"I feel sick."
🤢

Morton wakes up with the sound of his phone chiming. For a split second, he wonders where he is, seeing book shelves above his head, then remembers he had dozed off between them on the shop floor carpet. "Clark?" He mumbles down the phone, not checking the caller I.D.

"It's Oliver." Comes the response.

"Oliver?" Morton questions, sitting up as he rubs his eyes, suddenly feeling a pain in his backside and an ache in his head.

"We need to talk. Where are you?"

"I...I uh, I'm at Clark's book shop but....my head." Morton rubs the side of his head with his hand.

"Yeah, that's what I need to talk to you about." Oliver replies a little gravely. Can we meet up?"

"So now you want to talk to me? You've been avoiding me all week." Morton huffs.

"Yeah look, I'm sorry, but I had my reasons. That's why we need to talk. So can we talk?"

"Ok, but... ' Clark '?" Morton calls his friend's name but gets no reply. "I feel I should wait until Clark gets back to the shop, I don't know where he is."
Just then, Morton hears the shop door unlocking and soon Clark comes into view. "Look he's here. Just give me 20, I'll meet you at the park. I need some fresh air."

"Ok, see you soon."

The call is ended, with Morton getting to his feet. "Where have you been?" He questions.

"Why were you on the floor?" Clark replies.

"Hey, I asked first." Morton says,  trying to look like he wasn't in physical pain, brought on by a multitude of things.

"I...I stayed over at a friend's house. Clark says, instantly overting eye contact.

"Liar." Morton says with a smirk. "I'm your only friend.

"Ok, I stayed at Roshan's. Happy now?" Clark makes his way around the shop counter in order to hang up his coat.

"Roshan? You mean the chef?" Morton says, still with the same grin on his face.

"Yes. End of. Now tell me why you were laying on the carpet and...what's all this? Is this my French red?" Clark now picks up an opened bottle of wine sat on the counter, with the tiniest dreg left inside.

"Ok, I can explain." Morton holds his hands up in defence.

Clark pauses, waiting for Morton to continue, but he stays silent.  "So, what's going on Morton?"

Morton begins to pace a little. "I...I ummm."

"Have you been fooling around in my bookshop, with the language teacher?" Clark says rather bluntly.

"Maybe?" Morton again reaches around and touches his backside. "But you did the same, just...just with a different teacher!"

"Morton... in my shop? You said you wouldn't". Clark whines, disregarding the comeback.

"But the wine and his vocabulary. It did something to me Clark, something amazing." Morton insists.

"Where is he now huh?" Clark points out.

"Ok, I can't remember exactly, but that's not the point."

"So what is the point?"  Clark asks again. But Morton says nothing. His head still pounding like a gong. Clark steps forward, placing a hand on Morton's shoulder. "I hate to break it to you Morton, but I think Mr Raphael Rodriguez may have played you."

"Well don't hold back, will you." Morton replies, a little offended at the suggestion, but there was that thread of fear that Clark might just be right. He might have been played. Now topped with Oliver wanting to talk to him about something, his mind and heart suddenly felt like it was plummeting.

"Look, I'm just saying..." Clark begins.

"Well don't just say. I don't want to hear it. You're back, so I'm going." Morton pushes past Clark and heads out of the shop and down the street. He needed to see Oliver and he hoped what Clark had implied was unfounded.

***

Oliver maintains his eye contact in the distance, watching the people pass by. He soon sees the familiar face of Morton, walking rather swiftly down the path towards him, with his jacket pulled around him tightly.

Morton sees Oliver sat on the bench and hurridly sits down on the opposite end, as if there were two invisible people sat between them. "Hey, why are you so far away?" Oliver questions, seeing Morton turn his body away from him a little.

"I feel sick." Is all he says.

Oliver leans forward a bit, noticing how Morton looked a little pale. He then holds out his black coffee. "Here. Have this."  He holds out the cup until Morton finally takes it.

"So what do you want to talk to me about? Does it have anything to do with Raphael by any chance?" Morton takes a sip of his coffee, still not being able to look at Oliver.

"How do you know?" Oliver asks, his voice conveying mild surprise.

"Just a hunch." Morton shrugs. "I've already had a lecture from Clark about being played."

Oliver stays quiet a moment, his opportunity to speak although it had now arrived, he now felt like the words wouldn't leave him. He swallows hard before he finally speaks. "He did play you Morton. The teacher is a smooth talking liar who just wanted his way with you."

"Ok." Morton emits a sarcastic laugh. "But shall I tell you what I think? I think someone is jealous because he likes me and not you." Morton now turns to Oliver, who's face looks surprised by the suggestion. "I saw how you were in class when he was giving me the attention."

"Wake up Morton! Let me guess... He used the power of words over you. Flashed his many languages to impress you.  You fell for it!" Oliver raises his voice.

"Are you spying on me or something?" Morton now matches the raised voice with his own.

"Ahh Morton!" Oliver now reaches forward and grabs Morton's sleeve. "I know because he's already done it to me."