butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

chris had been ignoring his tooth pain for a while. he wasn't a fan of doctors, particularly dentists, and the boy had been lucky that with enough salt water swishing and teeth brushing he could escape anything. but there was a growing discomfort in his jaw for a while now, and it got worse by the day. it might've slipped below your radar if not for one fatal mistake: he wasn't talking.
     chris, the world's largest chatter box- mister never-shuts-up- hadn't said a word in two days. you missed the sound of his voice so much that when you asked him questions, you replaced his real-world grunts with kind responses like, "yes, i would love a pepsi, babe!" and "i'm not hungry, yet, darling." when you caught chris calling you darling in your brain, that's when you noticed he wasn't actually speaking to you. he hated that nickname.

the boy was stationed on the living room couch, tucked under a blanket and leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand. you spied silently from the kitchen, trying to deduce what exactly it was that kept him quiet. you weren't elusive enough, as the boy turned to catch you red-handed. you smiled and waved cheekily, and he only rolled his eyes- no sassy retort, no tease. nothing.
you shuffled into the living room and plopped on the couch beside him, the impact jolting his palm upwards and into his jawbone. the boy groaned, and you felt a pang of guilt ripple through your chest.

"shit, i'm so sorry babe," you lamented, "did i hurt you?"
as you reached to touch his jaw, the boy swerved; he waved a hand at you, signaling that he was fine. but he didn't say so, so you pushed a bit more. "did you bite your tongue or something?"

chris shook his head, wincing slightly as he rubbed slow circles into the far corner of his cheek.

"why aren't you talking? are you upset?"

     chris opened his jaw to rebuke you with a no, but the searing pain in his back right tooth sent shocks through his mouth and he shut it instantly, letting out another groan laced in agony.

     "okay, stop fucking around now," you lurched forward, feeling your heartbeat screech to a halt as the boy scrunched up his face. "what hurts, chris?"

     the brunet tapped his jaw, the right side, close to where his skin molded into his ear. you took him as gently as you could by the chin and turned his face carefully, trying to see if he was swollen; it didn't appear that way from the side, but looking straight on, you had no idea how you missed it. the entire right side of his cheek was inflamed, curving outwards like a baby's- certainly not his natural structure. when you instructed him to open his mouth and ignored his quiet protests, you shone your phone's flashlight inside. you found a raised red bump at the back of his mouth, so red it was almost purple. you could nearly feel the tooth pushing against your own gums just by the look of it.

"god, you poor thing," you frowned. "you should've told me, babe."
you stood up and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing the closest cold thing in the freezer (which happened to be an old bag of frozen broccoli) and brought it back to chris, who was in no position to resist the relief the chill administered. "your wisdom tooth has to come out, chris. why didn't you say it hurt so bad?"

chris began shaking his head, and you read the message in his eyes loud and clear: i don't like doctors!

"i know you don't like doctors, but there isn't a home remedy for this. i'm taking you to the dentist."

the boy recoiled into the couch, rubbing his eyes in frustration. he wanted so badly to tell you he wasn't going, but each time he tried to speak, the grinding of his bones flooded his teeth with pain. so, he begrudgingly let you push his uggs onto his feet and throw a zip-up over his shoulders, and allowed you to lug him to the car.