Rating: T

2: Cheek Kiss

"Stay."

The whisper fell into the space between them, rough and pleading. It tugged itself loose from her lips, escaping around the lump in her throat from the yawning ache in her chest.

"I would," he whispered right back, sounding like he was in no less pain as he left her to cast around for his clothing in the pitch-black room. Cold air rushed to fill the dent the shape of his body had left in the mattress. "You know I would."

Shivering, she sat up. Clutched the blankets to her chest. Exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I do."

It wasn't his choice. He'd stay with her if he could, he loved her desperately— she knew all of these things.

It didn't dull the knife's edge of loss one bit.

They'd been dragging it out, their time as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Hawkmoth had been defeated two years ago, eight years after they began; by all rights they should have retired then. Maybe they would have, if not for their relationship.

Ladybug and Chat Noir: legendary lovers, according to every gossip column in the city. It held some truth, had held truth for years now.

The dumb cat had won her heart.

And now he was leaving with it.

"And there's no way you can stay." It was meant to be an agreement, resigned fact, but she couldn't help the battered thread of pleading that crept into her voice. She hated herself for it, just a little bit. It wasn't that she didn't believe him — she really did, and there was no point in making things harder for the both of them.

Chat was leaving, and this was their goodbye.

That's all there was to it.

"I've looked and looked, Ladybug, believe me." He was the one pleading now, abandoning his search for his clothes in favor of wrapping his arms around her. His voice shook like he was on the edge of tears.

"I know," she soothed, returning the embrace and stroking his back, not sounding much better herself. The warmth of his skin was a bittersweet comfort. "I love you, always. Don't forget that."

"Never," he choked out into her hair, shaking his head. "Never, never, never."

"Good," she answered, and tipped her head back for a kiss, wishing with all her heart that she could see him one last time even though she knew it was impossible.

Paris needed a duo to protect it. They had managed to draw things out this long, but with Chat's permanent departure the city would no longer have what it needed.

She couldn't do it on her own.

It was time to pass on their Miraculous.

His lips pressed firm against her cheek first, the undemanding, unassuming affection shooting straight to her aching heart. Then they trailed upwards, kissing away the dampness at the corners of her eyes before moving down to her mouth.

"I love you," he promised into the kiss, and she traced the words, memorized them, saved them for her hungry heart. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He didn't say I'm not sure how I'll do this without you, or you are my everything, or I'll miss you, but she heard the words all the same, felt them in the way he clutched her tight and the way he shook.

Opening to him, she tried to show him the same. Kissed him softly, thoroughly, soundly, and tried not shake too obviously with him. She was the strong one, the rock. She couldn't fall apart here.

The kisses ended on a mutual breath. Ladybug clung to him, naked against the clothing he'd managed to don with unsteady hands between their desperate snatches of affection.

"There's really no way you can stay, is there."

He dropped his face into her hair again, shuddering breaths fanning over her scalp. "No."

She should say something, she thought. Something about the little pink plus taunting her from her bathroom sink.

But he couldn't stay.

He couldn't stay. He couldn't have what he'd wanted his entire life. To tell him now would be cruel. To let the lost possibility stay with him, eating at him (because she knew her partner and she knew it would), would be cruel.

Right?

(If she told him, would that just be a way of trying to manipulate him into staying? If she told him, would it really be for the good of them all, or just a whim of her selfish heart?)

(Would telling him cause more harm, or more good?)

She forced herself to unwind her arms from around him, and shove the questions — endless questions that had been swirling in her mind for a week now — out of her thoughts.

She forced herself to withdraw her heart, to detach its hungry fingers from the idea of him and them and forever.

She forced herself to say, "Okay."

And he forced himself to release her, arms moving with aching slowness.

"I guess... I guess this is..."

"Goodbye," she said, taking the plunge for the both of them.

"Yeah," he whispered, voice cracking and breaking her heart just a little bit more with the sound. "Goodbye."

Unable to help it, she reached up to cradle his face. Pressing her forehead to his, she breathed one final, "I love you, Chat Noir. Goodbye."

His hands came up to return the gesture, brushing tears from her cheekbones. Long fingers caught at hers, pressing something small into her palm. "I love you too, Ladybug. Goodbye."

And with that, he extracted himself from her life, and turned to leave.

Eight years. They'd had eight wonderful years together. She used to think it was a long time, but it felt so short now that all she wanted was forever.

Her hands curled into fists. Metal cut into her fingers, and she realized that she was holding a ring. The knowledge yanked at her heart like a barbed hook.

"Wait!"

Still, it wasn't that that made her leap out of the bed, grabbing for his shoulder when she heard his hand on the door handle.

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she gasped. It broke the one rule they had, reneging on it for the sake of the little pink plus still sitting on her bathroom sink.

"What?"

"My name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If— if you ever— if you ever find yourself in Paris again, come visit me, okay?"

She couldn't bring herself to say more, not when an uncertain little hope was all she had, but she couldn't say nothing either. She had to give them a chance somehow. She had to.

His shoulders jumped with tension under her hand, starting to tremble all over again, and she wondered if the name meant more to him than she thought, if he was struggling with the urge to give his own in return. She wasn't sure which terrified her more: that he wouldn't, or that he would.

Would it cause more harm? Or more good?

"I will," he promised in the end, voice rough. Making his choice.

She let her hand fall from his shoulder, one last caress of his form. After a pause, he turned the handle and stepped out to catch his flight.

Streetlamp light spilled in from the hallway, limning him in a halo, glinting off his hair and giving her a fleeting glimpse of gold.

Then the door closed, and he was gone.

She didn't fall to her knees or burst into tears, although she wanted to. Instead she locked the door and turned on the light, and picked around the room for her clothing.

Chat wasn't the only one with somewhere to be.

She had a rather important test awaiting her at her doctor's office.