heroes don’t take sick days
Getting sick wasn’t apart of the job description.
“I thought the miraculous protected against stuff like this,” he says, grabbing a tissue to blow into. Plagg floated up next to him, Camembert in his tiny paws and looking cautiously.
“The miraculous protects against bad injuries on the job, or tries to at least. We can’t stop every bruise and cut from happening. But for the flu?” Plagg shoves the entire bit of cheese into his mouth, talking around it as he continues. “You’re on your own for this one.”
Adrien blew harshly into the tissue, glaring at his reflection in his computer monitor. “This sucks. I never got sick before.”
“It’s school. People are going to be spreading germs around like they’re passing notes. You’ll live.”
“Will I?” Adrien asks, coughing. He felt his throat ache, horribly dry, and reached over for the cup of tea Nathalie had brewed for him.
“Yes,” Plagg answers, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know how you’re gonna make it through today’s patrol. You better message Ladybug and tell her you can’t make it.”
“And miss patrol?” he asks, nearly sputtering on his tea.
“No, you’re not. Anyone with two eyes could tell that. Or, anyone with a phone.” Plagg gestures to Adrien’s phone, where there was a steady stream of notifications coming in from Instagram, a result from his post.
“Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have posted that,” he admits. “But, Adrien’s sick. Chat Noir’s not.”
“Adrien, you’re Chat Noir.”
