butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱

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you'd read about this. you'd seen this on television. you'd dreamed of this moment in your head, and now you have it, and you'd do anything to not have it anymore.

there it was, sitting dauntingly in the middle of the room. it's edges were tucked tight, and the pillows were fluffed so big you could hear them taunting your demeanor. one chocolate was placed horrifyingly on the folded comforter- not even enough chocolate to share.

you looked to the boy standing beside you, whose arms were weighed down by his backpack. his face was pale as a ghost, as was yours, and you were quickly realizing what a nightmare this night was about to become.

for clarification, you didn't choose to share a bed with the love of your life who didn't know he was the love of your life- fate just decided it was bored.
it all started when matt said he wanted to take a road trip.

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     "i've never not gone with them, like, anywhere!" matt complained.

     you were standing over the stove in his apartment's kitchen, stirring a pot of mac and cheese mindlessly. the boy was laying on his stomach in the living room, his head propped on the edge of the couch and cushioned under the chin with a pillow. he was watching you intently, taking mental notes on the way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other and back again.

"it's only a few days," you tried to reason, "plus, they're not anywhere super exciting. they went to san francisco for a brand meeting. you hate those things anyway."

"i know. and they're better at the business end of things than i am. i just hate not doing things with them. like, why am i the one who has to watch the house? it doesn't need to be watched! it's not a five year old!"

     you rolled your eyes at his flare for the dramatic, continuing to stir. you stirred and stirred and kept ignoring him until you heard a frustrated groan and a pair of feet hit the floor. there were some heavy thumps, and they pattered closer, and then there was a weight pushing itself against your shoulder. matt was slumping at your side, peering over the stove to watch you cook.

"matt, i-i'm trying to make dinner," you screwed up your face, feeling all the world's embarrassment at once.

     he was always touchy when he was upset, and you knew that, but even something as simple as a nudge from him was enough to make you trip up your words. it didn't help how intimate his touch felt, either. you always thought, best friends don't lean on each other like this. they don't hug the way we do. he didn't notice.

"i don't know what to do, i'm so bored," he grumbled, hanging on your arm like a tired monkey. you had to hold onto the oven handle just to keep him from dragging you to the floor.

"matt, come on! get off of me!"

"is the mac and cheese ready yet?"

"it will be if you give me a second to finish it!" you teased, "maybe you need to be watched. maybe you're the five year old."

the boy unraveled himself from you and gripped his chest with faux offense, gasping comedically. "how rude!"

"go sit down full house, i'll bring you a bowl." you giggled, kicking him out of his own kitchen for that corny, retro reference.