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There was a wall in the hospital. It stretched up to 40 feet, blocking the sun when it set. The wall was known to be thin, and sometimes when sitting near it, patients could hear the faint sounds of car honks and the music from the city not far away.
Aesop liked to sit near the wall, watching the sky as it turned orange, and as the night fell, imagine the city lights while the soft sounds of the music project through the wall. There were barely any windows in the hospital, with some patients only having a sliver of light shining through a tiny gap to light up their rooms.
He was undoubtedly the oldest patient in this isolated hospital. His mother had given birth to him in that hospital, only for her to die a few days after, leaving baby Aesop with the hospital staff and her inheritance used to pay his hospital bills. As a result, Aesop hadn't really wandered outside of the place, as sometimes barely going outside of his room made his breathing become hurried, and his heart rate would speed up to an abnormal speed.
The wall became his respite in this cage, to think of the blue skies he heard Dr Mesmer tell Emil, or the wildlife other than the birds that land near him that Lisa would share with Dr Jones. After one too many incidents of someone finding him leaning against the wall, the hospital dean had been kind enough to place a bench there, just for the laundry cleaner's sake so that Aesop's clothes weren't so dirty anymore. There was really nothing to do with his life, Aesop would think, nothing to accompany him but the sound of his thoughts and the slight breeze blowing the grass.
Aesop listened to the sound of wheels as nurses pushed the bed towards an empty hospital room. The previous patient had recently moved out, and the lack of conversations other than the whispers of the nurses just added to the silence and the smell of antibiotics in the air. Dragging his IV pole with him, Aesop pushed the door open, peeking at the new patient who passed his room.
The patient was under anesthesia, hair a shade too white to be blond sprawled across the blankets, sliding up and down with each movement made from the turn into the room before the door slammed shut. After a while，the nurses walked out of the room, some smiling at Aesop who averted his gaze. Dragging along the pole, Aesop approached the door with the patient's name, Joseph Desaulniers, scrawled over the slip of paper.
Opening the door, Aesop stepped in, ensuring the door closed behind him. The screech of wheels against the floor was in stark contrast to the silence of the room. As Aesop approached the bed, the young man lying on the bed was sound asleep, other than nearly his inaudible light breathing, it was hard to tell if he was asleep or dead.
Joseph Desaulniers had soft and delicate features, and there were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, showing that he was a man that liked to smile a lot, and probably swooned a lot of women with his effortless charm. The fading sunlight shined through the gap at the wall, the patient's hair glimmering a beautiful golden.
Aesop stood there until the sun had set, and a nurse came in to check on Mister Desaulniers' blood pressure. Without a glimpse back, Aesop left the room, leaving the nurse to fuzz over the waking patient.
That was their first meeting.
The second time they met, Aesop was at his usual spot, crosslegged on the bench near the wall, fantasising to pass time. That was all he did nowadays, and the nurses were starting to avoid Aesop if possible, only coming into his room to deliver food or to replace the bag containing monoclonal antibodies on his IV. Sometimes when he tried to carry the pole onto the grass, the needle connected to the portacath in his chest would move around, and sharp pain would cloud his vision slightly. That momentary pain would bring Aesop to reality, to know that he was still alive. Those times are the only times Aesop would feel that there was really a point in living.
There was a faint sound of footsteps, and the familiar sound of wheels against the pavement. Aesop didn't bother to turn around, they were probably just passing by anyways. But the footsteps just grew louder, and soon enough, a curious voice, with a slight tinge of an accent making his words end sharply, asked from behind, "What's so interesting about a wall?"
Aesop didn't feel obligated to answer. The voice was foreign, unlike any of the nurses who now knew not to make conversation with Aesop who was unironically, like a blank slate to talk to. But seeming to not notice or care about the lack of answers, it carried on, “It's just a wall, no? There isn't anything peculiar about it. So why are you so taken with it?” No answer. At the lack of response, Aesop could imagine the faceless person faltering momentarily, and he rolled his eyes. Hopefully they were going to leave now.
Contrary to his thoughts, there was a rustling of clothes and swearing in a different language, before a shadow fell over him, and the bench creaked as they joined him on it. With an irritated sigh, Aesop looked over, wanting to tell them to leave, but as the shimmer of light blond hair caught his eye, he shut his mouth, adjusting his mask before going back to looking at the wall. Despite the numerous questions before, Joseph Desaulniers didn't say a word, just sitting next to Aesop in silence. As the sun set behind the wall and covered the sky with shades of orange and pink, the two sat there in silence, until the sounds of nurses urging their respective patients back to their rooms filled the air.
