Sooo... where do I start? Maybe with the first most obvious and most important thing: This is a Valentine's gift for tumblr user vanilla107 who requested a Victorian AU in the secret exchange we were participating.

As fate wanted it, I butted heads with my partner in crime and beta Ju and things started to spin, as so often, out of control. Soon I realized that the whole plot had grown so much that I would never be able to finish the complete story until Vday, so I decided to concentrate on completing the first chapter. And even here I had to rush a little, so please forgive me if I fall back behind my usual level of style and storytelling.

I'm endlessly indebted to Ju here, too, bc even after the hell of a week she did her best to erase all the mistakes my pretty drought and mushy brain wasn't able to see anymore. And even more, when I got stuck during some conversational parts (bc MariChat is not exactly my fort of writing) she helped me out greatly (bc it's totally her fort of writing, you should go to AO3 and check her 'Sleepwalking' if you haven't already).

The last thing to say is that amount of research I did for that fanfic is downright ridiculous. I dug myself through so many websites elaborating Victorian lifestyle, wages, job conditions, fashion and masquerade balls that it made my head spin and feel like I still don't know enough. But nonetheless I took great efforts to be as historically correct as possible – with the small liberties I allowed myself to make that AU work for the two cuties. (And yes, of course there will be a masquerade XD)

This story will be updated in tandem with 'Through Your Eyes" so expect the next update sometime March-ish. o_ov

The streets of London were bustling with life. Even here in the upper-class district of the town the pavements were flocked with people, passing by and chattering happily in the sunny autumn weather. Woman in lush, colourful dresses, fine gentleman in even finer suits, small lords and ladies, everyone was out there in the afternoon glow.

Well, except for... him.

Adrien unlocked his eyes from the window with a weary sigh and returned them to the papers on the desk. A guilty smile tugged at his lips when he saw the single, black spot of ink that buried half of the Chinese characters he had been practicing over and over there - his quill had lost no time to bleed out nicely when he had been busy with staring through the window pane. He reached for the small bowl containing fine sand to dry the wetness on the page, but when he blew the remnants towards the closed glass he found his attention wandering far away again almost instantly. He knew that all he did was important: the Chinese for the fabric merchants his father had established ties with recently; the fencing, because it was expected from a fine, young English gentleman; the piano lessons, because arts had to be cultivated. He was going to be the head of the Agreste household one day and he wanted his father to be proud of him. And although he enjoyed all that he did to a certain extend... it always felt like something was missing. It might be his mother – ever since she had died the house had grown cold, no matter how much Adrien had tried to fill the blank spaces. Yet there was more, something that went beyond the absence of a human presence. If it wasn't for their errand boy Nino who had become his best friend over the year he had worked here, Adrien was sure this stuffy walls would have suffocated him by now. The young man with the tanned skin kept him entertained with the latest stories and gossip that was in the streets, making the blond aristocrat feel like he was an actual part of the city life.

And this was the thing: he felt like it, but he wasn't. It was wrong to say that he never left the manor, but when he did, it was only to attend to the next lesson or a society meeting or a ball, most of them as stiff as his handmaid Nathalie. Sometimes Adrien wished for nothing more than to simply walk out and join the flow of people. At the same time he knew it wasn't that easy.

A heavy weight that impacted on his lap pulled him back into reality. He glanced down and found a pair of emeralds staring right back at him, feline irises full of mischief.

"Plagg!" he exclaimed. He hadn't noticed how his pet had entered his study, had been so lost to his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the jingling, golden bell around the black cat's neck.

At the mention of its name the feline rubbed its head against his chest, but before Adrien could nuzzle his hand into the soft fur, Plagg hopped on his desk and from there strode to the window sill. With a mew the tomcat stretched against the wooden frame and looked back at him. A smile that was far from happy crept upon the teenager's face.

"I know, but we can't go out. And you should know that, too." He offered his open palm. "Come back."

Plagg sunk down to his fours and turned around, the green eyes interlocking with his own of the same colour.

There was something very human in the levelling stare the feline was holding and Adrien could only pull his gaze away when he noticed that his lungs demanded for air. Letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding, he shook his head. This had been weird.

His pet, however, had lost no time to stroll back on his office desk. When the young nobleman looked up again, Plagg was standing right on his Chinese papers. And just dipped his head to pick up Adrien's abandoned quill with his fangs. What...?

