Request for @wtfkky <3 sorry if it’s not that good ml

The campus clock tower struck midnight, and Han Jisung felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest—the miraculous awakening. He ducked into the shadows of the science building, whispering the transformation words as black spots danced across his vision. Seconds later, he vaulted onto the rooftop, now clad in the red-and-black spotted suit that had become his second skin. The irony wasn't lost on him; a twenty-year-old man named Ladybug, swinging through the city on yo-yo strings, fighting akumatized villains while the world slept. His kwami, Tikki, often teased him about the name, but Jisung had learned to wear it like armor—what better disguise than the one nobody would ever suspect?

By day, Jisung was just another stressed second-year chemistry major, perpetually sleep-deprived and hiding yawns behind his hand during lectures. He sat three rows behind Lee Minho—Lee Know to his friends—a junior whose sharp jawline and devastating smirk had ruined Jisung's concentration more than once during their shared science classes. Minho moved through the world with feline grace, all loose limbs and lazy confidence, completely unaware that the boy who stumbled over his words when borrowing a pen was the same person he fought beside every night. They'd grab coffee sometimes, study together in the library, and Jisung would memorize the way Minho's eyes crinkled when he laughed, all while guarding the secret that could unravel everything.

When the city screamed, Jisung answered. He'd scale buildings in seconds, heart hammering against his ribs, Tikki's voice guiding him toward trouble. And inevitably, Cat Noir would appear—black leather and golden bell, landing beside him with that infuriating, charming grin that made Jisung's civilian heart stutter even as Ladybug's composure remained stone. Cat Noir flirted relentlessly, calling him "My Lady" with a purr in his voice, offering partnership that went beyond crime-fighting. But Ladybug kept him at arm's length, professional and cold, because the mask demanded distance and because Jisung couldn't reconcile the boy he wanted with the hero who wore his crush's face.

The cruel symmetry wasn't lost on him: he loved Lee Minho in the daylight, loved his quiet kindness and terrible puns and the way he remembered Jisung's coffee order without asking. But at night, Cat Noir loved Ladybug with embarrassing transparency, and Jisung—trapped behind red mask and black spots—couldn't return those feelings without revealing the impossible. He watched Minho sometimes during their study sessions, searching for tells, finding none. His crush complained about being single, about wanting someone who understood the weight of secrets, and Jisung would nod along, swallowing the truth like glass.

Tonight, standing on the astronomy building's dome with Cat Noir at his side, Jisung felt the familiar ache of divided hearts. The villain below was contained, the city safe again, and Cat Noir turned to him with golden eyes full of unguarded longing. "One day you'll see me, Ladybug," he said, voice soft beneath the mask. "Really see me." Jisung said nothing, just vanished into the night with his yo-yo, landing on his own balcony as the transformation released him. He checked his phone—one new message from Minho: Still up? Can't sleep. Jisung smiled, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, wondering if either of them would ever learn that the person they wanted was already closer than they knew, separated only by fabric, fate, and the courage to look beneath the mask.

Scenario One: The Coffee Shop

I watch Jisung burn his tongue on his americano for the third time this week, and I don't know why I find it endearing. He's hunched over his organic chemistry textbook, hair sticking up in three different directions like he actually slept last night—which, knowing him, he probably didn't. I've been sitting across from him for forty minutes, supposedly reviewing molecular structures, but mostly I'm just... looking.

There's something about him that scratches an itch I can't locate. The way he laughs too loud at my terrible jokes, the way his fingers drum against his thigh when he's thinking, the way he always has dark circles under his eyes that he tries to hide with glasses he doesn't actually need. "You're staring," he mumbles, not looking up from his textbook.

"You're fascinating," I shoot back, and watch his ears turn pink. He thinks I'm teasing him. I wish I were.