“Your name is Aesop Rayne, right? I saw it on the name tag on your door.” Mister Desaulniers asked Aesop a month later. Aesop didn't bother to give him a response, leaning against the back of the bench, eyes scanning line after line on the novel Ms Jones had given him. Mister Desaulniers was used to the silent treatment by now, but every now and then, he would still ask Aesop a question, only to be met with silence without fail.
Flip.
“I wonder, is it really the wall you are interested in, Monsieur, or the outside world?” Mister Desaulniers mused. Aesop remained quiet, but his finger started tapping on the book, as if reaching for new knowledge. Mister Desaulniers was quite observative, catching that little movement, and a small smirk graced his lips. Walking in front of Aesop, who blinked at the sudden light shining on his book, he spread his arms out, head tilted to a side as he asked Aesop, “I'm quite proficient in the arts, and can help you paint out the scene you desire so much. All I ask is for you to give me a photo before I leave this hospital.”
Flip.
A sigh. Aesop closed his book and looked up at Mr Desaulniers, whose smirk grew as if he had caught a mouse in a trap. “Unfortunately, you have my attention, Mister Desaulniers." Aesop sighed reluctantly, "Please, spill your irresistible knowledge on the world.”
With a satisfied huff, Mister Desaulniers plopped down to the seat next to him, not minding as Aesop shuffled away from him to keep his personal space. “There's this really big tree right outside, in the entrance of the building. Honestly, when Claude sent me here I didn't think that it would be so miserable to stay in. You can't really see the stars in the city area, there's too much….what was the word again. Ah yes, air pollution. A lot of air pollution near that area...”
Aesop listened with a blank expression as Mr Desaulniers started to go on and on about the world outside, sometimes forgetting the english version of words and having to take a moment to find the correct translation. His accent made his speech a little hard to understand, but when he looked at Aesop’s eyes, showing his confusion, he would sigh and repeat what he said slower and clearer. By the time night fell and the moonlight shined onto them, Mister Desaulniers had stopped talking, turning to relentlessly asking questions like “Where are you from?” and “You have never been outside? How is that possible?” To Aesop, who replied with “Yes.” Or “No.”.
A cough sounded behind the two men. Caught faintly by surprise, Aesop turned around to be met with Dr Jones amused eyes. Mister Desaulniers, who had apparently met her before, gave a small wave, which was met with a smile. “It seems to be an interesting conversation you two are having, but it is currently 12am, Patient Joseph and Aesop. Lights out was 2 hours ago. Hurry along now, rest is important for the two of you to recover as much as you can.” She shooed the two men away from the bench, and into their wards. Right as Aesop was about to push the door open to his room, he heard Mister Desaulniers speak up with a voice as cheerful as it could be at midnight, “Good night Monsieur Rayne.”
Without a word, Aesop closed the door shut behind him, leaving Mister Desaulniers standing outside in the dark alone.
The next time Aesop saw him, Mister Desaulniers has managed to get permission to use the hospital’s landline. He seemed to be having a heated discussion with the other over the phone, his right hand moving around frantically. Adjusting his mask, Aesop tore his eyes from him. He walked away to retreat to the solitude of the bench under the gloomy clouds.
Mister Desaulniers panted as he dragged in another bucket of paint. Aesop watched as he barely made progress, the nurse beside him worryingly pushing his IV pole to prevent it from tearing his skin when the tube was strained. This nurse would often stand beside Mister Desaulniers’ shoulder when he would join Aesop at the bench. She might find Mister Desaulniers to be her favourite patient, from the amount of giggling when she goes into his ward Aesop would overhear.
Dusting his hands off, Aesop’s attention was quickly brought back to Mister Desaulniers as he stood up. His long white hair was thrown over his shoulder, and the glistening sweat on his face dripped onto the grass like tiny crystals. He smiled at Aesop, eyes crinkling at the edges. “This is my way of giving you a new thing to do.” He said haughtily. His accent was still there, tingling against Aesop’s ears as he tried not to stare at the place where his collar became askew. “I managed to get permission from the director of the hospital to paint the wall for you, so you better hold up your promise to photograph Monsieur Rayne.” Crossing his arms, Mister Desaulniers raised an eyebrow at Aesop, who blinked in confusion, before realising Mister Desaulniers wanted him to thank him.
