Adrien absently runs his fingers through his air as he looks out the train window, tousling it into the messy, untidy style that he knows his father hates. Only 14 hours remain until he has to hop on a plane back from Paris to New York and return to his rigidly structured life as the director-in-training of Gabriel's North American expansion.

If he's honest with himself, there's nothing he would rather do but stay behind and extend the freewheeling, nomadic holiday he's had for the past two weeks. But the weight of family and professional obligations are stronger than the siren call of freedom, and so Adrien will go back.

For now, though, he revels in the limited time he has on the train from Budapest to Paris, eavesdropping on the other conversations in the dining car and creating elaborate backstories for the strangers sitting across from each other at the other tables, knees pressed together as they engage in fervent, muted chatter, unaware that anyone else is listening to their private conversations.

Adrien is listening to an argument between a middle aged German couple when a stray beam of sunlight suddenly falls upon a table in the corner of the car, illuminating the lone young woman sitting there, reading a book and twirling her hair.

He hadn't noticed her before, and now that he's looking more closely, he can't imagine how. She is striking, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders and keen blue eyes that flash as she talks into her phone, waving her hands animatedly.

She looks familiar and strange at the same time, like someone he could have known in school — had he ever had the chance to go to public school, rather than home school. She is unmistakably French; even if he couldn't hear the sweet and mellow tones of her words carrying across the room, there is something about the way she carries herself that reminds Adrien of home — of Paris , and it is this unconscious poise that draws him from his comfortable perch by the window and leads him towards her as she hangs up the phone.

She stares at Adrien with surprise as he slides into the seat across from her with the ease of a housecat, wearing a practiced, casual smile that perfectly conceals his nervousness.

"Hi," he says in English, pushing his bangs out of his eyes with one hand and extending the other to shake hers. "I'm Adrien."

She stares down at his hand and then back up to look at him, her expression turning appraising as she leans back against her chair instead of reaching her hand out to meet his.

"Are you French?" she asks, with a slight smile, her tone curious, but reserved.

"Guilty as charged," he responds in French, sheepishly raising the hand he had extended up to rub the back of his neck. "But I've been in America for the past few years."

"That explains so much," she says, her eyes turning warmer as she finally extends her hand. "I'm Marinette."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," says Adrien, covering her hands with both of his. "What brought you to Budapest?"

Marinette smiles. "I was visiting my grandmother — on my father's side."

"Oh, is your father's family Hungarian?"

"No, not at all," she replies, shaking her head. "My grandmother moved to Budapest about ten years ago, after my grandfather died. She said she wanted a change of pace. My father thought she meant somewhere like Normandy or Provence, so it was a surprise to all of us when she decided to move to Hungary instead. But it's nice to leave Paris every once in awhile. What about you?"

Adrien sighs. "A holiday that was all too brief. And tomorrow, I'm getting on a plane and flying back to New York and back to a life of drudgery."

"Tragic," Marinette replies, pursing her lips. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you move there, if you don't like it?"

"Family business," says Adrien, shrugging. He doesn't want to go too much into detail and risk having Marinette recognize his identity, especially when this is the first time in a very long time he has been successfully able to go on a trip without a bodyguard in tow. It's been years since he was a teen model for his father's fashion empire, but people still recognize him on occasion — and that often leads to problems.

Marinette seems like a reasonable enough person, but many people who are reasonable turn out not to be after all once you get to know them, and Adrien isn't sure he wants to take that risk just yet, even though he feels strongly drawn to her and doesn't know why.

Marinette nods. "I understand. I work at my family bakery too. It's not my dream, but I'm my parents' only daughter, and they worked hard to make this bakery what it is today. It's only right that I take over."

"What is your dream, if you don't mind sharing?" asks Adrien, pressing his palms together and leaning forward.

Marinette taps her fingers against a crease in the wood. "In a perfect world? A fashion designer, and only a fashion designer. I've been sewing since I was a child and I do a fair amount of work on commission, but I can't let my family's bakery fall into the hands of someone who doesn't have the same passion for baking as my parents."

