#I spent the entire day writing this instead of doing homework lmao whoops

[fluffyllamas-23]

Post-plane ride hell

Okaaaaay! I was not planning on writing this until after my semester ends, but then it just kind of...happened? So enjoy, I guess XD

Shoutout to @embriumtea for feeding my addiction to making new OCs and sending me that really wonderful pic of Matteo’s face claim 

(Matteo speaks some Portuguese in it, and my sincerest apologies for any mistakes.  I, unfortunately do not speak the language so I used google translate).

It’s not unusual for Mateo to be exhausted coming off a flight - more often than not, he was.  It’s also not unusual (though it hasn’t happened in a while) for him to step off the plane feeling bleary and headachy and just plain run down.

Declan knows this (of course he knows this, they’ve been dating for three and a half years), and Matteo barely has to say anything for him to know when he’s not feeling well.

The phone call when he stepped off the plane had been brief, but it was long enough for Declan to know that Mateo is coming down with something (he’s not entirely sure Matteo even knows it, though). His accent, though usually almost undetectable, sounded much thicker over the phone, which is always the number one indicator that he’s about to be knocked on his ass by some sort of hell-virus very, very soon.  

The frustration is another huge indicator - Matteo is rarely in a bad mood (that’s Declan’s area of expertise, honestly). He had very angrily told Declan to stop asking if he needed a ride home, and then hung up in annoyance when Declan called him a complete moron (which, in hindsight, was probably not the greatest thing to call his tired and ailing boyfriend).

The way Declan sees it, there’s one of two ways this will play out.  The first is that Matteo will continue to be frustrated and annoyed and will go to bed mad at nothing but his shitty immune system.  The second, which is exactly what Declan hopes will happen, is that he’ll just admit he’s not feeling well, drop the attitude and cuddle with him on the couch.  

A little over half an hour later, the front door opens, and in walks a very rumpled, very tired and very worn out looking Matteo.

He drops his bags on the floor, and Declan has him wrapped up in a hug in an instant.  Matteo visibly deflates and slumps into him, face buried in Declan’s chest.  

“I’m okay.”

“Matty,” Declan says softly, “come on.  I know you.”

“I think I’m getting sick,” he admits in defeat, “I don’t feel very well.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

Matteo groans and rests his chin on top of Declan’s shoulder, “remind me never to agree to work a twelve hour international flight ever again.”

Declan chuckles, “I told you it was a bad idea.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles.

Declan kisses the top of his head, “Are you achy? You’ve gotta be achy.”

Matteo nods, pressing his face even more into Declan’s chest, “yeah.”

“Okay,” Declan soothes, rubbing his back, “how about you go lie down and I’ll draw you a bath? It’ll help you feel better.”

“Oh God, please,” he groans, “everything hurts.”

Declan frowns, “yeah? You want my heating pad in the meantime?”

“Not unless you have one that fits over my whole entire body.”

“Are you feeling bad enough to need some medicine?” Declan asks, reaching around him to put a hand on his cheek. He doesn’t have a fever yet, thank God, but Declan has no doubts that he’ll spike one soon.

“No...not yet...m’jus...tired.”

“Did you sleep at all on the flight?”

“No.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Declan grumbles, “go to bed.  I’ll get the bath ready and bring you something to eat.  What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

Declan rolls his eyes, walking with him to their room, “that’s not an acceptable answer, and you know it.  You’ve gotta work with me a little bit, sweetheart.”

“Uh...maybe...some toast?”

“Is that a question or a statement, babe?”

“Ugh, I don’t know,” Matteo groans, “I’m really not very hungry right now.”

“Is your stomach bothering you?”

“No.”

“Did you eat anything during the flight?”  

“...No.”

Declan sighs, “you have no sense of self preservation, you know that?”

“You’ve been telling me that for the last three and a half years,” Matteo groans, collapsing down onto bed. Declan pulls the blanket over him and strokes his cheek

“Will you please eat at least something? Two bites, you don’t have to eat everything, but you need at least something in your system,” Declan asks.

“In a little bit? After the bath? I’m so tired…I want to sleep.”

Declan runs his hand through Matteo’s hair, “alright. Close your eyes, I’ll come get you in a little bit.”

By the time the bath is ready, Matteo is sprawled out in bed, fast asleep.

“Matty, wake up,” he says softly, waking Matteo against his better judgement. He really should just let him sleep - the poor guy is absolutely exhausted.  

He forces his eyes open, which elicits a low groan of discomfort, “ohhhh.”

“Are you okay?”

He lets out a stuffy sounding sniffle, rubs at his eyes and then squeezes them shut again, “mby head. Oh mby God.”

“Oh...you sound awful, sweetheart. What happened? You’ve only been asleep twenty minutes.”

“I dond’t kndow…oh shit, this is awful.”

