Work Text:
It was obvious from the morning Chris woke up. He didn’t need to even say a word— his brothers could tell right away that something was off.
He sat slouched at the kitchen table. His eyes were half lidded and the dark shadows beneath them deepened by the overhead light. Every movement was stiff, deliberate, as though each one required an exhausting amount of effort. When the chair next to him scraped against the floor, he winced and shot a glare sharp enough to cut.
Nick didn’t look the least bit intimidated as he rolled his eyes and reached for the cabinet, pulling out a packet of Tylenol. With a practiced ease, he handed it over to Chris along with a glass of water.
“Take it already—your headache’s becoming our problem and I don’t remember signing up for that,” he said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
Chris only frowned as he took the pill, gulping down the whole glass of water as if he hadn’t drank for days on end.
Despite taking it, the medication didn’t work as they hoped. The day consisted with Chris’ brooding. His shoulders were always set in a tension that didn’t shift, even as he slumped lower. When someone spoke to him, his response came a beat too late, clipped and quiet but with an edge of irritation that turned the air heavy.
Matt remembered as the clock ticked on the wall, Chris dramatically shot it a look of pure venom before letting his head fall into his hands. And Matt couldn’t decide if he found it funny or if he felt a pang of empathy.
Even as Nick and Matt left for the day, Chris chose to stay home—an unusually willing decision for him. Normally, even if he were feeling unwell, he’d never skip a day out. Well, that’s what Matt use to think apparently.
As they arrived home late that evening, they found Chris sprawled onto the couch with his hand rose to his temple. His thumb and middle finger pressing into the skin there, rubbing small, tight circles that seemed more habitual than effective.
“Dude, just sleep it off,” Nick told him. “I guarantee it’ll be gone by the morning.”
“I’ve already tried. I can’t sleep with this fucking headache,” Chris hissed.
Matt’s brows softened as he moved over to Chris. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d ask what wild night you got yourself into.”
Chris glanced up at him from beneath his lashes, the scowl on his face making it clear just how unamused he was.
“Right, anyway. He’s yours to babysit,” Nick said, heading for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
Matt shot him a look. “What? You can’t just leave me with him like this. It’s not even eight o’clock!”
“You’ll be fine!” Nick’s voice was already fading as he shut his door behind him.
Matt stood in the middle of the room, staring at the stairs from where Nick was last seen. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Of course, Nick would leave him with this mess.
He turned back towards Chris, noticing how his brother had his hands pressed to his temples, fingers digging in like he was trying to squeeze the pain away.
“You good?” Matt asked, his voice a little sharper than he meant it to be.
Chris didn’t bother looking up, just gave a half-shake of his head. “No. I’m not good.”
Matt sat down on the couch, clearly annoyed but still lingering. “Yeah, I can see that.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, but then faltered. “What does it feel like?”
Chris shot him a look, the edge in his voice not quite hiding the irritation. “What do you think it feels like, dumbass? Like someone’s got a vice grip on my skull and is trying to pop my eyes out of my head.” He paused, swallowing and then added, “every time I move, it feels like my brain’s about to leak out of my ears.”
Matt’s face softened, but only just. He hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward and looking at Chris with an unimpressed frown. “You’re acting like that world’s about to end. It’s just a headache.”
Chris glared at him, but there was something in his eyes that softened the anger as he looked at him. And then he closed his eyes again, looking more exhausted than anything. “Just forget it.”
Matt looked over at him with concern, the frustration slipping away from him. He but the inside of his cheek, trying to find the right thing to say, but he couldn’t quite get there.
His gaze lingered on Chris. His jaw was tight and there was deep lines forming around his eyes. The usual sharpness in his expression was gone, replaced by exhaustion. Matt could almost feel the weight pressing down on him.
He shifted uncomfortably, noticing the way Chris’ hands stayed pressed around his forehead like he was trying to will the ache away, and for a moment, the usual teasing words Matt kept ready stuck in his throat.
Maybe that was what willed him next. Without thinking, his hands moved—slow, almost hesitant—as if his body knew what to do before his mind caught up. He found his fingers gently pressing against Chris’ scalp, his touch deliberate and slow, coaxing the tightness to release.
It wasn’t until he felt Chris flinched from his fingers when Matt realized what he had done. His hand froze for just a second, both of them suddenly aware of the shift in the air.
But Chris didn’t pull away from him and Matt took that as an invitation to continue. His fingers twitched before pressing gently into the tense muscles at the base of his skull. The surprise flickered across the younger one’s face, but he didn’t say anything, not even a snarky comment. Instead, he just closed his eyes, letting out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, as Matt’s fingers worked in smoothing circles.
The room seemed to quiet, the only sound the soft rhythm of Matt’s touch.
