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The clock’s hands are less than fifteen minutes preemptive to the end of their second period class, and Adrien is stupefied.
Adrien rubs the sleepiness out of his heavy eyelids. Eyes refocusing, Adrien warily scans the surroundings of the classroom to spot what’s wrong with the picture. Eventually, his eyes land on the empty seat beside Alya, and the confusion increases tenfold.
Why? Because Marinette isn't in class.
Perhaps it is due to his bone-deep exhaustion, a result of several all-nighters consisting of night shifts patrolling the city (Milady asked for the previous night off, and Adrien can’t refuse her anything) and catching up on his assignments, that Adrien took a while to realize Marinette isn’t in the room.
It’s become a normal occurrence of sorts for the aspiring fashion to be late to school much to the amusement of the class. According to her, her cell phone’s alarm clock (and her love of sleeping) was never the most reliable, but today, she hasn’t shown her face at all.
Without her presence, Adrien can’t find the heart to concentrate on Madame Mendeleev’s lesson. He then starts to wonder if there was a specific moment he became accustomed to, nearly dependent even, on being constantly surrounded by his closest friends. He’s normally uncompromisingly attentive in his classes, fueled by his love for learning, but the urge to rest his chin on his palm and doze for a bit is tempting. As Madame Mendeleev reviews the previous night’s homework, contributing to his drowsiness, Adrien is nearly lulled to sleep.
Throwing a quick glance at the rest of his class, Adrien doesn’t seem to be the only one who’s bored of the teacher’s lecture on the Krebs Cycle. If their blank faces are any indicator of their boredom, Adrien wonders if their teacher knows or simply isn’t paid enough to care. Tuning out her blabber, Adrien slips into daydreams of forget-me-not blue eyes and milky white hands.
Every spare second he has, he glances at the classroom’s doors and waits for Marinette’s head to pop in. If the madame is close to pointing out his blank stare, Adrien would pretend to write another set of notes, but out of the corner of his eye, he awaits the moment he’d see Marinette not-so-subtly tiptoeing to her seat only to inevitably be caught right away.
Secretly, Adrien is humored by her morning antics. It’s easy to visualize. She’d trip on her flats, toppling onto the floor, and then sheepishly scramble to come up with a convincing excuse to explain her tardiness to either Mademoiselle Bustier or Madame Mendeleev. Used to her shenanigans by now, the teachers would strictly reprimand her for show and then send her to her seat.
Their classmates would roar with laughter, and Marinette would only ignore their reactions, sliding into her seat beside her best friends. She’d flash a smile at Alya and then at Nino, and then, she would direct her beaming face at him. Adrien fights the urge to sigh. He truly misses her smiles.
A hand waves in front of his face.
“Adrien,” a concerned voice snaps him out of his fantasies.
“Hm?” Adrien’s eyes widen at the sound of Nino’s voice, and he shoots up in his seat. Straightening his back, Adrien faces his best friend. “Nino?”
“Dude, you’ve been spacing out all day. What’s up?” Nino whispers as to not catch the attention of their teacher.
Adrien lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” He tries to convince himself and glances toward the empty seat beside Alya. “Just . . . missing someone.”
If Nino sees the direction of his stare, he says nothing. He only purses his lips in understanding. The whole class, including him, knows that the school days never do seem whole without Marinette’s presence. Heck, even Chloe, Marinette’s sworn enemy, is feeling the slow drag of the day.
“Yeah,” Nino sighs, “me too.”
Turning around, Nino sees his classmates' somber expressions, all of which are depleted of happiness and completely bored of the teacher’s lecture, including Alya, who keeps stealing glances at the vacant stool adjacent to her. It is then Adrien realizes Marinette is truly everyone’s sunshine, and he can’t keep his smile to himself.
Sunshine suits her, Adrien thinks.
Adrien rubs the palms of his hands together. “Do you think she’s okay?”
