Я тут сейчас буду писать слэшный флафф по "Каллану", не замутнённый здравым смыслом. Ин вери бэд инглиш.
(пля, я первый раз написала "eat" как "it" *челодлань*) Джяст бикоз ай кэн.
. . .
~200 wordsMeres's face was the last thing Callan saw before passing out at headquarters. Though he never thought it would be the first also when David awoke in the intensive care unit a week and a half later. To be true he wasn't sure to see anything at all in his life again.
But he couldn't resist the fact that Toby was sitting there on the edge of the bed, holding a paper bag on his knees.
- I've brought you some oranges.
- You shot me!
- Well, what am I to say... If you want a thing well done, do it yourself, - Meres sighed, peeling a citrus.
Its fresh scent cleared Callan's mind and he started to become more aware of his surroundings. A hand felt some curly and soft object under the blanket. David slowly pulled it out and stared into brown glass eyes.
- For God's sake don't tell me you brought this plush desaster here.
- No, no, it's from Lonely. One of the night nurses forgot to lock the window, so he slipped in, - Callan let out a desperate moan. - Now, be a good boy and eat this.
- Oh, do me a favor, go to hell. - Callan tiredly closed his eyes as the room began to swing. But before drowning in sleep once more he felt a light kiss on his cheek.
- Get well soon, love.
I've done it!