Aesop pulled his mask up his nose a little, looking down at his hand on his lap. A minute passed, with Mister Desaulniers looking expectantly at him, and another. In a small voice, he managed to look at Mister Desaulniers, choking out, “Thank you…”.
Except Mister Desaulniers wasn't looking at him anymore. The nurse was letting out a small laugh, saying something that was too soft for him to hear, and Mister Desaulniers wasn't even looking at him anymore, nodding along to whatever the nurse was saying. Aesop felt his ears flushed red, and he looked back down, squashing the small emotion that squeezed his heart.
Aesop managed to obtain a small brush from Doctor Mesmer. She had given him a small smile, pressed the brush in his hand and patted his shoulder, telling him to “have fun with his new friend”. He tried to explain that Mister Desaulniers was not his friend, he was a stranger that disturbed his peace, but she had brushed him off, walking into Patient Emil’s room with a notebook and whistle, leaving him to stand there with a brush in his open palm.
Later, when Mister Desaulniers managed to find him, staring up at the blue streak on the wall, brush in hand dipped in blue paint, he didn't say anything, and just took out a roller that was sent over by his brother, dipped it in the open bucket of blue, and started to apply his own streaks of blue on the white canvas.
With each push and pull from the roller, an area of the wall was soon covered up with blue paint. Drops of the sky were trailing down the edges, tainting the grass under it blue when it reached the ground. It had taken Mister Desaulniers two hours to fill in that area of the wall, which was the length of 6 hospital beds. Aesop lifted his eyes to look at Mister Desaulniers, who wiped the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his patient uniform. He looked down at Aesop, who was sitting on the bench, and gave him a smile that was so bright, with the blue of his iris catching the light, and his white hair shimmering a pure white under the hot sun. Aesop stared up at him with wide eyes, before ducking his head down, the flush on his ears barely visible hidden under his grey hair.
Somewhere along their little session of sitting under the wall, staring up at the unfinished product of colours on the wall, Mister Desaulniers had started to call Aesop, “My darling Aesop”. It made a light red blush dust Aesop’s cheeks, and Mister Desaulniers had laughed and pat his head endearingly. In exchange, Mister Desaulniers had demanded Aesop to call him Joseph, only to be met with furious resistance from Aesop. However, after a few teases of “Why not call me mi amour, it means My Beloved in french” and “Mi petite Aesop”, Aesop had succumbed to referring to Mister Desaulniers as Mister Joseph, must to his annoyance and Joseph’s disappointment.
A couple of months later, the colours on the wall started to take shape. Aesop could tell the blotches of green and brown that became tree stumps, and the green of the painted grass that matched up with the colours of the grass under his feet. Mister Joseph had managed to persuade Aesop into meeting his brother, Claude, when picking up a couple of new brushes.
Claude looked exactly like his brother, but there were some minor differences like the lack of crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and the shape of his lips which were more pouty then the thin ones that often turned to Aesop to give him a blinding smile.
Mister Joseph’s brother, Claude, had scanned Aesop from head to toe, before giving him a sincere smile and a handshake, before looking at Mister Joseph with a knowing smile. Aesop looked in confusion as Mister Joseph flushed red, snatching the brushes from Mister Claude Desaulniers, flustered speech in a language that now Aesop knew as French poured out of Joseph’s mouth, words stumbling over each other. He dragged Aesop away, while Mister Claude called out from behind them, “Bonne chance dans ta vie amoureuse cher frère!!”
When Aesop asked Mister Joseph about the meaning afterwards, he just waved it off, telling him it wasn't important. But Aesop realised that Mister Joseph had started to use a little more force and speed than usual when applying paint on the wall, some minor imperfections when the blue of the sky splashed onto the green on the grass on the hill. How peculiar. Such carelessness would usually be instantly corrected.
In the second week of their project, Aesop sat down next to Mister Joseph, after too many attempts using the wrong colour at the wrong places, causing him to be scolded by Mister Joseph. As he tip-toed to reach the top of the drawing to draw some branches, Aesop watched while the strokes of paint formed a three-dimensional bark.
