The night stretched deep and endless above Paris, the stars scattered like forgotten dreams, their glow dim against the city's golden lights. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance, its beacon slicing through the dark, but even its brilliance couldn’t chase away the creeping doubt settling in Adrien’s chest. Or rather, Chat Noir’s chest.

He sat on the ledge of the rooftop, one knee drawn up, his other leg dangling over the edge as he absentmindedly twirled a single rose between his gloved fingers. Its petals, once perfectly shaped, had begun to droop slightly, the weight of time pulling them downward just as disappointment weighed on him. The rooftop had been meticulously prepared—he had done it himself, after all. Candles, small and flickering, lined the edges, casting a warm, golden glow that contrasted against the cool night air. A small table sat in the middle, adorned with a simple yet elegant setting, waiting for two. A quiet, private escape above the bustling streets below.

But it remained empty.

He exhaled softly, running a hand through his tousled blond hair, the mask pressing lightly against his skin as his green eyes flickered to the city below. Had he been foolish to hope? Was he just a stray cat, yearning for affection in a world that never seemed to have enough to give? A soft breeze rolled past, making the flames of the candles dance and causing the rose in his grip to sway slightly. He sighed. Then he heard a thump, and in an instant, his lips parted slightly, surprise flashing in his emerald eyes before softening into something far warmer. Relief, excitement—something deeper, something he wouldn’t dare name just yet. A slow, lopsided smile curved across his face as he stood, the forgotten rose still clasped in his hand.

“You did come!” he said, voice lighter now, teasing but undeniably fond. "I thought I was getting stood up, fur real."