Matt shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He could feel Mello staring at him.

"It's kind of creepy..." he muttered, pulling his blanket over his head.

"What is?"

"The fact that you're staring at me."

Mello scoffed. "It's not." But that was the end of his argument. "Go to sleep, Matt. You need rest."

"So do you." Matt turned over and examined Mello; sitting on the floor, hugging his knees with one arm and feeding himself chocolate with the other. His eyes were tired, but he was trying to hide it. "Please go to bed, Mello. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Matt, seriously. This is a bad season... and, if you're not remembering correctly, you had an asthma attack two nights ago."

"Uh-huh, well... How is that relevant to you sitting on my floor and staring at me while I attempt to sleep? It's not."

In Mello's mind, however, it was perfectly relevant.

Two nights ago, Matt had woken up at around 1:30 A.M., gasping, panting, and wheezing--- and worse: not being able to find his inhaler, as he could never remember where it was. (On this particular night, it had been under a large pile of wires and things, hidden from view.) Mello had heard the ruckus of Matt stumbling around his room, and immediately came to the rescue. He rampaged through the messy room, found the inhaler, basically crammed it down Matt's throat, and forced him to go to the infirmary.

"I'm fine, Mello. I only have an attack once in, like, a thousand years."

"Whatever." Mello touched the inhaler with his foot, to make sure it was still there. "Just rest."

Matt rolled his eyes, and turned over so he was facing the wall. "Fine. Goodnight, Mello."

And two hours later, Matt was awake and gasping for air and clutching his bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His body relaxed not when he felt the cool plastic of the inhaler between his lips, but when Mello's thin arm went around his tense shoulders.

-

Notes and stuff: I couldn't find my asthma inhaler today, and was thus inspired. Yay for giving Matt random ailments.