"Plagg?"

With that, the cat jumped to the ground, abducting the innocent writing tool. "Hey!" the teenager protested and rose from his chair. "I need that one." He stepped towards his pet which backed off immediately. Adrien groaned. The teenager usually didn't mind playing with Plagg, but he did mind if the cat wanted to play with his expensive pen of all things, especially if he didn't have time for any kind of shenanigans, just like right now. He wanted to complete his tasks before dinner.

Chasing the feline through the study, he had the tomcat cornered in front of the room's second window at last.

"Ok, friend, we can keep this quiet and peaceful, or you can have it the hard way. Your choice," he said while slowly inching closer. Plagg's tail just swished mockingly in return. Fine, Adrien thought with growing annoyance, two could play at this game.

Without warning he leaped forward, but it was like Plagg had done nothing but expecting that move. The black cat dove away just in time and left the young aristocrat sailing towards the window with open arms. Adrien tried to stop the moment he noticed his mistake, but the force of motion dragged his body in the opposite direction. Before he lost balance completely, his hands reached for the window's hitch. The lock snapped when he clung to it, opening the framed glass with a squeak.

Adrien blinked to gather himself and that was when he noticed the black mass of fur jumping on the sill next to him. He met Plagg's eyes for a fleeting moment and then the cat was gone to the outside. And so was Adrien's quill.

"Stop!" he shouted and reached after his pet, but too late, the dark shadow of the feline was already vanishing in the bushes two stories below. His shoulders dropped and he heaved a sigh. So much for that.

He stood there like this for another long minute, unsure what to do with himself now. It was when he felt the soft kiss of the afternoon sun that he leaned back a little.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to enjoy the warm, ticklish sensation upon his skin. The last of summer's heat was already gone from the air, but its now cool bite was yet toothless. He could smell the smoke from chimneys, the aroma of the wet, colourful leaves from the nearby parks and the ghost of freshly cooked meals from the kitchen. Chatter mixed with the sound of wheels and hooves on cobblestone, and somewhere down the street a dog was barking.

Taking all this in thirstily, he couldn't help but think how lucky Plagg was. Plagg was free to go wherever he wanted, there were no expectations and obligations he had to bend and comply to except his very own.

Adrien himself on the other hand...

He was far from being an ordinary black cat. Every public appearance was staged and planned, reputation the most important thing in his father's business, and rumours would fly fast if he thought to act outside the protocol for once. Everyone knew the son of Gabriel Agreste, the best and most talented designer London had to offer these days. A man who had lost enough already through his wife's death. He didn't need a son who disappointed him and made him even sadder.

Yes, sometimes it really would be easier if he was just a cat disguised in stealthy black that went by unnoticed under the eyes of the city's people. Unless...

His eyes flew open again when the idea hit him with full force.

The memory of his favourite childhood hero, la chat botté, flashed before his eyes. A clever cat, achieving the utmost luck for his owner after it was given the chance to act human. He knew the notion was downright crazy, but... who said it couldn't also be the other way round?!

He felt a grin spreading across his face. He would need to give some more thought to this, but... really, who said it couldn't be like this?

·

The weather in front of the shop's window was moist, a rather typical English autumn day with high chances of rain. Leaning back from the fabric rack, Marinette straightened the creases out of her rose-coloured bustle dress and untangled the white lace in the places where it had become twisted. Letting her fingers rest on the floral embroidery of her French vest bodice, she reminded herself that she had to look presentable. There was always a chance that a customer dropped by, and with Mr Fu being on one of his many business travels again and his daughter Tikki entertaining some guests, she was the only one currently overseeing the fabric store. The task was nothing new to her – growing up as a baker's daughter kind of brought this along – but helping out at your parents' store was something entirely different than actually working in a shop that sold the finest cloth to the upper-classes. And albeit her employers were some of the kindest people she had ever come to know, Marinette didn't want to screw up. The wages she earned here were her ticket to a seamstress apprenticeship, they would pay the costs her parents weren't able to cover. She knew it was a tough job she aspired to learn, but she dared to dream big. 'Le Papillion' marked the name of her goal, the fashion house of London's grand designer Gabriel Agreste whose detailed dresses and fine suits put even a Charles Worth to shame. Learning her handiwork there, from the best of the best, Marinette might even would be able to sell her own designs one distant day.

