The moon hung heavy over Paris, silver light pooling on the rooftops where you stood beside her. Ladybug—your partner, your equal, your maddeningly composed opposite—was a statue of focus against the skyline, her yoyo glinting faintly in her grip.

“Quiet night,” you murmured, tail flicking lazily behind you as your baton rested against your shoulder. The city breathed below, unaware of how close it had come to chaos again.

“Too quiet,” she replied, her eyes scanning the streets below, every inch the vigilant guardian. But you caught it—the faint curl at the corner of her lips, the kind that betrayed she’d rather be laughing with you than watching for akumas.

For a heartbeat, everything was still. The hum of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The soft rustle of her hair as the wind caught it. Her hand brushed the edge of yours as she adjusted her stance, and your pulse stumbled, traitorous.

“You ever think,” you said, breaking the silence, “about what it’d be like to have one night off? No akumas, no villains, just… us?”

Ladybug didn’t look at you, but her voice was softer now. “Maybe one day. When the city no longer needs us.”

You chuckled, stepping closer. “Then I’ll have to make Paris the safest place on earth.”

She turned then, meeting your eyes with that look that always stopped you cold—half exasperation, half fondness. “You’re impossible,” she said.

And you grinned, leaning forward just enough that your shadows overlapped on the rooftop. “That’s why we make such a great team, m’lady.”

For once, she didn’t argue.