She smells like sweat and new fabric.

It tickles his nose as he watches her cut out a new pattern. She's meticulous in the way she removes the pins, calculating every snip and every corner. He wonders what it's like to be so passionate about something, so deeply and completely in love with it, that your whole body radiates it.

He watches her back as she leans over the fabric. She's sitting awkwardly on her knees and the floor is littered with sewing supplies.

And yet, she doesn't seem to notice or mind any of it.

When he bends over, just slightly, he can see her face as her eyebrows scrunch in concentration. He smiles when he sees her tongue poke out, but it quickly fades when he notices a bead of sweat trailing down her temple.

It's frustrating, this curiosity festering inside of him. He want's to have a passion for himself, wants to experience something so much he smells of it. Again, her scent tickles his nose and it twitches. It doesn't smell bad really. In fact, he kind of likes it. Though, he would never say that out loud for several reasons.

His tail twitches with impatience, but he doesn't want to interrupt her. Her movement's are fascinating, her concentration inspiring. But he's never known what it's like to feel these things so deeply and his whole body is burning with questions.

Argh!

"Hey, Princess?" He calls out hesitantly.

She turns her head in his direction but keeps her eyes on her work. At least he has her attention.

"What's it like?"

Her movements stop and she faces him completely. When she finally looks at him, her face is scrunched up in confusion. "What's what like?" He notices her fingers twitching over the scissors, a sign that she wants to get back to work.

He licks his lips and leans forward on her chaise, resting his elbows on his knees. "Having a hobby?"

She stares at him for a moment and then lets out an indecent snort. "Come on, Chat. What do you really want to ask?"

"I'm serious!" He says indignantly. "What's it like?"

She's frowning at him when she asks, "You've seriously never had a hobby?"

He nods.

"What about saving Paris?"

"That's different though, it's more of a job."

She gives him a look.

"I mean, sure it's a fun job and I like it, but does it really count?"

She considers this. "Why are you so curious all of a sudden?"

When he doesn't go for the obvious opening she left for him, he can see the wheels in her head turning. He sags into his knees and sighs.

"I just–well, my life's been…" He stops himself to think how much he really wants to share. It's not like he wants to tell her his Tragic Backstory™️. And at this point in their relationship, he figures he's already shared enough about his life. And if she hasn't pieced together his real identity, he might as well not give her a chance by talking about his insecurities.

"Chat?"

He jerks at his name, but he still doesn't look up. In this moment, he wishes he could just flop over and take back ever asking her. It was stupid anyway. He had heard her expressing her love for sewing plenty of times before to get an idea of it. Besides, it's really just the experience he wants to know about.

Just because his father had forced him into all the activities doesn't mean he hadn't necessarily enjoyed them. Sure basketball was exciting when he played on a team and piano lessons weren't so bad when he got an approving nod from his father. Even rock climbing had its benefits.

But then again…had he ever actually loved any of those things?

Out of a moment of frustration and impulse (and a bit of immaturity too, he'll admit) he does just as he had wanted to and flops backwards.

"Ugh."

Something jabs uncomfortably at his back and he remembers his staff is still connected to his suit. Reaching for it quickly, he unclips it and throws his arm over his eyes, letting the stupid thing roll off into the crease somewhere.

"Now you're just being dramatic," Marinette sighs after a minute passes.

"Sorry."

He hears something heavy hit the floor and fabric shifting before he feels her weight sink in the space by his legs. He shifts over to give her more room and she settles comfortably beside him.

"What's the matter, Kitty?"

When she's this close, lying next to him, her scent completely takes over his senses. Sweat, fabric, metal, and now, something else entirely.

"Are you wearing perfume?" He blurts out, completely avoiding her question albeit unintentionally. When he moves his arm to take a peak, he finally realizes just how close she is to him on the tiny chaise. He feel's his face warm up, but it's nothing compared to the red blooming on her cheeks.

"Don't change the subject," she grumbles.

He's shocked. This scent is entirely new, nothing like when she's finished a shift in the bakery or like the healing lotion she uses after pricking her fingers. It's floral, but completely unlike the flowers on her balcony. It spikes his curiosity again and he's relieved.

This is safer territory. This won't lead her to deeper, more personal information about his life. Heck, maybe it'll even distract her long enough to forget his problems entirely.

He doesn't think when he opens his mouth. He just let's whatever spill out–

"But, you've never smelled this way before," he whines.

–and instantly regrets it.

Shoot.

He slaps a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he's just admitted to. Shoot, shoot, shoot, darn, crap, dang it!

This is worse. Much worse. Abort mission. Abort!