Adrien turns his head only to watch Nino and Alya share a weird interaction of locking eyes and having a silent conversation through glares and raised eyebrows alone. From the little he understands of Alya-Nino lingo, Adrien deciphers Alya won the conversation.
“Apparently she texted Alya earlier,” Nino explains, “said she’s come down with the cold.”
That snatches Adrien’s attention. “She’s sick?”
Nino nods. “Yeah. Must be really bad if she’s out today. Normally she’d push through it considering the amount of absences already on her record, but it must be serious.”
Adrien could relate to that.
His face must show it because the corners of Nino’s mouth go up. “You worried?”
“Of course I am,” Adrien balls his hands into fists.
Nino suddenly pats Adrien on the back, a smirk etched across his face. “Why don’t you visit her after school then?”
“What?!” Adrien practically shouts, his body instinctively shooting out of his chair, bewildered that Nino would even suggest such a thing. The whole class jerks awake.
Madame Mendeleev pushes her glasses up her nose, and the sunlight’s rays glaze over it.
“Is there something you would like to point out to the class, Monsieur Agreste?” She inquires sternly, face contorted in suspicion. Celebrity or not, Madame Mendeleev is never fond of letting her students off easily if they disrupt one of her lectures.
Adrien’s cheeks flush to the color of tomatoes. “No, ma’am.” Adrien replies cordially as he sits back down slowly, humiliated at his outburst.
As the science teacher goes back to writing the notes for their next human anatomy exam on the board in scratchy chalk, Adrien whirls his head back to Nino, astoundment sparkling in his eyes.
“Are you actually serious about visiting Marinette?” Adrien mutters. A wave of worry, similar to nausea, rises in Adrien’s gut.
“Why not? You’re friends, aren’t you?” Nino points out. Adrien isn’t so sure about that sometimes.
“Couldn’t you or Alys come with?” Adrien doesn’t feel comfortable going alone. After all, he isn’t sure if he and Marinette are close enough to warrant a surprise visit even if it is to check up on her.
I’d like that to change though, a quiet voice in Adrien’s head says.
Nino hums thoughtfully. “Normally I’d love to. Anything for Marinette, y’know. But I kinda already promised Alya I’d keep her company while she babysits her sisters.”
Adrien’s lips curdle at that, but he can’t help but feel as if he’s falling into a set up.
It’s probably nothing, he reasons.
“Besides Dude, I think the only thing that would make Marinette happy is you checking up on her.”
“How would you know that?” Adrien asks.
“Call it a hunch, Dude,” Nino places a fist over his heart, grinning proudly.
Adrien laughs softly, “Yeah, whatever you say.”
The pair continue to quietly snicker until Madame Mendeleev catches onto the duo’s antics.
“Monsieur Agreste! Monsieur Lahiffe! Speak to me after class!” She snaps, booking no room for further discussion.
Icy shivers trickle down the boys’ spines at her harsh tone, “Yes, ma’am . . . ”
***
The white snowfall decorates Adrien’s golden hair only to glitter in the effulgent lighting. At every step, his snow boots sink into the smooth blankets of soft snow, leaving behind crunchy deep footprints. To protect his red-tinted cheeks from the frosty air, he loosens the scarf around his neck to cover the lower half of his face.
Adrien breathes a sigh of relief, blowing the snowflakes around his face into a small tornado of icy spirals. After being reprimanded from Madame Mendeleev about school etiquette, he and Nino were spared from her wrath with no lunch or out of school detention going on their permanent records. He’d never forget her “reminder” to never speak in class again. The pair were glad to not disobey her warnings ever again. At least, not for a while.
Shoving Madame Mendeleev’s words to the back of his mind, Adrien marvels at the heavenly display of winter before him. It is a shame Nino left him to his own devices as soon as school was out. At every street corner, warmly-dressed snowmen joyfully wave hello with their sticks for arms. Clusters of kids would throw snowballs at one another, narrowly missing Adrien’s head, and others tepidly glide on the icy roads. As to not lose the bag of cold and cough medicine in his gloved hand (he wasn’t sure what medicine to buy), Adrien smoothly weaved through the crowds of people enjoying the snowy day.
