butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 ***

content warning:
very mild description of puke,
and mild description of administering
a migraine medication shot
(no needles mentioned).

please read with caution!
stay safe <3

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

you knew you were screwed the second you opened your eyes.

you should've seen it coming, and you knew that now; all day yesterday you were groggy and sluggish and just couldn't seem to get your body moving. you and matt took two seperate trips to mcdonald's per your request, and when they forgot your sweet and sour on the second round of chicken nuggets, you threw a fit in the passenger seat, tears and all. you put that poor boy through hell for 24 hours, and this was why.

     "morning, pretty girl. 'ya finally awake?" a familiar, gravelly voice greeted.

     you groaned and rolled over to see matt sitting up against the headboard with his phone in his lap. the blankets were pooled around his legs, and his bedhead defied gravity in every direction. you wanted to laugh at how silly it looked, but you couldn't, because you were too busy wincing at the brightness from his phone in the shaded bedroom.

     "morning," you croaked.

     "hey, you don't look so good," he reached out to brush a few strands of hair away from your forehead, but found them stuck to the skin. you were slick with cool sweat and your cheeks were pale as paper. "how's your head feeling?"

     "not good- oh," you shut your mouth quickly, feeling your stomach lurch. you clamped a hand over your mouth and forced yourself out of bed, scurrying out of the room and down the hall as fast as you could.

     stumbling into the bathroom, you kept the lights off and locked the door. as soon as your panicked knees hit the floor, you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet. it was hard to catch your breath for a while, and your throat felt ripped in one big slash traveling down to your chest, but you managed to get some air back after a few moments of forced breathing. you stood up on weak legs to wipe your face and swish some faucet water around in your mouth to get rid of the sourness; as you spat into the sink, a hurried knock sounded at the door.

"did you just throw up?" matt blurted. his tone was urgent, and it triggered a guilty feeling in the pit of your now empty stomach.

"i-it's fine," you squeaked, "i'm alright."

"hey, unlock the door, please."

you splashed your face another time and felt around in the dark for the towel that matt always hangs over the cabinet door, patting yourself dry with it. then, you undid the lock and let him in.

the boy stepped into the dark and frowned. "no lights... oh, sweetheart. do you have another migraine?" he asked dotingly, reaching out to anchor his hands on your hips. he rubbed little circles into the bones, and you suddenly couldn't discern the cause of your wooziness being from the headache or him.
you nodded shortly, unsure of whether or not it was safe to open your mouth. you still felt uneasy.

"when did you last take your shot? you haven't had any pain in over a week,"

you leaned against the wall and rubbed your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the patterns dancing anxiously across your vision. "maybe about a month ago now. i probably need another dose."

matt sighed softly and rubbed your arms, and you welcomed the friction. he reached for your hand and lowered his voice, knowing that if he was too loud it might bother your head. "come on, let's go back to bed."