"I think you need a trip to Paris too," he held me in his arms, "You need a break from all this."
"I-I don't know," I pulled away gently, "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
"The doctors said I was perfectly fine," he rubbed my cheek, "So, I should be good."
"I also only just met you like about a week ago," I said hesitantly, "I want you to be happy bu-"
"And I want you to be happy," he added , "I don't want you to keep getting hurt. We may have only just met not long ago but I still do care a lot about you."
"I don't have the money," I said sadly.
"Well," Ethan smirked, "I haven't used my wish yet."
I tilted my head to the side giving him a puzzled look, "What wish?"
"People who have cancer are granted a wish, they wanna make the patient happy because they aren't expected to live much longer and I wanna use it for both of us."
"No," I said politely, "You really don't have to, this isn't even important."
"We're going to Paris no matter what," he said, "I don't care if it's risky or if it isn't a smart decision, we're going."
"Who else would go with us?" I asked.
"Just you and me," he smiled, "You're my nurse aren't you? If I suddenly have a heart attack or something you'll be there to help me, right?"
"I-"
"Trust me, Lauren," he assured, "It'll be fun."
"I have to think about it, I'll let you know when I make my decision."
"Sounds good," he smiled.
I pulled out the table connected to his hospital bed and placed his bowl of oatmeal onto it.
"Is this food?" Ethan scrunched up his nose.
"I think so," I stared at the bowl.
"It looks like vomit," he took a small spoon of the so-called 'oatmeal' and ate it, "kind of tastes like it too."
I grimaced and watched him eat the rest of his food forcefully.
"You're a champion," I joked.
Ethan leaned back and held his stomach, "I'll be shocked if I don't yack."
I laughed lightly and watched him pull something out of his drawer.
"This is my sketchbook," he explained, "I let my feelings out with drawings, just like how some let their feelings out with songs, music, and writing."
I flipped through his sketchbook, amazed at all of his beautiful creations.
"I can paint a picture for any mood I'm in," he continued, "If I'm upset, I'll paint a picture of a girl sitting in front of a giant window watching the rain fall down her windowsill, with a warm cup of coffee in her hands."
"These are amazing, Ethan," I said in awe as I looked through the rest of his sketches.
I flipped to a fresh page in his sketchbook and grabbed a pencil from the side of his bed.
"Do you mind if I draw something?" I asked.
"Go ahead," he said.
Pencil in hand, I started sketching. Art has never been one of my strong areas, but I truly enjoy the beauty of it.
****
I stared at my finished drawing, confused.
"So, what is it?" he asked.