He sits up quickly, trying to scramble over her body, towards freedom. "Well, would you look at the time! This cat is late for a meeting and needs to get meow-t! Haha ha haa." He manages to get a leg over her before he feels something pressing against shoulders.

Before he knows it, he's lying back down on the cushions, completely pinned by her hands and unable to escape. Any last hope he had of getting out of this mess flies away into the safety of the Parisian skyline.

"Slow down there, Kitty," she says hovering over him. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Why are you all over the place tonight?"

He looks up at her trying to think of a way to get out of this, but he knows it won't work. Much like his Lady, Marinette has a way of making people talk. It was mostly the concern he saw in her face that makes him wilt entirely.

The lies that want to bubble past his lips are something he has to forcibly bite back. She doesn't deserve them. Honesty, but only just enough to convince her of his problems, that's what she deserves. But his head is swimming so much with her newly floral scent that he can't quiet concentrate.

He has to tackle that first he decides.

"Why're you wearing perfume all of a sudden?"

It's the ways her eyes squint at him that he knows she wants to argue about this. But it's also the way her eyebrows furrow that he can see she's holding herself back.

She releases his shoulders and collapses beside him, facing him so their noses almost touch. He squirms, trying to put more space between them, suddenly uncomfortable by their proximity. They've been this close before on several occasions, but something is throwing him off. His face is getting uncharacteristically warm around her and his suit is itchier than he remembers.

"If I tell you, will you tell me what's wrong?"

He hesitates, then nods.

"You know…you already know I have this boy I like…?" she stops to wait for him to confirm and he nods again. "Well, I overheard him talking to his friend that he likes it when girls smell like flowers…" She trails off and looks up at him. "It's stupid really. I only wanted to try it out, but I don't know if I like it that much. I mean, just because I'm wearing perfume doesn't mean he's suddenly going to fall for me and come running into my arms! I can barely even get a sentence out when I'm around him, what makes me think I could ever have a lasting relationship anyway–"

Before he realizes what he's doing, he's already put a hand over her mouth, completely stopping her sudden monologue. He doesn't like it when she puts herself down like this and he's told her countless times before, but he knows how hard it is to get over negative habits.

"Slow down there, Princess. Breathe."

When he moves his hand away, she takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Her eyes flutter close and he's suddenly struck by how long her eyelashes are. Quickly, he swats that thought away.

"I just wanted to give it a try was all," she says finally, avoiding his gaze.

Her perfume, if he concentrates on it, reminds him of lilies. Like the one's he sees outside the flower shops when he's patrolling. It reminds him of starlit nights and adrenaline rushes, of sweet smiles and infectious laughter. He likes it, he think to himself, and smiles.

"Now," she interrupts his thoughts. "Tell me what's wrong with you already." She hits his shoulder lightly in annoyance, clearly tying to hide her embarrassment from a moment ago.

His thoughts wander as he watches her, considering how much to share, how much truth he can really put into his explanation. She's patient as she watches him back, clearly holding herself back. He almost laughs at the way she sucks her lips in, but he catches himself before that happens.

Something warm settles over his hand and he looks down. Her hand is there, holding his softly. The pink band-aids stick out against her skin. Some of those scratches, he knows, aren't from sewing but he had never bothered to ask. Maybe he should sometime.

He smiles gently up at her as thanks and begins. "Well, you-" he stops. Thinks. And tries again. "My family is strict. I've told you that, right?" He asks her. She squeezes his hand and nods. "Well, my f– my dad is really protective over me. He likes to know what I'm doing at what time at all times."

Cringing inwardly, he licks his lips and rushes on. Hopefully she hasn't noticed how similar that sounds to Adrien. "Anyway, it doesn't leave a lot of room for… I don't know, hobbies I guess?"

"But you've mentioned you did basketball."

He cringes at that. How much had he told her again? Eventually he's going to run out of things to tell her before she figures out who he really is. He racks his brain and tries to think himself an excuse. Did he join to try it out? Was he curious about it? Was he forced into it?

When he looks at her, patiently waiting for him, he can't help the warmth spreading in his chest. How can he feel so safe and afraid at the same time?

Being just Chat Noir around Marinette was becoming increasingly difficult. Maybe someday he could actually reveal his identity to her. But for now, that time is for the distant future.

Eventually, he clears his throat and tries to wing it. Well, at this point she hasn't figured him out yet. Might as well push the boundaries a little more.

"Ah, well, you see, about that. It wasn't. Really…? My decision?"

