Research On You

Chapter 14 : The Folder He Wouldn't Open

The folder stayed on his floor for three days.

I saw it every time I went to his dorm. Manila. Plain. His name written in black pen on the top left corner. Theodore Alistair. Unopened.

He would sit next to it. Sometimes he would stare at it. Sometimes he would push it away with his foot like it wasn’t there.

"Aren’t you going to open it?" I asked on the second day.

"Not yet," he said. "I’m not ready."

"Theo," I said. "It’s about Lolo, right?"

He flinched. Just a little. "Yeah. About Lolo."

"Then shouldn’t you—"

"I said I’m not ready," he cut me off. His voice was sharp. Then he softened. "Sorry. I’m just tired."

"It’s okay," I said.

But it wasn’t okay. Nothing felt okay.

The days after he came back were weird. He was there, but he wasn’t really there. He would show up to class, sit next to me, take notes, but his eyes would drift to the window. He would drink tea instead of coffee now. He said coffee made his stomach hurt.

Rel noticed too. She stopped asking him if he wanted the usual. She just gave him chamomile and sat with us for a bit before going back to the counter.

"You’re quiet," she said to him one morning.

"Just a lot on my mind," he said.

She looked at me. I looked at him. No one said anything.

Sera was the first one to break.

We were at the library, supposed to be working on our conference paper. Theo was typing but deleting everything.

"You’re acting weird," Sera said finally.

Theo didn’t look up. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re not," she said. "You disappeared for five days. You came back looking like you got hit by a truck. And now you have that folder you won’t open. What’s going on?"

"Nothing," he said. "It’s just Lolo. It’s been hard."

"Can we see him?" Cass asked. He was leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed. "We’ve been asking for a week."

"He’s not up for visitors," Theo said. "The doctors said he needs rest."

"Which room?" Eli asked. He was holding his camera but he hadn’t taken any pictures in days. "We can just drop by. We won’t bother him."

Theo looked up then. His eyes were tired. "Can you guys just drop it? Please?"

The room went quiet.

"Okay," Sera said. "Okay. We’ll drop it."

But she didn’t. None of us did.

That night Theo texted me at 2 AM.

can’t sleep

are you up

I was. I always was lately.

i’m up, I replied.

can i call

He called.

"Hey," he said. His voice was rough.

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

"No," he said. "I’m not."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He was quiet for a long time. I could hear him breathing.

"I’m scared," he said finally.

"Of what?" I asked.

"Of everything," he said. "Of Lolo. Of the results. Of what happens next."

I sat up in bed. "Theo. You’re not alone in this. Okay? Whatever it is, we’ll face it."

"I know," he said. "That’s why I’m scared. Because I don’t want to lose you too."

"You’re not going to lose me," I said.

"You don’t know that," he said.

"I do," I said. "I do know that."

He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, "Can you come over tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I can."

The next day I went to his dorm after class. The folder was still there. Still unopened.

He was on the floor, back against the bed, eyes closed. He looked smaller.

"Hey," I said softly.

He opened his eyes. "Hey."

I sat next to him. We didn’t talk for a while.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Why won’t you open it?"

He sighed. "Because once I open it, it’s real. Right now I can pretend it’s not that bad. I can pretend the doctors are exaggerating. I can pretend Lolo’s going to be fine."

"But pretending won’t make it better," I said.

"I know," he said. "But it’s the only thing I have right now."

I reached out and took his hand. "Then let’s pretend together. For a little while longer."

He squeezed my hand. "Thank you."

For the next week we pretended.

We went to class. We worked on the paper. We went to Rel’s. We laughed. We acted normal.

But the folder was always there. On his floor. Watching us.

Prof Celes called me to her office on Wednesday.

"Reyes," she said. "I’m worried about Alistair."

"Me too, ma'am," I said.

"He’s missed three deadlines. He looks unwell. Is everything alright?"

"It’s his Lolo," I said. "He’s really sick."

She nodded. "I see. Tell him to take the time he needs. His health and his family come first."

"I will," I said.

When I told Theo what she said, he just nodded. "Thanks."

That night he had a fever.

I found out because he didn’t show up to Rel’s. I texted him. No reply. I called. No reply.

