Marinette watched as Gurvinder twitched in his sleep, his breath uneven, his brows furrowed in pain. She could hear him murmur faintly, his fingers slightly clenching the blanket. It wasn't just a restless sleep—it was like he was trapped in a nightmare, reliving something he couldn't escape.
Her chest tightened. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before softly brushing his hair back. He was strong, always acting like nothing fazed him, but moments like these reminded her—his scars weren't just on the outside.
She stood up, her decision firm. Quietly stepping out of her room, she pulled out her earrings and whispered, "Tikki, spots on."
In the next moment, Ladybug emerged into the night. She perched on her balcony railing, taking one last glance inside at the sleeping boy before leaping off into the city.
She landed gracefully on a rooftop and pulled out her yoyo, sending a quick message. "Chat Noir, meet me at our usual spot. It's important."
It didn't take long before she heard the soft thud of boots against the rooftop.
Chat Noir tilted his head, arms crossed. "A midnight rendezvous, my Lady? What's troubling you?"
Ladybug exhaled, turning to him with serious eyes. "It's about Gurvinder."
Chat Noir groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not him again," he muttered. "First Marinette, now you? Is there some kind of 'Worry About Gurvinder' club I wasn't invited to?"
Ladybug shot him a sharp look. "Chat, this is serious."
He sighed, crossing his arms. "It's always serious with him. What is it this time? Did he punch another dozen guys? Or did he nearly get himself killed again?"
Ladybug's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't blame Chat for his reaction—Gurvinder had been reckless, constantly throwing himself into danger. But this time, it was different.
"He's suffering, Chat," she said softly. "I saw it tonight. He was wincing in his sleep like he was reliving something horrible. I think… I think his past is still haunting him."
Chat Noir's ears twitched, his playful demeanor fading slightly. He glanced away, exhaling. "So what do you want me to do? I'm not exactly a therapist, Bugaboo."
Ladybug shook her head. "I don't need you to fix him, I just—" she hesitated, looking down at her hands. "I just need to know I'm not alone in this. That I'm not crazy for caring."
Chat studied her for a moment before his shoulders relaxed. He let out a small, tired chuckle. "You've got the biggest heart, LB. Too big, sometimes." He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. What do you need?"
Ladybug crossed her arms. "I need to talk to his uncle's neighbors. See if they know anything—anything that could prove how he used Gurvinder. Maybe they saw something, heard something. If we can get them to talk, it could help his case."
Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. "So, we're playing detective now?"
Ladybug sighed. "If it means helping Gurvinder, then yes."
Chat rolled his eyes but smirked. "Alright, fine. But if we're sneaking around in the middle of the night, I at least want a cool code name."
Ladybug gave him a deadpan look. "Chat, no."
"Chat, yes." He grinned before twirling his baton. "Alright, lead the way, Detective Bug. Let's go dig up some dirt."
Ladybug shook her head but couldn't help a small smile as they both took off into the night.
As they leaped across the rooftops, Chat Noir couldn't shake off the thoughts running through his mind.
Ladybug was obsessed with Gurvinder. He knew Gurvi had been through hell, but why was she so fixated on him? Why was she putting herself through all this stress for him?
"You're really going all out for him, huh?" Chat Noir finally said, landing beside her on a rooftop.
Ladybug glanced at him. "Of course I am."
"I get it, he's been through a lot, but—" Chat hesitated, gripping his baton. "Why him, Ladybug? Why does it feel like he's the center of your world right now?"
Ladybug narrowed her eyes. "Because he deserves better."
Chat scoffed, looking away. "And what about you? Do you deserve to be running around at night, losing sleep, stressing yourself out for someone who probably wouldn't even want you to?"
Ladybug clenched her fists. "You don't get it, Chat. He's done more for me than I could ever repay. I won't abandon him when he needs me most."
Chat Noir exhaled sharply, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He wasn't just worried about Ladybug—he was scared. Because the more she spoke about Gurvinder, the more it felt like Chat Noir was losing her.
Chat Noir furrowed his brows, stepping closer to her. "What do you mean he's done more for you than you could ever repay?"
Ladybug stiffened. She hadn't meant to say it like that—it just slipped.
"Ladybug," Chat pressed, his voice serious now. "What has he done for you?"
