AN: This entire chapter was driven by the song Goodnight and Go, both the original version by Imogen Heap and the remix by Ariana Grande, which—if you know the song—will be pretty obvious here. Sorry for the long wait! Hope everyone had a nice holiday!

"Are you sure you have everything?"

He smiled.

"Yes."

"All your clothes?"

He held up two double-packed doggy bags.

"And my shoes."

"The macarons?"

"Ube with a yema filling?" He held up his other hand where a pink box with the signature Dupain-Cheng stamp lay, brimming with the sweet, Parisian-Asian fusion treats. "Right here!"

"What about Plagg?"

She got him there but instead of admitting it, he laughed and kissed her dulcetly on the cheek.

"Madame," Sabine groaned but leaned into the peck. "I've had the loveliest time this evening. You can't know how much."

"Oh, Chat," she sighed, returning his kiss with two of her own on either side of his cheeks. "You're free to visit any time, I hope you know."

She hugged him and on the tips of her toes, she whispered in his ear.

"And feel free to use the front door when you do."

Adrien's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and he choked on a breath. It was Sabine's turn to laugh.

"We do have two of those, you know," she teased.

"Cat got your tongue?" Marinette snickered, meandering to his side in a way that told him she had not been privy to her mother's comments, otherwise she would have been flailing alongside him. "Or have you gotten another furball?"

He whined. "I do not spit furballs!"

"With how much you ate," Tom jested, partaking in the ribbing. "I wouldn't be surprised if one or two of those popped out."

"Ha-ha, you two are hiss-terical," he deadpanned. "Truly."

She smirked. "I am known to be claw-ver, you know."

He gaped. "Y-you… you punned!"

She smirked and his heart skipped a beat. "I could kiss you!" he blurted.

"Bon dieu," Tom sighed, shaking his head. "And you would have too, had I not been such a clumsy oaf."

"Oh, mamour," Sabine giggled, patting him on the shoulder in feigned consolation. Tom, as he was wont to do, leaned into her touch wholeheartedly as he buried his face into Sabine's hair and trembled with mock sobs. However, the whimpers emitting from the burly man were undoubtedly the result of crudely suppressed chortles. Somewhere amongst the ceiling beams, a purring cackle was heard.

(Traitors, all of them)

Adrien's (and Marinette's) cheeks stained a lovely red, but then again—what was new?

"Right," Marinette coughed, determined to ignore her parents if the firm pout she had fixed onto her lips was any indication. With gusto, she grabbed at his shoulder before dragging him to the apartment door. Powerless with his hands otherwise occupied and unwilling to rendez-vous with the floor again so soon, he limped behind her. "It's getting late. We wouldn't want to keep Chat from his own home."

"I think it might be drizzling too," Tom commented, setting aside any amusements as he gazed out the windows at the grim skies with concern. Though it wasn't odd for nightfall to descend so quickly at ten in the evening this time of year, the clouds that muffled the blanket of stars over their beloved city of lights was out of the ordinary—an indisputable credit to the unexpected weather. "Would you like to stay the night?"

"'Would you like to stay forever?'" Sabine quoted.

Marinette groaned even as Adrien barked a surprised laugh.

"They're quoting Mulan now," Marinette shook her head, her hands on her hips as she appraised her parents in exasperation. "It really is time to leave."

"I don't know, Marinette," Tom replied, surveying him with a critical eye, though there was a sparkle to his look. "I could teach you how to make those macarons, eh? We could make a man out of you yet, Chat Noir." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Or, at the very least, a baking man."

"Mon dieu, Papa," Marinette grumbled, but he could tell she was just as tickled. Adrien himself was sorely tempted to accept their offer. It wasn't as if (anyone) anything was waiting for him in the mansion, and if it was down between the cold and wide yet confining walls of his room or the sparse yet warm and cozy dwelling of the Dupain-Chengs, there was no choice. Still, he had a whole mantle of duties and responsibilities that came with wearing the Agreste name. So though he very much yearned to stay, this was not his home. And as much as he liked to pretend—every minute he was here, it was glaringly obvious that he did not belong.

(Despite the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Marinette, telling him how much he did)

"It would be an honor," he acquiesced briefly, "but with the weather like this… I think I need to head back."

