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Last Valentines’ Day, Damian received a poem. Normally, he would throw it out with all of the other trash given by his admirers, but something told him to keep it. Some force whispered in his ears.
It’s from her.
He didn’t know why his soul cried out, begging for answers. It’s just another pointless declaration from another harpy. Why should he keep it? It’s not even written in English! Did they think they would get further by writing in another language? He scoffed, rolling his eyes when he recognized it. French, the language of love. He tried to ignore the discourse within him, but as he tried to throw it away, his fingers refused to open.
The paper itself was crumpled, with a jagged edge that spoke of a hasty tear from a notebook. Almost as if it were being discarded. The ink itself spotted with tears, as though it hurt the poet to pour the words onto the parchment. Still, his limbs betrayed him and refused to let him dispose of the composition. Resigned to his fate, the teen sat to read.
It wounds me, being so far
Knowing our love was never to be
I begged and pleaded and yearned, unheard
Your love will never belong to me
Try as I might, the words will never leave my lips
The ones expressing the depth of my devotion
I know if you were to hear them
I would not be chosen
You would soften the blow as best you can
And that would hurt worse, I think
To know that you love me
But you don’t love me
My love for you remains unrequited
I’m left to my lonely fate
To you, I may be Just A Friend
But I thought you were my soulmate
I’ll spend my days without you
Wondering what could have been
This is a goodbye to my love
Goodbye, Adrien.
Damian didn’t know why he was filled with anger at the last line. It’s clear the words weren’t meant for him, and he’s unsure how the mix up occurred. But he’s bristling. At this “Adrien” for not cherishing the writer (which, in itself, makes little to no sense. It’s not like he knows them.) And at the writer, for not giving their love to Damian in the first place.
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Damian scowls. He doesn’t even know who wrote this! But that doesn’t change the feeling within himself.
He hides the note in the back of his drawer.
--
In another world, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just opened the last valentines left in the little box Ms. Bustier insisted upon her students making, despite them being in their final year of school. They were required to give valentines to every classmate. Many purchased premade ones. Marinette herself considered it, but quickly realized the disappointment Bustier was likely to direct at her and chose another path. Rather than cards, she decided to make individual macarons.
It had been years since they met, and Marinette still held a flame for Adrien, unable to confess and unable to give up hope. It had calmed down in the time since they met, something much healthier taking the place of her pre-teen obsession, but her love still burned bright. So, she saved his valentine for last, knowing it was unlikely, but still hoping for him to confess his own feelings.
Adrien had given everyone handwritten valentines, curated for each recipient. And now, she was finally going to open her own.
Dear Marinette,
I’ve always admired your kindness and courageousness. You never fail to go out of your way to make someone else’s day better. I was spot on when I called you our Everyday Ladybug all those years ago. I’m hoping some of your courage will rub off on me by writing this. I’m hoping to confess to the girl I’m in love with. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, Marinette. Wish me luck!
Lots of love,
Adrien
The first tear hit the letter before she’d even realized she was crying. More were quick to follow.
Tikki nestled in her hair, trying to offer some comfort to her holder, feeling a bit guilty. She had known from the start that Marinette and Adrien were not meant to be. But she had hoped, for her holder, that they could find happiness together. Marinette’s other half was born into another world. The most she could do was try to find love with someone in this one.
Composing herself as much as possible (and thanking the kwamis that she had decided to open the valentines at home), Marinette pulled out a spare notebook, deciding to get her feelings out. A hastily written unrequited love poem seared itself onto the page, punctuated with the tears she still couldn’t stop.
Goodbye, Adrien.