She turned away, biting her lip. She couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell anyone. Gurvi had gone through hell for her, fought through blood and pain, risked his life again and again—not just for her dreams, but for her.
"It's not something I can explain, Chat," she finally said, keeping her voice even. "But just know that he's important to me."
That stung.
Chat crossed his arms. "And I'm not?"
Ladybug's head snapped up. "That's not what I meant!"
"Then what do you mean?" he pushed, frustration lacing his voice. "Because it feels like—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "It feels like you're choosing him over everything else."
Ladybug looked down. The truth was, she didn't know what she would choose if it ever came down to it. But right now, Gurvi needed her. And she wasn't going to fail him.
"Chat, please trust me."
Chat Noir studied her for a moment before shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. "I do, Ladybug. But I don't trust him."
Ladybug clenched her fists. "Then trust me enough to know that I wouldn't waste my time on someone who doesn't deserve it."
Chat sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
But even as they continued toward their destination, the tension between them remained. And for the first time, Chat Noir felt like Ladybug was slipping further away from him.
As they leaped across the rooftops, Chat Noir couldn't shake the thought gnawing at him.
First Marinette… now Ladybug too?
He knew Marinette had grown close to Gurvinder—too close, in his opinion. But now Ladybug was acting the same way. Why? What was it about him that made them so obsessed?
His jaw clenched as he followed behind her.
"Why him?" he muttered under his breath.
Ladybug didn't hear him, too focused on their task. But Chat's mind kept spiraling.
Marinette had always been caring—always wanting to help others. But this? This was different. It was more than just care. It was devotion.
And now Ladybug, the one person he thought he understood better than anyone, was acting the same way.
His stomach twisted.
Who is he to you, Ladybug?
Ladybug's breath hitched as she realized what she had just said.
She had been too caught up in her emotions, too focused on defending Gurvinder.
What has he done for me?
The words lingered in her mind, echoing with dangerous implications. She had spoken without thinking, with a rawness that wasn't just concern—it was personal.
Chat Noir wasn't an idiot. If she kept going like this, if she kept reacting so strongly whenever it came to Gurvinder, he would put the pieces together.
She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm.
"He just... went through so much," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "If we don't do something, his uncle will ruin his life again. He doesn't deserve that."
Chat Noir was still watching her closely, his green eyes sharp. She knew he wasn't convinced, but he didn't push further.
Not yet.
Ladybug and Chat Noir landed silently on the rooftop of an old apartment complex. Below them, the dimly lit streets stretched into the distance, the faint hum of the city filling the night air.
Ladybug peered down at the neighboring house of Gurvinder's uncle, her grip tightening. This is where he suffered…
She turned to Chat Noir. "We have to be careful. If his uncle finds out we're here, he might try to cover his tracks."
Chat crossed his arms, still watching her intently. "Yeah, yeah. Just tell me what we're doing, Bugaboo. Are we sneaking in or knocking like polite citizens?"
Ladybug ignored his teasing and carefully made her way down, knocking lightly on the door of one of the neighbors.
After a moment, an elderly woman answered, her tired eyes widening at the sight of the two heroes.
"Oh my… Ladybug? Chat Noir? What brings you here?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.
Ladybug gave a reassuring smile. "We need to talk to you about Gurvinder Singh. His uncle… we believe he mistreated him. Could you tell us anything?"
The old woman's face darkened. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around nervously.
"Come inside," she finally said, stepping aside to let them in.
both ladybug and chat noir sat down as they waited for the lady to speak.
The old woman took a deep breath, her aged hands resting on her lap as she stared into the distance.
"I remember when he was just a boy," she began, a bittersweet smile forming on her face. "His parents used to bring him here every summer. He was such a bright child—so full of life, always running around, always helping me in the garden. His mother used to laugh and say he had too much energy for his own good. His father was a strong man, but when it came to Gurvinder, he was the gentlest soul."
Ladybug listened, her heart clenching as she pictured the version of Gurvinder she had never known—a carefree boy, surrounded by love.
The old woman's expression darkened. "Then the landslide happened. I remember the day I heard the news. His entire family… gone. Just like that. And Gurvinder—" her voice wavered, "he was left alone in the world."
Chat Noir sat in silence, the weight of her words settling over him.
