An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
what colds are for
or: five times Chat Noir got sick, and one time Ladybug did.
(An anonymous commission for @mlbforblm.)
i. boy
“I think this was a bat idea,” Chat Noir remarks as they dangle upside-down from Ladybug’s yo-yo, making an arachnid descent toward the target window on the thirty-second floor of Montparnasse Tower. He enunciates the “t” in bat to make it clear that he’s making a pun.
Ladybug rolls her eyes. “Do you have a better plan?”
“Oh, no, my Lady! I’m sure it’ll work! It’s a clawless—ahem, flawless plan,” Chat reassures in a slightly-congested lilt, “but my sinuses don’t exactly agree at the—” He stops abruptly and sucks in a breath, long and deep, his eyes closing in the process.
Ladybug averts her face. “Chat!” One hand is gripping the taut yo-yo string, the other wrapped tightly around her partner’s waist, and there’s nothing she can do to shield herself from—
He sneezes loudly, and Ladybug feels a generous spray of moisture on her cheek.
“Eww!” she cries.
“Cat help it, sorry,” he says. “Doe pud idteded for once.” He tightens his knees hooked around hers to free his fingers and wipe Ladybug’s cheek with the back of his hand. She sticks her tongue out in a comical expression of disgust.
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