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Smitty was dreaming.
He didn’t know how he was dreaming. Didn’t really remember what he was doing, either. But he had been dreaming, and he kind of wanted to go back to it—or what he was doing. Whichever one it was. His didn’t have the mind to…well, mind. He and Matt were meant to be—what were they doing?
Something. His head was…fuck, his head hurt, actually. With a groan, Smitty twitched and cracked his eyes open. He was lying on cold tiles. Twitching his fingers, he tried to lift his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. This wasn’t his bathroom floor. He was somewhere else.
And he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe. Panting, he twitched his fingers. He could just see them in his vision. He wanted to move. He wanted to get up, wanted to be able to breathe. Was he going to die? “Jaren?” Matt called.
Dimly, he heard someone else’s voice there. “Mr. Smith? Are you alright?” He didn’t recognize the voice, not fully. But he knew it was someone? He just couldn’t put a name—
“Jaren? Jay, I’m coming in.” Matt said, jerking the door handle.
Smitty couldn’t respond. He was too busy dying on the floor, apparently, wheezing for breath as he tried to move. He couldn’t see anything. Just his hand, his fingers twitching uselessly as he laid against the bathroom floor. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe. He wanted—he needed—
The door was shoved open, and then Matt was there.
With a shocking amount of grace, Matt picked him up, fingers scanning gently over his head and down his spine. Then, he was cradling Smitty in his arms. Blinking hard, Smitty stared at the underside of his jaw. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He needed—he wanted—
“Easy, easy.” Matt whispered, brushing Smitty’s hair back. Blinking harder, Smitty fought back tears. A sob caught in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Tears ran down the side of his face. “Breathe. Look at me. Breathe, Smitty.”
He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do what Matt asked, because he was dying. He was dying, he was going to stop breathing or maybe have a heart attack or—
Gently, Matt brushed his thumb across Smitty’s cheek. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just try and breathe. Take it easy." He took a slow, dramatic breath. Smitty tried to do the same. He couldn’t, his breath shook too much. “There you are. You’re doing great. Did you hit your head?”
He didn’t know. His head hurt, though. As he gasped, he grabbed Matt’s hand. Matt squeezed back, gently. “Matt—” He rasped. “I can’t—breathe—”
“You can. I’ve got you.”
“Do we need to call an ambulance?” The same person from before asked.
“No, no, we’re good. We’re fine. I got him.” Matt turned back to Smitty, eyes soft. “Just breathe, dude. You’re okay. I’m gonna be right here, the whole time, alright?”
Smitty managed to nod weakly, panting. His head was spinning. He was trying his hardest to breathe, to match Matt’s breathing. It wasn’t working. He was going to die. He grabbed onto Matt’s arms, hands trembling. Matt let him, releasing his fingers and cupping the back of his neck instead. His friend’s hand was warm against his own skin—how long had he been lying on the floor?
“Matt—” He managed to choke out. “Matt, please—”
“I know, I got you. Just breathe.” Slowly, Matt pulled him a bit tighter to him. This close, Smitty could almost taste his cologne, something sharp and sort of oceanic. Turning his head, Smitty buried his nose in Matt’s chest. His nose pressed against his friend’s sternum. A hand scrubbed through his hair. “I have you. You’re fine.”
He wasn’t really. His breath was coming in short, frantic pants. Shoulders shaking, he held onto Matt, who let him cling to him in response. His fingers tangled in Matt’s t-shirt. “I can’t—breathe—” He managed, voice tight.
He didn’t know what exactly made it better. Something did, though, and then he was curled against Matt. Still lying on the floor, though. Which was weird. His friend had him bracketed in, holding one of his hands and using the other to cup the back of Smitty’s neck still. He pressed a kiss to Smitty’s temple—kind of shocking, but okay. That snapped him out of it more, somehow.
“There you go,” Matt reassured softly. He slipped a hand between Smitty’s shoulders and began rubbing his back. “Better?”
Smitty lifted his head, rested his chin on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m better.” Smitty corrected.
“There you go. Need me to carry you to the car, you big baby?” Gentle hands checked his head again. Flinching away, Smitty groaned. Matt took his head in his hands, squinted at his eyes.
“I’m fine, Matt.” He replied. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“Nah, you do. You’re concussed.” Matt said. “You need to wash your hands, or did you manage to do that after you pissed?”
“Uh...” Wracking his brain, Smitty nodded. “Passed out beforehand.”