"After that, I didn't see him for years," the woman continued, shaking her head. "But when he returned… he wasn't the same. He was thin, exhausted, nothing like the boy I remembered. I asked around, and I learned the truth—he had come back the hard way, through the dunki route."
Ladybug's grip tightened. She had heard of the dunki method—how people risked their lives, crossing borders under the worst conditions, desperate for a future. The thought of Gurvinder enduring that alone made her stomach twist.
The woman sighed. "When he arrived, he was placed under his uncle's care. That man…" she exhaled sharply. "He never treated Gurvinder like family. He treated him like a servant, something he owned. He worked that boy to the bone, punished him for the smallest mistakes. And no one… no one helped him."
Chat Noir clenched his fists. "And you knew?"
The woman lowered her gaze, guilt flickering across her face. "What could I have done?" she whispered. "His uncle was powerful. He made sure no one intervened. And Gurvinder… that boy never asked for help. He just endured it, in silence."
Ladybug swallowed the lump in her throat. All this time, Gurvinder had carried his pain alone. And despite everything, he had still fought for others, still stood strong.
She glanced at Chat Noir, who exhaled slowly.
"We can't change the past," Ladybug said softly, "but we won't let him fight alone anymore."
Chat Noir's ears twitched as he clenched his jaw. "Can you tell us what he did to him?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
The old woman looked down at her hands, as if debating whether to continue. Then, with a deep breath, she spoke.
"Whenever Gurvinder lost a fight in MMA… his uncle made sure he paid for it."
Ladybug felt a chill run down her spine.
"He used to beat him," the woman continued, her voice trembling, "right in the middle of the road. Not just with his hands, but with whips. As if he wasn't even human. And no one stopped him."
Chat Noir's fingers curled into fists. "No one?"
The woman shook her head. "People were scared. His uncle had money, power… connections. Even the police turned a blind eye. And Gurvinder… that boy never fought back. Never begged. He just stood there and took it."
Ladybug's stomach twisted. She could see it so clearly—Gurvinder, barely standing, his back marked with fresh wounds, surrounded by people who averted their eyes. The weight of it was suffocating.
"He was just a kid," the woman murmured. "But his uncle treated him like property. Every time he lost a match, he suffered. And every time he won… he was thrown right back into the ring, expected to fight again. No rest, no kindness. Just survival."
Ladybug turned to Chat Noir, her eyes burning with unspoken rage.
Gurvinder had never just been fighting opponents in the ring. He had been fighting to exist.
Ladybug hesitated before asking, "Did he ever come to you again?"
The old woman's eyes softened, a distant look settling in. "He did… just once."
Chat Noir and Ladybug leaned in slightly, listening intently.
"It was years after his uncle took him in. He came when his uncle wasn't home. I still remember… he knocked on my door like he used to when he was little. When I opened it, there he was—taller, older, but still the same boy in his eyes."
Ladybug swallowed the lump in her throat.
"He stayed the whole day with me," the woman continued, a small, sad smile on her lips. "He helped me in the garden, just like he used to when he was a child. He pulled out weeds, watered the plants… He told me he missed me. That he missed those days when he was free, when his parents were still here."
Chat Noir lowered his head slightly, his ears twitching.
"But I could tell… something was different. He smiled, but his hands trembled. He spoke, but there was a weight in his voice. He had learned how to hide his pain, but I could see it. I could feel it."
Ladybug's grip on her yo-yo tightened.
"And then, before the sun even set, he left. He said he couldn't stay long… that if his uncle found out, there would be trouble."
The old woman's voice wavered. "That was the last time I saw him before he disappeared. And now… now I see him on the news, fighting battles that were never his to fight."
Ladybug and Chat Noir sat in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on them like a heavy storm.
Ladybug hesitated before asking, "And… what do you think about his recent fight? The one against those men?"
The old woman sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I saw the video… I recognized him immediately. Even after all these years, he still fights like that boy I once knew—fierce, unyielding, as if he has nothing to lose."
She shook her head. "But that's just it, isn't it? He fights because the world never gave him a choice."
Chat Noir frowned. "You mean…?"
The woman's eyes glistened. "He's always been fighting. Since the day he lost his family, since the day his uncle took him in. Only now, the world is watching. But I know… deep down, he's still that boy who just wanted to be loved."
Ladybug swallowed hard, her chest tightening.