Matt’s hands traveled, gliding to his temples where the pain lingered like a heavy fog. With a firm but careful rhythm, thumbs worked along the ridges of his forehead, tracing the arc of his brows. Chris winced slightly as pressure points were found, the dull ache briefly flaring before subsiding.
“Fuck..” Chris hissed breathlessly.
“You’re tensing too much here,” Matt murmured, voice soft but grounding, fingers pressing into the notch behind his ears. “Just let it go.”
Matt’s fingers hovered over to Chris’ neck, not quite sure how to move. Chris, for his part, stiffened slightly at the touch, his muscles reacting more out of habit than any real discomfort. He didn’t pull away, but there was something in the way his body remained tense that told Matt this was unfamiliar ground for both of them.
The rhythmic pressure of Matt’s hands on his neck seemed to draw out the discomfort, not just from the headache but from the sheer closeness of it all. Chris let out a soft, almost reluctant exhale, a sound that might have been a sigh, but was too clipped to be anything but a reluctant acceptance.
Matt noticed it though—how Chris’ muscles seemed to fight the care, how his body stayed just a little too stiff to fully relax into the sensations, as though he didn’t quite know how to respond to the tenderness. Matt couldn’t help but feel a strange knot of his own forming in his chest, but he keeps his hands steady, trying to ignore the awkwardness.
His fingers worked over the knot at the base of Chris’ neck, pressing deeper, searching for the tight bundle of muscle. He applied steady pressure, and with a subtle shift of his thumb, the knot gave way.
A deep, relieved groan slipped from Chris’ lips. The sound low, almost guttural. His entire body seemed to relax at once, and for a split second, Matt felt a strange sense of accomplishment. The stiffness in Chris’ shoulders melted, and Matt continued the slow, rhythmic pressure, feeling the tension slip away like water running through his fingers.
His lashes fluttered as he exhaled slowly, and his breathing took on a steady, almost drowsy rhythm. Matt blinked, his hands hovering for a moment as he took in the sight of his brother completely at ease. “Huh,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything, his fingers resuming their careful movements along Chris’ scalp.
Chris hummed quietly, the sound almost like a lazy acknowledgment of Matt’s work. “You‘be got magic hands or something,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness.
Matt snorted softly, trying to mask how surprised he was. “Don’t go getting use to it. I don’t plan on making a habit out of this.”
Chris didn’t reply, his head tilting slightly under Matt’s hands, his face completely relaxed. For a moment, Matt just stared—a strange kind of affection—settling in his chest. It was the wrong move apparently because Chris impatiently reached his hands out, guiding Matt to continue. “Don’t stop…” he grumbled.
Matt scoffed but obeyed nonetheless—noticing how Chris was getting a lot nosier as he worked his fingertips. It was the kind of noise that Matt wasn’t use to. A side he never really saw of him that it was almost… endearing to watch. Chris had a nice voice and a really pretty face when he wasn’t goofing around for once. It kind of made Matt want to probe him, seeing what kind of noises he could make.
As if hearing his thoughts, Chris slowly opened his eyes halfway, glancing up through his lashes. His brows knitted together as he gazed at Matt questioningly.
Matt stilled, his fingers slowly coming to a stop, but not leaving entirely. His fingers twitched slightly, his throat oddly growing thick as the two of them stayed there in silence, looking at each other.
It felt strange, the intimacy of the moment. Matt felt warmth rise in his chest as they held each other’s gaze, the quiet of the room amplifying the stillness between them. His heart thudded in his chest, his breath barely escaping in slow, measure intervals.
Then without warning, Matt’s fingers began to trace a gentle path along the side of Chris’ face, his touch light and tentative. Chris let him—letting his fingers explore his jawline, the curve of his cheekbones, his temple. Matt’s touch was delicate, almost reverent. Chris didn’t pull away, didn’t say anything. He just let Matt trace the lines of his face.
It wasn’t until Matt’s thumb brushed against the soft plump of Chris’ lower lip that he realized what he’d done. His hand froze for just a second, his face flushing. Quickly, he withdrew himself entirely.
Matt glanced at Chris, who was already pushing himself upright with a quiet grunt, as if trying to shake off the moment. His hair was a mess—mussed and tousled—some pieces sticking up awkwardly while others fell in soft, unruly curls. A few stray locks clung to his forehead, damp with the faint sheen of sweat.
He flattened it the best he could, not meeting Matt’s eyes but curved his lips slightly—more a faint, reluctant acknowledgment than anything else. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
Matt nodded, brushing his jeans as he stood up. “You’re good now, right? I’m gonna…”
Chris nodded, finally looking at him. “Yeah, sure. Go on.”
Matt hesitated, feeling the need to say more. “You should get some sleep. Nick was right, the headache should be gone by the morning.”
“Right, will do.”
The words felt thin, empty, both of them too aware of the unspoken shift between them. Without another word, Matt turned, his footsteps a little too quick as he retreated to his room.