Marinette

Sleep was a truly marvellous thing. One of Marinette's favourite hobbies and pastimes–if you ever asked her. But even with her love for the 'sport', it was failing her now. Checking her phone for the thousandth time, she noticed that she'd managed a grand total of thirty-minutes of sleep.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes. There was no point trying any longer. And worst of all, she knew jet lag wasn't the issue. Rubbing her eyes manically, she turned to face the cork board. Never would she have thought Adrien Agreste was her crime fighting partner, and worst of all, she never would have guessed how much their split had torn him apart.

Marinette still remembered the day after their break-up. She'd been the one to initiate it, Adrien accepting easily, only wanting the best for her. She'd taken it as if he didn't care, but now, knowing the truth, there was a lot more to it. A lot. Not only did he care, it had broken him. Flashbacks and memories of Chat Noir sobbing into her shoulder about the break-up, how he couldn't be selfish enough to make her stay. They'd comforted each other the best that they knew how–her own heart torn to shreds from breaking up with Adrien. She remembered holding Chat Noir tight, stroking through his hair as he sobbed uncontrollably for hours–all because of her. How did they not piece it together there and then?

If she'd only known back then who he was, none of this would have happened. If only she'd known then that the choices she had made had affected everything, then maybe she would have made different ones.

Swinging her legs out of bed, her feet met the cold, unforgiving floor with a sharp shock. A chill lingered in the air, wrapping around her like an invisible hand, coaxing a shiver from her spine. She quickly grabbed the blanket at the foot of the bed, its soft fabric offering little comfort against the biting coolness. Wrapping it tightly around her shoulders, she slowly made her way down into the dim, quiet expanse of her bedroom, the stillness pressing in around her like the weight of an unspoken thought.

'Marinette?' The small voice of her kwami had her searching the red creature out.

'Sorry, Tikki. Did I wake you?'

Tikki flew out from her hiding spot, floating around Marinette's head and giving a quick snuggle into her cheek. Tikki had been quiet since the day before. Obviously, it was one thing for her to see Adrien again, but another for Tikki to see Plagg. The day she'd left Paris, not only had she abandoned her soul-mate but also ripped Tikki away from hers.

'No, I'm awake. Just familiarising myself with the room. It's been a while.'

Keeping the blanket tightly around her, she made her way to the chaise lounge and sat down, watching as Tikki flew over to sit beside her.

'I should have come back more often.' The words felt like poison on her tongue, tasting bitter and sharp. The guilt gnawed at her insides, sharper than any accusation she could imagine. But it was true. She should have. She should have made the effort to reach out to her friends, to show up, to stay present. Instead, the months had slipped away, and she'd let Johnny's voice—his reasoning, his logic—drown out everything else.

She closed her eyes, recalling the way he'd looked at her when she'd brought it up before, the concern in his eyes as if he were the one being hurt.

'Why do you need to go back so much, Marinette? Don't you see? They're fine without you. You've got me now. Don't you trust me?'

She'd tried to argue, tried to explain that she needed to keep those connections alive, that they needed her too. But Johnny would always insist she was being dramatic—nagging, he'd call it—always twisting the narrative until it was her who felt selfish, her who felt like she was in the wrong. He made her believe that wanting to spend time with her old friends was a betrayal of the life they were building together. And slowly, she had stopped fighting it.

'They don't need you. They've all moved on without you.'

The words he'd whispered when she'd questioned him, when she'd felt that gnawing discomfort in her chest, now echoed back in her mind. They had settled inside her, like seeds planted in her heart, and now they had taken root. The more she heard it, the more she began to doubt herself. Maybe she was being selfish. Maybe they didn't need her as much as she thought.

But now, standing here, the sharp realisation hit her like a slap to the face. She had lost out big time.

The last time she'd spoken to Alya, that easy laughter in their voices felt so distant now, like it had belonged to someone else. Had they really forgotten her? Or had she let herself fade away, pushed to the sidelines in her own life because Johnny had convinced her it was the right thing to do?

Her fingers trembled slightly as she hugged the blanket tighter around herself, her body a little colder despite the warmth it offered. She had allowed Johnny to take so much from her—her confidence, her ability to trust her instincts, her sense of self. She'd become someone she hardly recognised, and every time she tried to fight back, he'd convinced her it was all in her head.

