butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘨

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

you were going to end up catching what he had at some point. it was inevitable.

     you managed, against all judgement, to kiss the boy when he had a cold, and a sinus infection, and that one time he had strep throat, and even the few instances where he had the stomach bug- he always told you not to, but you would always say "who cares if i get sick?" and kiss him anyway. you just couldn't help yourself.
but when you woke up with a head heavy enough it could break a rock, you were starting to wonder why you were so careless.

     beside you, matt was completely passed out. he was three days deep in a bug and it didn't seem to be getting any better. you're not sure where he caught it. nick and chris are healthy as can be, and so are you; he hasn't eaten anything out of the ordinary, or gone anywhere he doesn't normally goes; no friends are sick, and it's not flu season. yet poor matt still happened to contract some kind of stomach bug-fever hybrid, and he can't seem to get better.
you've been pumping him full of dayquil and water just like your mother instructed over the phone; he took medicine like clockwork and did nothing but sleep and cough and sneeze all over everything. your heart ached every time you saw him force a smile from that sweet, puffy face of his, because you knew he was trying to get better. getting sick always knocked him on his ass. but this time around, you were struggling to fix the problem, and now it was too late, because he was dragging you down with him.

at first, you called it a headache. but as you started to wake up, you felt a pressure on your nose and the backs of your eyes, and there was a sour pit in your stomach leaving a bad taste in your mouth. a wet cough climbed up your throat and you cloaked it in your pillow, working quickly so as to not disturb matt.
with a sigh, you rubbed the remnants of sleep from your face and sat up. you reasoned that you'd only contracted a fraction of his illness, just some mild symptoms, and a few doses of dayquil would even you out. so, as silently as you could, you wriggled out of bed and tiptoed across matt's apartment to the kitchen where his medicine was out on the counter. you utilized the plastic cup (because matt had been chugging striaght from the bottle) and gave yourself the right amount. you winced as it slid down your throat, feeling a sudden sharp pain.
shit. i can't get sick, you worried, filling up a glass of water and downing the entire thing. the pain subsided a bit, but not completely. you brushed it off and brought the blue bottle back into the bedroom to wake up matt for his own dose.

the boy was a very cute sleeper, especially when he was sick. half of matt's face was buried in his pillow, and his lips were parted ever so slightly since his nose was too stuffy to breathe through. his fever cheeks were a blotchy, rosy pink, and his milky skin was warm to the touch. you admired his messy pile of loose brown curls as they flopped carelessly across his pillowcase, and you considered just leaving the boy be, since he was sleeping so deeply. but it was time for more medicine, and he needed to get better, so you reached your palm out to rest it on his cheek. slowly, he began to stir, and instantly began grumbling.

"time for medicine," you said, feeling that shooting pain in your throat begin to inflame.

"mmm," he grunted, peeking one sleepy eye open at you, "hi."

"good morning, grumpy," you chuckled.

matt took a deep breath before rolling over and sitting up. you had to hold back a laugh at how his hair stood up on one side as you handed him the dayquil bottle. he took a big swig and set it down on his nightstand, scrunching up his face as it went down.

"how are you feeling?" you asked, taking a seat at his side of the bed. you felt your entire body shivering, so you tugged the covers over yourself a bit.