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“Matt?” Chris whispers into the dark. He hears the brief rustling of sheets as his brother jumps a little.
“What?”
“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to see if you were asleep or not.” Chris welcomes himself in, tossing his pillow and favorite stuffed monkey onto the bed next to Matt.
“Wait, are you sleeping in here?” Matt asks.
“Uh… yeah? Is that okay?”
Chris can't recall the last time he had to utter that sentence. His brothers have always let him sleep over in their rooms without question for as long as he can remember.
“Yeah, yeah, no, that's fine,” Matt assures him, adjusting his lying position so that he's on his back, and folding the duvet out of the way so Chris can get into bed. Chris does just that, snuggling into his brother. He situates his own pillow on top of one of Matt's, only to end up nuzzling his head into the elder's chest anyway. He drapes his right arm over Matt's stomach as Matt takes the opportunity to cover Chris's legs with the duvet.
Chris, now wrapped up and perfectly comfortable, starts to try to fall asleep. He closes his eyes and lays in silence for a few minutes.
…
Hmm, no. Something's wrong here. He can't seem to relax. Did he forget something?
Useless pillow? Check.
Monkey?
Ah, the monkey. That's what it is.
Chris temporarily removes his arm from around Matt's torso and feels around blindly for his plush. Finally, his fingers brush the familiar texture of his favorite stuffed animal's fur, and he pulls the toy to his chest. He replaces his arm around Matt, satisfied.
…
No, this isn't right, either. He still can't fall asleep. But if the problem isn't the monkey, there's nothing else left for it to be. So instead of blaming inanimate objects, he turns his attention to Matt. When in doubt, Matthew Sturniolo.
Chris lets his attention rest on the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Matt's chest underneath his head. Chris listens to Matt's breathing, letting his own fall in sync with his brother's. Sometimes, if he listens for long enough, he can even hear Matt's heartbeat. Right now happens to be one of those times.
…Seems oddly fast, doesn't it?
Yeah, it does, actually. Matt's heartbeat is running a million miles a minute. In fact, now that Chris is really paying attention, Matt's breathing feels off, too. Deep and regular, but not natural. Not calm. Almost like it's forced.
He's figured out what's been subconsciously keeping him up.
“Matt?” Chris asks quietly, lifting his head. His brother says nothing. “Are you okay?”
Matt takes in a sharp breath, bringing up one hand to cover his face. “No,” he whines in response.
“What's going on?” Chris asks, his voice laced with concern. He props himself up on his elbow, pulling his arms away from his brother.
Matt's breathing becomes erratic without the need to hide from Chris. He brings up his other hand and covers his face entirely. A few muffled sobs shake his form. “I don't know,” he manages to get out.
“Okay, okay,” Chris confirms softly. “Can you sit up for me?” Chris gently grazes his fingertips over Matt's arm, trying to guide the both of them into a sitting position. Matt complies, but flinches away from Chris's touch. Chris promptly pulls his hand away.
Matt sometimes gets weird about touching during episodes like these. Chris always obeys his wishes, but it does make him feel a little bit awkward, not knowing what to do with his hands.
“Can you tell me anything more, Matty? Is it anxiety, is it…” Chris trails off, leaving the question open-ended for Matt.
“I don't want to talk about it, Chris,” Matt answers, his voice small as he tries to regulate his breathing.
“Okay, then we don't have to talk about it.”
Got it. No talking, no touching. Unfortunately, those are like- the only two things I'm good at. Shit.
Well, since Chris can't comfort Matt with his hands, he may as well put them to good use doing something else. He gets out of the bed.
“Chris, please don't–” Matt starts nervously.
“I'm not leaving,” Chris assures him before he even gets to finish his sentence.
Scratch that—talking, touching, and interrupting. That's what I'm good at.
Chris quickly makes his way to Matt's desk and picks up Matt's wallet. Plucking out an individually packaged toothpick, he puts the wallet back exactly where it was and moves Matt's water bottle from his desk to his nightstand. “Light,” Chris warns, right before clicking on Matt's lamp.