Feeling some of the turmoil settle and ignoring the dull pang of the emptiness filling her chest, she tore the page from the book, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash. Then, she set out to remove all of the remains of Baby Marinette’s delusions. The schedule, the posters, the computer background, all of it. Sure, she had updated the background and posters as time went on (it would be a little strange for an almost 18-year-old to still display pictures of her crush from when he was 13, no?), but the schedule had remained as it was before. Her background had been changed to a photo of her friend group when she had calmed down, but she had kept the old one in a folder with other internet-search-acquired pictures of Adrien, and all of the posters she had changed out over the years remained in a box she kept tucked out of sight. The digital photos were sent to the recycle bin, which was then emptied to remove temptation. The posters and schedules were thrown in the trash, which was promptly taken out. The only photos allowed to remain were those taken on outings with friends.
After her clear-out, she felt a little bit lighter. There was still a gaping wound in her chest from the heartache of losing her first love, but it wasn’t as raw. And maybe, that was a sign that it would get better.
The girl had missed Tikki opening the poem in the trash and the poem subsequently vanishing.
Tikki hoped it made it to Marinette’s other half.
Neither of them knew that would be her last Valentines’ Day.
Marinette perished in the final battle, leaving a bittersweet victory in her wake.
--
On Damian’s 18th birthday, he hadn’t expected much. A few weeks prior, he had collapsed on patrol, feeling like his soul was being ripped apart, and been left with an emptiness inside ever since. But on his 18th birthday at sunrise, the feeling faded.
The sky had just begun to lighten when a shadow appeared in his room. A figure cloaked in the galaxies being hidden by the sun’s dawning rays. Immediately on guard, he grabbed for a nearby weapon, but he didn’t call for his family. It was the same feeling he had on Valentines’ Day.
It’s her.
There were no open windows, but a wind swirled through his room, giving a glimpse of the blue eyes hidden behind the stars as it surrounded the figure, only to circle him next. The figure’s features were once again hidden when the wind dissipated.
They didn’t speak on that first meeting, and she faded away when the sun crested on the horizon.
--
He was in his art room at sunset when she once again appeared. The meeting was similar to the first, though she looked around curiously. He couldn’t tell how he knew that’s what she felt, but his weapon lowered slightly as the woman made of stars walked through the pictures of his life.
Had it been one of his siblings, he would have felt betrayed, embarrassed, violated. Everything in this room was personal to him, so personal that even Alfred wouldn’t enter the room without permission. But with her, he knew it was safe. He was willing to bare the depths of his soul.
Before he could properly analyze that sentiment, she faded with the last rays of light.
--
One would think that a woman made of stars would come out at night. Damian certainly thought so.
He was wrong.
--
It took a few days for him to recognize that she only appeared at sunrise and sunset, before light or dark overpowered the other.
It took a few weeks for him to stop reaching for his weapon.
He never called for his family, wanting to figure it out for himself. His family could tell something had changed, but they didn’t know what. They were never around when she appeared, though she appeared regardless of where he was. He grew comfortable with her presence, no longer reacting when she appeared.
That changed the first time she spoke.
--
Damian.
He jumped, whipping around to face her.
“Did you speak?”
He didn’t know how, but he knew she was blushing.
I didn’t mean to startle you.
Her statement was in French, so he responded in kind.
“Can you blame me? I had just gotten comfortable with your silent presence.”
I’m sorry. Do you want me to go? I’m not sure it’s possible, but I can try.
“No, that will be unnecessary.”
Okay.
They didn’t speak again that visit.
--
He always knew when she appeared, regardless of whether he could see her.
“Hello.”
Hello, Damian.
“Do you have a name? It’s a bit tedious calling you ‘the woman of stars’ in my head.”
A soft giggle graced his ears, filling him with wonder, though he kept the emotion from his stoic face.
My name is Marinette.
“It’s nice to meet you, Marinette.”
--
For the most part, the two still don’t speak, content to sit in silence. Eventually, though, Damian’s patience reaches its limit. He has to know.
“Why are you here, Marinette? Not that I mind, but I don’t understand. I don’t understand your presence, and I don’t understand why I’m comfortable with you in ways that I’ve never been comfortable with anyone."
