(Dedicated to michellesosa42)

“Marinette. . . Dupain-Cheng?”

Stopping the furious typing on her phone, Marinette looks over at the source of the voice. The speaker turns out to be the person sitting next to her on an identical plastic chair— he'd just settled down— a brown-haired guy of eighteen-nineteen, with light hazel eyes and deep laugh lines.

She quickly tucks the phone back into her purse, and smiles at the stranger. “Yes. Uh, should I. . . Do I know you?”

“Kind of.”

He seems rather familiar and he is looking at her as if he expects her to know him. Marinette feels the rush of pained apology that always attended the circumstance of having forgotten someone she had previously met.

“You’re from my institute?” she asks, trying desperately to place him.

He gives her a curious glance and smiles slightly. “No, actually.”

He knows her name. Marinette regards him with increasing confusion. She couldn’t imagine how she could have forgotten a man this attractive.

As he shuffles in his seat, a mahogany glitter slid over the shiny dark brown surface of his hair. The thick locks have been clipped much closer to the shape of his head than Europeans preferred. An American style. Come to think of it, he had spoken in an American accent.

Suddenly Marinette realizes who he was.

“You,” she whispers, her eyes wide with astonishment, “You were the guy who spilled coffee on my first day!”

He beams, “Oh, thank god. I thought maybe you'd forgotten me. Although, I am thankful for being the random guy who spilled coffee on your first day, not ‘Chloé's cousin’.”

An awkward blood rush rose to her cheeks, and she feels a bit defensive. “It's been a long time.”

He shakes his head, laughing quietly. And the announcement for another flight resonates through the airport.

It is quiet for a few seconds.

Desperate for a change of subject, Marinette fidgets with her fingers. “Uh, so, you're going to Paris too? ”

“Yeah. For a few years. It is important to my parents that I receive a portion of my education in France. We’re dual citizens. And since I went to high school in America, I had to enroll in France. Wait, do you know La Sorbonne? Actually, I am going there. . .”

They talked some more about his college and her gala, and was she excited for going home? She said that she was and both of them decided to get M&M sprinkled vanilla ice-creams from the bright storefronts. He entertained her with some embarrassing stories about Chloé and somehow, she ended up telling him about the time when she designed the CD cover for Jagged Stone.

“Whoa, seriously? That's so cool. I mean I love him-” His eyes sparkles and Marinette feels a silly smile tugging at her lips.

Their fangirling/boying rapid banter is interrupted by the loud announcement to begin boarding for their flight. They both shuffle towards the line, picking up their luggage.

The bored flight attendant slides his ticket through a machine that rips it, and Ethan moves forward. Marinette hands hers over. “We are currently boarding forty to fifty. Please wait until your section is called.” The attendant hands back her ticket, and her polished nails click against the thick paper.

“What? I’m in forty-five—”

But she's not. A look at her boarding pass and she realizes that she's in twenty-three.

She forgot that they wouldn’t be sitting together, which was idiotic, she decides, because it’s not like they made their reservations together. It’s a coincidence they're on the same flight.

She could see Ethan waiting for her down the walkway.

Marinette shrugs helplessly and holds up the boarding pass. “Row twenty-three.”

His expression is surprised. He forgot, too.

Someone growls at her. A businessman with immaculate black hair is trying to hand his ticket to the flight attendant. She mutters her apologies and step aside. Ethan's shoulders sag. He waves goodbye and disappears around the corner.

Why can’t they sit together, she wonders. What’s the point of seat reservations, anyway? The bored woman calls her section next. At least she'll have a window seat. The middle and aisle are occupied with more businessmen.

She's reaching for her phone again—it’s going to be a long flight—when a polite, although familiar accent speaks to the man beside her.

“Um. . . Excuse me. Would you mind switching seats? See, that's my girlfriend, and we're having a baby.” Ethan gestures towards her with a bright smile and Marinette could've bet that he winked at her. “And since she gets a bit ill on airplanes, you know, the turbulences, she might need someone to hold back her hair when . . . well . . .” Ethan holds up the courtesy barf bag and shakes it around.The paper crinkles dramatically.

The man sprints off the seat as Marinette's face flames. His pregnant girlfriend?

The woman from across the aisle gives them a horrified look.

“Thank you. I was in forty-five G.” He slides into the vacated chair and waits for the man to disappear before speaking again. “They had me next to some lovey-dovey couple in matching shirts. There’s no reason to suffer this flight alone when we can suffer it together.”

“That’s flattering, thanks.” But she laughs.

Time passes quickly for an eight-hour flight.

The two of them don’t talk about what waits on the other side of the ocean. Not his law school. Not her fashion show. Instead, they browse SkyMall. They play the if-you-had-to-buy-one-thing-off-each-page game.

Marinette laughs when he chooses the biggest crossword puzzle, and he teases her when she buys the Candy Rock which hides all the candies within plain sight.