“What's this paint made out of?” Aesop asked, eyeing the drying paint with shining curiosity. Mister Joseph huffed as he stretched his arm out to colour the top of the branch. “It's made out of Mercury. It's a highly expensive metal I'll have you know.” Aesop hummed as he watched the man lower himself back on his heels, reaching for a darker shade of brown. “Can this be used for anything else? Other than paint. Such a valuable material must have multiple uses.” Aesop wondered out loud, tapping his chin.
It was such a rich colour, there must have been a large amount of Mercury in the paint. Mister Joseph sighed, shaking his head endearingly. Aesop let out a cough, before adjusting his mask to hide the flush on his face.
A month later, Mister Joseph leaned against the foot of the bench, paint brush in hand, paint smeared over the patient's uniform. The sky needed its final touches, and Aesop could start to see the shape of the buildings in the distance which Mister Joseph had explained to him that was the city. While he was admiring the over composition of the wall, a small voice asked, "If you didn't have that illness, Aesop, what would you want to be doing outside?" White paint on the wall started to slowly take shape with each stroke the brush in Mister Joseph’s hand made.
Aesop looked at the man sitting next to him, before adjusting his mask, leaving his comfortable position on the bench to sit next to him. "Maybe an embalmer. It's quite an honorable job, to guide the dead to their final destination. I think I would like that." Aesop muttered, looking at Mister Joseph's hand. He had long nails, each nail white and sharp, like the claws of a cat.
Mister Joseph did not speak, but his hand paused for a second, before resuming in its movements. He let out a small laugh, before looking away from the artwork, to Aesop's face. "What an ambitious job. I think I would like to be a photographer, to record down the moments lost in time. Art has always been more of my brother's passion."
With that, he let the paintbrush in his hand drop into the bucket of water next to him, picking up another to dip into the bucket of grey paint. "We have such opposing ambitions, it's quite fascinating." Aesop remained silent, just watching as Mister Joseph started to paint the clouds that held rain over the sunny sky.
Later, as he made his way back to his room, he made a last look at the wall. It was a vibrant slash of colour in the monochrome hospital. A warm feeling enclosed his heart as he ducked his head. The wheels of the IV echoed in the hall as he hurried to his room, trying to hide his smile.
It was November. Pure white snow fell from the sky and landed on the ground outside the windows of the hospital. For the patients’ health, Mister Joseph and Aesop had been restricted from moving outside of their rooms, which affected their completion of the project on the wall in the garden in the hospital. The two had started to pass their time inside Joseph’s room, with Joseph sitting on the bed, index finger connected to a heart monitor, IV connected under his shirt into the portacath in his chest. Aesop sat next to him, crossing his legs to sit rigidly on the bed next to Mister Joseph.
The room was kept the same as Aesop remembered, with some minor adjustments like the photo of Claude and Mister Joseph on his bedside, and the paint brushes that sat next to the stack of books and puzzles on the table near the corner of the room. Instead of the fading light shining from the gap of the window, the white lights on the ceiling were turned on, and the man on the bed was sitting up, looking at Aesop with a small smile. Aesop felt himself flush red, and he ducked his head, hoping his bangs covered his face while adjusting the mask on his face.
The two would pass time putting together 1000 pieces of puzzles, or Mister Joseph teaching Aesop a little of French, with the former using sentences of French on the latter, watching Aesop look at him in confusion before letting out a breathy laugh, before explaining the meaning and giggling when Aesop’s ears turned a bright red.
That day however, the two sat in silence, reminiscent of their first meeting. Aesop sat behind Joseph, curious hands brushing the long white hair with hesitant gentle fingers. Mister Joseph laid against Aesop’s thigh, eyes watching as the other combed his hair with extreme care.
Beep
Beep.
Beep.
The sound of the heart monitor was becoming more and more bearable to listen to. Aesop tore his eyes away from the silly strands, lifting his eyes, only to be met with pure blue iris staring back. He could feel his breath stuck in his throat as Mister Joseph sat up, turning around to look at him. The thumping in his chest was a foreign feeling, unlike the irregular rhythm after overexerting himself. Aesop decides that he rather likes this feeling of exhilaration. Mister Joseph lifted his hand to Aesop’s face, fingers trailing his cheeks, before resting near the corners of his mask.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
As the heart monitor sped up, Aesop felt as if he had started running with his terrible stamina. His heart was beating furiously against his ribcage, and he was sure his face was blushing profusely. However, he stood in place, allowing manicured fingers to hook his mask, hanging from his other ear. Aesop could feel Mister Joseph suck in a breath, and the sound of the heart monitor stuttered a beat.