I have my guesses.
"But no certainties?" He raises a brow at her.
She sighs, looking down at her lap and fiddling with her fingers.
I don’t think I’m alive. I think…I think I died. Sometimes, I see flashes of the moments leading up to meeting you. And I think they were my last moments on Earth. My kwami used to tell me that there was someone out there for me. She always said our love was written in the stars. I used to think it was Adrien. But I gave up on that not long before I died. The thing about stars is that they don’t just cross the sky, they cross worlds. I don’t think that she just meant written in the stars. I think that our love was also star crossed. Not in being hopeless, but in crossing the worlds.
She turns to him.
Batman and Robin didn’t exist in my world. They were a comic book series. But here… Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t even that much.
She turns away again, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort.
I knew who you were when we met. It was a shock to me. I’m still not fully convinced this isn’t a dream. But when I’m not here… it gets dark. I’m alone in the darkness, just as I was for weeks before we met. So…to answer your question, I think I’m here because you’re my soulmate. But we were never going to meet if I had lived.
He files away the information on ‘Adrien’ for later. Something within him sparks a memory, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. Not with all of the other information she gave him.
She looks at him and smiles softly.
You have questions.
“Wouldn’t anyone?”
I suppose, she laughs softly, but he can tell she’s in pain.
He doesn’t know what compels him, but he reaches to grab her hand, half expecting to pass right through her.
He doesn’t expect the warmth. He doesn’t expect her to be solid. He doesn’t expect to get another glimpse of her eyes.
She’s just as shocked as he is.
And that’s when she fades for the night, leaving his questions unanswered.
--
At sunrise, she appears again.
Good morning, Damian.
“Good morning, Marinette.”
She sits next to him and he grabs her hand, curious to see if she’s as solid as she was last night. She is.
How are you doing that?
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.
Maybe it’s part of our connection?
“Maybe. Are you able to answer my questions now?”
I believe so.
He turns to face her, awed again. “I can see your eyes like this,” he murmurs, reaching to cup her face. As he makes contact, her full face is revealed.
He’s embarrassed to say it takes his breath away.
“You’re beautiful, Marinette.”
A blush fills her cheeks as she looks down shyly.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He pulls his hand away, already regretting it.
No. I just… I haven’t experienced human contact in months. Thank you for the compliment, Damian.
“I was just stating a fact.”
He can tell she’s blushing again, despite no longer viewing her face.
We only have a little bit of time left. We should start discussing your questions.
“You’re right. My apologies.” He had spent all day turning her words over in his head, trying to decide what to ask. “What is a kwami?”
A kwami is a god. A deity bound to magical jewelry, called a miraculous. Kwamis prefer to maintain a similar appearance to a chibi than to their true form, so as not to scare their wielders. They grant their holders powers to maintain the balance of the world. Each one is themed after a different animal, but they represent different concepts. My kwami was named Tikki. She was the goddess of creation and good luck. My partner, Chat Noir, was the holder of Plagg, the god of destruction, chaos, and misfortune. Tikki was Ladybug themed and bound to a pair of earrings. Plagg was themed after a Black Cat and bound to a ring. There were others, of course, but Tikki and Plagg were the most important. They represent Yin and Yang. The perfect balance.
He goes to ask his next question and sees her beginning to fade again. “We’ll talk more tonight. Until then, Marinette.”
Goodbye, Damian.
--
It frustrated him how little time he got to spend with her now that he was finally getting answers. The answers only gave him more questions, which led to even more frustration. It didn’t help that he could sense her sorrow every time she began to fade.
--
“Good evening, Marinette.”
Good evening, Damian. She sat beside him. Are you ready to begin?
“Yes. You’ve mentioned Ladybug and Chat Noir twice now. Who are they?”
I was Ladybug. Chat Noir and I were the heroes of Paris. Our city was being held hostage by an emotional terrorist wielding the Nooroo, the Butterfly Kwami of Transmission. Hawkmoth wanted our miraculous to make a wish that would alter reality. We didn’t find out until the final battle what it was for.