"We understand," Sabine said, holding Tom's hand as they walked him and Marinette to the door. "Another time, perhaps? The offer for baking lessons stands, of course."

"I will definitely hold you to that paw-mise!" He replied with an enthusiasm he could barely contain. Despite his reservations, if this night had taught him anything it was that should any of them offer, he would never pass up an opportunity to spend time with the Dupain-Chengs—the chance to learn a new skill was just an added bonus.

They all shared one more raucous laugh that was sure to get the neighbors talking, but they didn't care. What were a few complaints compared to the endless fun that could be had when you were with people whose company you thoroughly enjoyed?

It was made this closing bittersweet. Because how could one say goodbye to that which—to those who had—filled him with such unfettered merriment it was almost like he had been alight?

(Spoiler alert: you could, but damn if it was easy)

With a final wave to both, the door to the Dupain-Cheng abode closed with a finality that felt like the end of a book—like all loose knots had been tied except the for the one directly to your heart, because you had grown so attached to the characters in the story, it left you satisfied yet strangely empty too, for how can the world keep on turning just the same when you had been forever changed?

He lingered for that very reason. And it was also for that reason that he heard a girlish 'whoop!' despite the thickness of the wood that stood between him and Marinette's parents. Tom's booming laughter followed.

"Wait, so does that mean we're team Chat Noir now?"

Well, he mused. He certainly hoped they were.

Sabine giggled. "Oh, Tom."

"But I thought we were team…"

Before he could hear the end of that sentence, however, and have it finally revealed to him who it was Marinette had fallen for, she called for him.

"Minou?" she asked, her head the only visible part of her between the slats of the balustrade—that and her roguish smile.

"You could stay," she continued. He swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed itself into a 'yes'. He shook himself out of his reverie and followed her, trudging miserably down the staircase as if they were a mountain and not an ordinary flight of stairs. He had gone two steps below her when he noticed that he couldn't hear her light gait trailing behind him. He paused and looked up at her, one brow raised in the shape of a question mark.

"You were quiet tonight."

That wasn't strictly true. He had been perfectly sociable, though he understood what Marinette meant. While he had been playful and courteous, there was a certain distance to his actions that he normally reserved for when he was Adrien and hid away when he was Chat Noir. But his axis had tilted, in a way that made both sides grapple for a chance to surface when really, all he wanted was to find a balance within himself. He didn't know how to explain that to her, didn't know if he could even if he had found the words, so he settled for, "I suppose…" he shook his head before shrugging at her. "I was trying to figure out who to be."

She gasped, horrified. "You didn't have to be anyone but yourself!"

He gave a bitter laugh. "And who is that?" he sighed. "I don't even know, myself."

She said nothing and he turned away from her, wishing he could shove his hands in his pockets and further shrink from the severity of her stare.

"I do," she breathed after more than a couple heartbeats. "I know you."

Confused, he chanced her gaze to find some sort of clarity in her molten, cerulean eyes. "Yeah?"

"For the legitimate first time, I'm starting to." Her brow furrowed and he itched to sweep the evidence of her frustration till there was nothing but smooth skin and lines and curves that told only of her happiness. "Really starting to."

"Would you tell me, then?"

"What fun would that be?" she teased. "You'll figure it out, Chat. You always do."

God, you're amazing, he thought. In the distance, bells tolled.

Without quite thinking, he asked, "Can I visit you tonight?"

Something flickered along her face.

"I should say no."

There was no helping the way his shoulders slumped and his face sagged. But with a sigh, he agreed.

"You should."

"But…"

He held his breath. "...but?"

"But," she continued. "It's not as if you haven't been before."

"No," he repeated slowly.

"And we would just… talk."

He glared. "Of course."

"Well," she pouted. "You did promise more of later," she reminded pointedly. He smiled albeit a slight one as he caught on.

"Yes."

"And my parents did say you could stay the night."

He bit his lip to contain the enormous grin that threatened to break free.

"They did."

"There is one… tiny… detail, we're forgetting."

He cocked his head, curious as a cat. "And that is?"

She smiled crookedly. "I'm in love with someone else."

He raised an eyebrow again just as he raised himself another step. "Are you sure about that?"

She hummed, though a more serious expression seized her otherwise enthralling features.

