Spar17: tending an injury
***
“You know,” Seventeen drawls, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one who keeps doing stupid shit and getting hurt.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Spar sulks. He didn’t used to sulk so bad, but then again, things were better before the war, before he left. Seventeen thinks it’s because he was lonely for so long, and it makes his chest ache.
Seventeen prods the gash on his side with disinfectant. Spar’s right, technically. It was a complete accident. A sudden headache that made him dizzy, a little turbulence in the ship, Seventeen sharpening a knife across from him and not realizing at first that the lap full of Spar he was so pleased to get had actually caused a wound.
“I’m tired,” Spar adds quietly.
“I know.” He sighs. “I’ll get the plaster and then you can hit the bunk.”
Spar isn’t looking at him and he’s not sure if it’s because his head hurts or because he’s upset.
“I’m sorry,” he says, for maybe the fifth time since he realized his knife had dug into the flesh of Spar’s side, straight through the fabric of his kute. “I shouldn’t have been sharpening the knife in a moving ship.”
“It’s fine,” Spar says testily. “It could happen to anyone.”
Seventeen goes quiet and finishes up, getting the bacta plaster over the gash and then acting as a support until Spar can topple into his bunk. He turns to go, pausing in the doorway.
Spar is blinking blearily at him when he turns back. “Do you have to check the autopilot?” he asks.
Seventeen things. No, probably not. “No.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
Seventeen stares.
In a small, exhausted voice, Spar asks, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Seventeen promises quickly. “No, you just need to rest and let the bacta do its job.”
“What’s wrong?”
Seventeen sighs and walks over, sitting heavily in the space between Spar’s body and the edge of the bunk. His hand hovers over his hip, then lowers to rest there. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d want me hovering.”
“...do you not like it when I hover, when you get hurt?”
Ah. Seventeen can feel his face heating without his permission. “I like it.” He gets the point and lays down, arm tossed protectively over Spar’s body. “Just rest.”
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Wait, did you put a photo of Vil and Neige as kids in Eric’s office??
oh good, I was afraid that wasn't going to read properly and people would just be like "what is this supposed to be". :') but yeah! I like to think Eric was pretty fond of Neige as a kid! single dad sees orphan child approximately the same age as his own son and goes "hmm. okay, you guys are going to be friends now." (this did not go as well as he'd hoped.)
(also I do love how it's kind of a running joke that everyone loves Neige except for Vil, who's standing over in the corner and just seething with furious irrational hatred. someday maybe he'll find someone who doesn't think Neige is the best thing since cinnamon rolls.)
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