Peeping Tomcat - Teaser

She doesn't realize I watch her, and, frankly, I probably shouldn't be.


It was getting late when I woke up. Plagg was munching away on some cheese, nested within a  Camembert cardboard container resting on my desk. I didn't even know how he managed to get it. I didn't care to know. It was hours after I returned from the battle, and he clearly had time to eat.

Without any of the fervor I normally had, I held up my hand. “Plagg,” I sighed, almost afraid to say the next two words. “Claws out.”

He got sucked into my ring and a green light glowed around me. I didn't go through my normal joyous routine of spreading my mask on, messing my hair as the ears popped up, or clawing at the air around me as I was draped in my leather-like costume. Instead, I stood still with my arms straight out to each side and with my eyes closed; letting the transformation to just happen to me.

Once I was Chat Noir, I stood solemnly in the middle of my room. My eyes slowly raised to the open window I jumped through earlier. I knew where I needed to head, but I just wanted to hide in my bed again. I had already failed Ladybug that day, I didn't want to add Marinette to the list.

“I have to. I can't keep doing this.” I took a deep breath and jumped up into the window. I scanned the streets. Maybe I was hoping that I would be distracted again, like when Marinette came to drop off the soup this afternoon.

My stomach dropped into my knees. Further proof that she was a much better friend. I would have never thought to bring her anything to help her recover from an illness. Man, I suck.

Choking down some bile, I leaped over to the fence around my house, and then another leap into the park leading to Marinette's house. I was at the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue in a minute or two, and I stood crouched on the pedestal as I stared up at her house. I prayed that she'd be asleep already. It was nearly eleven on a school night.

Thing is, black cats don't have good luck; kind of the point of my powers. The light was still on in Marinette's attic bedroom; flooding the top floor of the Dupain-Cheng bakery. This was it. This was going to be the last night I would creep up to Marinette's room. This was the last time I'd watch her without her knowledge. It was possibly the last time I'd see her as Chat Noir. I was finding it hard to swallow, but I used my baton to shoot myself up to the window facing Place des Vosges.

I landed just above the drain pipe that ran across the third floor, and secured my baton to my back. I motioned to tap on her window, but my fist stopped mid-air. She was dancing again. Dear lord, she was dancing in her room, and it made me freeze.

She had her pajamas on: little pink shorts with white cherry blossoms on them , and a matching white spaghetti top adorned with a black bow at the collar. She wasn't listening to Jagged Stone this time. It was electronica, but not the soulless sound of XY. It had a haunting synth whine, a gritty guitar melody, an empowering drum build, and mournful vocals. The whole thing pumped melancholic energy into the air, but it was somehow sensual at the same time.

And there she was, in those pajamas, dancing with the slow build of the music until it erupted into the pounding chorus riff before slowing down again. She skated across her bedroom floor like a ballerina transitioning into hip hop. Her hair was out of her pigtails, and the ebony locks cascaded over her shoulders, waving wildly as she tossed her head to the music. She jumped up onto her chaise before twirling and sliding back onto the floor. Landing with one knee in her computer chair, she spun it across her room, using her free foot to drag and direct the chair's dancing.

As she neared the window I was watching from, I ducked against the roof so she wouldn't notice me. Tonight was not the night to be caught. I couldn't confess simply because she caught me. I had to confess out of honest guilt. I pressed my head against the shingles of her roof and listened. I heard the pounding of the base beat, the sorrowful synth whine, and the encouraging pain in the singer's voice. There was also some padding of Marinette's bare feet against her floor as she danced. I didn't dare to look again; afraid she'd spot me. Instead I just stayed frozen against that roof, eyes closed, and picturing her dance. My heart raced.

Stop projecting, I scolded myself. I couldn't help it, though. Seeing the smooth lines of Marinette's bare arms and legs reminded me so much of my Ladybug that as I pictured her dancing around her room I didn't picture her in the pajamas. I pictured her gracefully leaping around her room in Ladybug's costume. Then I realized I was just picturing Ladybug in Marinette's room.

“What is wrong with me?” I softly hissed.

“Marinette?” I jumped and nearly fell off the building as I heard Mrs. Cheng's voice. I wasn't sure what would be worse: Marinette catching me peeping, or her parents. Mr. Dupain seemed like a gentle giant, but I definitely didn't want to see if he had a temper to match his build.

With my own jumping, I almost didn't notice Marinette getting just as startled; tripping over her backpack as her mother's voice broke the spell of agility the music had cast on her. As she always seemed to do while in her room, Marinette recovered with a few simple hops before catching her balance and standing on both feet again.

“Y-yeah, Mom?” She timidly called back down through her bedroom trapdoor.

“It's past eleven and you have school tomorrow. Turn off the music and go to bed already. You're late often enough as it is without being a night owl.” The woman's voice was stern but also soothed with concern. Anyone who heard it could tell that she meant business, but wasn't harsh about it.

“Sorry, Mom. You're right. I'll go to bed. Night. Love you.”

