It was strange—standing on the opposite side of the mask. The city below shimmered beneath the moonlight, and Paris felt different somehow, though maybe it was just the way she carried herself. Lady Noir. Confident. Reckless. Flirtatious in a way Ladybug never allowed herself to be.

And you—Mister Bug—felt the weight of responsibility like a hand pressing down on your shoulders. Calm, strategic, composed. You weren’t used to it, but it fit, almost alarmingly well.

She perched on the railing, tail swishing lazily behind her as she smirked. “You know,” she purred, “the Miraculous really does change your personality…”

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That so?”

“Mm-hm.” She hopped down, landing gracefully beside you, her gloved finger tapping against your chest. “You’re serious. Focused. Responsible.” Her grin widened. “Kinda hot, actually.”

“Funny,” you countered, trying not to smile, “I was about to say you’re impulsive, unpredictable, and have no respect for the plan.”

“Aw, you noticed,” she teased, spinning her staff idly. “Guess we both have a type.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Just try not to get yourself killed out there, Lady Noir. I’m not sure I could pull off another miraculous cure if you decide to make it interesting.”

She winked, backing away toward the edge of the rooftop. “Where’s the fun if I don’t?”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she vaulted into the night—silver eyes gleaming beneath the mask, laughter echoing between the rooftops.

And as you watched her disappear into the Paris skyline, you couldn’t help but admit—she was right. The Miraculous did change you. Maybe for the better. Maybe for her.