I went to his dorm. His roommate said he’d been in bed since morning.

I knocked. "Theo?"

No answer.

"Theo, it’s me. Can I come in?"

The door opened. He was pale. Sweating. Shivering even though it was hot.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," I said. "You’re burning up."

"I’m fine," he said. "Just tired."

"You’re not fine," I said. I went to his small fridge and got a cold towel. I sat on the edge of his bed and pressed it to his forehead.

He closed his eyes. "Don’t tell anyone."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because they’ll worry," he said. "Because I don’t want to be a problem."

"You’re not a problem," I said. "You’re sick."

"It’s just a fever," he said. "From stress. From the hospital."

"From Lolo?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "From Lolo."

I stayed with him that night. I made him drink water. I changed the towel when it got warm. I watched him sleep.

At 3 AM he woke up and threw up in the bathroom. I held his hair.

"I’m sorry," he said after.

"You don’t have to be sorry," I said. "You’re sick."

"It’s not—" he started, then stopped himself. "It’s stress. It’s fine."

I didn’t push it.

The next morning he was better. Or at least he looked better. He was up. He was showered. He was drinking tea.

"The fever’s gone," he said.

"Good," I said.

We went to Rel’s. He ordered tea. I ordered coffee.

Sera looked at him. "You look better."

"I feel better," he said.

She didn’t believe him. I could tell.

That afternoon we were in the library. He was typing. I was reading.

His phone buzzed. He looked at it and his face went pale.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Hospital. About Lolo."

"Is he okay?"

"He’s... they want to do another round of tests," he said. "They said it’s urgent."

"Do you need to go?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, standing up quickly. "I need to go."

"Want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I need to do this alone."

"Theo—"

"I’ll text you," he said. "Okay?"

He left.

He didn’t text that night.

Friday he came back to class. He looked worse. Thinner. Paler. There were bruises on his arms that he tried to cover with his sleeves.

"What happened?" I asked.

"IV," he said. "For Lolo. I was there when they put it in. I’m clumsy. I bumped into it."

"Oh," I said.

We didn’t talk much that day.

On Saturday I went to his dorm. The folder was still there.

"Theo," I said. "You have to open it."

"I can’t," he said.

"Why?"

"Because what if it’s bad?" he said. "What if they say it’s terminal? What if they say there’s nothing they can do?"

"Then we deal with it," I said. "But we deal with it knowing. Not guessing."

"I can’t," he said again. "Not yet."

I sat next to him. "Okay. Not yet."

Sunday night he called me.

"Can you come over?" he asked.

I went.

He was sitting on the floor. The folder in his lap.

"I’m going to open it," he said.

My heart was pounding. "Okay."

His hands were shaking. He opened the folder.

He read the first page. Then the second.

His face didn’t change.

"What does it say?" I asked.

He closed the folder. "It’s... it’s not good," he said. "They said Lolo needs to start treatment right away. Chemo. It’s aggressive."

"Oh," I said. "Theo, I’m so sorry."

"I’m sorry too," he said. "I didn’t want this for him."

I hugged him. "We’ll get through it. Okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "We will."

He never showed me the papers. He put them back in the folder and slid it under his bed.

"Don’t tell anyone," he said. "Not yet. I need to tell Lolo first."

"I won’t," I said.

But I knew.

I knew he was lying.

The way he wouldn’t look at me when he said Lolo’s name. The way his hands shook when he talked about the hospital. The way he was losing weight. The bruises. The fevers. The tea instead of coffee.

It wasn’t Lolo.

It was him.

I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Because I was scared too.

Scared that if I said it out loud, it would be real.

Monday morning at Rel’s, he was already there. Tea in front of him.

"Morning," I said.

"Morning," he said. He smiled. It was small, but it was real.

"How’s Lolo?" I asked.

"He’s okay," he said. "Tired. But okay."

"That’s good," I said.

We sat in silence.

"I love you," he said suddenly.

I looked up. "What?"

"I love you," he said again. "I just wanted you to know."

"I love you too," I said.

He reached across the table and took my hand.

The folder was still under his bed.

And I was still pretending I didn’t know what was really inside.