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He knew he was fucked the moment he woke up with an itchy throat. He should've done something about it before it got worse. But he didn't. And now he’s here.
The parking lot is empty, with only the occasional hum of cars passing by car be heard in the distance. It’s past midnight, the familiar setup perfect for filming yet again another car video.
“Hey, this path you’re walking on? You gotta keep walking on it to get to school,” Nick says with the straightest face—like he wasn’t just yelling and punching the seat 2 seconds ago. Meanwhile, Matt is practically falling apart, rubbing his eyes as he laughs, rocking back and forth in his seat.
Chris couldn't even remember what they were talking about, too distracted with the burning itch in his throat that made swallowing difficult. Matt notices Chris’ lack of participation and shoots him a worried glance. This goes on for a few minutes before Nick finally picks up on it too—Chris has barely said a few words the entire conversation.
The timer from Nick’s phone goes off, signaling that the camera is about to shut down. Matt reaches for the camera to restart it before placing it back on the dashboard. “Hey, are you okay? You know we can stop filming if you're not feeling good, right?” Matt checked in, gently rubbing Chris’ shoulder.
Chris shrugged off Matt’s hand, “I’m fine, just tired I guess. We can keep going,” he lied—determined not make a big deal out of it. “Let’s just go home so you can rest. Besides, we already have enough footage for Friday's video,” Nick assured them. Chris opens his mouth to argue, to insist that he's fine, but the pounding ache in his head makes it impossible to put up a fight. With a quiet sigh, he slumps back in his seat.
“Fine. Let's just go,” he mutters.
Usually, the drive home would be filled with rap music blasting through the speakers–Nick and Matt yelling at Chris to turn it down, while the youngest ignored them and rapped along without missing a beat. But not tonight. Tonight, the car is quiet. Chris fell asleep barely 5 minutes into the drive, his head resting against the window, breath slow and slightly uneven.
Nick and Matt can't help but exchange worried looks through the rearview mirror, their eyes drifting to Chris’ sleeping figure. Both think the same thing—this is so unlike him.
“Wake up, buddy. We're home,” Matt says, gently tapping the youngest’s shoulder. Chris blinks his eyes open and looks around, a low groan escaping his sore throat. Matt immediately notices how flushed his face is and how his eyes look slightly sunken, exhaustion evident in his features. “God, what is wrong with this kid?” Nick mutters, his tone light but laced with concern as he reaches out to press the back of his hand against Chris’ forehead.
Chris swats Nick’s hand away and grumbles, “Stop being dramatic,” before trying to get out of the car like nothing’s wrong. But the second he stands up, he feels lightheaded and has to grab the car door for support. He quickly straightens up, acting like nothing happened. “I’m fine,” he insists, brushing past Nick and Matt.
“Yeah, sure,” Nick scoffs. “Because totally normal people nearly eat shit getting out of a car.” Chris shoots him a glare. “I’m not a fucking baby. I can walk by myself.” Matt folds his arms. “No one said you were, but you can’t even stand straight.” Chris groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you guys stop? I just need to sleep, and I’ll be fine.” He tries to push past them, but the dizziness lingers, making his steps unsteady.
Nick exhales sharply, clearly frustrated. “Dude, we’re just trying to help.”
Chris doesn’t respond—mostly because he knows they’re right. But he doesn't to argue anymore, so he just sighs and keeps walking toward the house.
Chris barely makes it to his room before face-planting onto his bed, too exhausted to change or argue anymore. Matt pops his head in, tossing a bottle of water and some medicine onto the nightstand. “Take those before you pass out, dumbass.”
“Mmhm,” Chris hums but doesn’t move. Matt sighs, knowing he’ll have to check in later to make sure he actually took them.
Chris shifts to look at the medicine on his nightstand, lips pressing into a thin line. I’m a grown adult, what’s a fever gonna do to me? He scoffs under his breath, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His body feels like lead, but he refuses to let a stupid cold slow him down.
Still, the medicine sits there, staring him down, and as much as he hates to admit it… Matt’s right. With an annoyed sigh, he reaches for the bottle of water and grudgingly pops the pills into his mouth.
3:24 AM
Even after taking the pills, the fever refuses to die down. Chris wakes up drenched in sweat, chills running down his spine. His head is pounding, and his throat feels like sandpaper. He groans and buries himself deeper under the covers. A few minutes later, his door creaks open, and Nick peeks in. “Knew you’d be miserable. I got you some soup.”
Chris blinks tiredly at Nick, barely processing his words. “’M not hungry,” he mutters, voice rough and barely above a whisper. Nick sighs, stepping further into the room. “You need to eat something,” he says, setting the bowl down on the nightstand. “At least a few bites.”
Before Chris can come up with some half-assed excuse, Matt walks in, already frowning. “Dude, you’re still wearing that jacket?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before kneeling beside the bed and tugging at the sleeve. “C’mon, sit up for a second.”
Chris groans but doesn’t fight him, too exhausted to argue. He slowly pushes himself up, wincing as the room tilts slightly. Matt helps him shrug off the leopard printed jacket, replacing it with a soft hoodie instead. “There. Better?”
Chris mumbles, “I can take care of myself,” his voice weak but laced with stubbornness.
Nick lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? Because from where I’m standing, you can’t even sit up without looking like you’re gonna fucking pass out.”
Matt shakes his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dude, you’re literally shaking. You call this taking care of yourself?”
Chris exhales sharply, frustration bubbling up despite his exhaustion. “I just—I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been relying on you guys too much lately.” His voice is quiet, almost lost in the heavy silence that follows. Nick and Matt exchange a look, their earlier annoyance quickly melting into something softer.
“You’re our brother, dumbass. You’re allowed to rely on us,” Nick says, nudging Chris’ leg lightly. “Yeah,” Matt adds. “Just like we rely on you.” Chris looks away, pressing his lips together. He doesn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little.
Nick exhales, shaking his head. “I can’t stand looking at you like this. Get better soon, will you?” Chris rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re so dramatic.”
Nick smirks. “And you’re so stubborn. Now shut up and eat.”
Chris sighs but finally reaches for the bowl, taking a small sip of the warm broth. It soothes his raw throat instantly, and he hates to admit it, but it does help. Matt watches him for a second, then pats his shoulder. “See? Not so bad.”
Chris hums in response, already feeling his body relax. Maybe, just this once, he’ll let them take care of him.