“What did he want?”
He wanted to bring back his wife. She had died not long before he took up the mantle and began his reign of terror. The problem is that a wish has consequences, and that you never know what to expect. Bringing her back would, at minimum, require someone to take her place. But it could also cause destruction on a global scale. There’s no way of telling, which is why we couldn’t let the miraculous fall into his hands. I died during the final battle.
“…how?”
He didn’t win. We made sure of that. Chat Noir and I didn’t know each other’s identities until then. He turned out to be Hawkmoth’s son. I was, and still am, so proud of him. I’m not sure I would have been able to keep fighting if I were in his shoes. As for how I died… Hawkmoth managed to get a lucky shot just before we won. I can still hear Adrien screaming my name sometimes. It hurts to know I left him. He lost his mother, his father, and his partner all in the same moment. He was my best friend.
She smiles sadly.
“I’m sorry, Marinette,” he wipes a tear from her face, catching another glance at her as he does so.
After I died, it was just darkness. Like sitting in a room with no lights on. Time still passes, but you’re alone with only your mind to keep you occupied. I thought I was hallucinating when I first met you. I had been alone for weeks. And then, I was in your room, and it was like time stood still. That wind rippled through the room…it felt like home. It felt like Tikki telling me that I’ve finally found my other half. And then, I faded into the darkness again.
“I’m sorry you had to die for us to meet. Are you…certain...about us being soulmates?”
Do you have a better theory?
“…No. And it would explain why I’m so comfortable with you. I wish there was a way to help you. A way to keep you from suffering in the darkness.”
I’m not suffering, not anymore. Now, I just wait in anticipation of our next meeting.
“But you shouldn’t have to!”
We were star crossed, Damian. Written in the stars but born to different worlds. We were only ever going to meet after the end.
“It’s not fair,” his voice cracks slightly.
That was the first time he felt the warmth of her embrace. Her own tears fell against the skin of his neck as they clung to each other. And then, she faded again.
--
During the next few visits, they decided to get to know each other a bit better. Marinette had some background from the comics in her world, but he knew hardly anything about her.
“Did you have any pets?”
I wish. I grew up above a bakery run by my parents, so pets were a health code violation. I always wanted a hamster.
“What would you name it, if you had gotten a hamster?”
…I was going to name it Robin.
His ears turned red.
--
“If I were in your world, you wouldn’t have had any bullies. Those girls would have eaten their words.”
I know. But even if you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to stab them, Damian.
“Watch me.”
Damian!
--
“You were a designer?”
It was my biggest dream. I was lucky to be commissioned by some famous people in my world through sheer coincidence.
“Well, you did hold the goddess of luck. But I’m sure you would have gotten there one day with your talent, anyways.”
You haven’t even seen my designs. They could be awful.
“Ah, but you’re my soulmate, so I would automatically love anything from you, would I not?”
That’s not how that works, and you know it.
“You also held the goddess of creation.”
That doesn’t mean the creation had to be good.
He rolls his eyes. “Just take the compliment. If you weren’t good, you wouldn’t have been commissioned at all.”
She huffs but doesn’t protest. He smirks.
--
How have I not met any of your pets yet?
“Well, they aren’t allowed in the art room, which is where I spend most of my sunsets. As for sunrises…I’m actually not entirely sure. They normally sleep in my room.”
Then I expect to meet them, whether that means we spend the sunset in another area or you ensure their presence during sunrise.
“You can only meet Titus and Alfred the Cat that way, you know.”
For now. One day we’ll end up in new locations. I’m sure of it.
--
Damian, you didn’t!
He smirked, though his ears did turn a bit red. She threw her arms around him, then ran to the new cage in his room.
What’s he called?!
“Robin.”
Through a teary laugh, she raises a brow at him. And how much did your brothers tease you about that?
