Music glossary:

Nocturne: A musical composition that is inspired by, or evocative of, the night, in which emotions are private, subtle, and understated.

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(Mood Music: Love Me - Yiruma)

Chat stirred, groaning weakly, slowly ebbing from the edge of unconsciousness into a sea of confusion.

Where am I? Am I alive?

His head ached. Memories were fuzzy, as if he were trying to view them from across a great, impenetrable fog. He willed his eyes to open, only to wince from a flash of stinging pain behind. Time to make use of his other senses, he supposed.

The atmosphere was calm and quiet; the gentle smattering of rain clinked off of roofs creating a pleasant white noise. He lay on something that was soft and comfortable and smelled like lavender, smelled like... home. He loved that smell. He inhaled deeply, wanting more. More. More of this soothing, delightful air. More of this tranquility. More of this safe feeling. He ached for it; hungered for it.

Despite the pain in his body, it was difficult to remember when he'd last felt this at peace. He chose to indulge and stay this way for a while; not asleep yet not quite awake, cozily drowsing in the realm of in-between. The real world could wait.

Time passed; he wasn't sure how long. This was the first time in years that he'd slept without any nightmares, and it was glorious. Could it have something to do with his current location? He couldn't be sure, but it was a possibility.

Finally deciding he was ready to face whatever was out there, he decided to try to open his eyes again, this time succeeding. It was dark; his sight blurry. Squinting, his view came into focus and he regained his feline night-vision.

Wait. Night vision?

It dawned on him: somehow, he was still transformed.

Scrunching his eyebrows in puzzlement, he examined his surroundings, searching for clues to try to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. The decor looked rather familiar. However, under dim lighting, it looked a bit different and he couldn't quite place it. He was pretty sure he'd been here before; but when?

The last thing he remembered was... did he really speak with Marinette? Or did he imagine her sweet and caring presence while in his semi-conscious haze, hallucinating to console himself into thinking that he wouldn't die alone and in agony?

In any case, he knew that the next part had been real: there was pain. So much pain. He had begged for it to stop, begged for anyone to help, even begged for mercy and release.

And then, when it finally stopped... he recalled lithe yet powerful arms holding him, drawing him close and protected, shielding him from the cold. And he felt weightless, like he was flying; the unmistakable smell of rain mixed with the subtle yet distinct tones of cherry blossom. How much of this had been a dream? Thinking on it with a sober mind, that last bit definitely sounded too beautiful to have been real.

But the burning question remained unanswered. What happened? How am I alive?

As he continued trying to piece together what had occurred, he felt something lightly squeeze his hand; something soft and warm.

There, asleep at his side, body halfway splayed across the bed and halfway dangling to the floor, was a woman with long, dark tresses, illuminated almost ethereally by moonlight; her graceful fingers still interlocked with his. Her hand twitched again, squeezing his once more. A tiny, sleepy moan escaped her lips as she turned her head towards him, face still obscured by hair that had fallen across her delicate features.

Brows quirking inquisitively, he idly wondered who she was. It looked like... Could it be...?

Ladybug?

The young woman's eyes popped open and she jolted into a seated position, spine ramrod straight. Her head whipped around and her eyes locked on his like magnets, blinking in surprise.

Oh. He'd said that out loud.

She let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her hand shot up to her temple (with Chat immediately missing its softness and warmth) and she breathed out in surprise, "You're awake!!"

He blinked in recognition.

"M-Marinette?" His voice was deep, raspy and sore, as if he'd been coughing.

Or screaming...?

Marinette quickly wiped away some drool from her chin, then smoothed and tucked some stray hair behind her ears (which didn't do much for the remainder of her almost comical bedhead, but he wasn't about to mention that) stammering, "Marinette! Y-yeah, that's me! Hah! Haha... N-nice to meet you?"

Chat blinked. "H-hi..." he replied sheepishly, curling in on himself.

More nervous laughter. Flustered and still attempting to finger-comb her hair and rid her nightshirt from the myriad of wrinkles, she continued, "A-although I guess we may have already met, since you know my name."

