The Crash
The rain was coming down so hard it sounded like stones hitting the roof. It was one of those nights where the wind screamed through the cracks in the window frames, making everything in Marinette's room feel cold and damp.
She was trying to fix a broken zipper on a jacket, but her fingers were freezing. The heater was making a clicking sound, but it wasn't doing much. She stood up to grab a sweater from her bed when the trapdoor on her ceiling suddenly flew open with a bang.
A wet, black shape tumbled through the opening.
Marinette didn't even have time to scream. Chat Noir crashed right into her. He hit her with enough force to send them both flying back. She slammed into the hard floor, and he landed right on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs.
He was heavy—solid muscle and freezing leather. His face was buried in the side of her neck, and she could feel his icy breath against her skin.
"Chat?" she gasped, her hands grabbing his shoulders to push him off.
He groaned, a low sound that vibrated against her chest. He tried to push himself up, but his gloves were slick with rain. He slipped, his arm buckling, and he fell forward again. This time, his nose brushed against hers. They were so close she could see the tiny gold flecks in his green eyes.
"I... the wind," he rasped. He sounded out of breath, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. "I slipped. I'm sorry, Marinette."
He didn't move. For a long, weirdly quiet moment, he just stayed there, hovering over her. The rain from his hair dripped onto her cheeks. Usually, he would have made a joke by now. He would have called her "Princess" and winked. But he didn't. He just stared at her lips, his jaw tight, his chest heaving against hers.
"Get... get off," she whispered. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst.
He finally scrambled back, his boots squeaking on the wood. He hit the wall of her room and stayed there, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up. He looked a mess. His suit was dull from the water, and he was shaking so hard she could hear his teeth chatter.
"I’ll go," he said, his voice cracking. He made a move like he was going to stand up, but his legs looked like jelly. "I shouldn't have... I didn't mean to fall in here."
"Stop," Marinette said, sitting up and rubbing her sore head. "Look at the window, Chat. You can't even see the street. You'll die if you go back out there."
"I'm fine," he snapped, but another shiver racked his body, making him hunch over.
"You're not fine. You're turning blue."
She stood up, her wet pajamas sticking to her body. She felt exposed and annoyed, but mostly she felt a weird tension she didn't know how to handle. She went to her closet and pulled out the biggest, thickest towel she had. She walked over and tossed it at his head.
It landed over his face. He didn't pull it off right away. He just sat there under the white fabric, his shoulders slumped.
"Dry yourself off," she told him, her voice a bit shaky. "I’m going to find a blanket. Stay on that side of the room. Don't touch anything."
"I'm not going to break your stuff, Marinette," he muttered from under the towel.
"Just stay there," she repeated.
She turned around to head toward her bed, but she could feel his eyes on her. Even with the towel on his head, she knew he was watching her move. The room felt smaller than it had five minutes ago. The air was thick and heavy, and even though it was freezing outside, her face felt like it was on fire.
She grabbed a quilt and turned back. He had pulled the towel down around his neck. His blonde hair was sticking out in every direction, and his mask was slightly crooked. He looked human. Not like a hero, just like a boy who was cold and tired.
He looked at her, his gaze sliding down to her wet clothes and then quickly back up to her eyes. He swallowed hard, the movement of his throat sharp in the dim light.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Whatever," she replied, throwing the quilt at him. "Just... don't make a sound. My parents are downstairs."
He wrapped the quilt over his shoulders, hiding the black leather. "I'll be quiet."
They sat in silence. Marinette sat at her desk, facing away from him, but she couldn't focus on anything. She could hear every breath he took. She could hear the rustle of the blanket as he tried to get comfortable on the floor. It was awkward and strange, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she didn't know who Chat Noir really was.
