𝗰𝗵𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗼 ;; oneshots

SICK DAYS

Some NathAdrien fluff... In a motherly way, not romantic, duh!

"Bleurgh," Adrien muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Plagg's voice, though not particularly loud, nonetheless cut through Adrien's sore head like a needle.

"Ow," he moaned. "It means I feel bleurgh, Plagg."

"Hmm. You look bleurgh. And sound bleurgh."

"Please stop saying bleurgh."

"You started it."

Adrien rubbed his eyes and forced them open, turning his head as short a distance as possible to see the time. (Plagg was notoriously bad at understanding clocks, for reasons he had never worked out.) It was almost twenty to eight. He must have slept through his alarm and Plagg had turned it off in irritation. (Not for the first time.)

He groaned. Getting out of bed and ready for school felt like enough of an insurmountable task without the added rush to avoid being really late.

"You want me to turn the TV on or something? I love sick days," Plagg continued between large bites of camembert he had obviously helped himself to.

"I hate sick days," Adrien muttered. "And no thank you." He tried to sit up slowly, but his head swam and he collapsed back against his pillows.

"You're the weirdest."

"For one thing, you're not the one who's sick. For another, you know perfectly well I like going to school, and any day off is one less day I get to see my friends. But the main reason is that my father never takes any time off work when I'm ill, and he keeps Nathalie too busy to do more than see to my practical needs, so I'm left all alone."

Adrien stopped talking, because his throat was protesting, but if he had been able to continue he would have said how at least when he had been home schooled, he was doing lessons with her and his other tutors, so even though he was isolated from his peers, at least he had had some company. And he and Nathalie had always got on well. Though she rarely dropped her professional demeanour, he could tell she was fond of him.

Talking of whom, he thought as there was a sharp rapping on his bedroom door.

"Adrien? You're going to be late."

Plagg hid under the bed. Adrien tried answering, but he couldn't summon enough volume for her to hear through the closed door, and all he did was made his throat sting more. He tried sitting up again with the intention of getting out of bed, but that only caused the room to spin faster.

"Adrien?" Nathalie tried again, waiting for an answer. Still nothing. He must be in the shower. She opened the door and went in.

She couldn't hear the shower, but took a few steps towards his en suite anyway—then stopped short as her eyes fell on the bed.

"Adrien!" she rebuked, taking another step forwards. "It's almost quarter to eight; what are you doing still in—"

Nathalie paused again as she noticed his flushed face, and after a moment took in the fact that he was shivering. "Adrien?"

He looked at her, his electric green eyes wide and pained, and she moved to the side of his bed, placing a hand gently on his warm forehead. "You're ill."

"I'm fine," he croaked weakly, but she could tell he knew perfectly well she wasn't going to fall for that. She felt a pang of sympathy, knowing he hated being ill, but there wasn't much she could do about that.

"I think you might have a fever. I'll get a thermometer."

Adrien winced and closed his eyes, and she left the room.