divine, calum hood

michael clifford.

"I'm not going back with them, right?"

Winslow Hawksley laid in her hospital bed as her uneaten food sat in front of her, the need to eat going away fast as Jackson Stoker walked right into the hospital room.

"I don't have anywhere to place you, Winslow!" Jackson said firmly—Winslow flinched. Jackson softened. "I'm sorry. It's either we find you a group home and you stay in California, or you go out of state."

"I don't want to leave California, Jackson, I've told you so many times." Winslow sat up. "How many times have I said that I don't want to leave California?"

"What's here for you, Winslow?" Jackson raised his voice. "You were born in Houston, Texas. Not here. What the hell is here for you?"

"Next thing I know, you're sending me to some fuck ass state like Nebraska." Winslow hissed.

"That could be arranged," Jackson hissed back.

"Woah, woah," A voice said, walking into the heavily aired hospital room. "What is with the shouting?"

Their eyes drifted to a doctor, who had colored hair, slightly pink and was wearing black scrubs. Jackson inhaled. "Nothing sir."

Jackson Stoker quickly gathered his things, his face still red from the fighting. He took the paperwork Winslow had filled out harshly out of her hands, making her sneer, and left the room—shoving past the doctor.

"Sorry." Winslow said. "He's temperamental. And 5 years old."

"It's fine," The doctor raised his eyebrow. "You're Hood and Hemmings patient, right?"

"Um, yes." Winslow nodded.

The doctor smiled. "I'm their roommate. My name is Dr. Clifford."

The doctor extended his hand, having Winslow smile and shake his hand. He seemed like a nice enough guy.

"Mind if I check your vitals? Make sure your blood pressure isn't high?" Dr. Clifford asked, sliding his hand over to the glove packaging and grabbing 2 and sliding them on his hands.

Winslow shrugged. "Have at it."

"You can call me Michael, by the way. Dr is too formal for me." He smiled, looking at her clipboard.

"Winslow is my name, but I'm sure you know that." She responded, inhaling as he slid a stethoscope on her chest gently.

"I've heard," He chuckled, moving away. "You sound fine. Are you hungry?"

Winslow slid her eyes over to the clock, inhaling. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, and it was now nearly 6 pm, so she should probably eat.

"I don't feel that hungry." She said softly. "But I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Michael gave her the warmest smile he could muster, gathering his things from the table and saying. "Why don't you come with me?"

That's how Winslow and Michael ended up in an elevator, talking about Michael's residency and his job—how much he liked it.

"I'm glad I chose this field," Michael said as they exited the elevator and made their way to the cafeteria. "I'd probably be failing whatever else I'd be doing."

Winslow shrugged. "I've never really given it thought about what I want to do. I'm good at school, though."

"Hm..." Michael tapped his chin. "It took me a while."

Winslow shrugged her shoulders and they continued on their way.

Maybe eating was better than going crazy over the thought of failing in the future.