"And you're in love with someone else."

He went up another stair, lured by her gravity and more than willing to fall into her orbit.

"Are you sure about that?" he pronounced with equal weight to his intonation.

"Chat," she whispered, licking her lips. The movement had not gone unnoticed by him, his eyes tracking its lackadaisical journey along the length of her pink and luscious mouth.

"Marinette," he sighed softly. "Is it later yet?"

"Come here, and we'll find out."

And because he was used to taking orders, he did not hesitate. He climbed the final stair, and it brought them to level in ways that felt significantly more than height or step. With this last footfall, he was shedding old mindsets and dropping previous beliefs. With this hindmost leap, he would stand before her, marrow and sinew changed and soul forged anew, bones shifting to make more room and heart expanding in the shape of the girl who captured it—captured him.

(But was it really a trap when he was so willing to be ensnared?)

He only hoped all that talk about her continuing to be in love with someone else was just that, talk. It was difficult to take her words seriously, not when every look she sent him was a living flame against his all ready fervent skin, not when the touch of her hands, tight around his waist, anchored him to her and to which he was very grateful for. He was positive he would float otherwise for so buoyant did he seem in that very moment, his happiness threatening to catapult him to the moon.

"Je vois de l'amour dans tes yeux," he murmured. "Alors dans tes yeux je voudrais rester."

"Then stay," she breathed.

His bags and his box fell unceremoniously into a heap at his bare feet but he had no care for them. No, all he was was made of Marinette, as he cupped her face tenderly between his palms, his thumbs caressing lightly at the apple of her cheeks and with her eyes framed by his digits, again—tendrils of familiarity curled along the synapses of his brain, little impulses firing rapidly across his nerves till they were one huge blaze calling out a signal that told him this was Marinette but she was also more, a beacon that wanted to shout, yes, I know you. I know you, I know you, and we are one and the same.

He didn't want to close his eyes, but he was magnetized to Marinette's every move and at her pace, heavy lids fell over hypnotized orbs. As one, he bent his head just as she rolled to the tips of her toes to meet his waiting lips in a dance that bound lovers for all time.

They were but a period away when a heavy thud! sounded behind him.

Adrien chuckled. With his eyes still shut and voice pitched low so as not to be overheard, he asked, "Your parents are watching from behind me, aren't they?"

She pressed her forehead to his and tightened her hold on his waist. It was all the answer he needed—well, in addition to the heatedly hushed cry of, "Oh my God, Tom, did you fall again?"

He nuzzled the crook of Marinette's neck while she sighed her frustration. Then, with great pain, he lifted his head from the valley of her doughy shoulder so he could shout, "Bonsoir madame et monsieur Dupain-Cheng!"

There was a pause, as though they thought they might walk away without answering and thereby pretend they had never been caught in the first place, before a grumpy but all together embarrassed chorus of, "Bonsoir, Chat Noir..." followed.

The door clicked shut (again) and with a final sigh, he extricated himself from Marinette's embrace. She gave him a withering look, though he inherently understood it was directed at her parents and her voice rang clearly in his mind as if she had spoken it right in his ear.

My parents have the worst timing!

Hiding a smirk, he bent to pick up his bags, going down three steps once more to retrieve them.

"I should head home."

When he straightened, Marinette was holding out the box of macarons. A compunctious grin was pasted on her features.

"Let me walk you to the door."

They reached the bottom of the staircase and through the glass panes of the entrance, he noted the state of the night sky before releasing a hefty groan.

The deluge had returned—full force.

"We all mean it, you know," Marinette continued, looking amused by his aversion to the weather. "You're welcome to stay here."

"Careful now," he replied, tearing his eyes away from the outside so he could focus on Marinette. He made an effort to inject some levity to his voice but there was a sobering undertone to his words as he said, "You give this cat ideas and I'll never leave."

She laughed, a hand splayed athwart his cheek while she cosseted the edges of his mask, as he found she was fond of doing—a teasing yet careful touch that straddled the line between curiosity and decorum, of do's and don'ts and wills and won'ts, like she was eager to know him, all of him, including the man behind the mask but was waiting for him to let her in.

