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Not a Morning Cat

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“Wake up, kid. Rise and shine.” Plagg cheered, holding a book over the blond’s head. “If you don’t, the Dickens will be beat outta ya. Get it? Since I’m holding one of your Charles Dickens books?”

All he got out of Felix was an agitated groan, him pulling the covers over his head and rolling over onto his stomach. The bad luck spirit sighed, tossing the book on the floor and grabbing some of his hair, and yanking upward. Hard.

Felix’s hands flew around Plagg into a choke hold, a glare strong enough to scare away death burning a hole into his forehead. “How many times must I tell you, do not pull my hair.”

“You’ve got enough, kid. And it smells amazing. But if you let me go, I’ll let you nap for four hours today without a single disturbance from me.” Plagg squeaked, and his bearer released him, sitting up and yawning. “Kid, go eat something for breakfast. When did you last eat?”

“I remember eating on… Thursday…?”

“That’s not healthy.”

“Neither is staying up extensive periods of time without any rest and constantly fighting rogue akumas, but thank god I don’t do that- oh wait.”

Regardless, Felix trudged into the kitchen and began brewing the coffee, slumping on the counter to try and get a little more sleep in, before Plagg almost shattered a plate on the counter.

Once the coffee was finished and poured into a mug (his favorite, if he dared say so. Beige with “coffee, books, rain” in black), he heaved a sigh, leaning against the counter. As much as he hated being awake in general, he’d admit there was something oddly peaceful about coffee in the morning.

That is, until knocking rapped on the door.



Bridgette expected many things.

The daydreamer expected a smiling Felix opening the door.

The neurotic reality side of her expected Hell on Earth.

The truth of it all, when Felix opened the door wearing a glare that read “if you come anywhere near me, you’re losing a limb,” in his undergarments and a coffee mug in his hand, she took three steps back immediately. What took her by surprise the most though, was his hair. She’d never seen it so wild and careless, like he rolled out of bed within the two minutes she’d been standing at his front door (even stranger, it was almost noon and he wasn’t even dressed. She supposed even someone like him has lazy days). He almost looked like…

“Chat?” she whispered, and visibly, Felix’s grip on his mug tightened momentarily. “What?” He asked, more as a demand than a question. “Can I help you?”

Shake it off, Bridgette! “I-I-I er, about the u-u-umbrella y-you lent me,” she stammered, trying to shake off the feeling, but even Tikki, who was hiding in her earrings, radiated momentarily, as if she wanted to run to something. “I came t-to return it.”

Felix hummed in response, extending one hand out. “Yes, give it to me.”

She quickly handed him the umbrella, placing her hands behind her back afterwards. “Are you okay? You look terrible.”

“Don’t patronize me.” He deadpanned, closing the door. “Good day.”

She was walking down the steps, and turned back to see if he at least watched her go, but instead, she could’ve sworn she saw a little floating cat.