butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘰𝘺

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

     you were going stir-crazy, and matt had just the cure.

     you were on the mend from a nasty cold. resigning yourself to the couch for a few days turned into a week of sitting around your apartment and trying to get better. matt came by every day when he wasn't in the middle of doing work with his brothers; he stopped by to bring you soup, and make sure you took your medicine, and sit and wither away on the couch with you so you didn't have to do it alone. he kissed your cheek instead of your lips, and he hated it, but he followed your rules. no kissing, no drinking from the same glass, and no touching any snotty tissues.
     you were on the tail-end of it now, with a small case of the sniffles hanging on, but your energy was coming back and your head was clearing up. and you were absolutely buzzing with energy.

     yesterday, you'd deep cleaned the living room and kitchen. you washed all the dirty dishes that had accumulated over the course of your cold, took out your tissue-heavy trash, and purged the fridge of all spoiled takeout leftovers. you weren't satisfied with your productivity yet, so you tugged on a hat and sunglasses and your biggest hoodie and stomped out of the house to make a grocery trip. you hoped the people in the store couldn't see the milky paleness beneath your hood or the purple spots around your eyes.
     after replenishing your food supply, you dusted and vacuumed and polished the apartment to a spotless marvel. then, by the time you realized you forgot to clean your bedroom, you'd already spent all your energy and passed out. matt came by around dinner time and woke you up, and you were forced to explain how you'd managed to exert yourself so quickly. he scolded you for not calling him for help.

     today, after a good night's sleep and the slow recovery of your immune system, you were ready to go out and do things. for a homebody, you were far too excited to see the world. matt had promised to hang out with you all day now that you were feeling mostly better- and when he got to your place, he was met with far more life than he expected.

     the boy let himself in the front door and found you in the kitchen, darting back and forth between the sink and the stove.

     "hey, baby," he chuckled, his soft voice traveling across the room, "what are you doing?"

     "i was trying to make breakfast, but... i'm not succeeding..."

     matt walked cautiously into your kitchen and stifled his laughter at the mess you'd created. the counters were sticky with flour and milk, and there were numerous silver bowls and whisks and spatulas strewn across the surface. in the sink was a collection of pans still smoking from being doused in water, and a few stray eggshells cracked and lonely near the drain. and when he saw you, well... you were just as much of a mess. flour in your hair, batter on your nose and chin, and crazy eyes.

     "what the hell did you make?"

     "i was trying to make crepes! i kept overheating the pans and i made way too much batter and they keep coming out too thick, not thin like regular crepes and-"

     you felt the boy's steady palm push against the small of your back, and your breath hitched. he stared at your countertops in awe and giggled, "jesus, this is just gross."

     swallowing thickly, you ignored the pressure from his innocent hand and said, "it didn't go as planned. but now you're here, and i haven't even gotten ready yet! i've gotta clean all this up!"

      "don't worry about it. i'll clean up, you go get yourself ready."

     "but matt-"

     "go!" he urged, "i'll take care of it. we can get you some breakfast on the way."