Before making his way to Marinette’s house, he alerted Nathalie and the Gorilla to stop by the drugstore to pick up some medicine for “a friend” and that he wouldn’t be needing a ride home. The pair were suspicious, Adrien could tell, but they agreed to his request.
As he nears Marinette’s bakery, the heated and distinct smell of gingerbread houses, red and white striped peppermints, and rainbow gumballs fills his nose. He presses his face against the glass windows sills and sees Marinette’s parents running the cash register as well as a new flood of customers due to a high demand for Christmas-themed sweets, but there is no sign of his friend.
Adrien steps back, meaning to take his leave, fingers tightening around the loops of the bag till they’re shaking from soreness. There is no place for him in a place as warm as Marinette’s home. He’s barely at their doorstep, but he already feels like an intruder. Being around Nino is easy. Sometimes, Nino understands what Adrien needs before Adrien knows himself, but Marinette is different.
Back and forth, Adrien would reach for the doorbell only to draw his gloved hand back. Just as he reaches a decision, he would backtrack just as quickly. The urge to see her face is so tempting, but his anxiety stops him every time. His father’s voice rings in his head. What if she wants to be left alone? Just like his father always wants. What if she doesn’t want to see anyone? Even worse, not see him?
If he feels like a stranger in his own home, would he be welcomed in hers?
Adrien hates to admit it, but he’s petrified at the thought of seeing her only to make a fool out of himself. Deep down, he understands he was overthinking. Marinette is one of the kindest people he’d ever met. She’d never treat him like his father, but the fear gnaws at his heart.
Unless, his brain supplies, Unless, she doesn’t know it’s him talking to her. A wicked idea lights up his mind, and all he recalls next is saying the magic words.
“Plagg, claws out!”
***
Marinette spurts her swollen nose into a snotty tissue before tossing the crumpled paper into the overflowing trash can beside her. Sniffling, she wipes the remainder of the disgustingly slimy nose drool away with her hand and then begins wiping it away on a nearby wet, polka-dot towel.
The sick heroine muffles her groan into her collection of plushy cat pillows. Even in the darkness of her room, her exhausted eyes are droopy and have noticeable, gigantic bags underneath. Her legs are spread out in a weird position with the thick, rumpled black and rosette sheets draped over.
What’s worse is that Marinette is already having a very bad hair day. Her usual, ribbon-tied pigtails are loose, barely keeping her greasy hair strands together. As she attempts to tighten the ribbons, the ribbons unravel from their knots, falling to the floor of the bedroom. Marinette scowls as her hair follows suit in a mass of tangles and flops.
Sniffing again, Marinette snatches a handheld mirror from her mini vanity stand next to her bunk-like bed and flinches at her unsightly appearance.
Tangled hair. Spector-pale face. Wrinkled attire.
Simply put, she looks like a sleeping disaster. She chuckles to herself at the thought of appearing in front of her friends in such a sorry state. No doubt, it’d cause havoc. Her phone did ring a couple of times courtesy of the group chat she shares with her friends asking if she’s feeling better. Although looking at a screen, or anything really, strained her eyes, she texts back to relieve their worries before shutting off the device.
A wave of tiredness rushes over her. The crashing downpour of body aches on her body is almost unbearable. It was as if the whole world’s weight was crushing her leaving behind only the overwhelming urge to sleep her worries away.
Marinette feebly drops the mirror and stretches, reaching for the light pink ceiling above her. She hates the unrelenting pit of never-ending darkness in her stomach. The feeling of weakness. Marinette rolls onto her back. If only it’s as easy as her parents seem to make it out to be. Both her mother and father told her to rest, but she’s antsy, eager to return to the field lest Hawkmoth sends out another servant of evil.