Her movements ceased and she hesitated. Cocking an eyebrow, she asked with a more tempered voice, " we know each other?"

Now it was Chat's turn to fluster and stammer. He fidgeted with an edge of the bedcovers, looking everywhere but at her.

"I'm— that is, we-we've— I mean..."

His chest felt tight. Despite all his crimes, all of his sins and his shame, part of him wanted to tell her; wanted someone to know. Someone who had nothing to do with any of this horrible mess. And it might as well be Marinette, who he cared for immensely and trusted implicitly. She'd be the perfect confidante.

However... it was because he loved his friend that he knew he couldn't. He couldn't place that kind of burden on her. And it pained him. More than he could express.

He groaned, exhaling deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. With a melancholic heaviness to his voice, he replied quietly, "I shouldn't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Oh, right..." Marinette said faintly, trying to hide her disappointment. But as always, the poor girl wore her heart on her sleeve and could never conceal her feelings no matter how hard she tried, for better or worse. She looked away guiltily, almost seeming upset at herself for having asked in the first place.

Chat felt awful. She had every right to ask that question, especially after he'd blurted out her name before passing out. Why wouldn't she be curious? It just didn't feel fair that he had an advantage over her like this.

He explained further, partly to remind himself, "I don't want you and your family to be in danger from Hawkmoth if he were to somehow find out that you helped me."

Marinette shyly hummed in affirmation as she shifted, clearly stiff from having fallen asleep in a half seated position. Letting out a small grunt, she stretched out her legs and wiggled her feet to get the circulation flowing again.

She shrugged timidly. "My legs are asleep," she muttered with a lopsided but good-natured smile. Chat's eyes were drawn to the movement; her socks were pink, fuzzy, and had a pattern of tiny, rainbow-colored macarons.

He smiled back affectionately. She's so adorable.

She looked up at him, aqua blue meeting glowing emerald green.

"He did this to you, didn't he?" she stated plainly, not really a question, changing the atmosphere of the room completely; he could have sworn her voice had an almost murderous tone to it.

Chat's eyes blew wide.

She's sharp.

There was no use in trying to deny it, was there? He knew she was too smart for that. She'd always had an uncanny ability to figure him out, and apparently that extended to his alter-ego.

Opening his mouth to reply, he stopped, having absolutely no idea how to even begin. How could he possibly recount everything that happened? Not to mention it would require having to disclose his relationship to Hawkmoth, which was out of the question. But Marinette deserved some kind of explanation, after everything she'd done for him.

"He won't get away with it, you know," she said before he could answer. "Ladybug's gonna kick his ass," she declared with certainty, not a single doubt in her mind.

Chat barked out a laugh despite himself. This girl is something else.

He hummed in amusement. "I'll bring the popcorn," he quipped with a smirk.

She smiled fondly at him, although he wasn't sure why she would. He'd done so many terrible things in the past. But somehow, she'd taken him in regardless; even treated him like a regular person. He grinned back widely. She really was remarkable.

"Marinette..." He hesitated, face shifting into a thoughtful expression. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she replied, folding her hands over her lap.

His lips set in a hard line. "Why are you helping me?" he asked bluntly.

"I..." She looked down briefly, as if deep in thought. She finally replied, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I... I'm a bad person," he answered matter-of-factly.

Marinette shook her head resolutely. "No. I don't think you are."

"But I'm a criminal," he insisted, looking away in shame. "You could have taken my miraculous and left me in that alley, or turned me in to the police instead of bringing me into your home and taking care of me," he stated, entirely perplexed.

A corner of her mouth quirked upwards and she shrugged. "My best friend once told me that 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.'"

Chat's eyes went round, then he chuckled incredulously. Quoting comic book heroes to a supervillain was such a Marinette thing to do.

"And," she continued, eyes brimming with sincerity. "I think you're one of the good people too."

Chat gasped slightly, breath catching in his throat, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to rise up, and he had to keep himself from trembling at her words.