Declan presses the backs of his fingers to Matteo’s cheek, “no fever, that’s good.  I’m going to go grab you some decongestants and then the bath, yeah?”

“Dond’t wandt to mbove.”

“I know, I know, but it’ll help with the aching...and the steam will help the congestion.”

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose, “you’re probably right.”

The bath does help, although Matteo is too consumed by how awful he feels and how he just wants to sleep, to enjoy it. He stays in it for all of seven minutes before croaking out that he needs to lie down, because even sitting there is too taxing and he feels on the brink of passing out.  

Declan helps him to the bed, and then rummages around in their dresser for a pair of his sweats and a hoodie that’ll be much to big for Matteo.  

“Here,” he says, tossing him the clothes. “Get dressed and get under the blankets, I’m going to go get you water and the thermometer.”

*

Declan always knows exactly when Matteo spikes a fever, and that moment comes at three in the morning, when Matteo shakes him awake

“Decland, acorde,” he mumbles, “eu mbe sindto horrível.”

“Honey, I can’t understand you,” Declan mumbles, rubbing at his left eye with the heel of his palm while he pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Doendte,” he groans, muffling a series of itchy sneezes into the blankets.

“Okay...I know that one,” he sighs, chewing on his bottom lip.  He presses a hand to Matteo’s forehead, inhaling sharply at the heat radiating off of him “you need medicine...shit, you’re really burning up.”

Matteo blinks at Declan in confusion - everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, everything aches and burns...everything just feels wrong.  He’s simultaneously too hot and too cold, and his head is throbbing so much that just moving it to look at Declan is entirely too painful and brings tears to his eyes.  

“Decland,” he groans, gripping at his shirt.  

“Yeah, hey, what’s up?” Declan asks softly.

“I…” He can’t figure out how to form words - especially in the language Declan understands.  

Declan can tell he’s struggling, he can see the frustration in the line that’s appeared down the center of his forehead, in how tense and rigid his entire body had gone.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” Declan soothes cupping Matteo’s cheek with one hand, and with the other, he smooths his thumb down his forehead, “it’s okay.  Don’t worry, you’re alright.  I just need to get the fever down.”

Matteo mumbles something else in portuguese, eyelids drooping.  

It takes a little bit, but his fever is finally down from nearly one hundred and four to a much more comfortable one hundred and one. Neither of them get much sleep the rest of the night, and by eight that morning, Matteo is on the couch, shivering beneath a blanket.  He watches Declan pace through half-lidded, bleary, fever bright eyes.

He’s been sneezing off and on all morning, and each sneeze feels progressively worse and triggers annoying, stuffy sounding coughing fits.

“You dond’t have to call out,” Matteo sniffles, rubbing at his nose. Despite the fever drop, he still doesn’t feel much better.  

He feels less hazy, yes, but he’s still so congested that it’s making his head throb and leaves him with a dizzy, light headed feeling.  His throat hurts (and everytime he swallows, he’s reminded of that fact), his body hurts, and he’s so tired he just wants to cry.  

“Yes I do.”

“Ndo...hhh..hih’ihtshuh! Ihtsch! Tshih! Snff! Snff...”

“Yes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave you alone when you’re this sick.  Mnh-mnh, not happening...and bless you.”

“S’probably...hihhh...ihhh...heh...a g-good thi’gg-tschih!...dizzy,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Bless you.  See?” He says, ruffling Matteo’s hair, “I’m going to go call my boss, I’ll be right back.”

Declan steps outside, closing the sliding glass door behind him as he pulls his phone out.  He can hear Matteo sneezing even with the door shut - the fit sounds exhausted and scratchy and drawn out, and Declan’s heart clenches.  

Once the phone call is finished, he steps back inside to find Matteo half slumped over with a handful of tissues pressed to his face.  He blinks away irritated tears before his breath hitches again and he lets out a shaky, “Ehtschuh! Tschuh! Snff!”

“Bless you,” he frowns.  

Matteo slumps into him, coughing a little as he rests his head on Declan’s shoulder, “I’mb exhausted.”

Declan wraps an arm around Matteo, rubbing up and down his arm, “I’m going to go get you something to eat, does anything sound good? I know you’re not hungry, but you haven’t eaten today...or yesterday.”

He sniffles, “cand you mbake that s-soup...hhh...hihhh...ihtsch! Hih’tscheww! snff...that onde...ihtsch! Snff! Snff! That you mbake?”

Declan laughs lightly, “yeah I can make that.  Want me to put a movie on for you?”

He shrugs tiredly, “I’mb about to fall asleep. Umb...cand you wait ond the soup? I wandt to cuddle.”

“Absolutely,” Declan says softly.  Matteo maneuvers so that he’s laying with his head in Declan’s lap.

Declan begins carding his hands through Matteo’s hair, which effectively lulls him to sleep.

Translations:

Acorde: wake up

eu me sinto horrível: I feel horrible

Doente: Sick