“…it was worth it.”
She hugs him again. Thank you, Damian.
“Oh, you’re not only meeting Robin the Hamster today.”
Really?!
He laughs at her enthusiasm, a sound that brings a flush to her face, hidden behind the stars but not hidden from his knowing grin.
He opens the door to his ensuite and allows Titus and Alfred the Cat out. They’re both a bit nervous, waiting to see if she can be seen by other beings or not. She kneels on the ground, holding out her hand, first to Titus, holding her breath and trying not to get her hopes up.
Hello, Titus.
Titus sniffs her hand and licks her cheek and she laughs in joy, petting him and giving him belly rubs. When Titus finally calmed, Alfred the Cat hesitantly approached, sniffing at her hand and then butting his head against it.
Hello, Alfred. She won’t deny that tears filled her eyes at not only being able to interact with other beings, but also earning the approval of Damian’s pets.
Damian kneels next to her and holds her while she pets Alfred until she fades again.
--
At sunrise, she fades in and finds herself in a barn, Damian sleeping in the hay.
He wakes as she approaches and smiles at her, albeit tiredly.
Did you sleep in here?
“…No?”
She raises a brow.
“Not intentionally. I came back from patrol and thought it might be easier to just wait in here…but I fell asleep,” he rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned.
Thank you, Damian. She kisses his cheek, bringing a flush to both of their faces.
Clearing his throat, Damian stands.
“This is Batcow. Batcow, this is Marinette.”
Hello, Batcow. Marinette coos, petting the cow, and then turns to Damian.
Who’s left?
“Goliath. Ace passed a couple of years ago.”
Marinette cups his face in apology.
So when do I meet Goliath?
“Now.”
He looks up at the rafters, gesturing Goliath to come down.
Oh, wow! He’s gorgeous! Hello, Goliath.
She hugs the dragon bat, smiling at Damian through the galaxies, her visage only apparent when Damian is the one in contact with her.
She finally pulls away from the dragon bat and sniffs, trying to discreetly wipe her tears, though Damian catches on anyways and pulls her into his arms.
Thank you, Damian.
--
At sunset, Damian presents her with a sketchbook.
“I know I can’t make the darkness better. But when you are here, I would like you to have things you enjoy.”
First Robin, now this? Damian, you’re doing too much. I don’t deserve all of this.
“Don’t. Don’t say that. You died a hero. And in the time since then, you’ve made me a better person. I’ve known you for a few months and you’ve made more progress than my entire family combined. They can see the difference. They don’t know the cause, but they can see it.”
Marinette is speechless, but that doesn’t stop her from pressing a kiss to his cheek in thanks. She spends that sunset designing.
--
Some sunrises, when Damian is visibly tired, she crawls into bed with him and they hold each other until the sky is too bright. Sometimes they whisper back and forth, pretending that they could meet outside the small gaps between day and night and talking about plans for the future, hers past dreams, his future possibilities. Other times, they fall asleep, something Marinette is only able to do with him.
--
Damian eventually connects the dots between Marinette’s Adrien and the Adrien of the poem. He’s hesitant to bring it up, but he wonders if she knows how he got it.
“Marinette?”
Yes?
“…did you write this?”
She radiates embarrassment and a hint of nostalgia.
Oh god, I was so upset that day. How did you even get this? She laughs.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
I threw it in the trash, so your guess is as good as mine.
“Well, despite feeling bad that you went through that pain, I can’t deny that I’m glad you gave up on him.”
She blushes behind the stars. Me too.
--
For Damian’s 19th birthday, (and subsequently, her own) Marinette has two gifts for Damian, as it’s not only their birthday, but the anniversary of their meeting. One, a design for a suit. She can’t make it herself, as that would just raise questions that Damian won’t want to answer as well as ruining any surprises when she needs him to purchase fabrics. So, she gives him the design to have made by someone else. Her second gift is a love poem.
