"My Lady, wait!" Chat called as he touched down on the rooftop. Above them, the night sky was foggy with clouds, the street lights igniting the world below. They'd ended their patrol, Kubdel's words, though important, fading in the face of reality.
A reality they were all too familiar with and that Chat was growing weary of drowning in. They had goals now, and though such things didn't erase the pain and loss, it did well in posing a distraction.
Just as other things could.
Ladybug had stepped down ahead of him, balanced on a ledge before she turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. He was crouching on the same ledge, bending up until he was standing and placing a single hand flat against his chest.
"I have a question for you," he started, edging a sort of devious sprinkling through his consciousness. Which had her spinning fully on him with a skeptical brow and fists on her hips.
Smirking, he pushed all their heaviness down around his feet, quite as though he were surging to the surface for air. Any relief, no matter how light or seemingly insignificant, was worth working for. He knew from past experience that wallowing in sorrow would get them nowhere. They had to move on, if only by force.
Let the grief snap and drag at their heels—he knew they could pull forward.
"This inquiry is of a more intimate nature and I view it as only proper that I get strict permission from you on the subject," he explained, smirking as he bowed dramatically. Chivalry wasn't dead, after all. Not so long as it got him huffing indignation from his lovely lady.
"Just spit it out, Chat," she said, losing patience like sand sifting through a holey sack.
Finishing his bow, he straightened before clearing his throat. "If you recall, it was exactly one week ago tonight that you and I found ourselves mildly undressed in a lake just outside the city."
Her eyes widened at his words, a deep flush assaulting her cheeks below her mask. "Chat!" she hissed, looking around—as though there could possibly be someone close enough to overhear.
"It's a night that I look back on in great fondness," he continued, causing her to slam her palm against her forehead. "And so I have a proposition for you."
He could feel her thoughts biting at his own. It was a feeling easily ignored.
Holding up a knowing finger, he went on. "It was during this time that you gave me permission-"
You begged me, he corrected himself mentally, which earned him a glare.
"-to touch your breasts."
"Oh my god," she muttered, reeling around on her heel before she covered her face with her hands.
"As a result of this fortuitous event, I propose this—If you're agreeable to the idea, I would like permission to touch the aforementioned breasts whenever I please." Moaning into her hands, she sank down into a crouch. He could practically see the steam rolling up from beneath her hair and it took all his self-control not to burst out laughing. "Touching that would include but not be limited to: petting, groping, squeezing-"
Ugh, stop! You're so embarrassing!
"-holding, cuddling, sleeping-"
"Shut up!" she squawked, causing him to falter. "Someone is going to hear you!"
"But I'm not finished."
Then just think it at me!
"Well, I want things to be one-hundred percent clear, My Lady."