(Not for long now, he imagined)

"My father did say life was just a dance," she went on. She placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek and contrary as it was to her actions, he felt the sincerity in her vow even as she stepped away from him.

"You can sway my way any time, Chat Noir."

He would have kissed her then, but thunder blasted over the skies, jolting him to the reality of his situation. Annoyed beyond belief, it was with agonizing reluctance that he summoned his Kwami who, he found, returned to him in a state of unprecedented bliss that instead of baffling him, only served to further his vexation.

"Where have you been?" he asked him.

"Heaven," replied the tiny creature in dreamy articulations.

He turned to Marinette for explanation but all she gave him was an enigmatic, if not regretful, smile.

"Will you ever not be a mystery?" he asked aloud, unsure as to whom he was speaking to though he felt it was an appropriate question for both of them either way.

And as he expected, there was no answer. The only reply he was given was Marinette's held out arms, to which he passed his baggage. Plagg was still floating aimlessly above his head, lost in whatever fantasy beheld him, when he snapped with a sulky, "Maybe something waterproof, this time, Plagg? Can you do that?"

"Someone's in a good mood," he jested, utterly unaffected as usual. "Fantastic," he muttered, barely refraining a snarl.

"Plagg, claws out!"

He never thought he would reach this day, but it was with all honesty that he wished he could be rid of his suit. It must have shown on his face because then Marinette was there, smoothing the pout from his lips with a gentle brush of her fingers. Just like that, the irritation flowed right out of him.

"Will you be all right?" she asked softly. He nodded, taking his bags from her and holding them in one arm so he could grasp the hand that had been caressing him.

"Be careful," she warned. He smiled.

"I always am."

"I know," she answered, despite the slightly dubious look etched upon her visage. He chuckled. "It doesn't stop the worry."

His gratitude at her regard was another lingering kiss to her palm, right along the crease of her life line. Without letting him go, she opened the door. Yet it still felt as if a pit opened within him, a chasm to match the distance that would steadily grow between them with every stride, bound and swing he took away from her.

A blast of air hit them followed by a spackle of frigid raindrops despite merely stopping just shy of the threshold. His suit held, Plagg having heard him despite his halved attention. He had little knowledge of cloth despite having essentially grown in the fashion industry, but he assumed the material was a blend of thermal and leather as he seemed impassive to the cold. What little rainfall reached him slid right off the surface of his costume, assuring him that once he succumbed to the cloudburst, he would remain miraculously dry.

Just a little ways behind him, Marinette shivered, gooseflesh making highlands of her skin as they rose in hilly bumps. Still, she had the mind to advise him.

"Stay warm," she prompted grimly.

With their fingers still entwined, he nudged at her chin with a knuckle before resting the pair of tangled limbs against her chest.

"I'll try," he promised with a lopsided grin. "Mon coeur."

They remained clasped at the hands till only the tips of their fingers held adamantly onto their collision, separating only when they reached the brink of her doorway.

"Mon minou," was all she replied, and for him, for always—

It was enough.

The trip home had been blessedly uneventful, his homecoming moreso. Yet, ensconced in his room once he had detransformed and checked that Nathalie nor his father found him missing, he announced, "I feel different."

Behind him, Plagg snorted.

"You certainly don't look it."

"I don't think I'm supposed to."

"And you don't sound like it, that's for sure."

"I know, that's why I feel it. Wait," he shook his head. "What is that supposed to mean? And hey," he pinned him with a glare, "What happened to you? What were you doing in Marinette's room? You better not have made a mess in there!"

Plagg bared his teeth as he seemed to stifle a growl. "I didn't touch anything that wasn't mine."

Adrien himself muffled the overwhelming urge to pull at his hair. Frustrated, he repeated with surly resonance, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to think now, Adrien."

"About what?"

"Tell me something," Plagg darted right to his face and he had to take a step back to keep from getting cross-eyed when he looked at the mildly threatening creature before him, taken aback as he was by his expression. He had never seen his Kwami so… feral. And he would have been frightened, if he wasn't so achingly confused. He would bear anything right now if it meant some semblance of clarity.

"You and Marinette were awfully cozy tonight," he pointed out, voice laden with unnecessary sarcasm. "Could it be her bringing about this change in you?"

"What of it? You don't approve?"

"What about Ladybug? What about your feelings for her?"

