As twins, Matthew and Alfred tend to share everything — clothing, blankets, inside jokes — and usually, Matthew is okay with this. Alfred understands him, and many times he need say nothing at all for his brother to get what he means. They’re practically inseparable anyway, so sharing, sharing isn’t a big deal at all.
Until Alfred catches the flu.
Naturally Matt wanted no part of the runny nose-sore throat-headache trifecta Alfred had going on but, somewhere between all of the extra vitamin C he’d consumed, the sickness still managed to grab hold.
Now they’re both laid up, alternating between hot and cold and comfortable and restless. Right now Matthew’s comfortable but he’s hot, and Alfred’s like lava coiled around him. A tired sigh rumbles in his chest, quickly morphing into a cough that makes his brother lift his head.
"Sorry Matty, I didn’t mean to make you sick too," Alfred says mournfully, looking up at Matt with droopy blue eyes. They’re red-rimmed from being rubbed and nearly the same violently red shade as his cheeks and nose.
“I suppose it couldn’t be helped,” Matthew says, shivering. “Although you could’ve worn that mask like I asked you to.”
He shivers again. Great, now he’s cold.
Alfred lies back down with a huff. “I told you I don’t like wearing ‘em. It’s like I can’t breathe when it’s on.”
Matthew can’t really say anything back to that, because he’s got his own little quirks too, so he just sighs. Thankfully, he doesn’t cough this time, but he does shiver again, and that makes Alfred try to burrow closer.
Matt can’t stay bothered knowing that Alfred really does try hard.
“You just owe me, alright?” he says after a few moments, adjusting himself to be more comfortable with Alfred half on top of him.
Oh, there’s the restlessness.