Mixed emotions consisting of gratefulness and guilt gnaw at her heart for relying on Chat Noir so heavily. She hated asking for the night off, especially as his eyebags are just as bad if not worse than hers, but he agreed to her request so easily as if it isn’t a burden at all. Tonight however, she’s determined to not skip. The workload is already heavy, and she were to ask for another night off, it’d turn into another unproductive day of not being able to sleep.
Pain unfurls in her body. She feels as though there was a raging, fire-breathing dragon brewing in her stomach and intestines. Reaching for some water, she tongues the lump at the back of her throat. The bluenette’s swollen throat feels like an army of tiny, crimson ants swarming around and biting her esophagus. The light streaming through the window, glowing past the pastel pink curtains, can’t seem to stop shining either. Her irritation isn’t helped by the migraine crushing her head like a war of imminent death.
Adrien’s face pops up in her mind, and she is suddenly grateful he doesn’t have to see her like this. Worse, imagine if Chat Noir saw her like this if he knew she was Ladybug. His image of her would be stained for sure.
Frustrated at her sickness, the bluenette shouts in frustration and smashes her clenched fist into the nearest kitten cushion like it was a punching bag.
“Now,” a smooth-talking voice interrupts her from above. “What did the pillow ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?”
Marinette’s eyes widen at the sound of the familiar cocky voice. Sitting up, she lets out a shocked gasp at the sight of a leather-clad hero hanging off her ceiling, golden hair as fluffy as ever and gorgeous, electric green eyes flashing.
His signature coy smirk is enough to make anyone swoon. He waves at her, changing his smirk to a beaming grin. “Hey!”
“Kitty?!” She sputters unbelievably, bewildered and in shock that her partner-in-crime is in her room. “What the heck are you doing here?! How’d you get in my house?! Did you break in?!”
Panically, she rapidly scans all of her circle-shaped, stained glass windows to see if any of them are broken.
“Relax, princess,” Chat Noir falls, landing on all four, and then promptly plopping at her desk as if he owns the place and starts spinning the chair in place. He points to the top of her ceiling. “The trapdoor on your roof was unlocked.”
Marinette fumes at the cat-themed superhero’s smug countenance and inwardly scolds herself for forgetting to lock the trapdoor. Refusing to look at him, knowing that she would crack in two if she makes eye contact, the bluenette stubbornly doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he had taken the time to visit her.
“Why are you–” She starts, about to ask for the reason for his visit.
“What? No hello to your fellow superhero from his favorite Parisian citizen?” Cat Noir teases, feigning heartbreak. “You wound me, my princess.”
She’s quick to forget her question, too sick to remember any of her thoughts coherently.
Fire burns in her guts and lights up her eyes at the teasing. She meets his eyes. Marinette’s sure she looks like she’s seen better days in comparison to his commercial-ready pretty boy face and energetic personality (but she doesn’t miss his weary eyes).
“Liar,” she miffs.
“Princess,” he purrs her nickname even though her appearance is the farthest thing from looking like a princess.
“P-Playboy!” Flirting is all he’s good for, she grumbles internally.
“Angel, he replies, paying no heed to her insult.
Marinette blushes a dark color, but continues on. “Moron.”
“Goddess.”
“Stupid cat.”
His eyes light up, and his award-winning grin silently follows.
After a moment of hearing no reply from the superhero, Marinette gleefully claims victory over this round, pumping her fist into the air like a little kid before another collision of coughs interrupted.
Hurriedly, she tries to shield her mouth to prevent any leaking germs from escaping, but her chest pounds with barraging pain, making her muscles helpless. Losing energy, she starts to plummet backwards.
Reflexively, Chat Noir leaps at full speed toward her bed and catches her in his arms. Marinette’s head lolls into the elbow of his left arm. She must be a sight, sweat cascading down her face, cracked lips, and glazed eyes.
Marinette blinks her exhausted eyes to get the crustiness out, but can only see the mirage-like blur of black leathered claws tenderly gripping her sides and the small curve of the cat-themed hero’s frown.
“Thanks, Kitty,” she murmurs wearily, placing one of her hands on his chest to soothe his worry.