Adrien purses his lips together and leans back. "So, someone like you?"

"I suppose," she replies, laughing softly as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "I guess you could say I'm waiting for the right person to come along before I follow my dreams. I'm ambitious as hell, but I'm not selfish. At least, I don't want to be."

"I get that," says Adrien, nodding. "I'm doing something similar. Except I don't think I have a way out. I'm stuck."

"I see we're two of a kind," says Marinette, raising her eyebrows and shifting forward, clearly intrigued.

Adrien grins. "I guess so!"

An hour passes by in the blink of an eye as they talk about travel, and Paris, and all of their favorite haunts. Adrien learns that Marinette's best friend is named Alya, that her favorite design motif is the ladybug (because ladybugs are lucky), that she is 26 — the same age as him — and that her parents have a love story for the ages.

Adrien takes a deep breath. "Listen, I don't know what your situation is — " he pauses, gesturing back and forth between them. "And I know we literally just met. But I feel like we have some sort of connection."

Marinette smiles. "Yeah, me too."

An announcement crackles across the speakers.

Next stop, Vienna, 10 Minutes!

Adrien reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Great! So listen, here's the deal. I think you should get off the train in Vienna with me and come check out the town."

"What?" squawks Marinette, blinking rapidly. "But we're both supposed to go to Paris! I'm going home and you're getting on a plane!"

Adrien shrugs. "Yeah, I know. But — I don't know. I feel like being spontaneous today. And I want to run with it for once. Haven't you ever wanted to see what it's like to push your boundaries?"

"Only when there's something I really want," replies Marinette, crossing her arms.

"Do you want adventure?" Adrien whispers, moving closer.

Marinette's eyes sparkle as she nods slightly. "Maybe. I might be willing to take a chance, if there's a payoff."

"How does one day of adventure and a lifetime of memories sound to you?"

"Like an extremely optimistic best case scenario, but I might just be willing to take the risk."

"Then let's go!" Adrien shouts, leaping up from the seat as the train pulls into the station and offering her his hand.

Marinette grins and takes it. "Okay."

Marinette doesn't know what compels her to start talking so candidly to the young man who makes himself at home in the seat across from her in the train dining car, but she has a suspicion that his soft sea-foam green eyes might have something to do with it.

The minute he makes eye contact with her, she can feel a truly genuine sense of sincerity shining through them, and even though she knows almost nothing about him, she feels like he is someone she can trust.

And so she takes his hand and follows him off the train in Vienna with her suitcase, breaking from routine and from her carefully planned itinerary back to Paris and her normal life.

"So, now what?" she asks as they watch the train pull away.

Adrien shrugs sheepishly and laughs. "I'm not sure. I didn't think beyond jumping off the train, honestly."

Marinette snorts as his stomach rumbles. "Well, it sounds like hunger might be making the executive decision. Why don't we make a decision about what to do next over lunch? Let's walk around and try to find a good restaurant."

"That sounds like a great plan," he replies, nodding with relief. "How do you feel about Chinese food?"

"Well, I'm half-Chinese myself and my great uncle is a chef who often spoils us with feasts, so I'm pretty picky about it."

Adrien nods. "Fair enough. In that case, would mademoiselle perhaps like a sandwich and coffee?"

Marinette follows his gaze to a cute little building with a painted sign that reads Cafe Tikki, with a trail of ladybugs underneath.

"Ladybugs — my lucky charm! How could we possibly go anywhere else?"

"I know we barely know each other, but I thought you might say that," says Adrien with a grin. "After you, my lady."

Twenty minutes later, they sit across from each other at a table in companionable silence, until Marinette shifts forward. She's not a naturally playful person with most people, but something about Adrien is making her feel puckish and whimsical, so she picks up her phone and looks directly at him.

"Let's play a game. I'm going to call my best friend Alya back in Paris, who I'm supposed to have lunch with in eight hours."

"Okay?"

"Ring ring, ring ring," Marinette trills, as Adrien looks on with amusement. "Pick up the phone!" she insists, gesturing at his mobile at the edge of the table.

