The music room was mostly dark, lit only by the golden glow of a hallway lamp. Adrien leaned on the piano, Luka sitting on the bench beside his guitar, plucking something soft and low.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
"I like this room," Adrien said.
"Me too," Luka replied. "Things feel… slower here."
Adrien turned toward him, heart racing.
"You always know what to say."
Luka gave him a quiet smile. "You always act like you don't."
Adrien let out a breathy laugh. "I don't always know how I feel."
"But you feel it."
Adrien nodded.
Their eyes met. The space between them seemed to shrink.
Luka leaned in — just a few inches.
So did Adrien.
The tension was thick. Soft. Real.
Lips just inches away—
SLAM.
"Adrien? You still in here?" Nino's voice broke in from the hallway. "Dude, rehearsal's over, are you—"
Adrien jumped back like he'd been electrocuted.
Luka's face dropped — but only a little. He recovered fast.
Adrien, flushed and shaky, mumbled something and stood.
"I—uh—see you tomorrow?"
Luka nodded, his voice calm but eyes dimmed. "Tomorrow."
Later that night, Paris was quiet. Too quiet.
Chat Noir and Ladybug landed on a rooftop near the Seine, having just stopped a minor akuma. The air felt heavier than usual.
Ladybug stood facing the river, silent. Her arms were crossed, jaw tight.
Chat tilted his head, watching her.
"You've been… different," he said. "Ever since that musical started. Ever since he showed up."
Ladybug tensed. "I'm just tired."
"No, it's more than that."
He stepped closer. "Did I do something wrong?"
Her voice was a whisper. "No. You didn't."
"Then what is it?" Chat asked, softer now. "Is it someone else?"
Silence.
"Bugaboo… I just want the truth."
Ladybug turned, slowly.
Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight. "I used to think I knew exactly who I wanted."
Chat's heart beat faster. "And now?"
"Now I don't know," she said, voice breaking. "Because everything I thought was simple isn't. And the more I try to pretend it is, the more I hurt people."
He stepped back slightly, the weight of her words crashing in slow motion.
"So… you don't feel the same anymore?"
She looked at him — not as a hero. But as a boy she wanted to love. As a boy who'd waited for her.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what I feel anymore."
He said nothing. Just stared.
"I'm sorry," she added.
And he smiled, heartbroken but kind.
"It's okay," he said, lying like a hero but somehow this time he didn't felt sad.