Although, the teenage girl had to admit to herself that this all was only part of the truth why she was so determined to win a place among the dressmakers and tailors that served under Gabriel Agreste. The other reason was a far younger Agreste, about her age, with hair of gold and eyes of luminescent...

The ring of the doorbell burst her bubble. She forced down the dreamy smile that had started to wake on her features and quickly corrected one of the artificial flowers that had come loose in her hairdo before turning.

"Wel...come." The last syllables tumbled down her lips as she caught sight of the figure that was standing at the entrance of the shop, his back facing her. He was lean, that was the first thing she noticed. Tufts of wild, blonde hair stuck out from under the top hat with a green band and... a feather attached to it? Her brows knit further while her azure eyes brushed over the strange visitor that was almost entirely dressed in black. There were several green highlights here and there on what she could make out of his very dandy clothing, but something seemed strangely off, didn't fit together, like someone had randomly thrown together pieces that they had found in their closet. Or on the street.

"I ought to remember that our sign says 'no strays allowed'," Marinette said loud enough to be sure the young man heard her.

He turned, surprised and a bit startled. There was a pair of enigmatic, almost hypnotizing green irises staring back at her, encircled by the black of the leather mask he wore over the upper half of his face. Recovering the composure he had lost for a moment, he then smiled endearingly and bowed deeply. "I'm by no means a stray cat. I am Chat Noir, protector of the poor and weak. At your service, princess."

He rather needed some protection himself, from his poor sense of fashion to be exact, the young woman thought, but didn't say it out loud. Instead, she decided to play along.

"Oh, yes, of course, that Chat Noir, how could I forget?!" she exclaimed and applied a hand to her cheek in feigned shock.

The emerald green grew wide with bewilderment and the baker's daughter had to suppress a chuckle - it appeared like he certainly hadn't expected a reply like this. In the moment of silence that followed she found her eyes wandering over his stature once more. She couldn't tell if the claim about his persona was true – there were many strange birds preening their feathers among the citizens of London who simply went by the name they or the public had chosen for them – but it was evident that he wasn't a homeless. Your common beggar usually didn't come equipped with manners such as these he just had displayed. Even if his introduction had been a little over the top.

As the stillness between them stretched out, Marinette spoke up again. After all, entering their store basically made him her customer. "Well, Monsieur Noir, what brings you to our humble fabric store?" There was a teasing edge to the young woman's voice and she was surprised to find it there, her natural reaction to the mysterious youth's behaviour outplaying her initial intention to treat him with careful respect.

It was only now that he started to take account to his surroundings, his awareness momentarily shifting from the baker's daughter to the racks with the assorted fabrics. After a few seconds, the stranger calling himself "Chat Noir" strode a few steps forwards, coming to a halt in front of the big desk centring the shop that was adorned by some exquisite cloth. He rested his hand on a coupon of black silk and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It is rumoured that Fu's offers some of the finest fabrics in the city and I..." he paused for a moment, as if searching for a train of thought that had been lost, "...was actually looking for some materials to improve my costume for the masquerade ball at the Bourgeois manor next month."

"Yes, I see that," Marinette mumbled with a sceptic arch in her brow, gears clicking and shifting in her mind and forming a more coherent picture.

"Excuse me, princess, would you mind to elaborate?" he inquired kindly. The vibrant green of his irises was curious, although ribboned with light confusion. The young woman blanched. She hadn't expected him to hear the commentary on his rather poorly executed 'costume'. Heart dropping and thoughts racing – by no means she wanted to insult a customer – she put on a nervous smile. Her eyes scanned him, the store, his clothing again.

"I mean... your choice of clothing is rather…" She paused and gulped, carefully selecting her words. "It is rather unique, I'd say. But there's nothing wrong with that, of course!" she hastily added, forcing her tense smile to grow even further. "It takes a lot of knowledge and engagement with the world of fashion to always make the right choices, so it's not that bad if you..."

Her voice trailed off. She couldn't see Chat Noir's face underneath his mask, but by the way his eyes widened in surprise, maybe even shock, she knew that something about this bothered him. She felt panic swell in her mind, unstoppable and conquering, just like a drop of red wine would spread over the surface of white fabric. He had taken it for an insult, after all. No, no, no…

"I guess unique is a most fitting word, dear princess," the boy's chuckling voice yanked her out of her nightmarish thoughts of how she was scolded by her employer, thrown out of her working place and, having brought disgrace upon her family, had to live on the street, dressed in rags, never to marry the boy she loved.

