MariChat May Day 10: What if? Chat Noir is feeling blue, and starts asking questions.

This is for iamthepunchlord! It's no where near as feel-sy as what the Punch Lord can dish out, but I hope that it might be a suitable offering anyway. Thanks for sharing your talent with us! Your work is always captivating.

Marinette almost always beat Chat Noir when they played Mecha Strike, but today she was absolutely obliterating him. She glanced from the screen to where he sat on her chaise, frowning. Something was wrong. He'd made an effort to hide it while they were talking, but when he was unaware of her attention, his expression was telling. He was staring listlessly at the screen, his fingers moving robotically on the controller.

She returned her attention to the game only for as long as it took to trounce him again, and then set her controller on the desk with an audible clack. He dropped his in his lap, and lounged negligently against the back of the chaise.

"Tired of beating me already, Princess?"

"Never." She shook her head with a small smile. "But you haven't exactly had your head in the game, Chaton. What's wrong?"

He cranked up the wattage on his smile. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

"Stop that," she commanded, rising from her desk chair and moving to wrap her arms around him from the back side of the chaise. She was bent at the waist, with her cheek pressed to his and her arms crossed over his chest, just below his chin. "I know you too well for that to work. You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, but you don't have to pretend, either. You know I'm here for you, right?"

He wrapped a gloved hand around one of her arms, and squeezed. "I do know," he sighed. "Thank you." They were both quiet for a few beats, and Marinette tensed to stand, but he held her in place against him with his hand on her arm. "Hey, Marinette?"

She relaxed her weight on him once more. "Yeah?"

He was quiet for so long that she was about to ask him again, but he finally answered. "What—er, hypothetically, what if there was a super hero who wanted to tell his friend who he was, under the mask."

She raised her brows in surprise, and she wondered if he was thinking about Ladybug, or Marinette, or someone else entirely. The likelihood that he was talking about one of her alter egos both scared her and excited her. She understood the fright, but where had the excitement come from? "I don't know," she replied at last. "Hypothetically speaking, don't super heroes have secret identities for a reason?"

"Well, yeah, but this hypothetical hero doesn't want to tell everyone. Just one person, one that he trusts implicitly." He squeezed her arm again, and began tracing delicate circles on her skin with his thumb.

"But what if this one person can't keep the secret? What if that person gets aku—uh, compromised? Hypothetically, of course."

"That wouldn't happen."

"You don't know that, Chaton. And that's an awfully big thing to put on a friend," she pointed out gently.

"It's an even bigger thing to bear alone," he murmured.

Don't I know it, she thought ruefully, stifling a bitter laugh.

"Mari?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Chaton?"

"What if that person was you?"

She closed her eyes, and sighed sadly, fighting the temptation to clear the air of secrets, and pulled herself away from him. "No, I—I don't think you should."

He gasped at her retreat, and as she came around the chaise to face him, she could see that he'd paled beneath the mask. She smiled reassuringly and curled up with him on the chaise, with her head on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. She squeezed him gently, and he gradually relaxed.

"One day, Chaton. You can tell me, one day. For now, maybe just tell me what you can?"

I hope you enjoyed it! As always, thoughts, comments, constructive criticism, and encouragement are much appreciated.