Damian
You brought me back to life
When I thought I was done living
Though others may find you prickly
To me, you’re a gift that keeps on giving
You gave me so much more
Than others would have done
I appreciate you more than words can say
I know you are the one
I’m sorry we can’t have
The things other couples do
But I would not change a single thing
Because it led me here to you
So for our 19th birthday
This may be a bit cliché
But reminiscent of our first contact
I’m using poetry to say
I love you, Damian. Happy birthday.
Damian’s ears turn red, but he clears his throat to speak.
“Unfortunately, this will also remain an unrequited love poem.” When she starts to look down, he raises her chin. “Not for the reason you think. I…I’ve never been good with words, Marinette. I can’t give you a poem in return. But…I hope this will show you how much your feelings are reciprocated.”
Damian’s gift to Marinette is a painting of the first time they met through his eyes. The canvas shows his room, but muted to emphasize the woman made of stars, with wind swirling to give a peek at her eyes. The shades bring out the depth of the emotions within, and her being looks almost ethereal.
It’s beautiful, Damian.
She turns around to look at him, but he’s a lot closer than expected, and he has to steady her, lest she fall.
“You’re beautiful, Marinette.”
She kisses him just before she fades away, the feeling of her lips lingering long after the sun has risen.
She vanished just in time, though, as his oldest brother slammed open his door excitedly.
“Happy birthday, Dami!”
“Tt. It’s just another day, Grayson,” he retorts, though both know it’s only for appearances. He’d long gotten used to his family’s antics, and as much as they annoyed him, they also made him feel at home.
“You’re 19! It’s not just another day.”
Unfortunately, Damian hadn’t had a chance to cover his painting before Dick came in, and now, he was under scrutiny.
“Wow, baby bat. That’s amazing. Who is she?”
He keeps his face carefully neutral. “What makes you think she’s real?”
“Damian, you don’t paint things you haven’t seen before.”
“Am I not allowed to try otherwise?” his words are dripping with his annoyance, though it’s less about Dick’s correct assumption and more that he won’t let it go anyways.
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that even if you had done that, you wouldn’t paint a woman in your bedroom, especially with how much you seem to despise even the notion of ‘romantic endeavors,’ as you put it.”
Sometimes, Damian wishes he was not surrounded by detectives.
“Let it go, Grayson.”
“She could be dangerous. If this,” he gestures to the now-covered painting, “is what you saw, she’s obviously got some kind of cloaking ability. She could be meta, or a magic user. She could be a threat.”
“She is not a threat, Grayson. Let. It. Go.”
It’s infuriating that Dick is somehow remaining calm while Damian’s heartbeat is in his ears and his body almost shaking with a combination of terror and rage.
“Then tell me who she is. Or I involve Bruce. And you know he’ll be worse than I am.”
Sighing in resignation, Damian sits on his bed.
“Shut the door, Grayson. We’re lucky none of the other imbeciles have heard you.”
“Is she why you speak French when you’re alone? And why you’ve gotten…” he trails off, seeing Damian’s glare.
“How many people know about the French?”
“Just me. Maybe Alfred.”
“You are not to speak a word of this conversation, understood? What I say does not leave this room.”
“I’m just worried for you, Dames.”
“She’s…my soulmate.”
Dick stares at him. He wasn’t expecting that response, and he knows not to speak, lest Damian stop.
“Her name is Marinette, and…she’s dead. It’s not an exaggeration, what you see in that painting.”
Dick gestures, as if to say, May I?
Damian nods, allowing Dick to uncover the painting once more.
“Her form is made of galaxies. I can only see her at sunrise and sunset, when the darkness is too weak to hide her and the light too dim to chase her away. She slips through the veil formed in the in-between, allowing us to meet.” He pauses, voice thick with tears as he finally gets to speak of the woman he loves more than life itself. “…Our love was written in the stars. Her soul just got there before mine.”