'You're overreacting. You always overthink everything. It's just a few friends, Marinette. I'm all you need.'

How many times had he said that? How many times had he made her feel small for wanting anything else?

No, she shook her head. You are more than this. But the words didn't feel as certain as they should have. Would they ever again?

And then there was him.

Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir.

She had broken up with Adrien because of the guilt—the guilt of being Ladybug, of spending her time with another man, another superhero. Guilt about his father. But what she hadn't realised at the time was that he—Adrien, Chat Noir—was the one person who had always been there for her, always understood her. She'd let her fears, her insecurities, push him away, convincing herself that their connection wasn't enough, that their love would somehow make everything harder.

But now, standing here, she realised how much she'd misunderstood. She had spent so much time running from the one person who truly understood her. And for what? To avoid the uncomfortable truth that maybe her feelings for Adrien were the most fulfilling thing in her life?

Johnny had made it so easy for her to believe that her decisions were flawed, that she couldn't trust her own judgement. He'd twisted everything.

He's right.

The thought hit her with crushing finality. She had always doubted herself, but now—after everything—Johnny was right. She couldn't make a single sensible decision. Not about her friends. Not about Adrien. Not about herself.

Adrien had been everything to her. Truth be told, he still was. And she had messed it up.

'You and Plagg must have been losing your minds,' Marinette said, looking over towards her kwami.

The small chuckle which came from Tikki made her smile. 'That's one way of saying it.'

They sat in silence for a while. Marinette wrapping the blanket tighter around her. 'I'm sorry.' The words came out quiet, nothing more than a slight whisper.

'It's okay, Marinette. You didn't know. There was nothing that could have been done.'

She shook her head, the prickling behind her nose increasing with intensity. She blinked, and it was too much for the dam holding them back. In the matter of seconds, tears flowed freely down her cheeks in a waterfall of sorrow.

'I'm so, so sorry.' She whispered through her tears, though she wasn't sure exactly who that was for.

Tikki flew up, rubbing her cheek against Marinette's and wiping away the stray tears. Eventually, the flow slowed and subsided, Marinette shuddering out the breath she'd held.

'Better?' Tikki asked, Marinette smiling gratefully at her friend.

'Much.'

Standing, Marinette moved to her phone, where she'd left it charging on the work surface. She lifted it up, hoping to find a message from Johnny, some kind of normality which would give her a hint of her life—something to let her know these cold thoughts were due to the temperature drop in Paris, not because her boyfriend was nothing more than an arrogant arsehole.

Lifting her phone, her heart fluttered when she read Johnny's name. Then again, on closer inspection, she wasn't sure if it was a flutter or a drop.

Her thumb swiped across the screen, lighting it up before she lifted it to her face, opening Johnny's message.

Johnny: Deal done with Chanel. Need you back to flatter the CEO next week.

She read the message a couple more times before slamming the phone down on the desk. Not even an 'I hope you're okay' or a 'say hi to your folks for me'. Again it was all about the business and what she could do for his mother's company.

With a fierce pull, she lifted it one last time and looked at the screen, letting out a groan. What the hell was happening? Have things always been this bad? Picking up her phone again, she began to read through the messages between her and Johnny looking for anything to reassure her.

Meeting times.

Deadlines.

Design questions.

No kisses. No love. No romance.

Discarding the phone on the desk, she wrapped her blanket around her tighter and began to make her way downstairs. The smell of pastries were a welcome relief to the harsh reality she was facing.

'Hey, Maman.' Marinette stepped up to her mother, and placed a kiss on her cheek.

'I didn't expect you to be up this early.'

'I couldn't sleep.' Marinette moved to the kitchen table and hopped up onto a bar stool.

Her mother moved around the kitchen with a familiar grace, effortlessly gliding from the stove to the counter, the soft rhythm of her movements filling the pleasant space with warmth. She hummed a quiet Christmas tune under her breath, as if the kitchen was her sanctuary, and the air was filled with the comforting scent of freshly baked bread and simmering spices. Her mother paused for just a moment when her father appeared, stepping up from the bakery below, his shoes lightly tapping against the wooden floor. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her mother's head, a silent exchange of affection that seemed to say everything.

