Ah, Paris. The city of many a wonder- from romance, beauty and light to its wonderful cuisine, Paris was well known for its excellence in many aspects of culture. The French citizen was a proud person with a head held high- their language was worn on their sleeve beside their heart, their culture embraced to their chest warmly. They dressed with glee, walked with confidence, spoke and acted with a series of flourishes.

Such was the average person's opinion, at least. Though France was well known and highly praised for several things, not many cared to glimpse at its literature and appreciate it. You would hear people speak of Dickens and Shakespeare, but rarely enough attention was given to authors like Hugo or Verne. Not that enough attention could ever be given to these two gods of literature and those who shared their talent in language.

Such was Marinette's opinion, at least. Like a clueless foreigner admiring the wonders of France without acknowledging its faults, the dark haired girl dove into the world of French literature with little thought and found herself drowning in the tragedy of the genre, feeling the refreshing breath of romance in the midst of all the agony and clinging with desperation to the worthy pieces of character development.

Unfortunately, while Marinette had plenty of time to obsess over Les Miserables and critically enjoy Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, Ladybug didn't have that luxury.

It didn't stop her from bringing her books anytime she felt she was justified to do so, however. One Tuesday patrol, her partner would learn just how much she enjoyed French classics.

"Ladybug," he said, as Ladybug's eyebrows tightened.

"Mmm," she hummed.

"Ladybug. Salut, Ladybug?"

"OK," answered Ladybug, flipping a page.

"Ladybug, your hair is on fire."

"Maybe later, Chat," Ladybug said, her eyes widening and her shoulders tensing as the chapter hit its climax
Chat sighed deeply and leant on his baton. After five minutes of trying to get his Lady's attention, and pathetically failing to do so, the blond superhero took the time to examine the book which her fingers were desperately clamped around.

"Notre Dame de Paris, eh? It's a classic."

"That's nice, Chat," Ladybug responded numbly as she flipped a page. Chat narrowed his eyes at the book.

"Did you get to the part where Gringoire dies?"

It worked. Ladybug's head snapped toward her partner in a split second, her eyes widening in shock and then filling with a terrifying expression of pure, concentrated rage. The copy of Notre Dame de Paris trembled in her grasp as she grit her teeth. Chat took a step or five back in panic.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Chat said quickly, putting his hands up in the air frantically as Ladybug, driven by vengeance for the spoiler, moved towards him angrily. Slowly, yet reluctantly, her shoulders relaxed and her expression of rage softened ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were still knit together in hostility and suspicion, but Chat suspected she might not shove him off the Eiffel Tower after all.

"What do you want?" she said- and it wasn't quite a snap, but it almost was.

"I do want a lot of things in life, milady," he said soothingly, hoping not the get on her nerves- accidentally this time- again.

Which was true- Chat did want a lot. He wanted another season of Samurai Jack, fifty six thousand fidget spinners, the reciprocated feelings of a certain sapphire eyed super heroine. Also, love and approval, but he tried to keep his Wish List realistic.

"It would be nice if we can finish patrol today, though," he said slowly. "Not that I don't enjoy your company, but I'm kind of running on three hours of sleep and six shots of espresso."

Ladybug's shoulders slumped in guilt and her posture lost the remaining bits of its tension.

"I know. And I'm sorry, it's just..I don't know what's wrong with me, honestly. It's been this way ever since a friend of mine shoved all of Verne's novels down my throat, and now I can't put down a classic."

"Verne is good, but Hugo is the real master," Chat responded, deciding to humor her. "I know everyone likes Les Miserables better, but Notre Dame de Paris is actually my favourite. How's it holding up for you?"

Ladybug's eyes lit up in delight, her lips offering Chat that same smile that made his insides melt every time he was privileged enough to witness it.

"So far, I really like it. It lacks the emotional depth of Les Mis, but what doesn't? Gringoire is really funny, but La Esmeralda's the real gem. You've read all of it?"

"A while ago, yes," Chat admitted, trying to remember how long ago that had been. It was about an year ago, he reasoned. He'd told his father that his tutor made him read an abridged Gothic classic. Horrified that his son would read anything other than the original, Gabriel Agreste ordered a large package full of classics which arrived in four days. Adrien had seen it and thought, "Wow, that package looks large and heavy. It must be the physical manifestation of my father's disappointment in me." But nope, it was just a ton of books.

"Did you like it? How was the end? Don't spoil me, of course," and here she gave him a sharp look, "but what were your final thoughts on the book?"

"It was wonderful, I only cried for two days," Chat said with an easy smile, no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You're serious?" Ladybug said, her heart dropping in fear. She expected nothing less of a Hugo novel, of course, but the thought of the ending being that emotionally unsettling shook her.

"Well, it was actually three days, but still."

Ladybug hugged the novel to her chest, biting her lip in uncertainty. She hadn't walked into this thinking it would be easy. Emotional turmoil was to be expected- she had told herself repeatedly that she had entered the world of painful literature with the Survivor's Kit- three tubs of ice cream, a best friend on speed dial and a sympathetic kwami.

"Don't worry," Chat said.

"It won't hurt as much at first. Of course, you'll need time before the pain registers fully. Then everything will become blurry- you'll wonder if it's the angst making you faint, or just your tears blurring your vision. You might curse Victor Hugo a little and try to watch the Disney version, and then curse Disney a lot for giving everyone false expectations, but after a couple weeks of contemplation and what ifs, you might just be half way through the five stages of book grief."

"Chat, you're the worst," Ladybug groaned.

"You love me, really," Chat said, waving her off.

"Sure, sure. Now, I believe we have a patrol to finish- and quick. I need to finish this novel today, or I'm giving up on life and all that's in it."

A/N: Now, I know what you're thinking. It's either "holy shizzle, Phil wrote a MLB fanfic that isn't angst!" I know. I'm surprised too. Or perhaps you might be thinking "Phil, are you OK? Did you hit your head or something?" I don't know. Truly. So here, have the literature reveal fic no one asked for!