“You’re sick.”
She pushes at his chest weakly as he presses a claw to her forehead to measure her temperature, “I’m fine.”
“You should rest.” He reprimands, pulling out her sleeping sheets from underneath her limp body.
“No need to worry, I’m–” Just as she speaks, jinxing it, another cough attack bursts out of her. A wheeze recedes out of her swelling throat.
Setting her down on the bed gently, Chat Noir tucks her into the blankets. Seeing the discarded tissues and spit-wadded towels scattered around her bed, the superhero wordlessly throws the towels into her laundry basket and cleans up the tissues.
“You don’t have to–” She say weakly, but Chat Noir continues to clean her room without complaint.
As soon as he’s sure her bedside area is cleaned and her towels are replaced, Chat Noir sits at the edge of the bed, clawed fingers gently stroking the fuzzy ears of her cat plushies, watching over her like a concerned boyfriend.
Marinette wants to slap herself for the intrusive thought, but her body is too numb and tucked in too tightly to do anything.
“How do you feel?” He asks after a moment of comfortable silence.
“Like I have the flu, a headache, and a stomach ache all at the same time,” she says bluntly.
Chat Noir laughs quietly and smirks. Marinette isn’t sure if it’s the sickness talking or the delusion present, but the cat-themed hero is truly beautiful.
“Wait here,” he suddenly says as he begins to climb down the step ladder leading to the kitchen and living area. Marinette lets him go as her parents are undoubtedly busy in the bakery.
“As if I can go anywhere!”
She isn’t sure if the holler reaches his ears and insteads opts for squirming deeper inside her blankets, wishing for nothing more than to be buried and sleep. Thoughts and dreams of a pretty boy with hair like sunshine fill her head.
***
Cat Noir cautiously peeks behind the wooden trapdoor from his favorite civilian’s bedroom to her parents’ simple yet cozy kitchen and family room.
Using his feline superpowers of intense cat hearing, he listens in to find out if there are any footsteps in the living space area.
All clear.
As quiet as a mouse scurrying around for Camembert cheese, Chat Noir tip-toes down the stairs carefully so as to not make any unnecessary loud noises and disturb anyone. Luckily, during he and Marinette’s gaming competition training for being the representatives for the world-wide national gaming tournament, he had already gotten a look at where everything was. Finding what he needs should be a piece of cake.
There I go making puns again.
Cat Noir praises himself admirably. Seriously, he could become a professional comedian himself when he grows up if he wanted to. What he doesn’t get is why his lady or princess don’t like his jokes. They were top-notch if he says so himself.
Shaking his head and slapping both of his cheeks of his face softly, but still leaving behind a light scarlet red welling, Cat Noir goes back to the task at hand.
Searching through the Dupain-Chengs’ cupboards, he grabs the ingredients, utensils, and cups he needs. Next, he begins heating up the cocoa brown-colored hot chocolate, topping the drinks off with an expert spray of whipped cream. Then he is plopping three marshmallows inside each of the two rosette mugs.
As the intoxicating fragrance of bittersweet dark chocolate fills the atmosphere, Chat Noir takes a quick whiff of his creation, satisfied with the results.
“All ready . . . ” He whispers before grabbing and traveling back up the apartment ladder, both cups in hand.
***
“Drink up,” Chat Noir orders her, holding out the steaming hot mug of hot chocolate, expecting Marinette to take it.
“Ah . . . thanks,” she sits up in bed and gently holds the porcelain cup in her hand as if it would shatter like glass if she blows on it. Before drinking, Marinette secretly gazes at her partner-in-crime, who is lazing and curling up in a relaxed position at the corner of her bedside, his own cup in hand. He’s curled up so carefree, idly criss-crossing his legs, back leaning against the bedpost.
As she is about to drink, a bottle of pills lands in her lap. She looks up to see Chat Noir dig through the unzipped pockets of his suit, watching as more and more kinds of medicine are brought out.
