Phan - A Broken Box

Dan's POV

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The constant, droning sound rung in my ears, and I couldn't tell if it was in my head or not. I took a sudden sharp breath, and it went crazy - beepbeepbeep.
"Check him!" Came a female voice, with sharp edges and bared teeth. My eyelids fluttered open, and the edges were smoothed, and her pink lips performed a sickly sweet show of smiles. "There now, dear. You're in hospital, you'll be okay now." She turned to fiddle with the drip.
My head felt like iron, a heavy weight on my weak neck. I rolled it over to the other side and saw Phil standing - but he'd only just got up from the plastic green chair. He'd heard the nurse talking to me and immediately got to his feet. I smiled in my mind: I was still too tired to manage a real one.
The nurse gave him a disapproving look. "He," she spat, "was-"
"Yes ,thanks, nurse," glowered Phil, and she stopped where she was and left, pulling the curtains shut behind her.
Phil rushed to my side. He took my hand and kissed my forehead; his lips were dry, cracked, and I wondered how long he'd been here, how long he had waited for me to wake.
"Dan, I'm sorry. I know you hate hospitals, I just didn't know what to do. You fainted, you were writhing on the floor in some sort of fit, I was so scared, and you had fever, which is what they're saying caused the first because that was almost unrelated to the- Dan, they're saying... they're..." he trailed off, looking sadly at me.
"They're saying I have Cancer," I finished for him, and he let out a shaky breath as he began to cry quietly. "I'm sorry, Phil. I'm sorry I never told you."
He looked at me then, and his eyes - they were full of sorrow and pain, and when he looked into my eyes, I felt them, too. And I knew - apologies were no good anymore.
"2 years," he whispered, voice trembling. "They said. Two years most, and chemo won't help, nothing will, Dan, Dan -" he was working himself up, so I just reached my cannula-free arm around him and stroked his hair. "Shh," I whispered. "I'll be fine."

***********

By eight that evening, I'd regained enough strength to sit up in my bed. Phil and I were smiling, laughing, joking about the hospital cereal and the grumpy nurses - but I felt a jolt in my stomach each time he smiled, because his eyes didn't smile with him.
A doctor entered the room, a tall, dark skinned man with wire framed glasses. He saw Phil holding my hand and rolled his eyes.
"What?" I asked - really, tiny flicker of anger inside of me asked. "Is there a problem with this?" I said, raising the hand gripping Phil's.
"Not at all..." claimed the doctor, before monotonously stating that I was stable, discharging me and, reluctantly, assigning Phil as my official carer. I pulled on the clothes that Phil had brought me and interlocked our fingers as we walked to the pavement outside the hospital. He pulled out his phone to call a taxi, and we waited, his arm around me to keep me warm.