<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Miles didn't care for the book in the slightest. Ash was always immersed in novels and the such, the likes of which Miles couldn't even begin to comprehend. Stories about profound philosophy, intellectual musings, subversive dynamics, etcetera etcetera. Too many syllables, too little sex, in Miles' opinion. Even the most acclaimed of book titles, the most renowned of authors, usually flew over Miles' head - but the one he had been thumbing through only a minute prior rang a bell. <i>Crime and Punishment... Oh yeah, I remember, </i>he thought. It was the very novel that had been assigned to all the students in that fancy English class Ash frequented. Miles knew they wouldn't assign the same book again this year. Which meant Ash had read that novel <i>again</i>, read it <i>willingly, </i>despite not being obligated to. <i>What a... nerd!</i><br/>
<br/>
Even now, Ash was exhibiting an uncanny sensitivity for the book, going so far as to hold it protectively against his chest - as if Miles was in any state to lunge for it again. He ignored the insult that he'd already been expecting. <i>What the fuck does petulant mean anyway?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, the fan's somewhere near the mantelpiece." He murmured, feeling fatigued.<br/>
<br/>
It was quite admirable, actually - how much Ash valued such things, valued words typed up on a battered paperback book. Now though, Miles felt anything but admiration for the taller boy, given that he'd just called him pathetic. That stupid grin was now flashing back at Miles, and he had half a mind to shed his casts and pounce at that dipshit when suddenly his friend really was stripping, and something was flying towards Miles' face.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What the fuck.</i><br/>
<br/>
Warm, sweaty fabric engulfed his senses, and he was rendered blind. It smelled nice. He vaguely registered something about homework, but didn't dare remove the shirt. It was currently obscuring his vision, and he knew that once it wasn't, he'd be faced with Ash's sweaty stomach, his toned muscles, his prominent clavicles. No way was he subjecting himself to that. He'd faced that torture enough times in the locker rooms at school. He'd give himself away for sure. So, he lay there like an idiot, blinded by some sweaty fabric. He grumbled something and waited for Ash to leave before pulling the shirt off.<br/>
<br/>
~~<br/>
<br/>
Casper's eyes scanned the living room and then briefly landed on the kitchen, despite knowing the first aid kit wouldn't have been left out in the open. He looked back at his injured hand, blood continuing to gush forth over his wrists. It did hurt, but he was focused on something else. That figure outside, for starters.<br/>
<br/>
It had been a white male, medium build, youngish. Casper's previous misgivings about journalists and the such had been slightly eased, because the guy had looked far too young and incompetent to be in such a field. But that had merely been gauged from the stranger's attire and expression; he'd been donning one of those Adidas tracksuit jackets that proved to be very popular amongst the younger generation, the ones who loitered around parking lots and smashed beer bottles against trash cans. His expression had been... delirious? Scared? Whatever the adjective, he hadn't struck Casper as a professional - in <i>any</i> field, for that matter. So who could he be then? And why the fuck was he lurking around in Casper's back garden?<br/>
<br/>
Lost in his thoughts, he failed to register the soft thud of someone bounding down the stairs, and only looked up when Ash emerged. He was shirtless. Shirtless and sweaty and slightly flushed from descending the staircase so quickly. Casper froze, because Ash had been the last person he was expecting to see. <i>Why in the fuck is he shirtless...? </i>Casper found himself wondering, but didn't finish his train of thought because he was suddenly staring back at that stupidly nice body. The loss of blood must be more dire than he thought, because suddenly Casper was thinking thoughts that no respectable parent should have for people their children's age. <i>Bad, BAD Casper, </i>he chastised himself, despite smiling slightly as he started swaying on his feet, wondering how quickly ice cream would melt when placed on that hot torso. He attributed these thoughts to his blood loss and nothing else.<br/>
<br/>
Before Casper could start drooling, Ash had approached him and he snapped out of his reverie. It was only then that he realised what an uncanny sight this must be. God, he was acting so nutty today. He realised he'd been asked a question.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, don't sweat it. No really, you're drenched in enough bodily fluids as it is," He said, smirking, indicating Ash's glistening body as he did so. The teen seemed insistent on offering his assistance though, and Casper did feel mildly out of it, so he settled on playing the patient and let Ash do as he pleased. The kid seemed quite competent too, and evidently knew his way around the place well, since he went straight for the paper towels in the kitchen. Casper had assumed he'd be handed the towels, but Ash actually took his palm and treated the injury himself. <i>Well, if he wants to help, fine, </i>Casper thought, admiring the kid's efficiency and simultaneously trying not to wince as he held the paper towels to his gash. It was soaked almost instantly and Casper reached for another.<br/>
<br/>
"Hm, first aid kit. Not a priority in this household, ironic as that may be - given my idiot son's condition and all," He quickly surveyed the living room again, stretching his other arm up and scratching his neck. He watched Ash scour the cabinets, and was tempted to send the teen to the most unlikely crevices of the house whilst in search for the kit just for the fun of it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, perhaps I left it in the garage.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>No? Check in that cabinet near the coffee table (in which Ash would find the most horrific sculptures).</i><br/>
