James arrives a little early the next day, showing up when he knows Carlos is scheduled for physical therapy because he's brought a few things to cheer him up and he wants it all there in the room, set up for Carlos to see when he's brought back to his room. When he steps through the doorway, arms loaded down with flowers, a giant stuffed penguin and a box of corn dogs he's surprised to see the room dark and Carlos laying silently in bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's a long awkward pause and after a moment James realizes Carlos isn't going to even acknowledge his presence so he comes inside anyway, setting the things he'd brought down in a chair and crossing to stand by the bed. "Carlos….?" He asks, looking down at him in confusion. "Did your therapy get cancelled?"
It's like speaking takes Carlos great effort as his eyes find James' face and he contemplates whether or not he really wants to answer. He blinks slowly, dark lashes staying closed a second longer than usual, as if he's too tired to re-open them. "No," he mumbles finally and his voice is a little hoarse as if he's been yelling or crying. James frowns, hands clenching into fists at his sides. It frustrates him when he knows something is wrong and Carlos won't let him in, when he shuts him out like this. But instead of taking his frustration out on Carlos he breathes in slowly, lets it out. "Well what happened?" he prods gently, sinking down into the chair by Carlos' bed. Carlos turns his head away, goes back to studying the ceiling which, as far as James can see, really isn't all that interesting.
"Didn't feel like going," Carlos whispers, clearing his throat. James winces. His throat sounds raw and James really wants to asks, but he doesn't push, at least not yet. Still, he's got to push a little further about the therapy, Carlos can't just skip it and he should know that. He frowns again, so deep he's starting to worry about frown lines. "Carlos, it's important. Haven't they told you how important it is? Your chances of recovery depend on these first few weeks, you can't just skip therapy."
It's not like Carlos doesn't know that, because he does. It's just that right now he doesn't actually care. He doesn't care about anything. "Get out James." Carlos says wearily, and James blinks slowly. "You don't really want me to go, you're just upset." He says calmly, but this only seems to make Carlos more upset. "Don't tell me what I want. I may not be able to do anything for myself anymore but I can still think for myself." He snaps and James' heart sinks. He pauses, swallows hard and tries another method.
"I'm sorry, you're right. You're going through a lot and you need to take things at your own pace. All of this is a lot to take in." He reaches out and tries to card his fingers through Carlos' short dark brown strands of hair but this only awards him a swat. Carlos clearly doesn't even want to be touched right now. James gives up, lets his hands fall limply into his lap. He feels about as helpless and desolate as Carlos must feel right now. He doesn't know how to fix any of this. He's not a doctor or a therapist and lately he's thinking he's actually not even a very good boyfriend because a good boyfriend would know what to do, would know how to snap Carlos out of this apparent funk he's in and get him motivated to work hard to get well. A good boyfriend probably wouldn't even have gotten Carlos in this situation in the first place and that still weighs heavily on his mind.
Carlos still doesn't say anything and James doesn't push him to. Instead he silently takes the smaller boy's hand, despite how he tries to pull away. He's gentle but firm. Carlos has to know he can refuse to speak, he can be a brat, he can be miserable all he wants but James isn't going anywhere. They don't say anything for a long time. The silence is a little awkward at first but soon James settles into it, leans back in the hard plastic chair and brushes his thumb along the back of Carlos' hand. It takes a while but after what seems like forever Carlos' hand slowly curls around James' fingers. He doesn't turn his head to look at him, but James smiles to himself anyway. It's a start.