Enigmatic Emotions

(v) Beloved Delphinus

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love."

-William Shakespeare

"Christopher?"

The boy's eyelids seemed to move. Though perhaps that was just his imagination.

Alan took the white cloth on the bedside table and pressed it against the boy's forehead. With his free hand, he rubbed away a few blonde locks that were sticking to his head due to sweat. His fingers burned against Chris' skin, the fever had gotten worse. The boy seemed to be embroiled in a nightmare, his body making little jolts under the blanket.

He had been lying like this all afternoon, or was it already evening? He looked at the only window in the infirmary, there was not a trace of light outside. Alan didn't care what time it was, he would stay by Chris' side. His heart was still racing like crazy, his breath stopping every time the boy moved.

Chris did not often talk about his illness, it was only through his mother and regular absences from school that he knew about it. He had never imagined it was so serious.

"It's just the common cold," he had once told Alan, with his eternally wide smile.

The school nurse crept up beside him. It was only when he placed a bag of ice on Chris' forehead that Alan noticed his presence. The young man's pointy moustache crept up as he smiled at Alan's hands, which were entwined with his friend's clammy fingers.

Alan smiled weakly but did not withdraw his hands. He would not let go of Chris anymore. Earlier today, he had thought he could part ways with the boy, and with some effort, even forget him. That hypothesis had now been rejected.

The nurse stacked some medicines beside the bed and tapped him gently on his shoulder.

"Make sure he takes these when he wakes up," the man whispered. "Oh, and there's someone for you." His gaze wandered to the door along with Alan's.

Like a gift from the underworld, there stood the last person Alan wanted to see. The tea party of unpleasant events was complete.

The boy's ruddy hair poked out from behind the door, unsure if he was allowed to enter. Alan would make it clear to him that he was not.

In spite of Alan's glare, Blamey crept closer into the room. In the dim light, Alan could see his two hands clasped around a suitcase.

"Are you leaving?" he asked merrily after clearing his throat. His voice was still hoarse from screaming.

The boy shook his head, taking the question as a sign to approach them. Only when he was standing right next to the bed did he recognise the light brown suitcase with a red square pattern.

"I was told to collect Morcom's belongings, he is taking the train home tomorrow." The boy dared not look either Alan or Chris in the eyes. His gaze too was fixed on their intertwined fingers, as pale as the sheets.

"The nurse says he has a doctor in London, where he can get better care than here."

Alan squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to say goodbye to Chris in any way. Not anymore.

Blamey hesitated for a moment, "I heard he suddenly collapsed after the match. And that it took them an hour to find him, in your arms. That must have been quite a shock."

Alan pinched his friend's hand a little harder, thinking back to what Blamey had said earlier. He waited for an inappropriate comment from the boy. An accusation on how he needed to keep his filthy hands away from the pure boy before he infected Chris with his unchastity.