Chapter Text
***
Chat Noir leapt from building to building, extending and retracting his staff, feeling the sharp autumn air cut through his suit. His eyes set upon the particular building he had been looking for – the rooftop draped in twinkling lights, the railing lined with pots of amber orchids and purple chrysanthemums. The former being her favorites, the latter because he insisted that chrysanthemums brought harmony and good fortune.
“More fortune than Paris’ superhero showing up on my roof every night?” she had teased.
He had winked coquettishly. “That is a fair point, princess.”
Chat felt that he and Marinette had built a comfortable rapport over the past few weeks. This was more surprising when considering that he had previously only heard said girl speak (read: stammer) at most five words to him.
But the Marinette that Chat Noir knew was confident and self-assured, funny and always ready to quip back with a smart retort. He'd learned that she loved fashion design and baking (even though baking may seem an obligation for a baker’s daughter) and that she hated geometry and snobby, stuck-up girls.
(Chloe’s name was not mentioned, but Adrien could read the unmistakable implication from her description).
They never pried into each other’s personal lives, which worked all the better for the masked model. Yet still, they seemed to have this electric connection that transcended clique or status or superficial pretense.
He deftly thrust his staff onto the balcony, grunting as he landed. The black leather of his suit shifted as he positioned himself on the ground, exposing the substantial gash that painted the left side of his abdomen.
Being careful not to drip blood onto her spotless floor, Chat limped over to the trapdoor and knocked hesitantly, hoping the girl wasn’t already asleep.
His ears picked up on some shuffling before the lock clicked open and he was greeted by Marinette’s beaming face.
“You’re right on schedule, mon chaton,” Marinette said cheerily, stepping out onto the rooftop. “Just finished making this hot chocolate,” she extended him a steaming mug, but frowned upon noting the enthusiasm was not reciprocated.
“Is something wrong?” she arched an eyebrow in concern.
Chat shook his head a little too vigorously, leaving him lightheaded and reaching for the railing to steady himself.
“No, nothing like that,” he insisted. “just got this little cut.”
“What little cut?” Marinette demanded, frowning.
Chat reluctantly moved his staff from where he had precisely positioned it in front of his torso, revealing the sizeable slash.
Marinette gasped. “Oh my god, Chat! That is not a little cut – what happened?!”
He looked at the ground guiltily, refusing to meet her eyes. “I was just on patrol and there was this akuma attack, but Ladybug didn’t show, so I kinda had to take it on alone.”
Marinette seemed to flinch imperceptibly, but the strange look was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She chuckled nervously, recovering. “Right, right… of course.” She shook her head, as if snapping back to reality. “We have to get you to the hospital!”
“No, no, it’s not that bad Marinette, really,”
Marinette did not look convinced.
“No, seriously, try holding up your fingers, I’ll tell you how many,” he prompted.
She rolled her eyes but obeyed, holding up three fingers.
Chat Noir squinted. “Seven?” Marinette’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m kidding. I know it’s three. I promise I’m okay.”
“Chat Noir, I’m gonna kill you before the loss of blood does if you keep joking like that.”
“I’m sorry! No more jokes. Honest to god, I’m fine.”
His eyes shone with sincerity, and Marinette couldn’t help but give in.
“Okay, but you’re going to let me patch you up.”
“I’m not really in a position to object, am I?”
Marinette tenderly slung Chat’s arm around her shoulder, bringing him to the other side of the balcony after much difficulty and cursing.
“Mari, you don’t have to –”
“It’s okay, Chat, you just weigh a thousand pounds,” she teased.
“It’s muscle mass!” he said defensively. “from weight training and fighting!”
“Sure,” she smirked playfully.
She tried to get him seated on the chaise, causing the teen to wince despite his best efforts to keep a straight face. She supported his back as he leaned back against the seat, grimacing.
“Hey, don’t get blood on my chair,” she joked.
“I’m trying!”
“Stay here,” she commanded, turning towards her room.
“No promises!” he called out.
“You’re so funny.”
He watched as Marinette lowered herself into her bedroom, and could then hear her rummaging through her medicine cabinet. She finally emerged, smiling and waving a small first-aid kit victoriously.
She returned and sat on the floor cross-legged, carefully taking out the necessary supplies. Chat watched her breathlessly, trying not to stare too obviously. Her fingers brushed ever so slightly against his jaw. As she tenderly dabbed an antiseptic wipe on his cuts, he focused on a point in the sky. It was Rigel, the biggest and brightest star in Orion – just below Orion’s belt. But focusing on constellations wasn’t enough, and he couldn’t help but glance over at Marinette, her face scrunched adorably in concentration.
It was the first time Chat Noir had seen her this closely. Her complexion was milky white, contrasted by rosy cheeks. His eyes trailed down to the bare, smooth skin of her neck – Chat squeezed his eyes shut. This was definitely not working. He instead focused on the way the smell of alcohol in the disinfectant and Marinette’s signature vanilla and lavender intermingled.
“It doesn’t look too deep, so I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” she said softly, almost a whisper, breaking him out of his reverie. “That’s beyond my medical capabilities,” Marinette grinned.
A few beats passed. “I - um...” she reddened, her demeanor quickly shifting. “need you to take off your shirt.”
“You and the rest of this town. Get in line, princess.” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Ugh. You are insufferable.”
Chat laughed. “I wish I could, but the suit is one piece.”
Marinette was very quickly beginning to resemble a tomato. “Uh, never mind then!”
“How about we just rip off the fabric around the wound?” He suggested.
“Wouldn’t your suit be damaged?”
“Eh,” Chat shrugged indifferently. “it'll repair itself the next time I transform.”
She nodded, and Chat began to rip the fabric to expose more of his skin as Marinette tried to look anywhere but.
She worked quickly in her seemingly flustered state, patching up the scrapes on his abdomen with her expert attention to detail.
“You’re really good at this, you know,” Chat commented off-handedly, attempting to fill the heavy silence. “You really know how to work with your hands, huh?"
“Um, thanks,” Marinette flushed. “I guess it’s all the working with needles and thread.”
“You don’t have to do this, Mari…” he murmured, guilt suddenly coloring his features. “I didn’t wanna take up your time or be a burden – ”
“Nonsense, kitty,” Marinette’s lips quirked up good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t leave you out here to die.”
She lifted his arm, applying a soft pressure against the purpling area. She pulled out a roll of gauze, tearing off a strip to wrap around below his wrist. Chat would be okay with just lying there forever and letting Marinette do whatever she wanted to him. Oh god, not like that. Head out of the gutter.
She seemed to examine his face, tracing her finger over the scar above his eyebrow, at the edge of the velvet of his mask. Chat held his breath.
Marinette pulled away suddenly as if she just realized what she was doing.
“I – um, ran out of band-aids. I’m gonna run downstairs and grab some.” She backed away towards the door, almost as if afraid. “I have a whole stash in the bakery – I’m really clumsy, I’m always falling and cutting myself,” Marinette laughed nervously, pulling her phone out. He nodded, but she had already left, leaving Chat alone with his thoughts.
Which really primarily consisted of has Marinette always been this pretty? And why did she care this much about him? And there’s no way I can think about Marinette that way, what about Ladybug?
Chat’s head was starting to hurt, and he figured it wasn’t just from his injuries. He could feel his eyes slowly drooping and the ibuprofen Marinette had given him kicking in.
***