A sigh had both parents looking at her. Her mother's stare almost knowing. Her parents seemed to have a silent conversation before her mother turned back to her father. 'Can you give us a moment please, Tom? Just some girl to girl time.'

Her father looked between the two of them, eyes filled with worry. 'Is everything okay?'

Her mother giggled. 'Of course. I just didn't think you'd want to hear about periods and menopause.' Her father's face turned a rather peculiar colour, almost border lining green.

'I'll be in the shower.'

Both watched her father scurry out the room faster than a mouse avoiding a cat, his feet barely touching the floor as he darted for the hallway. Her mother turned back to her with a sparkle in her eyes. 'It's so easy to scare him. Just wait until you're pregnant and I want to talk about breastfeeding.'

Marinette couldn't help the blush creeping over her cheeks. 'That's a long way off. A very long way.'

She couldn't help but punctuate the sentence with a sigh.

'You know you can talk to me about anything, right?' her mother said, bringing the food and coming to sit in front of her.

Marinette paused, trying to find the right words. How could she even begin to talk about this when she wasn't sure what she was feeling herself? Coming back to Paris had thrown her off in more ways than one, and she knew deep down it wasn't just about Master Fu. There was something else—something more complicated—that had been quietly unravelling inside her since she stepped foot back in the city.

'How does it feel when you go back home?' Marinette asked. Her mother's eyes widened, her mouth forming a knowing expression.

'As in Shanghai?'

'As in Shanghai,' Marinette mirrored with a nod.

Her mother took a sip of her tea, her eyes remaining on Marinette's. 'Honestly? I don't feel anything. Shanghai is my past and I love my present. Paris has always felt a lot more like home than Shanghai ever did.'

Marinette knew she wasn't going to like the answer to the next question, but she was going to ask it anyway. 'Why?'

Her mother sighed, stretching out to take Marinette's hand with her own. 'Because of your father. We have so many memories here, Marinette. Yes, there have been some hard times, but we got through it together. Even after all these years, your father is still the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I want to talk to at night.'

'And if he wasn't?' Her voice trembled. Her parents' relationship was what she wanted, and there was only one person she had ever felt that way with–one person who used to be the complication in her life, but actually could be the completion.

'You will always have a home here. You left so abruptly back then. I think you took everyone by surprise. One moment you and Adrien were planning a life together, next thing you decide to go to New York for university. I don't know what happened, and I'm not going to pry, you made the choice you thought was best for you at the time, and you're very successful, Marinette. Probably more than you would have been here. But success doesn't always bring happiness. There's more to life than fame and fortune, but there's not more to life than love.'

Her mother tapped her hand before standing up, making her way over towards her bedroom leaving Marinette alone in her thoughts. She stood, feet guiding her back into her bedroom. Grabbing the phone from her charger, she considered what would be her next move.

The phone buzzed in her hand, alerting her to a new message.

Johnny: I forgot to say...

Marinette's heart jumped as she waited for the next message. This was it. Those three flashing dots were about to deliver her the message she'd been waiting for, the message which would clear up all these feelings of uncertainty and unnecessary emotions. She smiled as the phone buzzed again.

Johnny: While you're in Paris, why don't you try connecting with some of the designers? Great opportunity for more business. It would actually make your going worthwhile.

If her phone wasn't so expensive, she would have thrown it at the wall. He had to be kidding! What did he think she was? She was done with this. She was done with him. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to end it, but they never spoke on the phone and to be honest they barely spoke face to face any more–unless he needed something from her.

Slamming the phone down on the desk, she looked up at the skylight above her bed spotting something she hadn't noticed before. A yellow rose lay perfectly against the glass. There was only one person she knew who would have done that.

She was here. She was back in Paris, and it only made sense to try and figure out exactly what she had been missing and whether it was worth fighting for. Marinette climbed up to the rooftop, battling the bitter cold air to grab the rose.

Bringing it back down onto her bed, she smiled. This was the clarification she needed. She knew exactly where she was going to start.