Lance sat tucked against his right side, draining his drink from a straw in the most irritating fashion. "I think I'm gonna call you stumpy," he said, poking the nub of Shiro's right arm.
Shiro had his eyes closed - he was supposed to be resting still, although(more) he didn't much feel the need for it. "They'll be done with my new arm soon," he said, "and then we'll see who you call stumpy."
"Oho," Lance slurped louder, there probably wasn't any liquid left in his cup. "Is that a threat, husband mine?"
Shiro twisted, plucking the cup out of Lance's hands with his one remaining. "Hey!" Lance yelped as Shiro tossed it into the bin halfway across the room. The cup hit its edge, before falling in perfectly.
"Three points," Shiro said smugly.
Lance elbowed him in the ribs. "Asshole." All the same, he snuggled against Shiro in the hospital bed. "You ever gonna tell me how you lost your arm? And got it replaced with a magic, super-advanced prosthetic? And don't tell me it's not magic," he added, tapping one finger to the side of his nose. "I can smell it."
Shiro snorted. "I bet you can." He considered his left hand for a moment - when he closed his fist he could still feel the pressure of his right hand, too - then he sighed. "It's not a story worth telling."
"Is it the same story as where you got your devilishly handsome scar?" Lance tapped the bridge of Shiro's nose, and Shiro let out a small laugh.
"I see through you trying to charm the truth out of me," he said, removing Lance's hand gently. "I just don't ... I really don't want to relive that, just yet."
"You know your past doesn't scare me, right?"(less)