"So that's the issue. You don't approve, then." Adrien said dryly as he flopped onto his bed. "What does my feelings for Ladybug have to do with Marinette?"

"It has everything to do with Marinette!" Plagg exploded.

"What is up with you tonight, Plagg?" He wondered. He couldn't possibly be hungry all ready? Then again, he should know better than to speak for his Kwami's appetite.

"Two millenniums is a long time to be away from the one you love," Plagg sighed. "Even for me."

The sound drew Adrien's gaze, for it was in shades of melancholy he was accustomed to. Plagg was always throwing his seniority around despite every other word out of his mouth relating only to cheese. The idiot he was, he was only now starting to realize that perhaps it was a front, for his Kwami had never appeared so old to him, looking every bit his incomparable age.

"But I thought… I thought Ladybug and Chat Noir were two halves of a whole. I thought that the person behind and in front of the mask were the same. I am Chat Noir and Chat Noir is Adrien."

"Yes," Plagg agreed. "And though Ladybug and Chat Noir always found each other," he said each superhero's name emphatically, "it wasn't always easy for their civilian selves. You have to understand, the world was so different then, Adrien. The strife of today seems miniscule compared to what my charges had to go through, and I'm not diminishing the problems of your generation," he injected when Adrien opened his mouth to protest. "But people were not as accepting of well, anything, as they are now. Millions were being slaughtered on the daily and for things that were beyond their control—be it religion, race, social class… persecuted for something as simple as who they loved." He shot him a pointed look. "Just imagine a line between freedom and dogma. And imagine being killed if you so much as dared to toe that line, never mind thinking of doing so. Why do you think we keep the Miraculous a secret? Why it's almost impossible to find traces of them throughout history?" Plagg sagged against the pillow next to his head. "Because that was the way of the world more than a thousand years ago. And so my charges, more often than not, chose not to be with their Ladybugs."

Shocked, he could only shake his head in denial. He threw an arm over his eyes, as if it were enough to block out Plagg's words.

"How—how could they just… give up like that?" Their actions just didn't compute with what he knew about being a Miraculous holder, and his very foundation rocked at the revelation. "How could they choose not to fight?"

"Oh, they fought," the Kwami muttered darkly before releasing yet another dejected sigh. "But… the world needed them more, and so the world they chose."

He didn't say anything for more than a couple beats before he settled on, "Wow."

Adrien swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling unworthy of the title, Chat Noir. Mon dieu, compared to what his predecessors had endured, what had he done that was worth noting? What had he ever fought for or believed in? What—

"Hey," Plagg's voice was hushed and mellow. He wedged himself to his cheek so that Adrien was forced to lift his arm away from his face. "I didn't tell you all that so you could spiral," he teased, even with his somber aura.

"Then why did you tell me all that?" he asked, voice watery.

"Maybe not everything's changed, but it's a whole new world now, Adrien." His paw drifted to his forehead in comfort. "The choice doesn't have to be so hard."

"Well it isn't exactly a walk in the park, Plagg," he huffed then ran a hand over his weary face. "They're both…" were there even any words in the entire history of languages that would encompass either women? "How can I choose? I've been in love with Ladybug for so long, and with Marinette—it's all so new but it also somehow feels all right." He craned his head up at Plagg, who hovered serenely over him. "Can you be in love with two people at once?"

"No."

"Then how—"

"Adrien," Plagg skimmed his golden tendrils before settling at the nape of his neck.

"You can't be in love with two people at once," he whispered.

"I can't be in love with two people at once," Adrien repeated, slowly, and again—his brain lit up as thousands upon thousands of impulses jumped along his synapses, every nerve burning with recognition.

"It's time to think now, Adrien." Plagg pressed his paw firmly against his skin. "It's time to choose."

"I can't be in love with two people at once," he said, louder. And just like that—

"Because I'm not in love with two people at once."

—everything, clicked.

He always thought this moment would come to him in an explosion; in bursts of colors, a heat of the moment or a grand gesture. He would never have envisioned it could be as simple as this—a piece of the puzzle falling into place.

With a laugh, he sat up.

"We need to go!" he exclaimed.

"We needed to go since yesterday," Plagg whined. "But better late than never, I suppose."