"I..." He looked down, face flushed. "Th-thank you. I'm... not used to being around people as Chat Noir. Much less having them be nice to me." He ran his hands up and down his arms apprehensively. "I don't deserve it."

He felt her touch his forearm, pulling his attention back to her. "Everyone deserves compassion," she said softly. "And everyone deserves a second chance."

His gaze bore into hers, eyes filled with awe and admiration. He sighed shakily, his lips breaking into a grateful smile. "You're so much kinder than I ever realized."

Clearly caught off guard from his heartfelt compliment, Marinette shrunk into herself slightly, a bright blush quickly spreading across her cheeks, and she muttered a quiet thanks.

Deciding to move on from that subject, Marinette rose to turn on a nearby light switch, clearing her throat and stating authoritatively, "Come on, let's sit you up. I need to check your bandages."

"Bandages?" he asked with upturned eyebrows. He looked down at his torso. And then his arms. All were bare save for the glove on his right hand (where he wore his miraculous and, thus, hadn't been removed).

He paused, still staring at his uncovered skin, as if trying to solve a difficult mathematical equation to no avail.

"Why am I naked?"

Marinette squeaked, high like a mouse, wildly waving her hands in rebuttal. "N-NOT ALL THE WAY NAKED!!! W-we had to dress your wounds, so naturally we had to r-remove a few articles of clothing!" she stammered.

He chanced a peek under the bedcovers and his eyes grew wide. He heard Marinette squeak (again) as she turned away in embarrassment. Had there always been underpants under the suit, or was that a new thing...? Did their miraculous always conjure up magical undergarments along with their outfits and he just never knew about it?

Chat scrunched his brows in disbelief. "My clothes can come off?!?" he cried in sheer bewilderment, as if the thought had never occurred to him before.

"D-DO YOU HAVE TO WORD IT THAT WAY??!" Marinette screeched, hiding behind her hands in mortification.

In spite of all the confusion and awkwardness, Chat couldn't help but snicker. There's the Marinette he saw so often as Adrien. So expressive and dramatic and just fun to be around, always able to find a way to make him laugh when he was having a rough day.

Composing herself somewhat, Marinette explained, "There's a zipper, remember?"

Chat's eyes widened. Oh, yeah... there was a zipper back there. He'd never paid it any mind; it was just... there. But, as far as he'd known, it was purely aesthetic.

"The zipper works??"

Marinette spluttered incoherently and, due to her temporary inability to speak, pointed towards a side table where his clothes laid, demonstrating that his clothes and boots were indeed removable.

Chat quirked an eyebrow. "Huh. I guess so."

After regaining her ability to formulate sentences again, Marinette cleared her throat and remarked, "We were going to launder them, but the– uh... stains and tears disappeared on their own within a couple of hours."

Chat stared at the folded suit across the room. "I... I didn't know they could do that," Chat murmured, voice full of wonder.

Marinette replied pensively, "Yeah, it must be part of the miraculous' powers. I never knew it either." Her eyes popped wide open after saying this, and she added somewhat skittishly, "Umm, I mean– obviously wouldn't have known! That ring of yours sure is nifty! I wish my clothes cleaned themselves too!" She gave an odd sort of laugh, which he clumsily echoed back.

There was a weighty pause where all they could do was stare at each other while smiling unnaturally, both waiting for the other to break the sudden silence.

Finally, it appeared as though Marinette gave up on the pretense that this was a normal conversation, cringing at her own awkwardness with a groan.

She spoke, this time with a normal voice, "Sorry, I guess I'm still kind of nervous. I've never had a superhero in my house before."

Chat scoffed. "I'm not sure where you got that idea, but I'm no hero," he said, voice full of self-loathing and disdain.

Marinette sat next to him on the bed. "But you're with Ladybug now, aren't you? That makes you a superhero by technicality."

"How... how did you know that?" he asked, eyes narrowing in puzzlement.

Marinette shrugged, tilting her head. "Well, somehow I doubt you're still Hawkmoth's friend after what he did to you."