“Mi Amour, you…”
Before Joseph could continue, the door had slammed open. Doctor Jones marched in, an army of doctors and nurses armed with needles, and a bed frame on her heels. Aesop raised his eyebrows, watching as the nurses grabbed a very baffled Mister Joseph, the confusion written clearly on his face, placing him on the bed and wheeled him out of the room in record seconds. Doctor Jones cleared her throat behind Aesop, and he turned around, looking at her in absolute bewilderment at what just happened.
“You might want to go back to your room, Patient Aesop. Patient Desaulniers will be back tomorrow if we're fast.” She gently pushed a processing information Aesop out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The next day, when Mister Joseph was wheeled back with an exasperated expression, Aesop got his explanation from the sighing patient. He had a heart disease called arrhythmia, which causes irregular heartbeats, especially when it was beating fast. After Mister Joseph finished explaining, Aesop could feel the corners of his lips twitching up behind his mask. Mister Joseph, observant as always, gave him a deadly glare with piercing blue eyes.
That was the first time Aesop had leaned against his chair, laughing. He didn't notice that Mister Joseph just sat there watching him, a soft smile present on his lips as the soft uncontrollable laughter filled the room.
Sooner or later, spring came. A year had already passed, with the two meeting up daily and working together, the painting had finally nearly reached a state of completion. When Aesop reached their bench in front of the wall, he had to take a moment from a distance, to appreciate the blue skies, lined with clouds that would never rain. There was a hill leading downwards, with peaks of the city in the distance, promising a future that couldn't be reached.
On the hill stood an old tree that would never fall stands on the hill, filtering the light that fell on its leaves, offering shade to wanderers needing a rest. A swing hung from its strong branches, never breaking, offering joy to the ones that managed to climb up this far. This painting of hope, of a life Aesop would never live, made a pained emotion called sadness crawl up his spine.
Stepping in front of the semi-dried paint, his fingers wiped the rays of sunlight shining through the leaves, hoping that he could reach the warmth of the outside, to reach the beyond, only to be disappointed when cold concrete met his hand, wet paint sticking onto the pads of his fingers.
When Mister Joseph managed to walk next to him, Aesop was sitting down on the grass. He looked back when the familiar sound of soft footsteps and wheels stopped behind him. “It's beautiful.” Aesop whispered. Joseph had recently gotten a came to help him stand up or sit down to help with his weakening condition, but even if there was a bench behind them, he still chose to kneel down, sitting next to Aesop.
“It is, isn't it?” Aesop could hear the smile in Joseph’s voice. Turning his head to Joseph,
Aesop was met with a soft sincere smile.
“You are so beautiful, Mi Petite Aesop,” Mister Joseph continued, looking into Aesop’s wide eyes. “Your eyes are grey like the skies when the rain starts to fall. Your hair is beautiful, silver like silver jewelry that glimmers under the light.” Aesop could feel his face starting to heat up. Tearing his eyes from the admiring blue eyes, Aesop adjusted his mask, hoping that his blush was not that visible. Mister Joseph caught his hand in his warm ones, pulling them to his chest, while looking at Aesop with wide earnest eyes.
“I really really like you, Monsieur Aesop. I find you to be the embodiment of perfection, and even your imperfections, like the way your hands find the need to do something when you are nervous, the way you would try to offer help, but back out last minute. The minor things like the way you hold your brush, your soft laughter when something genuinely makes you smile. Oh, I could go on and on about your smile. It's like when the first rays of sun break through the clouds after a long night of rain. I am extremely attracted to you, mon cher Aesop.”
Aesop blinked owlishly at Mister Joseph, who looked at him with an unexplainable expression. That rant had caught Aesop off guard, and he took a moment to process each word.
“I find you to be the embodiment of perfection-”
Aesop could feel his face start to heat up. Not trusting his voice to say anything, he shook Mister Joseph's hands off his. Barely managing to see the bitter smile on Mister Joseph's face, Aesop pulled down his mask, grabbed Mister Joseph's collar, and pulled him towards him.
