Stuck on the Puzzle

Sleep

Ladybug wondered how Chat Noir viewed her.

For the past few days, she'd felt guilty. A heavy rock that weighed at the bottom of her lungs, sitting there in unexplained silence. And finally, she realized why.

All this time, she just saw Chat Noir as a joker. As a superhero. She never wondered who he was under the mask. She never thought he could be something more than a flirting, crime-fighting feline boy. And she knew that was her fault. Chat Noir was always there for her, always by her side, always compassionate and kind. So why did she trivialize him? It was so easy to push him aside in her mind, flatten him into a smiling burlesque, rather than accept that there was a complex web of history, emotions, and thoughts compressed into a cat-shaped suit.

She realized, to an extent, that it wasn't just difficult to see past the jokes and the mask- she wanted to believe that that was all he was. Because he was heroic, and kind, and he made her laugh, and that could make things complicated. Especially from someone she didn't even know. From someone who constantly risked his own safety alongside her. Maybe it was right, to keep things professional. But she doubted she could now.

Did he see her then, as just a sharp-tongued heroine? A figure to inspire the Parisian people, to provide some sense of safety and insurance? Or did he constantly consider the fact that the masks hides someone ordinary, someone plain, someone clumsy, someone flawed?

She patrolled the streets of Paris, quiet under the dark blue sky, watching absentmindedly for signs of distress and peril. She felt an arm around her, and jumped back.

"Good evening, my lady," Chat Noir greeted, smiling crookedly. Disheveled locks of blonde hair framed his eyes, messily covering his forehead. His green eyes almost seemed to glow like neon signs in the dark. He always looked the same.

Ladybug rolled her eyes and continued to patrol.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, leaning forward playfully, searching her face.

"Go ahead," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

"In a bad mood?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

She sighed. "We're supposed to be heroes, right?"

"We are heroes," he said.

"That means we're constantly putting ourselves in danger. That we only come out when someone's at risk. That we have to provide hope, and inspiration, and safety."

"I think we do that pretty well."

"Is that how you see me?"

Chat blinked, his eyes round and almost child-like. He seemed so innocent. "Of course," he said.

"But that's not me. I'm clumsy, and I'm quiet. I'm not good at talking, and I'm always messing up, and I get scared so often of the silliest things-"

"Hey," Chat interrupted. "You can't be perfect. No one can. I'm not."

"But I'm supposed to be."

He laughed and shook his head. His hair flounced around his face. "You're not supposed to be anything," he said. "You're a good person, Ladybug. You care about people and you keep them safe, even if you're scared or uncertain. I mean, how many times have I seen you completely at a loss when your Lucky Charm turns out to be some weird, useless thing? But you always do what you can to help people. That's why everyone loves you- for who you are, not some image you're pretending to be. You're not just a poster child." Then he froze and turned bright red. "Oh man, I really am a motivational speaker."