The blond boy looked very, very familiar.

Marinette tried not to stare, but it was hard. Not just because he was handsome—and he was handsome—but because she just couldn't seem to place where she had seen that face. The large black hoodie he had on didn't help. She couldn't fathom why he was wearing it. Even if the hot, hot, hot weather couldn't dissuade him from long sleeves, he had no reason to be wearing a hood inside the coffee shop.

Alya looked back into the kitchen and smirked at Marinette. "Someone catch your eye?" she asked, even though she could obviously tell.

Marinette's eyes popped to Alya. She hadn't realized her friend had been watching. "I'm just trying to figure out who he is," she stammered. "I feel like I've seen him before. And why is he wearing a hoodie inside, in this weather?"

Alya looked back at the boy, then back at Marinette. She stifled a giggle. "Maybe he's a spy and he's trying to hide," she suggested.

"Or a terrorist," Marinette replied drily. "He's probably just emo."

"You really don't recognize him?" Alya asked, like Marinette should really know.

"I don't! Why? Has he been here before?" Marinette looked back to where he sat reading a comic book at the small table in the corner.

"No," Alya said unhelpfully, before turning and taking the order of the lady waiting at the register.

Marinette went back to her baking. She finished rolling the last of her almond croissants and slipped them into the oven.

She had started working at the coffee shop/bakery a month ago, at the beginning of the schoolyear. Since it was their senior year, she and Alya had wanted to get jobs together, and Alya—like every other high school senior in Paris—wanted to work in a coffee shop. Marinette didn't care for coffee, but she could work anywhere with a kitchen, and so the two of them had found work together at a small coffee shop and bakery in a quieter part of the city. Alya was great with customers, her personality mixing well with the caffeine she doled out. Marinette was fine around people, but she found staying in the back and working the craft her parents had raised her on to be relaxing. Plus, because of the wide, open door between the kitchen and the shop, she could people-watch. Croissants in the oven, she found herself staring again.

And then his eyes met hers.

He seemed almost surprised, but then he smiled softly.

Her face turned pink.

She whipped around and began collecting everything she needed for chocolate chip cookies. The display wasn't empty yet, but it would be eventually—besides, you could never have too many chocolate chip cookies. Crowd favorite. Yup.

Cookies.

She couldn't believe he'd caught her staring. He had to think she was a creep. Weird pale girl in the kitchen, stares at customers. Mixing in the eggs, she kept her head down, trying to hide her blush. She vaguely registered Alya snickering in the background.

Heart pounding, it took all of his focus to keep his eyes on the comic in his hands. Ten seconds ago, he had been wrapped up in the action. Now, however, it couldn't seem more irrelevant.

Adrien knew it the moment their eyes met. It was surprising how easy it was to recognize her without her suit, but she still wore her hair in those paintbrush-tip pigtails, and he would know those electric blue eyes anywhere, so bright and yet so soft. And those perfect, petal-pink lips…

After so long, he had found her.

He couldn't believe his good fortune. Of all the coffee shops in Paris, of all the places to hide from his father, she worked here and he ended up hiding in the same building.

He wasn't even supposed to be the lucky one in this relationship.

It had to be karma, rewarding him for all those times he looked the other direction, all those times he didn't follow her home, two full years of needing to know, but respecting her desire for privacy. Of course all the comic book heroes kept their identities a secret from society, but even from each other? He found it unnecessary. And a pain in the neck.

But still, she didn't want him to know, so he kept back. Even though it killed him inside.

And she was baking! He had thought that Ladybug couldn't get any more perfect. And yet, there she stood, blushing, with flour on her face, even more perfect than he had known.

He had no idea how to respond to this serendipity. He had only been seeking an hour or so of peace, and he had quite by accident unmasked his lady. He felt a slight pang of guilt, as if he had purposefully invaded the privacy she had worked so hard to maintain. He argued that it wasn't his fault. If she hadn't been staring at him, he wouldn't have even noticed her.

He thanked the universe for timing on that one. Imagine, if he had been so close, and had never known.

But he did know. Should he tell her?

He quickly vetoed the idea. Maybe it was a double standard, but he didn't want Ladybug to know who he was. He didn't want her to know that he had two friends (excluding his kwami), or that he had more money than he really understood, and he definitely didn't want her to know he was a model. No one ever looked at him the way they looked at other people. Well, no one except Nino, and Adrien was grateful for it. Although…

It didn't look like she had recognized him. Not as Chat—not surprising—but not as Adrien Agreste, either. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't care that he was famous.

Famous for being good-looking.

He felt that familiar stab of irritation. Who he was didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was fluent in four languages, or that he fenced like a champion, or that he had a comic book collection so big he should have been embarrassed by it.

He couldn't even be his own self unless he was decked out in leather and a mask, and even then only one person saw.

One brave, beautiful, compassionate person.

No, he couldn't risk the one friend who only knew him for who he actually was. He didn't want to be Adrien Agreste to her. This was his opportunity to just be Adrien, and he wasn't going to let it slip by.