Untitled Wesper Trash

I

"There, you're all patched up," Jesper said, snipping the gauze from its roll and taping it down. He looked up at Wylan's embarrassed face. "You know, while I don't think I could take you to a proper medik, I could always call--"
"Please," Wylan groaned. "I don't want anyone knowing."
Jesper grinned. "Why not? Do you have some sort of reputation to uphold? I'm sure everyone thinks you're such a tough guy."
Wylan shoved him away, then hissed as he jarred his wounded arm.
"Alright, alright, I'll stop. Don't rip it open," Jesper sat down beside him. "Can you bend your wrist?"
Wylan extended his arm, bent his wrist, and winced. "Painfully," he muttered.
Jesper leaned back against the wall. "Then I think I'm done. This side definitely got the worst of the fall, but it doesn't look like you broke anything. Maybe a rib, but there isn't much that can be done for that except rest. Which of course means I absolutely cannot allow you to leave until I've determined that you are completely healed."
"But-!"
"It isn't debatable. You must rest."
Wylan sighed. "I think it's more like it isn't debatable because you're too impossibly arrogant to debate with," he picked up his dirty, torn shirt from his lap and held it up for examination. "If you're keeping me captive, will you at least let me borrow a shirt?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
Wylan closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, internalizing his frustration. "Why do I put up with you?"
"I really, really don't know. But I'm glad you do."
"Just give me something to wear, would you?"
Jesper stood and went to his disorganized mound of clothes. Wylan made a disgusted sound in his throat as he picked a shirt from it.
"Don't like my fashion sense?"
"No. I mean, no, I don't dislike-- I was responding to the-- it-- Ugh! Just, the shirt is dirty!"
Jesper tilted his head, amused. "I only wore it once. Do you expect me to wash it every time?"
"Just give it to me."
"I'll resist the urge to make the obvious innuendo, but only out of pity for your injury," Jesper tossed it over.
Wylan gave him a look. He took the shirt in his hands and seemed to consider it for a moment. He looked down at himself, then up at Jesper. He raised a brow, causing Wylan to screw up his face and look away in embarrassed. He pulled the shirt over his head. It was wrinkled and loose on him, and he spent a minute huffing and puffing over the folds as he tried to smooth it out. Eventually either satisfied or giving up, he stopped and settled back against the wall.
"It smells like you," he said. Almost immediately he seemed to regret it. His eyes widened and his face pinked.
Jesper tried not to laugh. He made this too easy. "Oh? And does it smell good?"
Wylan thumped his head against the wall. "I'm going to go out and piss someone off until they strangle out my vocal chords."
Jesper joined him on the ground again. "Well, will you at least let yourself heal from this before you go out and get hurt again? As much as I love having you around, I may have to start charging you for the care," he teased. Wylan pulled his knees to his chest and stared silently at the opposite wall. "Are you practising for your mute days?" He still didn't respond. Jesper began to whistle a tune and drum along to it with his fingers, purposefully shrill and awful and drumming out of time.
Soon enough, Wylan said quietly, "You're out of tune."
Jesper looked over at him, smiling. "Am I?"
Wylan nodded. "If you were attempting the song I think you were, anyway. I could hardly tell what it was supposed to be."
"You wound me," Jesper put a hand to his heart. "You can't deliver such harsh criticism unless you'll show me how to become better."
"How am I to do that?"
"Teach me. Whistle it the right way. Hum it. Sing it, if you will. You still haven't sung for me, by the way."
"And I intend to keep it that way," Wylan said. "Unless you produce a flute out of thin air, I'm not doing anything."
An idea struck Jesper. "While I am technically a Fabrikator, I don't know about making one from think air. However..." He stood and made his way to the door.
Wylan stood. "Where are you going?"
"Relax, I'll be back soon. Take a nap or something. Rest and recuperation and all of that. I promise my sheets are clean," he opened the door then looked of his shoulder. "They probably smell like me, too." Quickly he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

-

Jesper happily made his way down the hall to his room, carrying a small, thin case in his hand. He threw open the door, startling Wylan from his sleep. He sat straight up in Jesper's bed, looking at him in shock.
"Sorry, sorry," Jesper apologized as he closed the door. "I got you something," he tossed the item to Wylan then knelt on the floor beside the bed. He bounced slightly, unable to be still in his excitement.
Wylan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "What's that?"
"Open it up and find out," Jesper said, hitting his palms against the bed rhythmically.
Wylan rolled his eyes as he reached for the box. "Why can't you just tell--" he stopped mid-sentence when he opened it. "Jesper... it's... how much did-?"
"Don't even ask that," he cut him off. "Now. I produced your flute. Hold up your end of the deal."
Wylan smiled, wide and truly happy. He removed the flute from the box, carefully assembling it as if it were the most delicate and valuable thing he'd ever held. "It's really nice," he looked at Jesper, eyes sparkling. "Thank you."
"Yes, yes, yes. You're welcome. Now see how it sounds. C'mon."
Wylan brought it to his lips, making an artful replication of the tune Jesper had been butchering earlier. It was wonderful. Wylan looked so at peace, in the best state Jesper had ever seen him in. As Wylan finished, Jesper climbed up onto the bed and applauded him.
"Play something else," he said, unable to stop smiling.
Wylan was in a similar state, struggling to start another song because of his grin. "Wipe that stupid look off your face and maybe I'll be able to."
In response, Jesper crosses his eyes and scrunched up his nose. "What look?"
Wylan laughed out loud and closed his eyes. "You're a complete idiot."
For nearly the entire next hour, Jesper kept pressing Wylan to play song after song.
"I have to breathe, you know," Wylan eventually told him. He stored the flute with care, closing its case and holding it close to him.
"You're very talented," Jesper told him, to which Wylan rolled his eyes. "I'm being serious."
"Are you..?" Wylan asked. Jesper nodded. "Oh. Well. Thank you."
"Now," Jesper said. "If only we could get you to balance as well as you play. Ow! Ow! Hey!" He laughed as Wylan hit him. "Don't strain yourself!"