He felt... terrible.
Weak and stifled, like one did when they were recovering from the flu. Mostly he wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but his headache was making it exceptionally difficult, as well as the throbbing in the middle of his chest.
Reaching up, he caressed the area right beneath his collar bone, trying to remember what he'd done that day to cause such bruise-like pain.
Once he started thinking on the subject, it didn't take him long to remember.
Sitting up suddenly, Adrien ignored the way his brain felt like it was rocking inside his head and instead put his attention on looking around the room. Once more rubbing his chest, he took a deep breath to calm his rushing heart.
He knew where he was—Marinette's living room. He was on one side of the sectional, swathed in a blanket with a pillow lying where his head had previously been. The drapes were pulled closed over the window, but enough light was still filtering in for him to see by.
Twisting around, he spotted Marinette's head poking out from beneath a blanket on the other side of the sectional, her nose buried in the cushions. He nearly reached out to her, but stopped when the typical brushing of his thoughts on hers went ignored. Even in sleep, she usually reached back. But after what had happened, he supposed it was reasonable that she was just too exhausted.
Better to let her rest.
Glancing to the floor, he saw that Nino was tucked beneath blankets beside his section of the couch, Alya lying along Marinette's. They were both sound asleep as well, by the look of it.
Rubbing his chest again, Adrien decided it was better not to disturb any of them.
Slumping, he was just about to lie back down when movement in the kitchen caught his attention. Looking over, he immediately recognized the shadowy figure. He was slipping on a light jacket. Probably a suit jacket. And before Adrien could say anything, he was heading out the door.
Pausing for just a moment, Adrien eventually gave in to the fact that he wasn't going to be going back to sleep. Shoving off the blanket, he slipped to the end of the sectional—so he didn't have to step over Nino—and got to his feet.
The weakness was still there and he had to balance himself on the back of the couch for a few moments, eyes closed, before he felt steady enough to move on. Pushing himself forward, he only made it a few steps before he paused again. This time, however, it was to look at the pile of mangled bedding that was lying behind the couch.
Behind his section of the couch, to be more precise.
"He didn't actually sleep very much," Plagg whispered in his ear, Adrien turning his head to see the kwami perched on his shoulder. "But I suppose that isn't really so surprising."
Not really seeing any need to agree or disagree, Adrien moved on. Fiddling with the bottom edge of the oversized t-shirt he was in (maybe it was one of Tom's? He had been shirtless at the time of his last transformation), he toed out into the hall, supposing there were only so many places one could have wandered to.
Making his way down the stairs, he stopped by the side door, peering out the windows to verify that he was on the right track.
Satisfied, he pushed his way out into the early morning sunlight, blinking away the brightness as he peered across to the setup of tables and chairs lining the street. They belonged to the small café beside the bakery, but that fact didn't seem to be deterring Gabriel from sitting at the nearest one.
He had his elbow leaning on the tabletop, hand in his tousled hair. He was, indeed, wearing a suit jacket, but it was wrinkled. As were his slacks.
