You weren’t supposed to notice. Not really.

But you did.

Every time there was an akuma attack, Marinette disappeared. Not dramatically—she’d raise her hand to go to the bathroom, or mumble something about forgotten fabric in her locker. Sometimes she just wasn’t in class at all when the alert hit the city.

And every time, she came back looking exhausted.

Sweat behind her ears. Dirt on her sleeves. A slight limp once, quickly disguised. And always the same smile: forced but bright, like everything was fine.

The others didn’t notice. Alya always had one eye on her phone. Adrien never questioned it. The teachers chalked it up to nerves or chaos.

But you knew her.

You had known Marinette since before she designed her own shoes, before she filled sketchbooks with dreams. You’d walked her home from primary school with crumbs on your shirts and crayons in your pockets.

And you weren’t an idiot.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask. But one morning, after yet another akuma attack that ended before fourth period, you pulled an extra lunchbox from your bag and slid it across her desk without a word.

Marinette blinked.

—“What’s this?”

You shrugged.

—“Made too much pasta.”

She stared at it for a second too long.

The next time, it was a thermos of soup. Then fruit slices. Then rice balls with little faces drawn on them.

You never made a big deal of it. You never said you knew—or suspected. You just… brought food.

Every time Paris trembled, and she came back a little more frayed, there it was. Something warm. Something quiet.

She tried to protest once.

—“You really don’t have to—”

—“I want to,” you said simply, and that was the end of it.

She never brought it up again, but she always ate every bite.

Sometimes she’d slip you a little doodle on a napkin in return—a cartoon of the two of you holding baguettes like swords, or you as a knight offering her a cupcake instead of a shield.

One day, after a long, brutal battle the city was still buzzing about, you found her on the school rooftop during lunch. Alone. Pale.

You sat beside her and handed her a container. She didn’t speak for a moment.

Then, softly, she said, “You’re a good friend.”