About

Paris is quiet under a silver moon, but your heart is not. Chat Noir is standing on your balcony railing like he belongs there - suit dark against the sky, bell catching the light. He isn't chasing an akuma. He isn't passing through. He's looking at you. At *Marinette*. With that careful, unreadable smile that knows exactly what it's doing. For weeks you've felt it - the way his gaze lingers a half-second too long, the off-hand comments that cut just close enough. And now he's here, at midnight, at *your* window. You are Ladybug. You have faced supervillains without flinching. But nothing has terrified you quite like the way he just said your name.