"What, no bartering for camembert first?"

He shrugged.

"There are more important things."

It was one of the most (controversial) serious statements to ever come from his Kwami's mouth but the surprise was buried beneath his excitement—he could not stop laughing. He jumped off the mattress and didn't bother to put on any shoes, just his Marinette-made hoodie and the black sweatpants he elected to change into when he arrived earlier. He did have the presence of mind to grab his mask and tie it on before transforming. Plagg was only too gleeful to comply.

Anyone who happened to glance out the window would see nothing but a black blur as he passed, Adrien had never moved so quickly and so smoothly, too. He did not feel the rain, largely in part due to Plagg's modifications but he mostly attributed it to the joy that overflowed from him making him feel only good and wonderful things despite the downpour.

(And so the black cat can have good luck, after all)

When he arrived at Marinette's round window, it was to dim lights and no movement, apart from the covered lump on her loft bed. Maybe he should have taken it as a sign not to enter, but he had never been particularly skilled at reading those anyway (or it wouldn't have taken him this long to figure things out).

It was a little concerning, how easy it was to enter her room. Given who was living in it, he needn't have worried of course but, as she said, it didn't make it go away. As it was, it was a conversation for another day—because he had that luxury now, to have more conversations for later, as they were so fond of saying.

Balancing on her windowsill, he whispered, "Marinette?"

"Chat?" she whispered back as she popped up from beneath her covers so only her head was visible. "Allez! Get in before you flood my room!"

With a chuckle, he did so with care so as not to wake her parents, landing on noiseless feet and detransforming as he did so only to almost take back his progress when his bare feet landed on her floor.

Biting back a yelp, he raced to her loft and was grateful that she had tucked herself away once more as it was one less thing for her to hold over him. He was convinced she would have toppled over in laughter if she had witness him then, slinking inelegantly as he was to her side.

"Putain! Why is it so cold?"

"The heating may be down again," Marinette grumbled. "It's an old building, it happens sometimes. My dad will take care of it in the morning."

Nevertheless, he found his chuckles returning as he ran his hands over her sheets, albeit more than a little mindful of where they roamed.

"Where are you? I can't see you over this mountain."

Without warning, a blanket was thrown over his head and beneath the darkness of her comforter, her eyes were the light.

"Hello."

"Hello," he echoed, his eyes surely glistening just as bright.

"You came," she said, sounding almost surprised, as if she were just realizing she was someone worth keeping promises for.

"You said to keep warm," he shrugged, keeping his tone flippant when he felt anything but, just to keep his nerves at bay because now that he was here, so had a thread of doubt appeared. "It's hard to do that alone, you know."

What the hell am I talking about?

His agitation multiplied.

She raised an eyebrow. "Where's Plagg?"

"Oh, you know," he waved a hand vaguely behind him, then dropped it. He was sure she knew what he meant, the Kwami having darted to Marinette's purse the moment they had touched down.

"Is it… is this okay?" Despite his mounting tension, he added—albeit reluctantly, "Should I not have come? Do you… want me to leave?"

"No!" she shrieked and he had to lean back as the sound was so contained within their downy fort. Calmer, she reiterated, "No, no. This is fine. You're fine." She pitched her head briefly over her fleece. "I just don't want my parents to wake up and freak out," she said once she returned.

"Oh," he breathed a sigh of relief before hiding a smirk. "I'm pretty sure they know anyway, so—"

"They what?" she exclaimed in a voice that may have been a decibel higher than she intended it to be, if her goal was to keep his presence hidden from her parents.

(Though the rainfall did a pretty good job of quelling any wayward noises)

"At least, I think your mom does," he placed a hand at the back of his neck. "You know, I never actually got to clarify, so…"

Marinette looked mortified as she landed face down atop her pillow. She groaned and he rubbed circles onto her back, even as he laughed.

"It's not funny," she griped. She turned to him with a frown. "How are you not panicking?"

He shrugged. "The way your mom said it, I think she trusts me. I mean, with a face like mine—why wouldn't she?" While he waggled his eyebrows, Marinette's frown further deepened, unimpressed. He laughed some more, recovering his former ebullience in waves of giggles that seized his body. With a little more effort, he infused sobriety into his pronouncement so as to ease her mind.

