What was he doing? Every time he looked at Fletcher, Gabe asked himself why the HELL he would be diving into, should he actually become the guy’s friend, or possibly more than that. He couldn’t think about it, how one of their very first encounters at a public coffee shop had already overwhelmed him. Sure, he lived in Hollywood, but he was never the subject of cameras or flashing lights, paparazzi or fans. Fletcher was smack-dab in the MIDDLE of it, being one of the most famous faces of Zenith Studios. He didn’t want to jump into that lifestyle, didn’t want to leave his life of anonymity. Gabe was a quiet, introverted guy, who liked solace – there was no surprise there. So why was the excited, famous Fletcher McAvoy so ENTICING to him? Generally, the thoughts boiled down to the fact that Gabe thought there was no chance in hell that the actor would actually give more than two shits about him, but lately … maybe there was something there. He couldn’t tell, his inexperienced mind running CIRCLES around the miles of possibilities. Fletcher was exciting, he was unpredictable, he was genuine, he was a gift that someone thought to drop into his life, but Gabe felt like he was expected to return it. “Actually, I was actually sent to snag pics of you in a hospital gown. For science, you know,” he smiled, for a moment feeding into the humor that had arose.
Gabe managed a small chuckle as he nodded in agreement with the actor’s statement. “I know the feeling,” he said, lifting his injured arm only a centimeter from his lap, not wanting to strain it or endure any more pain that he was already going through. His eyes were almost SCARED, nervous to look up at Fletcher, for he could almost feel the actor’s brown eyes staring right at him. Slowly, he lifted them, and instead of reaching for eye contact, he surveyed Fletcher’s body, lying helplessly on the hospital bed. It saddened him; Gabe had always envisioned him jamming out to rock songs over-dramatically, air-guitaring, or doing something hilariously and unapologetically Fletcher-levels of happiness. He was surprised to see that he hadn’t pulled his hand away. It made Gabe almost pull back in ASTONISHMENT – that his own signs of affection were not being turned away – but instead, his thumb rubbed gently against Fletcher’s, wanting to remain in some sort of contact with the guy, especially as he spoke of his true state of being. Gabe’s head fell; hearing all his confessions of weakness made Gabe’s heart melt, not only because he was seeing a new side of Fletcher, but because he felt it, too. “I … I’m …” he started, taking a breath to hold back a sniffle. “I’m scared, too.” He was almost surprised that he had admitted that himself, but Fletcher’s own bravery had inspired him to be open as well. “I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to play. At least for a while … but, but they’re COUNTING on me, you know? The pilot is supposed to be released soon, and I’m not completely happy with all my scores, and we still have to record with the orchestra and …” his voice trailed off, not wanting to pile more on top of the list of worries he had already constructed. “No,” he responded quickly, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ll go if you want me to, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t want to bother you.”
The mere presence of the taller male came as a comfort to Fletcher; a sort of reminder that he wasn’t alone and he didn’t have to freak out and WORRY about being on his own through his fears. Of course he knew that there were people who, if he asked them to, would come and visit him, but the fact that Gabe - a guy who Fletcher had only met fairly recently and was sure would, on paper, hate him - was willing to sit by his bedside and offer him reassurance and comfort about his present situation. He couldn’t explain it, the way they’d almost instantaneously got along, but part of him didn’t really want to explain it. Ordinarily, he’d love to dissect the situation and figure out the hows and the whys, but this was different. It felt more natural and WHOLESOME, and he didn’t want to tarnish that by reading into the reasoning and logic behind everything. He’d found a friend - possibly more - in the composer, and that was what really mattered in all of this. He breathed a chuckle at Gabe’s words, shaking his head a little. “Damn, don’t do that. If the bosses get hold of that and see me looking like this, they’ll be replacing me with someone else,” he half-joked, though he was well aware that he hardly looked his best.
He watched as Gabe lifted his arm slightly, and noticed the way his gaze moved over him rather than making eye contact. It almost made him feel self conscious about his current state; cuts and bruises on his face, arms and legs, rainbow hair sticking up at all angles and clinging to his forehead, arms and hands shaking a little from the pain. His glasses had broken, the frames set aside on top of a cabinet by his bed, though his eyesight wasn’t all that bad without them. He felt drained, EXHAUSTED after everything but he was still determined to force a smile because he was Fletcher McAvoy, and he always at least attempted a smile. His forced smile relaxed into a genuine one though, as he felt Gabe’s thumb brushing against his skin. He was a little unsure as to why Gabe had taken to holding his hand but he wasn’t about to complain. It was a physical comfort to him and he visibly relaxed in the bed. Hearing Gabe’s admission, Fletcher’s brows furrowed and he twisted himself slightly, moving to rest his other hand on top of their already joined hands. He GRIMACED at the pain that seared within him but forced himself to ignore it, needing to provide the other with the same comfort that he’d brought to Fletcher only moments before. “Hey, hey. Less of that, alright? It’ll...” He trailed off, unsure what to say. He couldn’t exactly promise anything; he didn’t know for certain. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine. And, y’know, if I can help in any way at all, you have to let me know, alright? I mean, sure I’m not a composer, but I can offer a listening ear and feedback if you ever need it.” He moved back to lay flat again, then, in favour of avoiding any additional, unnecessary pain in his torso. As soon as Gabe spoke again, though, he was quickly shaking his head in objection. “NO,” he blurted before the other could even finish speaking properly. “Please don’t go.” Brown eyes widened, almost pleading, and his grip on his hand may or may not have tightened a little. “I-I mean, if you want to go, then I’m not gonna stop you but uh...” He chuckled nervously, bringing one hand to push back through his hair. “I don’t particularly want you to go. You’re not bothering me at all. I like having you here, just as long as you don’t mind being here.”
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