Fletcher stared at the empty wall before him as he waited patiently in the waiting room.
He was waiting to see Philip, and know how he was feeling.
"Are you Mr Fork's relative?" A nurse asked, catching Fletcher's attention, a clipboard in her clutch.
Fletcher immediately stood up.
"I'm his friend, is he alright?" He asked, trying to sound calm.
"Yes, he is awake, and is asking for his brother?" The nurse spoke, glancing down at the clipboard in her hand.
"Oh, can I go inside?"
The nurse looked skeptical.
"Please wait for one moment," she said and walked inside Philip's assigned room.
She walked back seconds later.
"You can go in," she said and smiled a small smile, before walking away.
Fletcher adjusted his attire and walked inside the room. His eyes immediately looked over to Philip, who was looking fragile as a glass as he laid on the hospital bed.
He looked up when he heard the sound of the door creaking.
"Hey," he smiled.
Fletcher only stared at him as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"How are you feeling?" Fletcher asked gently.
Philip puffed his cheeks out and let out a puff of air while he stared at the ceiling.
"I am feeling... quite 'not there.'" He replied, linking his fingers together.
"Will you do me a favor?" Fletcher requested.
Philip nodded quickly.
The cricket player walked a few steps forward and stopped beside Philip's hand.
"Wear this for me," he murmured as he pulled out a charm bracelet from his pocket, and tied it gently around Philip's wrist.
Philip nodded, staring at Fletcher's face.
He stared at the short lashes atop his eyes. He stared at the strong jaw line that stood out prominently. He stared at the cut on his left eyebrow. He stared at his slightly cracked lips. He stared at the scar on his left temple.
He gasped when Fletcher's eyes caught his in a direct gaze.
"What is this for?" Philip asked, his voice wavering slightly.
"It's to keep you occupied," he muttered and stepped back.
"So you know?" Philip's eyes held his yet again.
"I'm observant."
"Everything?"
"Not everything."
Philip nodded slowly.
"I want to tell you myself," he concluded.
Fletcher looked at Philip.
He looked at the tiredness below his eyes. He looked at the hue in his eyes slowly brighten. He looked at the small freckles on his nose. He looked at the desperate situation he was in.
"Tell me."
"Now?"
"Now." Fletcher confirmed.
"You might wanna take a seat for this," Philip chuckled making Fletcher smile.
"Okay, tell me," Fletcher sat on the small stool beside Philip's bed.
Philip fiddled with the bracelet on his hand as he started speaking.
Fletcher noticed.
"I am diagnosed... with OCD, depression and bipolar disorder. Uh you know what those are right?"
Fletcher nodded wordlessly.
Philip wondered how.
"I have weird... episodes when I get into a mood and I act out," Philip's voice shook as he spoke, looking up at the ceiling, avoiding Fletcher's intense gaze.
Fletcher acknowledged his words with a slow nod.
"Which is why I panic and start crying at times. Totally calm at times. Really sad at times. Really content at times. It's... an irregular cycle," Philip said in a small voice.
"How long?" Fletcher questioned.
"Five years," Philip muttered.
Fletcher wanted to ask more questions, know more about the weeping boy, but he didn't want to pry.
"Fletcher?"
He snapped his head up. He'd never heard the weeping boy say his name before.
"Yes?"
"Don't get with Brigette."
Fletcher laughed at Philip's bluntness.
"She's not the one," he spoke, looking fondly at Philip.
Philip frowned.
Wanting to know more about Fletcher's dating life.
"Who is she?" Philip muttered.
"It's not a she."
~
Still reading my book? Well, I'm really happy you're here!
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