Last night, Ladybug said almost the exact same thing to me—*you're staring*—except his voice was harder, filtered through the mask he never removes. I wanted to tell him that he fascinates me too, that I spend my nights chasing his shadow across rooftops and my days chasing this boy's attention in lecture halls. But Jisung isn't Ladybug. Jisung is soft and tired and human, and Ladybug is sharp edges and mystery and someone who could never want someone as ordinary as me.

Still, when Jisung finally looks up and meets my eyes, smiling with the corner of his mouth burned red from his coffee, my chest tightens with the same ache I feel when Ladybug swings away from me into the dark.

Scenario Two: The Rooftop

"My Lady," I purr, landing beside him on the gargoyle's head. He doesn't flinch—he never flinches—and something about that steady composure makes me want to crack it open, learn what he's hiding beneath the red and black.

"Don't call me that," he says, like always, but there's no heat in it tonight. He's watching the city breathe below us, yo-yo wrapped around his wrist, and the streetlights catch the curve of his jaw in a way that makes my mouth dry. I know this is pathetic. I know I'm wearing leather and a bell and calling myself Cat Noir like some kind of ridiculous anime character, but when he looks at me—really looks—the ground disappears.

"You're different tonight," I say, moving closer. He doesn't step back. Progress. "Distracted."

"Rough day," he admits, which is more than he usually gives me. Normally he's all business—*villain that way, Cat Noir, move out*—but tonight he sounds tired. He sounds like...

No. I push the thought away. It's dangerous, thinking about Jisung when I'm standing next to him like this. My civilian life and my masked life have to stay separate, or I'll lose my mind. But god, the way he sighs, the way his shoulders curve forward—it's the same slope I see in the library at two in the morning, the same weight Jisung carries like a second skeleton.

"I could make it better," I offer, and I mean it. I mean let me in, let me know you, let me carry some of whatever's crushing you.

He turns to look at me, and for a second—just a second—I see something flicker behind those impossible blue eyes. Recognition? Longing? Then he shakes his head and fires his yo-yo toward the next building. "Focus on the mission, Cat Noir," he calls over his shoulder, already swinging away.

I watch him go, my heart hammering against my ribs, and whisper into the empty air: "I wasn't talking about the mission."

Scenario Three: The Realization

I'm halfway through my transformation when I see it—the scar.

Jisung is reaching for his fallen pen beside my desk, and his hoodie rides up just enough to expose the strip of skin above his hip. It's faint, white against his tan, shaped like a crescent moon. I know that scar. I stitched that scar three nights ago with trembling fingers while Ladybug hissed curses through his teeth, refusing to let me take him to a hospital, refusing to remove his mask even when he was bleeding.

"Where'd you get that?" I hear myself ask, and my voice sounds strange, distant.

Jisung straightens too fast, yanking his shirt down. "What? Oh. Clumsy. Fell off my bike." He's lying. He's terrible at lying—I can see it in the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he won't meet my eyes.

The classroom is emptying around us, afternoon light slanting through the windows, and I'm standing there with my bag over my shoulder feeling like the floor has turned to glass. Ladybug has that scar. Jisung has that scar. The tiredness, the coffee addiction, the way they both vanish when trouble calls, the way they both look at me like I'm a puzzle they can't solve.

"Jisung," I say slowly, and he freezes. Just freezes, hand halfway to his backpack, and I see the exact moment he realizes—sees the knowledge land in his eyes like a stone dropped in water.

The bell rings. Neither of us moves.

"You know," I whisper. It's not a question.

He looks at me then, really looks, and I see Ladybug staring back. The set of his shoulders, the defiance in his jaw, the fear and hope all tangled together. "Minho," he says, and my name has never sounded so heavy. "I—"

I don't let him finish. I can't. I walk out of the classroom without looking back, my heart thundering in my ears, because if I stay—if I stay, I'll either kiss him or scream at him, and I don't know which one I'm more terrified of.

Tonight, when the mask goes on, everything changes. Tonight, I finally get to ask Ladybug why he never told me that the boy I wanted in the daylight and the hero I wanted in the dark were the same impossible person all along.