"But more than anything, Marinette, she trusts you."

A pensive expression dominated her dainty features as she mulled over his words.

"It doesn't make it any less embarrassing," she huffed. "But I can live with that."

With a (hopefully) final chuckle, he settled onto his back beside her. Marinette burrowed onto her side, facing him. She yawned.

"Tired?"

She shook her head contrarily. It was his turn to toss a disbelieving brow her way. She sighed. "It's the cold," she admitted through gritted teeth, as if she were confessing a weakness. Perhaps it may as well have been, given who she was. "It makes me drowsy. Sometimes."

"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered. She cocked her head in quiet inquiry. In lieu of an explanation, he mirrored her position then opened his arms.

"Get over here."

She bit her lip. "Are you sure? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable…"

Trust me, he wanted to say. We've been in worse tangles than this. But he kept such thoughts to himself as he found that he was rather enjoying his furtiveness—at least for the time being—if only because the more he talked and looked at her, the more he saw the resemblance, and he wondered how he could have missed it for so long—how he could have missed her.

"Get over here," he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. Without added objection, she snuggled to his side of the bed. Adrien drew her hands to his back, beneath his hoodie, and though he hissed at the temperature (she was not kidding about being cold!) and there were minor protestations from the lady herself, he ultimately had no trouble wrapping her arms around him. He arranged the blanket just under her chin and right by his shoulder, before winding his own arms at her waist. He purred, a long and satisfied sound.

"What a wonderful place to be," he sighed, looking down at her as he spoke.

Marinette scrunched her nose. "My room? With the broken heater? Really?"

He laughed. "I was thinking more like, your arms."

Her infamous blush made an appearance then, her mouth rounding into a soundless oh. Abashed, she didn't say more after that.

"Marinette?" he began, breaking the pleasant pocket of silence that had overtaken them.

He sensed more than heard her responding hum, tiny reverberations that ran along the length of his body all the way to their entwined feet. Were he not all ready soothed from her warming skin, then the sound of her contentment alone would have banished any remaining frost he might have felt.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

It took a beat for her to answer her affirmation.

"Sure," she whispered through a stuttered breath.

"I like you," he murmured into her ear with a Cheshire cat grin. "I really, really do. And I hope," he pulled away just enough so he could look into her eyes, "you like me too."

"I thought you were in love with Ladybug," he swallowed the bubble of laughter that bullied its way to his throat. Was that… was that jealousy he detected? "I thought you were destined to be together."

"Here's the thing," he shifted onto his back, taking her with him so that her upper half was draped along his torso. "Ladybug and I are a team. One could even say that we couldn't possibly function without one another. We complete each other."

Confliction wrangled itself onto her visage.

"But," he grazed the puckered line of her eyebrows. "It's you."

She shook her head. "What's me?"

"Everything," he asseverated with devout honesty. "A part of me will always love Ladybug. But you? It's you I want. You, I choose. Every day, I choose you. Every time. Anywhere and anyhow, I don't care what They say.

"I. choose. you. Beyond doubt and beyond reason, I choose you. Without thought, without question, without fail and... without regret."

He cupped her face, affectionate hands catching any obstinate tears from falling any further from her chin.

"I'm not fond of the idea that there are forces out there beyond my control who get to decide who I be with. That is mine to make. That is my choice and no one else's. And I choose you.

"It's you, Marinette," he was babbling, he knew, but he couldn't stop. "It's always been you."

"Chat Noir," she hiccuped, "I need to tell you something—"

"Kiss me," he asked desperately. "Please, I need to—"

He didn't know what the end of that sentence would be but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. With a sob, Marinette dipped her head, and what little distance remained between them evaporated at the touch of her lips to his.

He expected fire—he expected dynamite and orchestral music and fireworks. But again, the reality far superseded his fantasies because this was so much better than anything he could have conjured.

Fire became the heated flesh of her back as his fingers inched a path up the length of her spine. Dynamite became the caterwaul of thunder while the staccato beat of the torrential raindrops against her window pane became their harmony. Fireworks… fireworks was the way lightning twirled along her skin each time he deigned to open his eyes, illuminating her form so that she shone like a fallen angel above him, come to save him from himself.