“Alright. You good to get up? Or you going to faint again?”
They managed to get Smitty on his feet. Matt had to brace him against the sink, though, for him to wash his hands. The whole time, his head was throbbing. There was a piercing pain shooting into his left eye. He wanted to lie down. He wanted to curl up and cry, too, maybe. And he wasn’t really a big crier, either. He really only cried when he had panic attacks or when waking up from anesthesia…and when waking up from passing out, apparently.
Matt did actually pick him up, somehow. Smitty had not expected that, because he was taller than Matt (not by much, but he was taller) and heavier than him, and yet Matt was holding him like he weighed nothing. One of the phlebotomists had to open the truck door for him, but they didn’t touch Matt or Smitty.
“Careful with your legs.” Matt said, settling him in the seat and then buckling him in.
“I’m fine.” Smitty told him, watching Matt as he grabbed something from the backseat. He laid a blanket over his legs, smoothing it out with gentle hands. “Matt.”
“You passed out and you literally made me tag along in case something like this happened, unless you forgot.” Matt replied, brushing his hands against Smitty’s face. He studied…something on Smitty’s right temple and cheek. “Fuck, dude. You’re going to have one hell of a shiner here. We’ll have to get you some meat or an icepack or something.”
“Just drop me off at home…” Smitty went to hide his face with his hand. Instead, Matt adjusted the passenger seat a bit, so he was leaning back more, and then grabbed something else. It looked like a sleep mask. “Is this Danielle’s?”
“Yup. We’re heading back to my house and I’m making you a grilled cheese or some shit. Unless you want anything else?”
Smitty didn’t want anything, but he said nothing. His hands were shaking too much. When he tried to adjust the sleep mask, Matt fixed it for him. He was a lot more gentle than Smitty would have been. “I wanna nap. And Octavia.”
“Then I’ll go to your house, and I’ll stay the night.” Matt decided. “I’m not leaving you alone for the night. Not with a concussion.” He closed the door. Smitty flinched at the sound, left in silence as his friend walked around. When he hopped back into the truck, he added, “I’ll call your parents, too.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He shivered.
Matt adjusted the air conditioning, turning the heat on. Smitty wrapped his arms around himself. The adhesive bandage in the crook of his arm pulled painfully. Reaching over, Matt clapped a hand over it (it was to keep Smitty from pulling at the bandage. He'd get welts if he did. Glue allergy, or some shit like that). "Concussion’s not any worse than the time you got drunk and got sick all over my bed.”
“Fuck you.”
“Mhmm, sure.” Matt said. “Close your eyes, keep talking. Can’t let you sleep yet.”
“’m cold.” Smitty offered up after a few moments. Matt’s thumb rubbed across the inside of his forearm.
“We’ll get you more blankets, then.”
When they got back to Smitty’s house, Matt helped him to the couch and helped him lie down, then let Octavia back inside.
It was a sunny day, clear and warm but not too hot. She liked being outside, too, and Smitty had tried to get her to come inside before he had to leave with Matt. Try as he might, though, Smitty hadn’t been able to get her inside. When Matt came by, though, she trotted in and went right to the basket of her toys. Picking one up, she trotted over. Her nails clicked on the floor. He needed to go and get them cut sometime soon. Not today, though.
Tilting his head to the side, Smitty reached out for her. “Tavie,” he managed. She came over with her toy, a little stuffed shark, and plopped it in his lap, tail wagging. Big, dark eyes focused on him. He could have sworn she was smiling. Patting his lap, Smitty mumbled, “Up.”
Octavia hopped up next to him, then settled on his legs. Her chin settled on his stomach. He could feel her whiskers poking through the blanket, stiff and a bit prickly. When he started rubbing her ears, she just wagged her tail.
Matt was fucking around in Smitty’s kitchen, and he didn’t really know what to do with that. Didn’t really care, either. He just wanted to sleep. And for his head to stop pounding.
He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to Matt very gently shaking his shoulder and then holding a bowl up to his face. He could smell tomato soup. “I have tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for you. Cut into triangles. Is that okay?”
“Sounds fine.” Smitty flinched as he was helped up, grabbing onto his head. He could feel some swelling. It didn’t seem too bad, though. He gratefully took the bowl that Matt handed him, raising the spoon to his mouth. “Thanks, Matt.”
“Sure, bitch.” Ruffling Octavia’s ears, Matt got up and walked off.