When Chris sits back down on the bed, Matt has his head sandwiched between his hands, dragging his fingernails over his hair and the sides of his face harshly.
“Hey, Matty, Matt, don't do that,” Chris coaxes quietly. He grabs the pillow he brought with him, a nice soft one from his own bed, and presses it gently into Matt's chest. Matt moves his hands away from his face and wraps them tightly around the pillow, dropping his head and letting the fabric soak up his few tears.
Chris spends the next minutes hushing and cooing at Matt comfortingly. It takes a little while, but eventually he does start to calm down slightly.
After even more time, Matt's breathing becomes slower and steadier, his eyes growing heavy.
“Matt?” Chris checks in quietly so he doesn't startle his brother. Matt lifts his head and looks up at Chris, his blue irises appearing washed out against the red of his scleras. “Do you want to talk now?” He offers Matt the toothpick and points over Matt's shoulder. “Water's right there.”
Matt halfway reaches for the toothpick while he glances over his shoulder. Once he sees the bottle, he turns back around and grabs the toothpick, storing it between his teeth in a motion so smooth and automatic you'd think it's programmed into him. He leans back and takes the water, taking the pick temporarily between his fingers. Chris lets him take a few sips and then asks again,
“What's going on, Matt?”
Matt sighs unsteadily and nibbles on the toothpick again, putting the water bottle down carefully on the mattress next to him. Chris takes it and puts it on a solid surface instead, because the last thing Matt needs right now is half a bottle of water spilled all over his bed.
“I don't know, I guess… Khh, I don't know, and it's stupid that I don't know.” Matt buries his head in his soggy hands and rubs his eyes harshly.
“No, no, that's fine, you don't have to know. But it's not nothing. Did something happen today? Orrr…”
“Uhm, I mean, I guess I– cut someone off in traffic. By accident. And, I don't know, it hit me really hard. I've felt like shit since then… But like- That's also stupid, who the fuck has a breakdown over cutting someone off in traffic? That's not…” Matt trails off.
“Okay, okay. Listen, here's what I think: I think you probably have been feeling upset, and the cutting someone off just sorta pushed you over the edge. It's not stupid to have a breakdown over something small, it just means you're feeling… fragile. Don't beat yourself up, dude.”
Matt smiles sadly, toothpick still nestled in his teeth. “Thanks… Chris. You’re okay at this– whole comforting thing.”
“Really? ‘Cause I don't know what I'm doing half the time.”
Matt huffs out a small laugh, which makes Chris giggle in response. There's a short silence, during which Chris hesitantly eyes Matt's arm, wrapped securely around the pillow pressed against his torso. “Can I hug you-?” he finally asks.
Matt pauses, then removes the small splinter of wood from his mouth and peels the pillow off his front side. “Please do–” His voice is shattered.
Chris doesn't need to be told twice. He launches himself forward into Matt's arms, wrapping his older brother up in his embrace and holding him there—holding him together. Matt doesn't get into it nearly as much as Chris does, but he presses his palms into Chris's shirt and lets himself melt into the younger, and that's enough.
When Chris pulls away, he examines Matt's face, ruffling up Matt's hair and coaxing it to not lay so flat and sadly on Matt's damp forehead. “Okay. Sleep time?”
Matt nods, flicking the toothpick into the direction of the trash can and pretending it made it in. He rearranges the blankets and lays back down. Chris awkwardly leans over him and turns the light off before nestling himself right back where he was on Matt's chest.
“...Hey Chris?” Matt whispers after a minute or two.
“Mmm,” Chris grunts in response.
“You don't… think I'm weird at all–”
“Not at all don't even finish that,” Chris interrupts in a drowsy mumble. “I'm always here if you need to talk. So's Nick.”
A smile tugs at Matt's lips and he lifts his arm from around Chris momentarily to wipe a tear before replacing it and muttering, “Night Chris.”
“G'night Matt. Love you.”