For the most part, he let Marinette dictate the kiss—pulling when she pushed, bending as she molded herself to him even more, mouth opening at the slightest prod of her tongue till they were a knotted choreography of intimacy—because now he understood, truly understood, that life was a dance, and his every misstep led to every quiver which led to every spin till he was waltzing to his perfect partner. Choosing Marinette meant the calming of his senses… a tilted world returning to its proper axis.

Somewhere along the way they had swiveled so that he was on top of her, her legs buckled unyieldingly around his hips. He caressed one of her calves while the other followed the line of her arm where he delighted in the goosebumps that rose in his wake. She propped herself on her elbows and so Adrien drew back on his haunches till she was seated on his lap, the blankets pooling below them in a jumbled stack. It gave her added height as she towered over him. She ran the fingers of one hand through his undoubtedly messy hair, nails scratching cautiously at his scalp. Sparks of pleasure tingled down his spine. She kissed his forehead, then, lips moving sleepily over his skin.

"I need to tell you something."

"I know," he sighed, buzzing with tranquility.

"I don't know how you'll react."

He smiled. "Something tells me I all ready know."

A distressed noise escaped her so he eased her grievance with another languid kiss, tiny suckles of her upper lip and bottom lip, till she was chasing after him when he pulled away. She groaned a different sort of unsatiated need.

"In any case," he dropped his forehead onto her chest before pressing a chaste kiss there. "Nothing you say will ever make me not want you, Marinette."

Her hands, which had found themselves in his hair, tightened about the golden tendrils at the nape of his neck. He wanted to wax more poetic about how everything ended and everything began with her, but then—she unleashed a jaw-cracking yawn. He mewled a laugh, laying her gently back on her bed, her hair spilling like shimmering ink across the width of her pillow and framing her pale skin so that she looked like the moon in the middle of a starless night.

"Rest now," he advised, propping himself on an elbow at her side. She whined her protest and so he trailed kisses from her brow to her eyelids, the tip of her nose and her cheek, then to the corner of her mouth. "The moon will set and the sun will rise and I will be here tomorrow."

She hesitated for a fraction before asking, "Promise you'll still want me in the morning?" a quavering in her voice.

"Promise to want you forever, if you'll let me."

She gave him a long, surveying look, a light entering her eyes as she reached some sort of conclusion.

"I know you," she expelled slowly, susurrantly, one hand to his heart, the other edging at the bottom of his mask. He smiled.

"Sleep now," he bid her. "We have time."

She extended her arms to him.

"Get over here," she commanded.

"As my lady wishes," he replied. He situated himself into the arch of her neck, nosing at her inherent chocolate chip cookie and vanilla scent to lull him to serene slumber.

"You're right," she mumbled sluggishly.

Above him, a whizz of cold air before the blankets were tucked around him. All the while, Marinette's arms obstinately remained around him as if they were bound as one, her breaths even and the drum of her heart a steady and reassuring lullaby beneath his ear.

"It's easier to stay warm when you aren't alone."

He smiled.

Was it really this easy? he wondered, as he fought the hypnotic lethargy that blustered to pull him under. Perhaps it wouldn't always be. Perhaps in the light of day, things will seem different. But for now, he was certain—from the nails of his toes to the roots of his hair, from his nerve endings and his tendons and his cartilage, from his body to his mind to his soul, he believed—he would bear any sacrifice, he would endure any hardship... so long as at the end of the day.

Shelter would be found in Marinette's arms.

AN: Thank you to swanandapirate and feyrearcherons on tumblr! They don't even go to this fandom lol but they took the time to help me with the French translations I needed here.

Je vois de l'amour dans tes yeux, alors dans tes yeux je voudrais rester = I see love in your eyes, so in your eyes I would like to stay.

So the bit about the flavor of the macarons is all me, ube and yema are local to the Philippines which is where I'm from and they are phenomenal let me tell you right now. I've never had them in the form of macarons but in any other way they taste amazing so if you ever get your hands on them, you will not be disappointed!

So like, this has been the longest thing I have ever written for any fandom and I think I lost some steam for this last chapter but I'm very proud to have finished it anyway because I rarely ever do so when I start multichaps. Still, I had a blast writing it and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it too!

Come say hi to me on tumblr (same handle)! :)