"I don't know what happened that night," the old woman continued, "but I know one thing for certain—he didn't fight for himself. He never does. Someone must have meant a great deal to him for him to throw himself into danger like that."
Ladybug lowered her gaze, knowing exactly who that person was.
do you ever wonder how he is now asked ladybug
The old woman sighed, her gaze distant as she looked out the window. "Every single day," she admitted. "I wonder if he's eating well, if he's safe, if he's happy… but deep down, I know the answer, don't I?"
Ladybug remained silent, her fingers clenching slightly.
"He's surviving, not living. That boy had so much love in him, so much warmth, and now…" The woman's voice wavered. "Now, he carries the weight of a world that never showed him kindness. And yet, he still chooses to protect others."
Chat Noir crossed his arms. "Yeah… I've noticed that." His voice lacked his usual teasing tone.
Ladybug hesitated before asking, "If you could say something to him now… what would it be?"
The old woman smiled sadly. "That he is not alone. That he doesn't have to fight every battle on his own. And that he still deserves happiness, even if he's convinced otherwise."
Ladybug swallowed hard, her heart heavy. "Thank you…" she whispered.
Chat Noir, who was usually playful and unserious, surprised even himself with the weight in his voice. He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes meeting the old woman's.
"He's not alone anymore," he told her. "He has friends who would fight for him, a family that treats him like their own… and a girl who means the world to him."
The old woman blinked, her lips parting slightly.
"A girl who loves him like he is the world for her," Chat continued. "Even when he refuses to see it, even when he pushes through pain alone, she's always there—worried, scared, proud. No matter how much he believes he has to carry everything by himself, she's the kind of girl who won't let him."
Ladybug felt her chest tighten at his words. He wasn't just speaking to the old woman. He was realizing it himself.
The old woman smiled, her eyes glistening. "Then maybe… maybe he's finally found his way home."
The old lady's wrinkled hands trembled as she brought them to her face, her eyes welling up with tears. A soft sob escaped her lips as she shook her head.
"That poor boy… After everything he's been through, he finally has people who love him?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "All these years, I prayed he wouldn't be alone forever… I prayed someone would see him, truly see him."
She wiped her tears, but they kept coming. "He was such a bright child. So full of life. And then… everything was taken from him. I thought he'd never get it back."
Ladybug placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He's not alone anymore," she reassured her. "He's found a home again."
The old lady clutched Ladybug's hand tightly, nodding through her tears. "Thank you… for being there for him."
Chat Noir, unusually quiet, just watched, his tail flicking slightly. A small part of him still felt conflicted, but as he saw the genuine relief in the old woman's eyes, he couldn't deny it—Gurvinder was someone who had fought through hell, and somehow, despite it all, he had people who truly cared.
The old woman took a deep breath, steadying herself as she wiped away the last of her tears. Her hands, though frail, carried a sense of determination as she looked at Ladybug and Chat Noir.
"Wait here," she said, pushing herself up from her chair. She slowly made her way to a small wooden cabinet, her fingers tracing over the aged surface before she opened a drawer.
Ladybug and Chat exchanged a glance, both watching as she carefully pulled out a bundle of old papers, photographs, and what looked like a small notebook.
"I didn't think this would ever matter to anyone," she murmured, placing the items on the table. "But I kept everything. Just in case."
She flipped through the pages, showing them letters, receipts, and documents—pieces of Gurvinder's past, hidden away all this time.
"This… this is proof of what he went through," she said, her voice firm now. "Records of the fights his uncle forced him into, medical reports from when he was taken to a doctor after being beaten too badly, and… statements I wrote down of everything I saw."
Ladybug reached out, carefully picking up one of the documents. Her hands trembled slightly as she read through it. It was undeniable. This could change everything.
Chat Noir let out a low whistle. "Well, Bugaboo, I think we just found the first real weapon in this fight."
The old woman let out a shaky breath as she pulled out a worn photograph from the stack. The edges were frayed, and the colors had slightly faded, but the image was still clear.
"Here," she whispered, placing it gently on the table for Ladybug and Chat Noir to see.
Ladybug's heart clenched as she took in the picture—a small Gurvinder, no older than five or six, with a bright, mischievous smile, his thick, uncut hair neatly tied in a small braid. His parents stood behind him, beaming with pride. And beside them, in the middle of a lush green garden, was the old woman herself, holding his tiny hands as he laughed.
