Christmas Kisses and Paris Kisses

Wednesday 11th December

Marinette

Marinette stepped into the bustling terminal of Charles de Gaulle Airport, the fluorescent lights harsh against her tired eyes. Her bones ached from the long flight, but the relief of being back in Paris was like a warm blanket after a chilly night. Home. She could almost smell the rain-soaked streets and feel the city's familiar hum beneath her feet. She was here.

But as her gaze skimmed the busy crowd, she felt a pang of something hollow. She unlocked her phone, checking her messages—again. To say she'd checked her phone a thousand times would've been an understatement. There was still nothing from Johnny. The familiar, empty inbox stared back at her, and she felt the familiar ache sharpen.

She'd messaged him from the taxi. From the airport. On the plane, and when she'd landed. Yes, she knew there was a time difference and yes; she knew he was angry at her, but she would have highly appreciated a little support from someone who loved her. Just a short text to check she was okay. He didn't even need to mean it.

The arrival hall buzzed with energy, a whirlwind of joyful reunions straight out of Love Actually. Friends, families, and lovers embraced, their laughter mingling with the sound of rolling suitcases and cheerful greetings. Hugs and kisses—some passionate, some sweetly platonic—filled the air, creating a tapestry of smiling faces and heartfelt 'welcome homes'. It was a scene that made her heart flutter, reminding her of the magic of love in all its forms. The magic of love she was envious of.

She pushed her way through the crowds, making her way toward the buses, politely excusing herself as she passed by. No one was here for her. She hadn't even told her parents she was coming back. By the time she'd booked the flight and argued with Johnny, it was late in Paris and she needed to get to the airport. Even though she knew they wouldn't mind the late night wake up, it wasn't fair when Christmas was such a busy season for them. She looked at her watch, knowing they'd both be up now, preparing to open the boulangerie to the crowds of people wanting festive treats.

What a shock it will be when she walks in!

She dragged her case behind her, tapping her phone screen and typing another message to Johnny. Guilt flooding her that maybe she'd made the wrong choice. She should have stayed in New York. He was right; she hadn't seen or spoken to Master fu in years, but she couldn't help the need to come back.

Marinette: Just getting on the bus. I'll text you from my parents. I hope you had a good night with Roger. I miss you ️

She sighed, placing her phone away again, resisting the urge to check to see if it had delivered.

The queue for the city bus was long, but luckily they came extremely frequently, even this time in the morning. It was just past six and as much as she would have loved to have taken the train; she hadn't the energy to walk to the station.

Taking her place at the end of the queue, she peeked ahead to gauge how many people were in front of her before glancing back.

A rush of air left her lungs as she turned around, instantly regretting her decision. About thirteen people behind her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with striking blond hair and a face that was etched in her memory.

The face of one Adrien Agreste.

She quickly ducked back into place, standing straighter and pulling her scarf up around her neck and lower face. First hour back in Paris and of course the first person she'd see was Adrien Agreste.

She grabbed her phone and switched it to camera mode, holding it up to shoulder height and capturing a quick shot of the people behind. Quickly, she pulled her device back and examined her old — ex? — friend. The sunlight streaming in from the window had cast shadows that highlighted his features, transforming his side profile into a work of art, almost sculptural elegance. He was still a marvel, a mere god among mortals, with his glassy green eyes and sun touched hair.