"N-no, I suppose not..." The memory bore down on him like a physical weight, vividly reminding him of how far apart he and his father had grown over the years until it became a towering, impassable wall.

"I saw you earlier today, at the akuma attack," Marinette explained. "It must've been really hard to defy him like that."

Chat gave her a small smile. "I've gotta admit, I didn't realize it would go down the way it did," he confessed. "But in spite of everything, of what he did to me, and even if you hadn't found me and saved my life, I'd... I'd still do it again. I just couldn't live with the guilt anymore."

Marinette took his hand, squeezing lightly. "I'm so sorry you went through all that," she spoke almost in a whisper, voice full of sympathy and sadness. "It must be so difficult."

Chat looked down at their hands and squeezed back, trying to swallow the large lump in his throat lest he get his emotions get the better of him.

"I appreciate you saying that," he replied quietly. "This is far from over though. He won't let me go so easily. I know he won't."

Marinette chewed on her bottom lip, deep in thought. "I don't know what kind of leverage Hawkmoth has over you, but I want to help you," she offered. "Do you have any family you can contact? I don't have to know who they are, but I can still help you call them or meet up with them."

"I–" Chat stopped. Family? There was no other family. Except maybe...

Nathalie. I can try contacting her anonymously. But how would I do that? Father will be monitoring her calls. I need to figure out some way to let her know that I'm alright.

"There is one person. She's my– uhh... aunt. But Hawkmoth is able to check her phone history, maybe even listen in on her conversations; I don't know exactly how much control he has over all of that."

Marinette completed his train of thought, "And if you called from here, he'd become suspicious, since it would be a random, unknown number. Hmm..."

Chat crossed his arms, thinking. "A burner phone, maybe? Or... are payphones still a thing?"

Marinette shrugged. "I haven't seen one in ages; I have no idea where we'd even find one."

She tapped her chin, and Chat had to stop himself from snorting in amusement at the way her face always scrunched up (amplified by a cute, exaggerated pout) whenever the hamster wheels turned in her head.

"Maybe you can create a new email account and send her an encrypted message from a public place with free Wi-Fi, like a library or café," she proposed.

"That might work. Hawkmoth is..." He wrinkled his nose in antipathy. "He's a pretty powerful man with a lot of connections. But that might be safe enough."

Marinette pursed her lips in vexation and exhaled heavily, making a raspberry noise. "Well, let's worry about that tomorrow. We got a bit off track with checking your bandages."

"Oh, right." He pushed the covers down to his waist in preparation.

He hissed in pain as he attempted to sit up, but Marinette gently placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Hold on, let me help you. The wounds on your midsection are still pretty fresh and we don't want to make them worse."

With a tentative smile, she scooted herself across from him, gently wrapping her arms around his upper torso, and pulled him up slowly. With a wince, he tried to assist her as much as he could, straining to flex his back and stomach muscles, pushing himself forward. The big, deep gash on his torso made it difficult, but thankfully, Marinette was much stronger than he'd expected, which made the task quite a bit easier.

When they finally succeeded, his head swam from the exertion, exacerbated by the blood loss from the day before. Marinette caught him as he drooped forward, holding him chest to chest. He exhaled in relief, impulsively hugging her in return.

"Are you alright, Chat? Is this too uncomfortable?"

He shook his head. "I'm okay. Just got a little woozy for a sec," he replied, slurring a bit in his slight haze.

"Take as much time as you need," she replied with a soft, soothing voice. "Let me know when you're ready."

He took a few moments to enjoy the closeness and bliss from one of her trademark all-encompassing and near-curative Marinette Hugs. The type of hug that was reserved for her closest friends and family. His curiosity about why she would choose to gift one to Chat Noir was won over by the enjoyment of the warmth and pleasant tingles that spread throughout his body. The kind of feeling you'd get from drinking the richest, most delectable hot chocolate while wrapped up in the plushest of blankets. It almost made Chat forget that he wasn't Adrien at the moment.