Uptown, Downtown (Chat Noir x Reader) - Book 1

20 | I've Got A Crush On You

There was something undeniably peaceful about sitting in your room and watching a documentary about the Russian Revolution of 1917, late at night. With a copy of Noam Chomsky's "Failed States" next to you, ready to read through and apply your historical knowledge to the context of the book, you felt like a very educated, smart and moral person.

Of course, you would've felt more so, if not for Chat Noir, sitting next to you, with a tub of ice cream, asking questions every five seconds.

Seriously, couldn't you just criticise capitalism in peace?

"Why do you like Lenin?" Chat Noir asked, nudging you curiously. "He was a ruthless dictator."

"I don’t like Lenin," you responded, frowning, "He was—he did—"

You sighed, and shook your head, reverting to English, "He was an awful leader. He executed so many people, reinstated the secret police, and began the Red Terror. His uncompromising ideas were his downfall, because he ruled brutally, and that's not right. However, he did genuinely seem to think that communism would make Russia a better place, so I sympathise with him in that aspect.

"I prefer Trotsky, because he critiqued Stalin's way of ruling, who was even worse than Lenin. He also came up with Trotskyism, which I think is quite a good ideology. He was very brave, and his whole family was executed by Stalin, he endured so much suffering — and yet he still was amazing enough to complete several books, all detailing his experiences."

Your far off expression snapped, and you blinked, and looked away, embarrassed, mumbling an apology. To your surprise, you heard Chat Noir sigh, so you turned back, to find him with his chin in his hand, gazing at you with a soft smile.

"You're amazing," he sighed happily.

You stared at him blankly, before heating up, and focusing your attention back on the video. "Sorry, I'm not a mirror," you joked slyly.

Chat Noir blinked, before flushing bright red; "Pas juste!" he exclaimed, giving you a shove.

"Keep complaining," you laughed in a very posh manner, "I suppose my British wit must be too hard for you to understand — I can't really blame you though."

"Arrête ça!" Chat Noir scoffed, glaring in another direction.

You cackled, and took the ice cream from him, ready to eat a mouthful, before pausing, when you realised he'd been using the same spoon. When he also noticed your hesitation, the blond boy grinned, and leaned towards you, tilting his head mockingly.

"Oh, are you getting shy now?" Chat Noir purred, visibly smug.

You inhaled sharply, heat rolling off you; oh, he was bluffing, he had to be! Well, fuck him, because you weren’t about to get intimidated by a boy in a leather suit and cat ears, who was suspiciously like your friend in school. This half-assed flirting wasn’t about to work on you.

Out of pure righteousness, you stared him dead in the eye, scooped up a huge helping of ice cream, and stuffed it right into your mouth, with flourish.

Chat Noir looked right back, and about 10 seconds passed without a sound, before you whispered, "I'm getting brain freeze."

Chat Noir barrelled over with laughter, as you squeezed your eyes shut, and fanned your mouth, painful coldness piercing your mouth. Swears escaped your mouth, as the superhero just kept cackling, holding his stomach.

“Mon dieu, (Y/n), I never knew I could find someone so funny,” Chat Noir sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Well, je suis ici,” you laughed slightly, holding up a peace sign, and grinning like a dork.

Chat Noir smiled, and rested his head in his hand again, gazing at you lovingly, “You look fit for a picture right now,” he complimented, a vague blush coating his cheeks.

“Hold that thought,” you spoke, pulling your phone out, and then opening your camera, and focusing it on the cat boy.

“Mon amour, I was talking about you, not me,” Chat Noir spoke, raising an eyebrow beneath his mask.

“I said it before; I’m not a mirror,” you retorted, before peeking out from behind your device, “you do not mind, do you?”

“It sounds more natural if you say ‘you don’t mind’, lovely,” Chat Noir replied, before adding with a smirk, “and go ahead, I’m honoured to be an addition to your camera roll. How do they say in English? I am… a...”

“A work of art,” you laughed, snapping the photo of him, as he looked pensive.

“Yes, yes, that,” he dismissed (his French accent was strangely attractive), “you have so many strange sayings.”

“Look, mate, our languages are different,” you conceded, raising an eyebrow. “But… I have a proposition for you.”

“Quoi?” Chat Noir blinked in confusion.

You grimaced, and tried in French, “J'ai une offre pour toi.”

"Oh? How interesting,” he stretched out, and sat back, rolling his neck as he did.

“You need help with English,” you articulated, setting down your phone. “I need help with French. I cannot go around talking like a robot if I’m to live here until I am eighteen. So, since you come around every couple of days, for some reason, will you teach me?”

Chat Noir gazed nonchalantly for a second at you, before smiling, “Accord.” He then held out his hand for you to shake.

You took it, but was unprepared when he suddenly sat up, slipped his fingers through yours, which caused you to jolt, and you looked at him in confusion, “What are you—?”

“And I promise I’ll make you understand the beauty of how us French people see love,” he cut you off, with a sly grin. “And if I have you in love with me by the end of our little sessions, then you owe me something special of yours.”

You deadpanned, “Like what? My virginity?”

Chat Noir choked, and flushed red again, to which you laughed, and pushed him back down on the bed, ignoring your pounding heart; little did he know that he already had pretty much accomplished his goal. You were not in love with him, but you couldn’t help the overwhelming amount of embarrassment that flooded your being whenever he looked at him, and that scared you, no, it terrified you.

Because if you were correct in your theories, that meant you liked Adrien Agreste romantically.

All of a sudden, a crash came from the doorway, which startled both of you, and you two immediately looked over to the source of the noise.

There stood Lucinda, her jaw slack, and the box of biscuits she'd brought over at her feet, her hands still poised from holding it.