<br/>
<i><i>Right right, sorry, my bad (Casper would enjoy seeing whatever horrified expression Ash may or not display).</i> Oh yeah, it's probably wedged next to Miles' mattress - make sure you check thoroughly now. (In which Ash would find a stack of the aforementioned porn magazines).</i><br/>
<br/>
But Casper liked this Ash kid, so he spared him the prolonged search. He found the kit quicker than Casper thought, and soon returned to treat the gash. This time Casper couldn't suppress a wince as the alcohol was dabbed onto his cut. He laughed shortly when Ash made a friendly jab at Casper's clumsiness. He was never usually clumsy. His movements were calculated and efficient; what had gotten into him today?<br/>
<br/>
"Miles' incompetence isn't genetic, Ash," He drawled, waving the boy away. "I can handle this myself." But Ash was producing some bandage and gauze, and Casper didn't think he'd be able to wrap it himself. So he subdued his stubbornness and lifted his hand again, albeit with a sigh. "You know, you've impressed me with your nursing abilities. Sure you're not a doctor?" He joked as his cut was covered. And then Ash asked:<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 128, 0)"><b>"How do you two manage to not burn the house down?"</b></span><br/>
<br/>
Casper couldn't help but give a knowing grin, but quickly concealed it with a cough.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm flattered that you think we've managed not to. Because TRUST me, we've come very close." He gave Ash a cold smirk - something he did often when the subject was related to his son's stupidity - before looking over to the mantelpiece for the fan. Miles' clumsy tendencies were present in all fields, including cooking. He'd once attempted to fix himself some food when Casper had been out, and had then proceeded to drop frozen fries into scorching hot oil on the stove. He had, indeed, almost burned the house down. According to him, a <i>"SUPER huge flame suddenly came outta, like, NOWHERE, and spread to the cabinets and... stuff."</i> It had been sheer luck that Casper had been only a street away, having returned from running errands. When he'd arrived home and became aware of the situation, he'd swiftly grabbed an extinguisher from the hallway and only just managed to stop the fire from destroying anything - save for a few plastic items. Safe to say, Miles received a silent but blistering scolding, and was stripped of his allowance for the next month.<br/>
<br/>
"The fan's there, on the mantelpiece, next to Gerald," He said as he assessed Ash's handiwork. He flexed his palm, and was pleased to note that the bandage was firmly tightened so as not to come loose, but comfortable enough so as not to hurt him. <i>Nice work indeed, Ash. </i>Casper then realised how crazy his last sentence had sounded. "Hah, by Gerald I mean that slain Minotaur there. Yeah, I named an inanimate household object Gerald. Refrain from judging me." <i>Fat chance of that, </i>an inner voice scorned and scoffed. <i>He's judging you nine ways to Sunday, thanks to all your exhibitions of weirdness, and quite frankly, I don't blame him.</i><br/>
<br/>
Casper was on the verge of stepping forward to stop Ash from cleaning up his mess - he was a guest for god's sake, and his hospitality had been going on for long enough - but then swiftly decided that Ash was currently more capable than he was, and seemed to be taking enough care that he himself didn't get hurt. He laughed at Ash's question.<br/>
<br/>
<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 128, 0)">"Do you always drink your wine out of a mug?"</span></b><br/>
<br/>
"Only in the early hours, when I shouldn't be drinking wine at all," he replied dryly, unable to help feeling that it was a damn waste of good wine. "Everything tastes a whole less unhealthy in a coffee mug, no?" Suddenly, at that moment, a shadow passed by the garden window, and Casper's heart rate increased considerably. Nothing showed in his face though, or in his body language - not even a minute flinch. No, he'd learned from his previous sudden outburst, and now he was a lot more prepared. So his face remained relatively impassive, and he thought now he'd take the time to explain why the fuck he'd been half-naked amongst glass shards, standing with a bloody gash in his palm.<br/>
<br/>
"Promise I don't do this on the regular. No, that's a lie. I do get naked pretty often, but these," he gestured to the shards of glass and his bandaged hand. "aren't normally factors in my day-to-day life. I just got a slight shock from a stray cat outside, and the mug slipped." He looked to the window again, half-expecting someone to be staring back at him; no one was there, though. He'd already settled on the decision to not inform Ash of the person outside. Whoever the bloke was, whatever he wanted, Casper was sure it concerned some shady business, and he didn't want Ash to get tangled up in that. "Thank you, by the way," he said earnestly with a small smile, looking at Ash. "Really. You weren't obligated to help me, but you did. Who knew a friend of Miles' would be so competent." He snorted, stretching again, and finally let his eyes land on Ash's exposed upper body. He really did look good. There was air conditioning here, so hopefully he felt marginally cooler. Casper finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him for a while now. "One more thing though," He looked Ash directly in the eye with a blunt, bland expression.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, exactly, are you shirtless?"</span>