Fisher was still a little distraught from last night. He wasn't exactly sad, but he sure as fuck wasn't happy. He was worried, but hurt and angry as well. He couldn't blame James for having needed to go so suddenly, and he knew that he shouldn't even be upset that he'd gone without even telling Fisher really where or why he needed to leave. But he was still hurt.
But that wasn't the only thing on his mind. He still felt awful about what had transpired between him and Will, and Haddon. He didn't like makign people miserable, even if it seemed that was all his abilities were capable of. So he threw on some stressed jeans (actual blue ones), a long sleeved black and white striped thermal and a black sweatshirt and went to Will's room. It was near midmorning, and he hoped Will wasn't still asleep.
Knocing on the door softly (just in case will was still sleeping), he waited patiently until the door opened. He almost expecetd it slammed shut on him again. He didn't think Will would be so cordial to him, though the question was a lot harder to answer than he was sure the angel intended. "It was... fine," he lied, folding his arms. "Can I talk to you?"