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“Shit,” Ladybug mutters, letting herself fall back onto the wall to inspect her throbbing side. Of course, there’s nothing there- her suit conceals every one of her injuries. It’s always a nice surprise to look in the mirror two minutes after transforming and see a purple-green bruise the size of an apple sunken into her collarbone, or the small of her back- but wow, this hurts. She sinks to the ground, patrol forgotten.
“Ouch. You good?” Chat Noir says, landing effortlessly next to her, and she sighs, biting her lip to keep from groaning- it hurts so much. “Um. No?”
“I’m gonna need that in writing. Sign here?” He holds out his hand. “Your lips will do fine for a pen.”
“Shut up,” Ladybug mumbles, taking ahold of his outstretched hand, rolling her eyes when he pouts. “Help me get to the Tour Eiffel before I die.”
“Aw, dramatic.” Chat Noir pulls her up and his baton extends, pushing them both into the skies of Paris.
Once they land on the Tour Eiffel’s viewing platform, Ladybug falls to the floor, and Chat Noir bends down next to her. “Shit. Okay, so- so what happened? How do I help?”
“I fell on a lamppost,” Ladybug says flatly, her face pressed against the floor. “Drag me inside so I can detransform, and then help me clean the wound. Please.”
Chat Noir snorts, gently pulling her inside the small room. “Fell on a lamppost. I am so gonna tell Carapace about this.”
“You do, and I’ll kill you,” she threatens with no real malice behind her words. Chat Noir looks away, grinning. “Spots off.”
Detransforming is always a great feeling, but this time it’s a beautiful relief. Well- for about two seconds. And then there’s a pool of blood soaking her clothes. “Um, Chat?”
“Hm? Can I look?”
She pulls her hood over her head, covering her face. “Y-yeah.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Milady.” Chat Noir clicks his tongue like a worried mother hen, and Ladybug would laugh if it weren’t for the stabbing pain in her side. “Is it bad?”
“Are- are these your workout clothes?”
“I was jogging before we went out. Can you answer my question?”
“At 1am?”
“Chat.”
“Okay, okay,” Chat Noir says defensively. “Uh- yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
“Can you clean it?” she asks, hissing in pain as he touches her. “Watch it.”
“Sorry!” he exclaims, pulling away. “Hold on, I’ll find something to clean it with.”
They watch the sunrise together once Chat Noir has cleaned her wound. He repeatedly suggests she goes to the hospital, but Ladybug refuses. How would she explain falling on a lamppost to health workers?
“Thank you,” she says, her head leaning against his shoulder, and she feels him smile. “Anytime, bugaboo.”
And she doesn’t even mind.