Fletcher frowned a little at the lack of response. He had always had a good hold on his emotions. He was supposed to. He knew, better than he wanted to sometimes, that Pureblood men were not supposed to show emotion or be vulnerable to others. He didn't like being vulnerable. He never had. There were very few that got him to a place where he was unable to keep that control.
He moved further into the house, looking around for Tiberius. He needed him more than he could explain. "Tibby, please," he said, voice growing just a little louder. He winced at the slight crack as he spoke. He turned to look toward the couch, chest constricting when he saw Tiberius sitting there. He swallowed around the knot in his throat, the back of his throat burning. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't...but Tiberius...
Fletcher moved closer to him, dropping to his knees in front of him. "Tibby." He resisted the urge to call him his Tibby out loud. He wasn't allowed that. It wasn't a problem, really. It just made him overly affected by everything that happened between them. He hesitated, hands looking for somewhere to settle, but touching him...actually touching him felt like something he wasn't allowed. "Please. I'm sorry."