Aesop had never kissed anyone. The nurses had talked out sex education, but Aesop didn't really have the experience with anything regarding it, given he was living in a hospital for his whole life. But as he pressed his lips against thin ones parted in surprise, he found that unlike in the books that lay somewhere under his bed, kissing was not a magical feeling.
Their noses bumped against each other, and occasionally, Aesop choked on his breath, forcefully ending the kiss. But as the two collapsed on the grass, out of breath but giggling, as Mister Joseph pressed small kisses against his lips, Aesop could think of nothing better but right here, right now.
The last few details of the painting were done in a rather short period of time. The two had started to spend more time in front of the wall, but less time actually getting onto drawing. Mister Joseph liked to spend time leaning on Aesop, pressing kisses on his mask against Aesop's mouth. It has often become a victim to their close proximity, being left on the bench or a corner when Mister Joseph unhooks it from his face. After too many times, Aesop had given up on wearing it, to spare himself the trip to collect a new one from the nurses.
Mister Joseph's breathing has become extremely heavy recently, and when he picks up a paintbrush, Aesop noticed he uses his right hand, in contrast to his usual left hand. The strokes made by it are still as elegant as ever, but as Mister Joseph hides his left hand from Aesop's view, he couldn't help but still help but worry that the other was hiding something from him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Something was wrong. That was the first thing that came into his mind as soon as his eyes snapped open. The sound of his heart monitor was beating at a steady rhythm in the background as Aesop sat up on his bed, movements sluggish while going to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Even after finishing his morning duties, everything seemed to remain normal. The sterile smell of the hospital still remained in the air, but the sound of nurses rushing from room to room was missing, and the beeping of his heart monitor was stark in contrast to the silence of the morning. Everything was quiet, too quiet.
After the nurse brought in his breakfast, Aesop had permission to take off his heart monitor, to make his usual way to the Garden, where the wall and the painting called “Hope” was at.
Ba dump.
Ah. Aesop stopped his footstep.
Ba dump.
There was a figure under the wall, with familiar hair that was a shade too white to be blond.
Ba dump.
Unlike their first meeting, he wasn't lying down with his back on the ground, his hands lying on his chest like he was sleeping. Instead, he was curled into a ball, hands clutching onto his chest, as if he wanted to dig out the pain his heart was causing to his body. From this distance, Aesop couldn't see if he was breathing, but the lack of heaving of Joseph’s chest caused Aesop’s breathing to catch in his throat. His cane was left next to him, lying far enough that it was barely out of reach.
He ran.
Aesop ran faster than he has ever ran, his hand dragging the IV pole, the wheels clanking when each movement rustled the pole. He cursed as the IV started to pull him back, tugging the tube connecting to his portacath. With an annoyed sigh, he ripped the tubing out, beads of blood gathering from the small hole formed when the tube was removed with force.
Leaving the IV pole behind, Aesop ran, sprinting from floor to floor. Where’s everyone…come on… please! Where-
A dull pain shot up from his chest, but Aesop’s footsteps didn't pause. His broken form was there, lying under a bright hopeful painting, out of place in the greenery, where sunlight fell on his hair, causing it to shine, like a broken angel that had fallen from heaven.
Faster.
Finally, he slammed the door open to the cafeteria, to be met with nurses and doctors eating their breakfast, staring at the terminally ill patient who was definitely not supposed to be there, clutching his chest as blood soaked the patient’s shirt through his fingers, panting heavily.
“Help…please….garden…” Aesop wheezed, his voice loud against the silence of the cafeteria.
Ow. The searing pain of the wound on his chest finally caught up with his senses, and Aesop’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, he crumpled on the ground, passed out.
For the next few days, Aesop has been put into room arrest. “That much activity you did a few days ago was too much for someone in your state to go out Patient Aesop.” Doctor Jones had chided, standing beside his bedside while scribbling down notes on her clipboard. She stared disapprovingly down at Aesop, breathing heavily through his oxygen mask. “You’ll need a week’s rest, at most. No going out for you.”
Aesop remained silent, lying on the bed staring up into nothingness. There was a familiar feeling gnawing at his chest, something that hasn't been present for the past year. Seeing that Aesop wasn't going to reply, Doctor Jones shook her head, before going onto checking his IV.
After finishing Aesop’s checkups, Doctor Jones was about to leave, before Aesop’s soft voice asked, “Doctor ...how is…Mist- Patient Desaulniers?”
