Our Own Rules
“Do you ever think about if we’d never been chosen?”
Chat Noir glanced up over his cup of cocoa, the plastic flask warming the tips of his fingers against a cold Parisian night. The pair sat, side-by-side, as they always did on a night patrol. Always close, never together.
The season was turning, the nights grew dark, and it appeared as though Ladybug was in one of her pensive moods.
“Something got you worried Bugaboo?”
His partner and long-time friend shook her head. Her eyes didn’t meet his, and Chat Noir squirmed in his seat. Before, they’d let the conversation lull itself into a comfortable silence. But now it wasn’t so. Now there were things unspoken, left lingering like the leaves currently falling from the treetop Chat’s toes skimmed.
“Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I was never picked,” she elaborated. The breeze picked up, loosening a strand of hair from her braid and Chat’s fingers gripped his cocoa like a lifeline. He inhaled, trying to focus on the words she said, looking up in time to see her waving her hand. “I mean, there’s so many girls in Paris, right? Sometimes I wonder what made me so special, what I’d be doing if I wasn’t sat here with you. What if I’d never become all of this. Do you ever think about stuff like that?”
Chat pondered on it for a moment, a thousand different confessions tried to force their way off his tongue, if you’d never become Ladybug, I wouldn’t have met you and life would be so much worse. I’m so glad I’m sat here with you. I’m content with this. This is all I need. I promise. I promise. Do you regret it? Do you regret me?
The confessions never left his mouth. He’d once professed his love to her on a near daily basis, when he’d been young and hadn’t known any better, hadn’t understood there was difference between forcing your love on someone and being honest about your feelings. It was one of his deepest regrets, and it had all come to a head three years ago when Ladybug had all but exploded at him. His gut twisted as he remembered her tears, her anger, her fear.
It was then that he’d truly understood. She couldn’t reciprocate. Even if she did return his feelings, they couldn’t be together. The city, their mission, was too important, bigger than the both of them. And he’d put all of that on her, had forced her to make that choice every time he’d blurted out his emotions without thinking.
He’d hurt her, and he would never do it again.
So he kept his stupid mouth shut, and never let it slip. But sometimes, sometimes he got close. Sometimes he was tempted. Sometimes she asked questions like this… and he almost damned himself all over again.
This was dangerous.