The deliveries took much longer to accomplish that day. It is already dark when she returns to her room. After all of thpse setbacks she still wouldn't change a second of her day. Not the ruined dress, not a near trampling from a horse, or even the pie filling in her hair. The pure white coat hangs on a hook beside her beloved cloak. The newsprint princes are now tacked onto her walls for her to appreciate and cherish, but they do not serve her memory justice. They can't capture his heavenly smile or his glimmering eyes. Marinette spends an hour before bed drawing him as best as she could remember.

"Oh Adrien..." She murmurs sleepily at her illustration, "The prince all others shall set standards by. The one all other royal nations envy. Every girl in the kingdom would dream of being your princess!"

Few would ever have the interactions she had today. To have her hair stroked and to actually be referred to as a princess when she was at her lowest esteem. He would do the same for everyone she is sure, but that didn't make her feel any less special. That moment had been theirs. Marinette wonders if the prince will continue to remember her so fondly. Perhaps not, but a delivery girl could dream. If she did marry, she hopes that her love would always treat her as kindly as he had. That is all she could ever ask. To be a princess to her very own charming man.

Over the next few days she is daydreaming more than ever. Her absentminded errors ruin an entire batch of choux pastry balls for an upcoming wedding in town. They were dense enough to smash a pane of glass. Marinette and her parents had to stay up all night to re-bake and re-fill them all with creamy custard. Marinette harbors a deep guilt for the inconvenience she had caused, but she still smiles through the extra work.

"Now Marinette, you need to double check every portion size and ingredient before you put them in the mixing bowl." Her father tells her as he hands her another platter of the newly baked treats.

"Yes Papa," Marinette nods hardly hearing him as she places each pastry atop another in a tall pile.

"We can't serve anything less than our best to the happy couple. How would you feel if it were your special day?"

Marinette imagines it then, the tradition of a bride and groom kissing above the tall cone-like structure of delicate balancing pastries that formed a wedding Croquembouche (a medieval equivalent to a wedding cake). On the other side she sees Prince Adrien.

"Marinette are you listening?" Her mother rebukes her for ignoring her father.

She shakes her head, having gotten carried away again, "I'm sorry maman. I wasn't. I haven't been sleeping well. I'm having a hard time staying focused." She dips her chin in shame, awaiting a scolding.

"Why don't you get some rest then? We will finish up here," her mother offers.

"Thank you," the tired daughter yawns. "I will be better in the morning. I promise you."

She pulls out her pigtails for the night as she ascends the stairs and then dresses in a light nightgown. She opens one shutter of her tiny window to let the cool night air on her stuffy attic. Hopefully, the bugs would stay out. She curls up in her quilt like a kitten and lets her eyelids flutter with a happy sigh, hoping to dream of a prince.

All is quiet for hours until heavy thumps sound above her. A no longer groggy Marinette sits upright when she realizes she is not imagining this. She slips on a pair of slippers and goes to latch her shutters when she glimpses a dark figure standing on her ledge.

His black cloak billows in the whispering summer breeze and his glowing green eyes lock with hers behind his mask. Marinette gasps with fright. She knows she has no reason to fear her mysterious acquaintance, but what she is terrified of is that he has tracked down her other self, Ladybug. His eyes widen when he turns to see her there.

"I-I didn't mean to startle you, miss!" He bows humbly to reassure her of his peaceful nature. "My apologies for waking you."

As he holds her gaze there is no recognition. He is just a trespasser. Her worry dissipates to a more mild state, but only faintly. "You are very suspicious! What is it you are doing here?"

"There is no need for alarm." He places a hand over his heart, solemnly swearing it. "I am Chat Noir. Think of me as a silent protector over Paris."

"I've never heard of you!" She declares the lie, but she couldn't tip him off in any way. Marinette crosses her arms for further her defense. "I don't see any danger! What other reasoning do you have then?"

"You're right, tonight there isn't. You have caught me red pawed..." He laughs at his own pun as if he is a jester. It is a pitiful attempt in her opinion, "I have a favor to ask."

Marinette rolls her eyes. "What is it?"

His eyes become hopeful, "This is a bakery isn't it? Is there anyway you could sneak me a small portion?"

She blinks at him questioningly, "You're hungry?"

He nods eagerly, "Terribly so."

"Well... We closed long ago. We'll be open tomorrow morning bright and early and you can arrive then like everyone else." She informs him sternly.

"That would not correlate with my nocturnal nature. I wish I could be here to smell the early morning scent of baking bread." Speaking about it makes his stomach growl loudly enough for Marinette to hear.

It is enough for her to take pity, "Wait here then."

In the kitchen are plenty of day old goodies for him. She sets them on a napkin and lays them out aesthetically on the sill of her window as if she is placing them on display. He munches the whole lot in minutes.

"You act as if you are a stray, Monsieur Chat Noir. I do hope you aren't going to try and visit every night!"

His pastry filled, cheeky grin fades, "I wish I could..." He wipes a few crumbs from his chin with the napkin ever so delicately so that he isn't looking at her eyes.

It isn't her place to ask, but she is concerned by the change in demeanor. She hasn't seen this side of him. He seems so... depressed. "Chat Noir? Are you alright?"

"I don't like to return to my own home... I'm forced to be someone that I'm not. My father doesn't even notice when I am missing." He explains, but then his forlorn tone shifts back to the carefree cat she knew much better, "When I'm out like this exciting things happen. That's how I met Ladybug!"

"L-ladybug?" At the mention of her alternate form her speech becomes clumsy. "And w-who is that?"