“When did you–” Her mouth moves before her brain thinks, “buy all of this?”
Chat Noir avoids her eyes and shrugs offhandedly. “ . . . I always have some stuff on hand.”
Marinette decides to let it go even though it’s obviously a lie, but no other explanation makes logical sense in her head.
“Thank you, Chat.” She smiles into her cup.
Although she doesn’t know his true identity yet, Marinette considers the hero to be one of her closest friends. He and her are the only ones in the world who know what each other are going through even if neither he nor her know their true selves. Funny even if she doesn’t know who he is, not really, he’s definitely the kindest person she’s ever met. Everytime their bodies brushed against each other, the slightest bit of contact, a kind of safety and warmth emanated from the boy.
And for the time being, she’s grateful for the company, horrible cat puns and all. Lounging around the house all day made the fashion designer quite lonely. Not to mention, he’s great to hang with.
He’s as cocky as he is humble. Such a tease and flirt, but a sweetheart. Such a fool sometimes, but with the right heart. Selfless and courageous. Kind and caring. Terrible at it, but he does have some sense of humor. He’s a splendid hero. An amazing friend. And most significantly, a wonderful person.
His outer coat of pleather may be as pitch-black as night, but his soul is pure white. As white as the marshmallows in her hot chocolate.
At the hero’s request, she pops a pill into her mouth and swallows. Blowing out a puff of sucked-in air to cool down the wispy steam, she dips the cup onto her tongue.
“Chat, it’s delicious! How did you make this?!” She says incredulously as she continues to slurp down the strong flavor of dark chocolate.
“Are you really that surprised?” Chat Noir puffs his chest proudly.
“Obviously!” Marinette says, rolling her eyes at his “modesty.” “You don’t seem the type.”
The superhero chuckles. “Well, it’s not every day, your favorite superhero comes to visit with a small present in tow,” he sips at his own hot chocolate, licking his tongue over the whipped cream till it’s flattened. “Even if they are to your liking, princess.”
The bluenette snorts, wincing at the phantom pain at her chest but choosing to ignore it. “Don’t let your big head grow any bigger now.” The warning is playful.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You tear my heart in two with your thrown-about words,” he winks. Always the flirt.
Rolling her eyes, she’s suddenly overcome with exhaustion. She raises her fingers to rub her eyes, but her field of vision quickly becomes woozy.
“Chat,” Marinette calls out softly, tumbling backwards due to the dizziness until the superhero catches her for the second time lest she hits her head or drop the scalding hot mug on her sheets. Marinette yawns as she struggles to keep her eyes open.
“Falling for me already?” He quips another one of his cheesy pick-up lines while moving the mugs to the side. Tenderly, he places her down between all of her cushions and retuck the blankets over her weakened body.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
“The medicine must be kicking in.”
“No kidding,” Marinette mumbles, agitated that her kitten’s evening visit will be coming to a close, but there is no way that she’d ever admit that to him. That’d she actually miss him being around, caring for her no less. Her pride would never forgive her.
She catches a quick glimpse of a genuine smile on his face. Her weary eyelids are just about to drop into a deep slumber like she was going to sleep for a hundred years, but she has to send him off. Just one good bye.
“Chat,” Marinette whispers. “Make sure to take care of yourself too. Au revoir et merci.” With that, her eyes close into a tranquil spell of eternal-like sleep.
Scanning around the room, making sure that no one was around to see, Chat Noir double-checks that his princess is asleep before pressing his lips lightly onto her forehead for a rapid peck, a result of a rush of overwhelming affection for her. He must really be losing if Marinette can see past his facade.
Marinette stirs, but luckily doesn’t wake and Chat Hour breathes a sigh of relief. Tidying up a bit and setting aside the medicine and mugs in case she needs either later, he hurries to pop back outside through the ceiling’s trapdoor before anyone notices him.
Slowly turning back, for a final, blissful glance at Marinette, Chat Noir grins once again.
“Au revoir, ma chérie."