Chat Blanc's Return

Sandboy and His Nightmares

Chat Blanc. It had happened more than months ago, yet the very image of him–the very idea–was enough to send Marinette into a spiraling panic that could last hours. At first, she had tried everything to get rid of his legacy–when she first came back from the alternate timeline where her kitty was alone and in pain for months.

(She would never forgive herself. Never will forgive herself for causing such a catastrophe.)

When she first got back, she had a breakdown. She tore the pictures on her corkboard in half, knocked over her sewing supplies, almost destroyed the miracle box's hiding place, pushed her chair to the other side of her room, and threw the trash can and its contents so they covered her entire floor. When she first got back, she hyperventilated, clenched her fists until crescent moons appeared on her palm, tore at her hair so much that at times strands fell out, cried and called out and begged that Chat Noir would pay her one of his random visits, if only to reassure that her kitty wasn't suffering alone for months and had a black suit, had green eyes, had blond hair, and had tan skin. That he didn't have a white suit, didn't have blue eyes, didn't have white hair, and that he didn't have pale skin. If only to prove that he didn't want her miraculous, didn't want to make the wish, didn't know her identity. To prove that it wasn't her fault that the timeline was destroyed, that the world had collapsed.

But he didn't appear that night. And he wouldn't for a while. Because sadly, this was one of the first nights Chat Noir didn't come to visit Marinette's balcony. (And he still hadn't come for six months, three weeks, and four days.) He doesn't plant his feet on her railing, attempting to be quiet so he doesn't wake Marinette (if she's asleep–which she never is), and he doesn't lightly tap on her skylight to be let in anymore. He doesn't sit on her lawnchair with his hands behind his head and his feet crossed, a relaxed face as he sleeps, and because he doesn't sleep there anymore, she can't cover him with a blanket and put a water bottle on the little table next to it, and she can't leave a few passionfruit macarons (She learned those are his favorite.) with a slice of camembert or brie or parmesan for his kwami. Because Chat Noir hasn't come by in two hundred and eight days, she can't grab the blanket that's neatly folded on the lawn chair, she can't clean up the couple of crumbs he always left even though he always tried to clean up after himself, and she can't read the little note he makes a conscious effort to leave in thanks.

("Thank you, Purrincess! This stray really appreciates it <3")

("You know if you feed a stray, they'll always come back; you've got yourself a reoccurring stray, Purrincess")

(You're the best, Mari. Thank you again. Sorry for all the trouble")

(Every time, if he came inside, she would reassure him it was no trouble. But still, he would always gush about how much he appreciates it.)

His notes always had a paw print (a signature he only did for her, because normally, he either signed with CN or Chat Noir) and a random doodle. Sometimes it was a crown, sometimes a heart, sometimes another paw print. But now, since he's gone, all Marinette had to look at were the letters she placed under her lamp, away from prying eyes; where no one could look at them. They were for her and her alone; only she was allowed to read the handwritten letters in his near-perfect penmanship that he wrote especially for her. Only she was allowed to see the words he crossed out when he made a mistake and the little faces he drew whenever he messed up (a sweat mark or an apologetic person or cat). Only she was allowed to see the way he would dot the i in purrincess with a heart. Only she was allowed to see the way he would doodle flowers along the border because "if she ever put it in her room, it needs to match her aesthetic."

(She had told him she loved the letters one time when they were playing go fish with a random deck of cards she found. He said he would start to make them pretty (as if they weren't already) just in case she put them on her wall or if someone saw them.)