He sighs to her dreamily, "She is a maiden with hair dark as night and eyes as bright as the sky. Oh but she hides in masquerade so similar to mine."

Giggles rise from her throat. He turns to her with a questioning look. Dubious of how to respond now, she bursts with laughter. He must be truly infatuated with Ladybug if he is already reciting poetry after only one meeting prior.

Chat takes much offense to the fit she is having. "I worked on those lyrics all day I'll have you know!" But his rant turns into a pout, "I'm sure she'll like it..."

She wipes tears from her eyes and clears her throat, "So you are a poet rather than a bandit?"

"To describe her is an impossible feat. An entire song there could be about she," he purrs alluringly as if to emphasize his point.

"I will take that as a yes. And when will she be hearing this confession of love?" Marinette teases him.

His cheeks flush a deep red. "I was hoping I'd see her tonight. Do I need to rehearse more?"

"No, it was lovely." She shakes her head. So the self-conscious kitty is still waiting for Ladybug? Maybe she did need to give him a visit so he would stop this flirty nonsense, "But you can't expect the girl to be up all night like you silly kitty. She is probably asleep at this hour!"

His hood droops over his head shamefully, "I didn't consider that... I wanted to see her again so much sooner. Maybe she will turn up at our usual spot tomorrow..." He mutters more for himself than to actually converse with her.

"Well you are fed then. I must turn in and resume my own sleep. Have a good night."

Marinette begins to close her shutters, but Chat quickly reaches his clawed glove in before she can. She jumps at the action. "Wait, miss? Do you know a girl like that? A girl like Ladybug?"

He holds the small shutter, but his desperate gaze is what makes her feel captivated. "Me? I'm sorry! But no! I wouldn't know anything about that!" She insists too quickly as she avoids a glance near the conspicuously hung burgundy cloak in her room.

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Are you certain? She has this spotted cloak and a mask that is red with little black spots. You would know it if you saw it."

"That is truly an odd description! It isn't familiar!" Marinette covers up another swell of anxiety with a rude scoff, but his determination panics her. No, it terrifies her truly. In her fright she tries to shut him out again. With the slam of the doors she still doesn't escape the interrogation. Chat Noir lets out a cat like screech and pulls away a smashed paw glove that she has closed between the two shutters.

Her apology is ever as klutzy as she is. "Aghh! I'm sorry, Chat! I didn't mean to hurt you! You were becoming so aggressive about the matter!"

He pulls the small shutters open again with a claw and then holds his injured hand warily. He turns away from her altogether with distrust. She had torn the glove in her hasty move and he has scrapes from the course wooden texture. He gives it a small lick as if he is an actual feline.

"I really am sorry, but you startled me!" She tries to defend again.

"It's bleeding and there's a small piece of the window in my hand. I can't get it out. It's going to be there forever! Why would you do that?!" He pouts childishly as if his entire world has come crashing down.

"Oh it's only a splinter!"

"It is evil is what it is!" He hisses at her.

"Have you never had one? Come here. Let me help you." He shakes his head and pulls away from her to leave the troubling situation altogether. Even if he didn't want to accept the help she knows he needs it. She holds the corner of his cloak ransom knowing he cannot leave without it. He does not dare to tug away from her then despite not wanting to be near her.

"Stay." Marinette commands. She has him sit as she retrieves a sewing needle to coax it out. The queasy kitten nearly faints in her arms and has his eyes shut tightly in order to remain calm enough to hold still. It only takes a second to free him of the tiny speck of pain. With her lips she places a peck on the cut that had upset him so terribly. He pulls away again, but this time out of shock.

"The kiss makes it hurt less. My parents always did this for my minor scuffs when I was a child," she explains. "It makes it better much sooner."

He glares at her a moment longer, before he softens toward her. "I never knew that... Thank you, it really doesn't hurt anymore," he admits to his own pleasant surprise.

She ruffles his blond locks affectionately as if he were a beloved pet or a younger brother. She had never had anyone to bicker with before. "Good kitty. Will you let me rest now?"

"Yes," He sighs hopelessly, "But please let me know if you see the girl. She could be my other half."

Her eyes avoid his as she lies to him, "Right, I will..."

"Thank you, miss...ah... I never did get your name," he tilts his head curiously.

"Marinette."

"Miss Marinette," He smiles to himself a little and nods, "It suits you."

"Chat Noir? May I ask you something?" She requests suddenly. "You are looking for this girl with a mask, but do you really know her? Who are you really underneath your own mask?"

He refuses the question while shaking his head and quickly standing to retreat. "I'm sorry, my other identity must stay secret. And as for my lady, she is very dear to me."

She frowns wishing he would clarify further. Perhaps she would see him again in one of the faces of the townsfolk if she remained attentive.

"A lone wolf are you? I understand." Marinette rubs her eyes sleepily with her palm. "Goodnight then... Chat Noir."

"Goodnight, Prrrrrincess." He bows elegantly, but she rolls her eyes at him for his absurd politeness. He hardly needs to treat her with such formalities when the encounter has been awkwardly casual at best.

"Oh so I was evil, but now I'm a princess?" She teases him.

"A man is able to change his mind. You may be clumsy, but you are very kind. A princess you will be to a lucky he." She cannot help giggling at his rhymes again, but this time he grins because he believes himself to be humorous. The only amusement is that he thinks he is so funny.

He leaps off of her rooftop and on to the next with the aid of a shining, extended silver cane that he had concealed under his cloak. She watches until he is only another star flying amongst the thousands of dots in the night.

"The dumb cat found me and hasn't a clue," she giggles again. She latches her shutters tight to keep his paws from poking about this place entirely.