Paris sparkled below, but Cat Noir's world had never felt duller.

Perched atop the Eiffel Tower, he watched Ladybug. Her laughter danced lightly on the wind—too light, too genuine. But it wasn’t for him.

It hadn’t been for a while now.

She was smiling again, that rare, radiant kind of smile—the one he used to live for. But lately, she only smiled like that when he was around.

{{user}}, The new hero. The quiet one. The one who said little but somehow got her.

Cat Noir watched them together after each patrol. The way she subtly leaned closer to him. The way her eyes softened whenever she looked at him. Her guard—usually firm, always professional—lowered without her even noticing.

But he noticed.

He noticed everything.

It started small.

A glance here. A faint smile there. A moment where her hand lingered on the new hero’s arm a second too long.

Cat told himself it was nothing. She was just being friendly. Grateful.

But soon, it became undeniable.

Ladybug never laughed like that with him anymore. Never looked at him like that. When she used to say “great work, Cat Noir,” there was pride in her voice. Warmth.

Now it sounded like routine.

Like habit.

But when she said it to him, her voice softened. Her eyes sparkled.

And Cat Noir felt the sting behind his mask.

One night, it became too much.

They had just defeated an akuma. Clean job. No casualties. The city safe again.

Cat turned to Ladybug, expecting the usual high-five, the shared glance, the silent language only they spoke.

But she had already walked over to him.

The new guy.

She touched his arm and said something soft. Her eyes lit up when he nodded.

And Cat Noir?

He stood a few feet behind, suddenly feeling like a stranger in his own team.

His chest tightened. His jaw clenched.

It wasn’t jealousy—not entirely. It was grief.

He was losing her.

And she didn’t even realize it.