"Pardon?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief while trying to regain her composure. She was lucky this young man seemed to be rather amused instead of being offended by her jabbering, which was not a given in a city like London.

"I said you were purrfectly right," he rephrased his words, gently making a bow in front of the baker's daughter, a smirk gracing his visage. "For some reason I am not entitled to call myself a professional if it comes to matters of design and fashion," he added, the obnoxious grin on his face growing wider, from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. Marinette couldn't hide a giggle – he was like a strange tomcat to the core.

"Maybe I could be of some help?" the young woman finally proposed after a moment of silence in which the boy had mustered her with increasing amusement. "With the design. I might be able to think of some ideas for a masquerade costume."

The sight of pure relief on the blonde youth's face made her heart jump for an instant, the way it had only ever done when she was met with a challenge, with a design that needed to be perfect – she loved to put her mind and soul into that kind of tasks, it was why she had chosen her line of work in the first place.. "I'd be honoured, little lady," he purred in a moment of admiration, the smirk replaced by a soft and thankful smile. "With the help of a wonderful princess like you, my costume pawsitivley will attract every eye on the masquerade."

He was exaggerating now, most obviously. But Marinette could play this game as well. "You are doing me too much honour, Monsieur Noir," she replied not too seriously.

"Chat Noir," he corrected her gently.

"Chat Noir," she repeated after a moment of hesitation, letting the name roll over her tongue. He nodded with satisfied approval.

"Would the great Chat Noir grace me with a few minutes of his precious time to work on his request?" the baker's daughter asked, enjoying the light-hearted nature of the conversation and almost giggling again as his lips blissfully spread at her words. His gloved hands gestured her to go on.

Marinette hurried over to the counter where she found the stack of paper and the pencil she usually used to issue bills for their customers. Heart brimming with excitement and determination, she started sketching a male figurine, followed swiftly by the actual clothing. At first there were only quick, rough strokes but they gradually became more refined and detailed as she progressed.

The wooden floor creaked under the boy's soles as he stepped up to her side.

"Your inspiration was… puss in boots, right?" she asked without lifting her gaze. Beside the very feline aura that mantled his persona like an invisible cloak and reflected in his smooth movements, there were things like the uncommonly high boots, the feather on his hat and most notably the piece of cloth hanging loosely around his waist – its long end swishing like a tail around his hips – that reminded her of the cat hero in her fairytale book.

"I prefer la chat botté, but yes."

Her hand hovered over the paper for a moment, wondering why he insisted on the French original title, before the thought of musketeers entered her mind and she let the idea fuel her inspiration. Almost involuntarily she had to think of the stories her father always told about her great-grandfather, serving in the French king's guard until revolution had thrown the land into chaos and made his son, her grandfather, leave the country to seek business in England. It were dandy, colourful stories – much like the strange young man dressed in black. Her lips curled and she added more lines to the design.

In her peripheral vision she could see how he craned his neck to get a better look on her sketch. He tried to be polite and kept his distance, but his curiosity was almost tangible now. Just like an impatient, small kitten, Marinette thought, admittedly amused. She adjusted her pose so it allowed the mysterious youth a view on the paper.

"In regards of the fabrics to use, I think the design will go best with light, flowing fabrics, especially for the sleeves. I would make exceptions for the vest and trousers, though. You might want to use brocade for the vest and I think if you made the pants out of suede..." she explained in a matter-of-fact-voice while tipping the pen on the respective parts of the picture.

"You seem to know a lot about fabrics and design" Chat Noir mused over her commentary, causing her to fall silent. "...can you sew as well?" he asked suddenly.

Not for the first time today she wondered about her very special customer – this time silently asking herself where he grew up to not know that this was the first thing basically every young girl learned. Marinette might have been a little ahead in skill and knowledge compared to her contemporaries, as sewing came as a passion to her, and especially since Tikki endowed her pieces of fabric every now and then, she had produced various hats and other accessories but….what exactly was he getting at?

"...yes?" she replied with a small frown adorning her forehead.

"...then, can you sew this one for me?" he said, pointing at her sketch.

Her eyes shot up, meeting his.