Doctor Jones stopped in front of the door. With a heavy sigh, she clutched her clipboard to her chest, biting her lips as she turned to Aesop, who had barely managed to get himself to sit up. He has seen this behaviour before, when doctors have to deliver bad news to the patient’s family, and the news would usually be…
“Mister Aesop, Patient Desaulniers passed away a couple of days ago. There was Mercury present in the paint which was used on your little project, which could lead to increased rates of cardiac arrest. Patient Desaulniers’ heart disease is incurable, so if it brings you relief, Patient Desaulniers has been spared from a slow and painful death. My condolences…Aesop.”
The door opens. Footsteps Aesop knows that belong to Doctor Jones walked out of the door, hurrying away to her next patient. Aesop stared at his hands, where a new IV had been pricked onto to continue transferring nutrients and medicine to his body.
There was an urge for him to pull it out, to feel the pain as to distract from the fact that….
Joseph was dead.
Aesop always knew that they would have to be separated one day, but he had always imagined that Joseph would’ve recovered fully from his heart condition, or that Aesop would've been the one to die first. It was a matter of fact that Aesop would have to die, but for Joseph? Joseph who has always looked at Aesop with a kind smile, whose hands' artistic talent was unmatched? Joseph who had always had a happy smile on his face, no matter if he was lying in bed, or-
Joseph’s face streaked with tears and sweat dropping down his forehead replaced the image of the bright smile on his face. How could Doctor Jones say that he had been spared? Mister Joseph would rather live a long and fulfilling life instead of dying under a painting which he had spent hours on for a guy that wasn't even worth his time…
Aesop sighed, falling back down on the bed, wincing as his head hit the bedframe. That knocked some sense back in. It was Mister Joseph’s time. He has had a good life, with his brother, before he had lived with this heart disease, and when he died…
It was just his time.
Aesop wearily turned his head to look at thin rays of light that shined through the thin gap representing a window, shining onto his pillow. His right hand scratched the IV connecting to his left, causing pain to travel up his arm, as he stared into the thin rays of hope that escaped right through his fingers, leaving him alone in the dark as night fell.
The next time Aesop stepped foot in the garden, autumn leaves crunched under his shoes as he slowly made his way through. The leaves bumped the IV pole, causing some to be stuck in between the wheels, but Aesop didn't take much notice of them, making his way on the path, following the muscle memory of which pulled him towards a corner of the wall.
The wall stood as great as it was before, and the lone bench sat a couple of feet in front of it, covered in leaves and a couple of unfinished cobwebs between the pieces of metal. Aesop’s feet faltered, but slowly the sound of wheels on top of crackling leaves stopped.
Aesop stared up at the faded picture of the painting, beautiful shades of blue and green creating a scenery that he had long given up on. A scenery that used to be bright and hopeful, now dulled to the point that the colours were fading, and Aesop could smell a faint metal smell in the air.
Doctor Jones had sent a request to the Hospital Dean for the painting to be removed and recoloured with a recent alternate paint, one that didn't involve mercury after the discovery that it was highly toxic. But now, as Aesop stood in front of the mural, it was obvious that no one had started on the rework yet.
The new buckets of paint sat next to the bench, the placement so awfully familiar that he could smell the freshness of air during spring, and the glistening of sweat on skin, as a bright smile was directed towards him.
The buckets weren't open yet, but Aesop could see the little paint brush he had gotten on the day Joseph announced their project from Doctor Mesmer sitting under the wall, right below the shade. The brush was dry, the bristles were rather hard, but in comparison with the stuff that he had seen others use for their small drawings, it was sufficient.
Aesop lifted the brush, to a small part of the wall right near his eye level. A pale hand with manicured nails grabbed his hand, gently bringing the movements of painting with each stroke. Aesop turned his head around, to be met with Joseph’s small smile as he explained each movement with extreme care.
“...to prevent unevenness in between the gradients and shades.” Aesop whispered along with Joseph. He adjusted his mask, as Joseph turned his beautiful, breathtaking smile to Aesop.
Aesop kneeled down on the grass, bitten nails lifting the cover of the new paint. He could feel Joseph’s gaze stare at him, watching as he dipped the small brush into blue paint.
He stood up, letting the paint drop onto the grass, before Joseph’s featherlight touch lifted his hand.
He paints, a new painting called “Life”.