"He was such a happy boy," the old woman murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "He loved running around here, helping me with the flowers… always so full of life. His parents adored him. He was their whole world."
Ladybug traced the photo with her fingers, her chest tightening. It was hard to imagine that this carefree, joyful child had grown into the battle-worn, scarred boy she knew now—someone who had carried so much pain for so long.
Chat Noir, for once, was silent. He stared at the picture, his usual smirk gone. "He looks… so different," he muttered.
The old woman nodded. "Life changed him. But deep down… he's still that same boy. He just needs someone to remind him."
Ladybug swallowed the lump in her throat. "He has people now," she said softly. "People who care. People who love him."
The old woman gave a watery smile. "Then maybe… just maybe… he can finally come home."
The old woman wiped her tears and took a deep breath before reaching into a small, hidden compartment in her cupboard. She pulled out another set of photographs, her hands trembling slightly as she handed them to Ladybug and Chat Noir.
"I… I never wanted to just stand by and watch," she murmured. "So, whenever I saw him suffering… I took these."
Ladybug's fingers tightened around the photos as she looked at them, her stomach twisting. The images were grainy, taken from a distance, but the horror in them was clear. In one, Gurvinder was on his knees in the middle of the street, his back covered in fresh, red welts as his uncle stood over him, a whip raised mid-air. In another, he was curled up on the ground, his arms covering his head as if shielding himself from another blow.
Chat Noir clenched his jaw. His usual playful demeanor was gone, his hands tightening into fists. "That bastard," he muttered under his breath.
Ladybug forced herself to keep looking, even as her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't just a story anymore. This was proof—undeniable evidence of the suffering Gurvinder had endured for years.
The old woman placed a gentle hand on Ladybug's. "I didn't know what to do back then… but maybe now, these can help."
Ladybug nodded firmly. "They will. We'll make sure of it."
Ladybug paused at the doorway, her fingers resting lightly against the old wooden frame. Chat Noir had already leaped onto the rooftop, waiting for her, but she couldn't leave without saying one last thing.
"Thank you," she said softly, turning back to face the old woman.
But to her surprise, the woman gave her a knowing smile, her aged eyes warm with understanding. She reached out and gently took Ladybug's hands in hers, squeezing them lightly.
"No, my dear," the woman whispered. "Thank you."
Ladybug blinked, confused. "For what?"
The old woman's smile deepened. "For loving him."
Ladybug's breath hitched. Her heart pounded as if she had been caught—caught in a truth she had never spoken aloud.
"I—" she started, but the woman shook her head gently, her gaze filled with something that felt almost like relief.
"I see it in your eyes, child," she said. "The way you ask about him, the way you fight for him. It's the same way his mother used to talk about his father—with devotion, with worry, with love. You are his home now. And for that… I thank you."
Ladybug felt her throat tighten, words failing her. She couldn't bring herself to deny it. Not here. Not in front of someone who had seen Gurvinder's pain long before she had.
So she simply nodded, pressing the woman's hands once before stepping back. "I won't let him down," she promised.
The old woman smiled, her eyes glistening. "I know you won't."
With that, Ladybug turned, her chest heavy yet warm. As she climbed onto the rooftop beside Chat Noir, she exhaled deeply, stealing one last glance at the house below.
"Took you long enough," Chat Noir teased, though his tone lacked its usual playfulness.
Ladybug didn't respond. She just looked ahead, her resolve hardening. She had come here for answers, for proof—but she was leaving with something far more powerful.
A reminder of what she was truly fighting for.
As they leaped across the Paris rooftops, the usual playful banter between them was absent. Chat Noir was quiet—too quiet. Ladybug noticed how he wasn't making jokes, wasn't teasing her, wasn't even trying to catch her attention like he usually did.
She glanced at him mid-jump, watching his expression. He looked deep in thought, his jaw tight, his movements almost mechanical rather than his usual fluid grace.
"You're quiet," she finally said as they landed on a taller building, the city stretching below them.
Chat Noir sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just thinking."
Ladybug tilted her head. "About?"
He hesitated, then turned to look at her, his green eyes shadowed by something she couldn't quite place. "About everything I just heard," he admitted. "About Gurvinder… about what he's been through."