"I mean, if it's not it's not too much to ask for." He seemed awkwardly abashed of his own words for a fleeting moment, scratching his neck, but Marinette guessed that was only natural when you saw the compartments of the girl's face in front of you fall straight to the floor. She fought for composure. "Why are you asking me? I believe someone... of your calibre sure entertains not only one tailor." A strange emotion the baker's daughter couldn't quite put her finger on crossed the visible part of his features. It went as quickly as it had come and with the next blink he was back to his usual self. "That's true, princess, but they are all rather... busy. And with the dedication you put in your design... I dare to say you could make this cat here look even more stunning then he already does." He winked at her.

Still not entirely sure how to feel about this, she looked at him and found no wrongness in his eyes. The offer itself was tempting, the first real job in the field of work she pursued, but she didn't want to lie. "I don't know if I can do this... I am still learning", she replied hesitantly and even that was only half the truth. Learning by herself – her apprenticeship wouldn't start before next spring, she was still preparing on her application.

He tried to hide it, tried to fight back the disappointment, unravelling heavy and gloomy within him and turning the juvenile glimmer in bright green irises cold and dead. There was something fragile in the way he held himself, and he looked much more like a boy than the hero he claimed to be. Marinette regretted her words immediately. "But... I could try," she heard herself saying.

He beamed again and the light returned to his face, while Marinette beyond her relief was cursing her soft heart. She was even less a tailoress than a seamstress. "But don't expect any miracles, you hear me?"

"I was expecting nothing when I entered this store and you've already proven me wrong once."

"A-and of course you'll need to pay," the young woman replied, suddenly nervous as she realized that she was indeed going to do this. It was like he had only waited for that remark, embracing it eagerly.

"Yes, I already thought about this one, too. What do you say about ...25 pounds?"

Marinette gasped, words eluding her. Thoughts eluding her. Everything eluding her. The sum could secure her living for a whole year.

Chat Noir deemed profoundly surprised for a moment before he shook his head as if scolding himself. "Of course, I knew that wouldn't be enough... 50 pounds?"

The young woman's emotions roamed in a place between horror and disbelief. Just who was he? If it wasn't for the honesty in his gaze she would have thought he was pulling her legs, but he seemed dead serious, considered this dizzying amounts as an adequate payment.

His eyes squared as he tried to make sense of her behaviour and as a terrific conclusion seemed to misinterpret it yet again. "Well, I didn't think it was that expe..."

"Please, stop." Her words came out a little breathlessly and she fought back the urge of her arms to jolt up and cover his mouth with her hands. He stared at her, not quite understanding the problem.

"I'll do it for the price of 15 shilling," she declared. The offer was a little bold, it was above the average of what a seamstress usually earned, but she felt like he wouldn't accept less.

"Per hour?"

Marinette rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. Whether he was actually clueless or just ignorant, this was getting a tad ridiculous. "Per day, of course."

Chat Noir's confusion was physical, his whole body restraining from the fact his mind desperately was attempting to compute. All he could do was to utter a bewildered: "Really?"

The baker's daughter smirked lightly. "Actually, sewing for a hero like you should be honorary work, but unfortunately I have a life to lead and pay, so yes."

The young man quickly found back to his former self after being offered the conversational ground he was used to walk on. He pressed a hand to his chest, right over his heart. "I would never take advantage of such a gracious princess like you. Just set up a bill with the materials you'll need and I will be happy to pay it."

Marinette nodded. "Give me two days."

"Same time, same place?"

"Yes, we can talk about the details then."

Chat Noir concurred his agreement with a nod himself and then stepped back as if about to leave. He stopped again when he seemed to realize something. The blonde boy smiled apologetically. "Please forgive me the insolence of not doing this earlier, but I think I haven't asked for your name yet. Do you mind giving it to me before we part?"

She shook her head, a little puzzled that she hadn't noticed so far. "Not at all. It's Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

"Well then, mademoiselle Marinette," he purred with a bow. "My dear princess," he added, bowing even deeper. "This humble cat would love to stay and chat even more, but you know how it is with heroes nowadays." He tipped his hat, quickly winking at her. "Damsels in distress, ladies to save, rascals to fight… many tasks await me. Until our next rendezvous." With those words he spun on his heel dramatically, and with a last playful nod in her direction he finally strode to the door, vanishing into the bustle of the streets behind the closing portal. Marinette long stared after him, silently wondering what she had gotten herself into.