“At least, it is practical!” She protests, “ Unlike yours. ‘Oh Marinette, I cannot go to the movies with you, 'cause I'm working on 2 thousand across! ‘SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIUS!'”

“First of all, that's a terrible impression. And secondly,” his hazel eyes gleam teasingly, “did you just ask me out?”

“Um, no.” Red splatters her cheeks when she realizes how she can be misinterpreted. “I-I didn't mean it like that.”

“Good. 'Cause,” Ethan smiles, “I'm going to. Hereitis, hopeyoudon'tmind, can we get some drinks together when we– oh my god, Marinette, are you alright?”

She had choked on her juice.

The captain’s voice crackles over the airplane. They're here.

They're home.

*

Marinette is jittery as the two of them walk out of the airport, and she pretends not to hear him when he offers to carry her luggage.

It's like XY's throwing a horrible jamboree in her stomach. She's always hated XY. Why is she thinking about XY? There's no reason to be nervous, Marinette scolds herself. She's just seeing her parents again. And Alya! Alya said that she's coming too!

"-hey, Marinette!!! Heyyyyy." How long has Ethan's been calling her? "Why are you blanking out?"

She blinks. “Huh?”

“I was just asking if you'd like me to drop you off at your home? I've got a ride. ” His eyes are curious, but he doesn't say anything out of place.

Marinette was just about to refuse when she notices the crowd of people outside the glass doors and her bluebell eyes widen in surprise.

Alya said that she's bringing a few friends. THIS is definitely NOT a few friends. All of her classmates, her parents, Alya's parents, Manon, she could see Nana as well, and WAS THAT CHLOÉ? OH. MY. GOD. As quick as the astonishment, understanding dawns on her, she exhales in relief. She's here to pick up Ethan.

Honestly, Marinette wouldn't know what to do if Chloé had come herself to pick her up.

Okay, okay, it's alright, Marinette, calm down, she says to herself. A earnest prayer follows. Please God, don't let Adrien be there. Don't let Adrien be there. Don't let Adrien be there. Don't let Adrien be there. Please—

Ethan follows her shocked gaze and a understanding smile breaks out on his face. “Ah.”

Marinette is attacked by a group of people when she trudges out of Charles De Gaulle. She is hugged and kissed by everyone, and also a few tears are shed (Sabine, of course). All while she is distracted.

She searches for the familiar mop of blonde hair, and the green eyes, but it's not there. She looks again and again.

No Adrien.

NO ADRIEN.

Her entire body exhales in relief. Thank God. She couldn't face him. Laughing and chatting, she hands her trolleys to her dad, who insists she gets on the car soon. He had made reservations; they were gonna have lunch together. She follows him, when—

“Marinette!” She turns around, and Ethan reaches her in a few ground-eating strides. “Um... here.”

He hands her a slip of paper, which suspiciously looks like a piece of his boarding pass. But Marinette decides not to comment on it, glancing at him curiously.

“My number. Call me when you can. ” Ethan strangely looks flushed.

THIS was AWKWARD. All of her friends, INCLUDING CHLOÉ AND HER PARENTS, were staring at her with interest. And it took all of her effort to not squirm visibly under their gazes.

Marinette smiles nervously, crossing her arms over her chest and uncrossing them again. “Yeah. . . I will. And um. . . thanks for holding back my hair during the turbulences. I owe you one.”

They both break out into knowing guffaws, and Marinette could see Alya's confused expression from her peripheral vision. And she knew that the brunette was going to grill her the moment they were alone. Alya HATED being left out.

“So, THAT was interesting.”

Groaning, Alix chucks a rubber band at Alya. “Let the woman breathe, gosh. She's just gotten off a eight hour flight, you know.”

All of her friends step into the car one by one, and Marinette follows suit, hopping into the passenger seat. She straps on her seat belt, and her eyes wander to the driver's side.

“Hey, who's driving?” Marinette twists to ask her friends, whose faces are immediately shadowed by similar confusion.

Alya's eyebrows scrunch up. “I don't know. Your dad said that he had rented the car, so there must be a driver along with it. It's the standard protocol. But where is—”

Right on cue, the car door is swung open and a person climbs into it. “Hey guys! I'm sorry that I'm late, but there was traffic and. . .”

He's still saying something but Marinette couldn't hear him over the blood rush in her ears.

No, no, no, no, no, no. NO!

She know this voice! This shirt! This hair! She knows him!

She opens her eyes— she couldn't remember when she had closed them— and she realizes that everybody's staring at her.

Clearly, he had said something.

But, what? What? WHAT?

Is it about what happened all those years ago? God, she hopes not. In front of all her friends. . .

But, there's no need to ask anyone.

Adrien grins. “Hi, Mari.”

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           So, hope you guys liked the first chapter. I'm going to try to update every Tuesday and occasionally other days if I feel like it. . . if you liked it, don't forget to click the star button, and drop a comment below.

Stay pawsome,
Upama ♥