She frowned. "Chat, we already knew he had a rough past."
"Yeah, but knowing and seeing are different things." He exhaled sharply. "That woman… she talked about him like he was her own grandson. And then those pictures… Ladybug, I knew his uncle was bad, but I never imagined that level of cruelty."
Ladybug looked down, gripping her yoyo tightly. "It was worse than I expected too," she admitted.
Chat Noir nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And then there's you."
Ladybug's gaze snapped up. "Me?"
"You're fighting so hard for him," Chat said, his voice unreadable. "Marinette's fighting for him. Ladybug's fighting for him. It's like… no matter what side of you I see, Gurvi is always in the center."
Ladybug felt her stomach tighten.
Chat let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "I guess I just don't get it. I mean, I get wanting to help a friend, but this… this is different." He turned to her, searching her face. "Why does he mean so much to you?"
Ladybug's breath caught. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Because what could she say? That she had been asking herself the same question? That every time she thought about the lengths she was willing to go for Gurvinder, it terrified her?
Chat watched her closely, waiting. When she didn't answer, he simply gave a small nod, as if that silence was answer enough.
"Let's go," he said, turning away.
Ladybug stayed frozen for a moment before following, her heart hammering.
She had never felt more seen.
As they reached their usual separation point, the rooftop overlooking the Seine, Ladybug slowed her steps. Chat Noir stopped a few paces ahead, turning back to face her. The moonlight reflected in his green eyes, but there was something different in his gaze tonight—something more solemn, more searching.
Ladybug shifted the boxes and papers in her arms, holding them tightly. The weight of what they carried—both physically and emotionally—felt heavier now.
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Chat let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can you blame me? Tonight was… a lot." His usual smirk was nowhere to be found.
Ladybug nodded. "Yeah. It was."
A brief silence settled between them, only the distant sounds of the city filling the air.
Chat tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You're really going to fight for him, huh?" His voice wasn't teasing. It was genuine, almost curious.
Ladybug met his gaze, her grip on the papers tightening. "I have to."
Chat held her gaze for a moment longer before exhaling. "Well… if you ever need backup, you know where to find me."
A small smile ghosted across her lips. "I know."
He gave her a two-finger salute before stepping back, ready to take off, but then he hesitated. His expression softened just a bit.
"Good night, Ladybug."
Ladybug nodded, her heart still weighed down by everything they had learned tonight. "Good night, Chat."
Then, with one final glance, he vaulted off into the night.
Ladybug stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where he had been. Then, tightening her hold on the evidence she carried, she turned and disappeared into the Paris skyline, her mind racing with everything yet to come.
As Ladybug climbed through Marinette's balcony window, she let out a tired sigh. The night had been long, filled with emotions she was still trying to process. But the moment her eyes landed on the figure curled up in her bed, everything else faded.
Gurvi was still asleep, his body rising and falling steadily. The dim glow from her bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the faint bruises and scars that told stories of battles no one should have to fight. His turban was slightly loose, his usually sharp features relaxed in rare peace.
Marinette quietly set down the boxes and papers on her desk, careful not to wake him. She stood there for a moment, just watching him, taking in the fact that he was here, safe. He had been through so much, and yet he still found a way to smile, to crack jokes, to be the person who made her heart feel full.
A lump formed in her throat as the old woman's words echoed in her mind—"Thank you for loving him."
Her heart ached. Did she love him? She had never said it out loud. But she knew—deep down, she knew.
Moving closer, she knelt beside the bed, her fingers gently brushing his hand. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Marinette let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding before whispering softly,
"I'll fight for you, dummy. No matter what."
And with that, she climbed into bed beside him, careful not to disturb his rest, and curled up next to him. Because in this moment, this was where she belonged.
Marinette sat up slowly, careful not to wake Gurvi as she reached for the small, worn photograph. Her fingers traced the edges as she held it up to the dim moonlight streaming through her window.
A tiny, innocent boy smiled back at her from the picture—his hair loose and wild, his eyes bright with the kind of joy only a child who felt safe could have. His parents stood beside him, their hands resting on his shoulders, the warmth of a family radiating through the image. In the corner, the old woman stood with him in her garden, a loving presence in his childhood.
Marinette swallowed, emotions tightening in her throat.
