

"It was, even if it wasn't entirely out of kindness. I think she was mainly glad that she could always get me to be the dad, or hairdresser, or intern, to her supermodel princess CEO fairy whenever we played together."

Ladybug snorted - actually snorted, undignified but surprisingly cute – as he spoke, no doubt imagining a tiny Chat pretending to run coffee errands for his pint-sized boss. Reveling in her amusement, the boy proceeded to regale her with tales of their fantasy adventures, punctuating the stories with animated reenactments.

Eventually, Ladybug began to yawn. She tried to cover her exhaustion, but Chat saw the shadows under her eyes. It had been a long day, and now a long night as well.

"You should go to bed, my lady. I can't have your lack of sleep on my conscience," he said with a sly wink.

"And you should go back to whatever dumpster you live in, alley cat," Ladybug replied, rolling her eyes as he feigned offense. Her usual snark was in no way diminished by the late hour.

"I'll have you know I stay in a very nice garbage heap to get my beauty rest. This face doesn't maintain itself, you know."

"Then you have to go, for my sake – it's bad enough when you're well-rested." She smirked and softened the jibe by gently punching his shoulder, before casting out the spotted yoyo and leaping away.

Chat Noir watched her climb down to street level and take off across rooftops before he lost sight. As usual, his mind filled with questions, and he wondered which of the many buildings scattered below him was hers. Her home. He thought about what her room might look like – what colors were the walls? Did she have a poster of him, as he had a small framed photo of her beside his computer? Were her parents sleeping in the next room, or did she live alone? Did she have siblings?

Eventually his thoughts drifted back to their conversation. It had been cathartic, letting go of the words and thoughts and fears he'd held inside himself for so long, and to be accepted without hesitation by her gentle smile. Maybe he would regret telling her so much when the live-wire energy of adrenaline had finally worn off, but for now…

He'd never felt so safe.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

With a groan, Adrien forced his eyes open, trying to ignore the burning grit of exhaustion that coated the lids, and fumbled for his phone. The combination of the late night, emotional exhaustion and this morning's early start promised a rough day. He glanced at the time displayed on the phone's glowing screen – an hour before Nathalie called him for breakfast. Just enough time to finish the geography homework and squeeze in a little Chinese practice if he rushed.

Oh… one more thing, he remembered with a wince, as the cell phone continued to buzz demandingly. Adrien carefully cleaned a small spot on his thigh with an alcohol wipe, and, mentally steeling himself, injected his weekly dose of testosterone. After disposing of the used syringe in the small box hidden in the back of a desk drawer, Adrien gently smoothed a dab of ointment onto his leg before covering it with a bandage. The words "If you can't make your own, store-bought is fine," were emblazoned in blue on the plaster; he had found them while browsing the internet during a period of insomnia several months ago and ordered three boxes without a second thought.

The bandage prickled against Adrien's skin and caught on his jeans as he pulled them on, and he resisted the urge to rip it off. His hatred of things stuck on his body had increased since he first became Chat Noir, to the point that Nino had sent him a video of a kitten rolling around with a Christmas bow in its fur after observing him struggle with latex gloves in biology class. Still, he repressed his irritation and pulled on a clean shirt. His father had made it clear that, if there was the slightest sign of scarring or infection, Adrien would once again be subjected to shots from a home visit nurse. As well as being an embarrassing situation for most teenagers, the prospect of someone else jabbing him with a needle sent involuntary shudders down Adrien's spine – it didn't hurt, precisely, but was profoundly disturbing on a subconscious level. He still hated the injections, but giving them himself at least lent enough control over the situation to make it bearable.

It also made him feel like less of an object, acted on entirely by external forces with no will of his own. As far as his father was concerned, Adrien's gender was "model," and everything else came secondary - Gabriel had determined that testosterone patches were "not an option, they will be seen and raise questions," crushing Adrien's hope of finally escaping needles after two years of Lupron injections from his doctor's cold hands, and had even gone so far as to delay his start of hormone replacement therapy for a year to better fit the lineup of clothes he was to model for the fall season.

Even after the uncomfortable wake-up call, Adrien felt good. The elation from last night's discussion with Ladybug hadn't worn off, even after he finally returned home and crawled into bed. His limbs felt curiously light, reminding him of the few times he was allowed a small glass of wine with dinner, and the sunlight trickling in between the window bars wasn't as harsh on his tired eyes.

The plan he had begun to formulate as the sun had risen behind the rooftops of Paris returned to his mind, and Adrien shivered with anticipation (and a little fear). Ladybug had lent him a corner of her cloak of confidence, which he wore as a shield while considering how to tell Nino.

It was time for one of his masks to come off.