He laughs and picks it up, making a show of pressing it against his ear.

"Hello? Marinette? Are you back in Paris yet?"

"Alya? No, sorry. And I don't think I'll be able to make it to lunch today,"

"Oh no, why not?"

"I met a guy in Vienna and I got off the train with him."

"Are you crazy? Do you even know him? Is he from Austria?"

"No, no, he's French, like us. He's just passing through, too. He lives in America, he's going back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. We're probably never going to see each other ever again."

"So...why did you get off the train with him? What's his name?"

Marinette's eyes travel to the inky black ring on Adrien's left index finger. The undulating curves of the metal remind her of a sleepy little cat, the green accents reminding her of slit eyes peering at her curiously.

"His name is Chat Noir."

"Chat Noir?"

Marinette giggles. "Just a nickname I came up with. His real name is Adrien. And as for why I got off the train...well, he convinced me. I mean, to be honest, I was ready to get off the train after talking to him only a little while. He was so sweet, I couldn't help it. In the dining car, he began to talk about how he used to have an old black cat named Plagg when he was younger, who loved nothing more than Camembert cheese. I think that's when I fell for him. Just the idea of this little boy, running down the hallways of a sun-filled mansion, chasing a stinky old cat. He trapped me."

She smiles as Adrien looks down, blushing.

"And he's so cute. He has beautiful green eyes, nice pink lips, messy blond hair...I love it. He's really tall, with big hands, but he's graceful. I...like to feel his eyes on me when I look away."

Marinette presses a hand to her own cheek, which is flushed as well.

"The more time I spend with him, I like him more and more. But I wonder if he's scared of change. He talks about his life like he has no option but to follow the path that's been decided for him, and I wish he knew that he doesn't have to live that way. Adventure and risk doesn't have to be a once-in-a-lifetime sort of experience."

"Maybe he's not scared," Adrien replies. "Maybe he's just worried about disappointing the people in his life."

Marinette purses her lips. "Wouldn't you say that's a kind of fear in itself?"

"Maybe," says Adrien. "But wouldn't you say it's unfair to judge someone for it?"

"Perhaps. If I didn't know the reason why that person believes in pleasing others before pleasing himself."

"Revealing a reason like that requires a great deal of trust. Do you think Chat Noir trusts you? Do you think you're going to see him again?"

"We haven't talked about that yet," says Marinete. "But I think I'd like to. I want to get to know him better."

Adrien smiles. "Something tells me he feels the same way."

"I'll make sure to tell him how confident you are about that," Marinette replies with a wink.

"Oh, please do. I'm sure he'll appreciate my vote of confidence."

Marinette smiles and places her phone back on the table.

"Okay. Now you call your friend."

Adrien places his phone down as well. "Me? Okay. I'll call my best friend Nino. He still lives in Paris, like you, but my calls almost always go to voicemail whenever I try to reach him, since he's always out of town. But anyway...ring ring, ring ring!"

Marinette picks the phone back up. "Hey dude. What's up?"

She grins as she watches Adrien struggle to hold back his laughter at her low-voiced imitation of Nino's voice, which she has obviously never heard.

"I'm doing great, great. I'm, uh, glad that you picked up the phone."

"Yeah, man, of course. So how's your European holiday?"

"It's good, it's good. I've been depressed it's about to end, but you know."

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah. Rapturous, actually."

"Rapturous? Why?"

"I met somebody on my last night in Europe."

"That's incredible," Marinette replies, dropping the manly affectation.

"Yeah, I know, I know. And you know how they say we're all each other's demons and angels? Well, she was literally a black haired angel from heaven with sapphire blue eyes, telling me that everything's going to be okay."

"And did you believe her?"

"You know? I think I'm starting to. And I'd like to do something for her in return."

"Like what?" Marinette whispers as her breath catches.

"Like taking her to a Viennese Winter Ball, if she will let me."

Marinette smiles. "Well, she jumped off a train to join you in a strange city, didn't she? Something tells me she's going to say yes."