She slipped out of bed, the cool air of the night meeting her skin as she stepped onto the balcony. The city lights stretched before her, but all she could see was that picture, that boy, that past that had been ripped away from him.
Memories crashed into her, one after another, each one heavier than the last.
He had put his life on the line to save her mother, with no hesitation, no regard for himself.
He had saved his first paycheck, not for himself, but to gift her family and her, just so he could see them happy.
She remembered the night he had spent his money trying to save a dying puppy, his helplessness when he couldn't. His broken voice when he had wished he had enough to make a difference.
She thought of him working at the bakery, his hands moving despite the pain in his body, never once complaining.
She thought of the way he had stayed silent when her father yelled at him, never talking back, never fighting for himself.
And then, her breath hitched. The fight.
Twelve men. Armed. Merciless. He had fought them all—for her. For her dress.
Her knees buckled, and she gripped the railing, the weight of it all sinking in.
This boy. This broken boy.
Her fingers trembled as she brought the photo to her lips, pressing soft, desperate kisses against the image of the child he used to be. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I wish I had met you then... when you still had your family, when you were still that happy little boy. I wish I could have known you before the world tried to break you."
She clutched the picture to her chest, staring out at the sky, wishing—just wishing—she could turn back time and protect that little boy from the pain that turned him into the man sleeping in her bed.
Marinette's chest heaved as she pressed the photo against her heart, silent sobs wracking her body. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep it in, but the dam had already broken. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto the picture, onto the small boy's innocent smile, as if she could somehow reach through time and hold him—protect him from everything that was to come.
She slid down onto the cold balcony floor, curling into herself as she wept. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
He should've grown up with his family, safe and loved. He should've never had to fight for survival, never had to endure the things he had. He should've been that same carefree, happy boy in the picture—not the broken, scarred fighter who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Why? Why did the universe take everything from him? Why did he have to suffer so much just to keep going? Why was he always the one who had to fight, always the one who had to sacrifice?
And yet—he still smiled. He still joked. He still loved.
Her body trembled as she covered her mouth, muffling her sobs. The thought of him, alone and trembling, desperately clinging to any warmth he could find, shattered her heart all over again.
She wanted to hold him. She wanted to tell him it was okay now, that he wasn't alone anymore.
Marinette pressed her forehead against the picture, her tears soaking into the paper. I love you. I love you so much it hurts.
But it didn't matter how much she loved him. She couldn't erase the past. She couldn't take away his pain.
All she could do was be here now.
With a shuddering breath, she wiped her tears, cradling the picture delicately, as if it were as fragile as the boy in it.
And then, without a word, she stood up, turned back inside, and slipped under the covers next to him.
She wrapped herself around him, clinging to his warmth, holding him as tightly as she could—because even if she couldn't change the past, she could at least make sure he never felt alone again.
The next morning, Marinette walked down to the living room, her steps slow but determined. The box felt heavier in her hands than it should have—as if it carried not just evidence, but the weight of everything Gurvinder had endured.
Sabine and Tom were already sitting at the dining table, their conversation pausing as they noticed their daughter standing there, gripping the box tightly.
Without a word, she placed it on the table in front of them.
Sabine furrowed her brows as she opened it, her breath catching when she saw the photographs. Tom leaned in, his jaw tightening as he flipped through them—pictures of a young, happy Gurvinder with his family, followed by the gut-wrenching images of him being whipped, his body covered in bruises and scars.
Marinette swallowed hard. "This… this is proof," she said quietly. "Proof of what his uncle did to him. Proof that everything Gurvi said was true."
Tom clenched his fists, his expression darkening. "That bastard…" he muttered under his breath.
Sabine, who had remained silent, finally spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "Where did you get this?"
"An old neighbor," Marinette answered. "She knew him since he was little. She saw everything. She took those pictures secretly."
Sabine reached out and placed a gentle hand over the box, her lips pressed into a firm line. "This changes everything."
Tom exhaled sharply and nodded. "We'll take this to the lawyer today."
Marinette's shoulders relaxed slightly, but her heart still felt heavy. "We have to make sure his uncle never gets his hands on him again," she said, her voice resolute.
Tom looked at her, then at the box, then back at her again. "We will," he promised. "No matter what it takes."
Marinette nodded, her grip tightening around herself. She had done her part. Now, it was time for the truth to finally come to light.