"I hate not moving! I mean, life is all about moving! I'm not an oyster who's going to live his whole life stuck in one place!" Jay complained dramatically, his voice echoing across the room.
The doctor sighed for the third time that morning, patiently finishing the last strip of bandage around Jay's arm. "If you move around too much, Mr. Moretti, your wounds will reopen. You need complete rest for a few days. Complete."
Jay groaned like the world had ended. "Rest? I'm dying here! You're asking a lion to sit in a fishbowl!"
"If you don't rest," Jace said dryly from the sofa, eyes still on his laptop, "you'll become an oyster for real—with hands that never open again."
Jay glared at him. "You're not funny."
"I wasn't trying to be." Jace didn't even look up. His fingers clicked lazily across the keyboard, perfectly calm in contrast to Jay's theatrics.