The look on her face is telling him he's messed up somehow. Sure, the execution was flawed, but it explained something at least. It's not like he can go into detail about his life. After all, he is a super hero, and Marinette know's that. But the nervous sweat creeping down his temple is telling him that he's done something a little too wrong.

Has he made her angry for being so vague? Did she figure him out? Why isn't she saying anything?

He tries to scoot back and put more space between them. He want's to see her face clearly and make sure he hasn't done anything to upset her.

"Look, Mari, I'm sorr–"

"Why haven't you ever said anything?!"

He looks at her, surprised.

Excuse me?

"What-What do you mean?"

She sits up so quickly he feels as if he could get whiplash just by watching.

"You'v always talked about how you're life is busy and how your family doesn't have a lot of time to be together. But I'd assumed you at least had something to make up for it! You've only mentioned your friends, like, once. And I'm only just now realizing you hardly ever talk about yourself in the first place-"

He sits up and attempts to take her flailing hands in his, but he misses. "Princess, calm do–"

"Maybe sometimes you'll come to me about your problems, but they're usually such little things. Like you smell like cheese constantly because of this super hero thing–like those two things make any sense–and that sometimes you forget to eat dinner because of an akuma attack. That's what I'm here for-"

"Marinette, please-"

"And let's not forget that you hardly, if ever, talk about things you enjoy! I know you like Ultimate Mecha Strike III, but that's all I know. What are your friends like? What books do you read? Have you seen any movies recently? Why don't I know any of these things? Why am I only just realizing this now?!"

"Marinette!" He all but yells, grabbing her face and forcing her to finally look at him. "Breathe. You're rambling."

She looks at him, angrily. The fire in her eyes reminds him so strongly of his Lady that he releases her face on impulse. But she quickly reaches for him, taking him in her arms and hugs him tightly. The strength of her grip surprises him.

"if you ever need a friend or a shoulder or anything, I'm here for you Chat."

The sincerity in her voice chokes him. He's not entirely sure what to make of this. How had the conversation taken such a turn? Why had his simple question evolved into something to make her worry? He's not sure. Not at all.

But he is sure when he wraps his arms around her, that he needed this. The grip she has on him only tightens, and the warmth that had been in his chest earlier multiplies.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," he mumbles into her hair. The floral scent is stronger near her neck. He can't help but take it in, finding comfort in it's oddly familiar smell. Maybe she won't notice.

As she rubs soothing circles on his back, seemingly oblivious to his actions, he can't help but feel a little guilty. He hastily turns his attention another way and reflects on what she had said.

Had he really said so little about his life? After going through nearly all of his life friendless, he had figured he had been oversharing. Really, what he cares most for are his friends, he just wants to learn more about them. In retrospect, he had never considered the possibility of his feelings being returned.

I need to get my head straight.

"What do you mean?" She asks, breaking him from his thoughts.

"What?"

"'it wasn't supposed to happen like this,'" she parrots back his own words.

Oh.

He sighs. "I just wanted to know what it felt like to have a hobby. I didn't mean for it to turn out like this." He pulls away from her and gestures between them.

"It's probably something you've been bottling up. And me too probably," she tacks on after a moment. "But that's not what matters right now." The way she's looking at him can only be describe as hurt. "Why haven't you said anything to Ladybug?"

"About hobbies?"

"Chat."

He sags. "I don't know. She-Ladybug, she…doesn't want to us reveal our identities to each other. I just figured…the less I mentioned, the better."

He's looking away from her, so he doesn't see what expression passes on her face, but he does see the hands that come for him.

She pulls his face up towards her own and the anger there is confusing. What had he said?

"I'm certain Ladybug wouldn't have minded if you said something to her."

It's the fourth time she's surprised him that night and he can't help the goofy smile spreading to his face. Has she always been this good a person?

Of course she has.

"Thanks, Princess."

She nods, satisfied by this, and releases him. Leaning back on the cushion, she spreads her legs out in front of her and pats the space beside her.

"Now, Chaton," she says. "I think it's only fair we learn a little more about ourselves."

He makes his way to her side and fits beside her perfectly. As he rests his head above hers, he has the desire to thank her, thank her properly for all that she's done for him, both as Adrien and as Chat Noir.

The smile spreads across his face as if it has a mind of it's own when a sudden thought flashes in his mind. It's a funny thought, he thinks.

Maybe I'll make it my hobby.

this was supposed to be fluffy and of course mild angst (hurt/comfort?) has to rear its ugly head. what the heck are you doing in my supposed to be fluffy/cute fic bruh? well anyway, this is done and i'm done with it so there's that. sorry for the garbage djfhgls