The rooftop echoed with the clash of staff against baton, the sound sharp in the night air.

You were focused—locked in a training match with Tempest Fox, one of the newest Miraculous holders. Fast, unpredictable, a little cocky. But good. Really good.

Chat Noir watched from a nearby ledge, arms crossed, tail flicking behind him.

At first, it was curiosity.

Then it was annoyance.

Then it was something uglier.

He jumped down mid-sparring, landing between you and Tempest Fox with a lazy smirk.

—“Careful, new guy. Don’t bruise the pretty face.”

Tempest blinked, startled.

—“It’s just training, dude.”

Chat Noir twirled his baton.

—“Still. Wouldn’t want anyone getting too close.”

You narrowed your eyes.

—“We were fine.”

—“Were you?” he said lightly. “Because it looked more like flirting than fighting.”

Tempest scoffed.

—“Okay, I’m out. I didn’t sign up for jealousy drills.”

He saluted you with two fingers and disappeared over the ledge, vanishing into the dark.

You turned on Chat, hands on your hips.

—“What. Was that.”

He avoided your gaze, twirling his baton like it could distract from his entire energy shift.

—“Just keeping an eye on things,” he muttered.

—“Don’t lie to me,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been off all night. First you interrupt, then you act like you’re marking territory.”

He met your eyes then—something fierce and vulnerable burning behind his usual bravado.

—“Do you want to know what’s wrong?” he snapped.

You didn’t answer. You just waited.

And then he said it—low, almost like it hurt coming out:

—“What’s wrong is that I can’t stand watching you train, laugh, breathe next to someone that isn’t me.”

Silence.

You stared at him, stunned.

He looked away, jaw tight.

—“I know it’s stupid. I know we’re teammates, and I shouldn’t feel this. But I do. And I can’t switch it off.”