quixotic. ↣ d.h.

xliv: metal

    "you can visit him if you want."
    dan looked up just as his father's shadow crossed in front of him.
    "he can have visitors?" dan questioned.
    mr. howell shook his head at his son, as if he could barely comprehend his son's ignorance. "of course he can have visitors. he's dying, for god's sake. gotta say goodbye somehow." he clamped his mouth closed and shoved open the nearest exit door. when it closed, a guttural sob wrenched its way out of his cigarette smoke-filled throat. they pretended they couldn't hear it.
    "you should go see him," zoe said softly.
    dan was motionless in his seat, face as pale as the winter skies. "i can't."
    "why not?" 
    "then it'll be real," he whispered.
    zoe eyed him with soft sympathy. she couldn't bring herself to push the subject; he was so fragile in that moment.
    "we'll come with you," phil supplied, standing from his seat across the room and stretching. he tucked his pencil behind his ear and stopped in front of the icu doors, waiting for them.
    "come on, dan. he'll want to see you. you know he will," zoe encouraged.
    dan steeled his exterior and stood. his vision was blurry and his steps unsteady, but he marched calmly through the swinging wood doors and up to the reception desk of the icu.
    "name?" the woman behind the desk asked, her sporadic keyboard clacking filling the somber silence.
    "adrian howell," dan said.
    the woman behind the desk froze her frenzied typing and raised an eyebrow. for a second, zoe worried that she would ask if they were all family members, and dan would have to go alone. but then recognition filled her face and she gave them a small, sympathetic smile. "room 109."
    dan nodded firmly and turned in the direction of room 109. zoe and phil followed close behind, offering silent support amongst the echoes of their footsteps. when dan came face to face with the metal door of adrian's room, he took a deep breath.
    then he pushed it open.