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She coughed cagily, as if afraid the neighbors would finally complain about all the crying. As if coughing any other way might make her cry even more. But the walls of their apartment were thick, and so was her husband's sweater.
Ladybug moved her arm from where it had been resting under Chat Noir's hand, right over his heart, and reached for a tissue on the bed. She wiped her nose, hid the tissue in her fist and rehomed on his chest.
"I don't know what to think," she whispered hoarsely, sniffing.
"So don't," he said, so tenderly understanding. He brushed a kiss across her hair and all she could do was raise her head from where it had been resting on his neck and kiss his pulse. "Not today."