My heart sank past my stomach as I heard Marinette's response. It wasn't her voice, or how she replied with equal parts meek and energized. It was the fact that she had someone checking in on her to make sure she got enough sleep. It was the fact that Marinette had someone to say goodnight to. I couldn't recall the last time I saw my father past dinner. I don't remember if I've ever told him goodnight. Aside from Natalie on occasion, generally hours before I went to bed, when we realized we wouldn't see each other anymore that day, I don't think I said goodnight to anyone since Mom disappeared.

I choked back some tears as my pain was emphasized by the melancholic sound of the song Marinette was listening to. The song ended, and there was silence as Marinette turned her computer off. All at once, I wanted desperately to run into that room and just hug her; thank her for the last few moments and for attempting to give me the soup. I also wanted to stay pressed against her roof, or even climb to her balcony, and just rest there, knowing that I was at a loving home; the same reason I started coming to Marinette's house as Chat Noir in the first place. Finally, I wanted to take that warm feeling and just sprint home so it could tuck me in, and maybe I could get a good night's rest.

The only thing I was certain of was that I didn't want to ruin anything by confessing to Marinette what I had been doing. I couldn't throw away this sanctuary I built. I pushed myself into a pouncing position so I could hurry home before my conscious could kick in.

Then two words choked me into staying.

“Night, Tikki,” Marinette yawned softly in her room. She was already up in her bed on the other side of the attic bedroom. I wasn't actively paying attention. Yet the sudden stillness of the night made my heightened hearing zero in on those two words.

Night. Tikki. I knew that name sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure how. I didn't care how much of a creeper I was, I scurried up to her balcony and peeked in her skylight.

Marinette had already snuggled against the cat body pillow that curved along the head of her bed. Her eyes were closed as she curled into awaiting slumber. She was adorable, but my focus was on a small deep pink spot on the pillow next to her.

I couldn't tell what it was, but it had a bulbous head, and a small body with two arms and two legs, but no distinguishable hands or feet. On each side of it's face, and on its forehead, were large, black spots.

I forgot how to breathe. My heart stopped beating, but there was deafening pounding in my ears. My muscles locked up and became jelly at the same time. I felt like I was going to vomit. I felt like I was lighter than air. I was hot. I had a chill.

The pink thing looked so similar to Plagg's body type. I couldn't think of any other explanation: it was a kwami. It was Ladybug's kwami, just like Plagg was Chat Noir's. Just like Plagg was mine. This was Marinette's kwami. This was Ladybug.

I sprinted to the wall on the opposite side of Marinette's balcony and tried to force air back into my lungs. Paris spun around me, and I had to collapse to the floor.

“Plagg, claws in!” I was louder than I wanted, but managed to keep my voice low enough that it didn't seem like Marinette heard me. My voice was panicked, calm, excited, terrified, confident, and confused. There was also a bit of a prepubescent squeak that I hoped Plagg wouldn't tease me about. Thankfully, he had his own concerns.

“Was that?” His eyes were wide and pleading. I had never seen Plagg like this: just as shaken as I was. He was normally so lackadaisical that I hoped his lethargic nature would calm me. The kwami never failed to break my expectations of him as he zipped over to Marinette's skylight.

“It is her! It's Tikki!” Plagg's voice was strained as he fought back emotions, which, frankly, I didn't realize he had outside his love for Camembert. He lingered, silent, at the window.

“Plagg,” I whined, “Get back over here.”

He stayed by the window a long moment more before sadly drifting back over to me, keeping an eye on the window the whole time.

“That's- that's Ladybug's kwami, right?” My voice was tight as I mentally begged for him to tell me yes.

“That's Tikki.” He had a longing in his reply, a coo that had a joy behind it, like when he just had a good laugh at my expense.

“But Tikki is Ladybug's kwami, right? Does- Is Marinette Ladybug?” I wanted to reach out and grab him. I wanted to press him against my nose so he had to focus on me. I shook as I waited his confirmation.

His wistfulness broke away from him as if he just awoke from being Akumatized.

“You did it, Adrien! You found your Ladybug! Don't just sit here, come on, let's go tell her!”

My chest swelled with a warm burst and a chill ran up my back. She was right there. She was sleeping not even a meter below me. I had found her! I had found my Ladybug!

Why wasn't I excited? Why was I scared? Wasn't this the best of both worlds? I had always loved Ladybug, and I felt like I was betraying that love because I was growing a crush on Marinette. I didn't need to feel guilty; I was just falling for the other side of her.

Was I, though? I never thought about Marinette in a romantic sense before I started picturing her as Ladybug. Was that it? Did I only love her Ladybug side? I would want her to love both my Chat Noir and Adrien sides, but could I truly say that I loved both her Ladybug and Marinette sides?

“Plagg, Claws Out!”

“Adrien, wait-”

I was Chat Noir again before he could protest, and I raced home. I ran from Marinette. I ran from Ladybug. I ran from the Dupain-Cheng house. I ran from all the confusion. I ran.