Matt gave a soft coughing noise, clearing his throat, before saying, quite amiably, "Mello, you're an ass, you know that?" The end of his words shook a bit (it hurt to move, to talk, to breathe, and even with the painkillers dulling the sharp edges of the shocks, it still hurt), and there was a bad-tempered scowl on his face he spoke. The temptation to throw something at the blond - one of Near's plastic toys was on the floor quite temptingly right where he could just reach out and-- But then again, the pain in his ribs stilted his actions, and instead he opted for complaining as loudly as his battered lungs would allow him.
"I mean, okay, the nicotine cut-off? That's bad enough. Y'know how addicted I am, and my hand's shaking already," --slight tremors had been running rampant down his right wrist and fingers for the past half-hour, the jittery feeling that accompanied it irritating him to hell and back-- "and then you have to go rub it in my face?" A slight wince as he flopped back against the couch, his chest and shoulder area protesting with dull throbs-- though his sour expression didn't change. "Bastard."
Still grumbling a bit, he cast a glance over at their-- houseguest. It had been a mild form of shock to wake up and find the little white pillowcase sprawled on the floor with an armful of toys - he'd almost dismissed it as a hallucination thanks to the drugs he was on - but it hadn't been that hard to get used to. Near didn't do much, after all, and, other than the soft click-clack of plastic toys shifting around, Near wasn't really all that attention-grabbing.
Though, in this case, maybe--
"Near!" Propping himself up on his good arm (--a dull shock shot through his ribs, and he winced a bit; might as well start getting used to this, though--) he called over to the smaller boy. "Since Mr. High-and-Mighty-Asshole here is insisting on being a son of a bitch and torturing me, mind getting me a smoke?" A pause, then he added, almost as an afterthought, "--please?"
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Matt gave a soft coughing noise, clearing his throat, before saying, quite amiably, "Mello, you're an ass, you know that?" The end of his words shook a bit (it hurt to move, to talk, to breathe, and even with the painkillers dulling the sharp edges of the shocks, it still hurt), and there was a bad-tempered scowl on his face he spoke. The temptation to throw something at the blond - one of Near's plastic toys was on the floor quite temptingly right where he could just reach out and-- But then again, the pain in his ribs stilted his actions, and instead he opted for complaining as loudly as his battered lungs would allow him.
"I mean, okay, the nicotine cut-off? That's bad enough. Y'know how addicted I am, and my hand's shaking already," --slight tremors had been running rampant down his right wrist and fingers for the past half-hour, the jittery feeling that accompanied it irritating him to hell and back-- "and then you have to go rub it in my face?" A slight wince as he flopped back against the couch, his chest and shoulder area protesting with dull throbs-- though his sour expression didn't change. "Bastard."
Still grumbling a bit, he cast a glance over at their-- houseguest. It had been a mild form of shock to wake up and find the little white pillowcase sprawled on the floor with an armful of toys - he'd almost dismissed it as a hallucination thanks to the drugs he was on - but it hadn't been that hard to get used to. Near didn't do much, after all, and, other than the soft click-clack of plastic toys shifting around, Near wasn't really all that attention-grabbing.
Though, in this case, maybe--
"Near!" Propping himself up on his good arm (--a dull shock shot through his ribs, and he winced a bit; might as well start getting used to this, though--) he called over to the smaller boy. "Since Mr. High-and-Mighty-Asshole here is insisting on being a son of a bitch and torturing me, mind getting me a smoke?" A pause, then he added, almost as an afterthought, "--please?"