By Zephyria 
After several winters had passed, spring returned once more to Yorkshire. Warm sunlight streamed through the wide front windows, brightening the interior of the manor. MacQueen, who had returned from the city since early morning, had both hands full of various fruits. Having chosen only the fruits his lover enjoyed recently, he had unwittingly purchased a vast amount.
“Aaron.”
Setting the bags carelessly on the table, MacQueen immediately turned his steps toward the second floor where his lover would be. Since he couldn’t hear the sound of work, it was certain that Aaron had not yet woken up.
After combining efforts with Caliven Wisfield and exerting painstaking effort, his lover’s health had been slowly but steadily improving since last winter. While the chronic lung disease, paralysis, and phantom limb pain persisted, this winter was the first time they had successfully weathered pneumonia without incident. It was still too early to resume full work, but perhaps by summer, sculpting might be possible.
Wanting too much often led to great disappointment. MacQueen practiced living a life of contentment, harboring hope within the reality he was given. Because his innate nature was greedy, it was not an easy task.
“Aaron!”
The joy carried by the spring breeze clung to his steps as he walked up the stairs. The wooden floors, which he had ordered to be waxed last week, emitted an elegant glow in the sunlight.
Click.
“Aaron, are you still…”
The motion of lunging forward stopped abruptly. The bedroom, with curtains drawn on all sides, was so dark that one could not gauge the time. These were blackout curtains specially made for his lover, who struggled to fall asleep and could not maintain a deep slumber.
“…….”
If he sleeps now, he won’t be able to sleep again tonight.
An anxious thought surfaced, but it didn’t last long. As long as he could sleep deeply at some point, that was all that mattered. His lover was likely asleep exactly as MacQueen had tidied him up this morning.
Perhaps it was because Aaron had mentioned feeling well for the first time in a while, and MacQueen had pushed him too hard until dawn. The starved dog that had taken the lover’s body knew no moderation. Intoxicated by the generosity of the man who willingly spread his legs, MacQueen had endlessly pushed his member into that narrow entrance and defiled him with fluids, even while knowing he was struggling.
It had been a truly ecstatic night.
“…….”
Upon reaching his destination, MacQueen’s expression hardened as he saw the empty bed.
The lump he had mistaken for a person was merely a bunched-up duvet. His lover was not in the dark bedroom. Realizing this, MacQueen immediately left the room.
“Aaron!”
The sound of urgent footsteps descending the stairs echoed throughout the manor. Despite the loud noise, no one came out of their rooms to check on him. The silence of the manor soon surged like a wave of immense dread.
“Aaron!”
He had only just thought that Aaron’s health had improved.
MacQueen ran through the lobby, the dining room, and the laundry room. He checked every room individually, but there was no sign of him.
“Aaron!”
He wasn’t in the drawing room or the study. His steps grew more frantic. A profound despair sank into his wavering gaze. He opened every door in sight, searching for his lover, but he was nowhere to be found. Had he gone swimming? No, MacQueen had already crossed the forest before arriving at the manor, just to take in every place his lover might have stepped. It had been a foolish luxury.
Was this a punishment?
Perhaps it was a punishment for letting his guard down due to the softened atmosphere of late.
That the time had come to be judged for the sin of opium…
Slam—
“Aaron… Aa…”
The loud cry vanished instantly. He had considered the studio the least likely place for his lover to be, but upon opening the door, MacQueen caught his breath, his face falling with relief.
“…….”
The studio, which had been renovated last autumn to include large windows, was the brightest spot in the manor. It had been a major construction project for the lover, who would not emerge for days once he started working. The front windows were primarily intended to ventilate the stone dust and debris generated during work.
His lover was curled up asleep on a bed beneath the half-open central window. Bathed in the light pouring through the large window, his body looked so faint and ethereal that he seemed as if he might vanish. Unable to withstand his thirst, MacQueen moistened his throat a few more times before stepping forward slowly. As he drew closer, he had to suppress the urge to cry.
This is not good.
Lately, he found himself rejoicing, grieving, fretting, and fearing over the smallest stimuli. The irritable nerves characteristic of one who lacks composure repeatedly tightened and loosened around MacQueen’s throat. At this rate, he could never be the tree that provided a peaceful shade for his lover.
“Aaron.”
MacQueen approached Aaron’s bedside and quietly knelt on one knee. Only then did he see his lover’s state clearly, and he couldn’t help but smile. His hair, brighter than the sunlight, and various parts of his face were covered in white stone dust. Seeing that the window was half-open, it seemed he had attempted to ventilate the room, but since he was covered in it, it was a complete failure.
“Have you been working?”
A quiet, amused voice whispered.
“It’s been a long time.”
The lover, asleep as if dead, did not open his eyes despite the tender greeting. It was a stillness so profound that, were it not for the body rising and falling with shallow breaths, it would have been hard to believe he was alive.
“You’re covered in powder.”
MacQueen carefully brushed away the dust piled on the crown of Aaron’s head. Even though the sensation of touch should have been clear, there was no sign of him waking. At this rate, he must have come to the studio shortly after MacQueen had left. Whenever his stamina was completely depleted, the lover would fall into a death-like sleep just like this.
“Please don’t scare me like that.”
Muttering in a reproachful tone, MacQueen smiled softly. Aaron’s expression remained peaceful, seemingly hearing nothing.
“……It’s still too early for you to start sculpting.”
Even though he spoke as if he were angry, there was no answer. After watching his sleeping lover for a while, MacQueen took out the bedding kept by the bed and covered him. The habit of not properly covering himself because he hated the feeling of being stifled remained unchanged today.
“…….”
Only after bringing his hand beneath Aaron’s nose once more to confirm the regular sound of breathing did MacQueen stand up. Since the day was unusually warm, he felt it would be fine to leave him like this until late afternoon, provided he ventilated the room a bit more. This was better than waking him unnecessarily.
After tidying the bedding and opening the remaining windows, MacQueen turned around. Among the sculptures scattered throughout the studio, there wasn’t a single piece that hadn’t been touched by his lover’s hand. Most were unfinished. Whenever he saw pieces that had broken or snapped in half during the process, MacQueen’s eyes would crease in pain.
It had truly been a long time since he had entered the studio.
Contrary to his initial wish for his lover to work freely, as Aaron’s health deteriorated rapidly and MacQueen’s worry and nagging grew severe, Aaron had eventually issued an order forbidding him from entering the studio.
There were a few times when MacQueen couldn’t resist his curiosity and entered, but he had no choice but to give up upon seeing how genuinely Aaron disliked it. Recalling that Aaron had always disliked interruptions or intrusions into his workspace in the past, MacQueen had consciously avoided the studio.
Walking a few more steps, he came upon a large piece of marble that had been steadily sourced over several years. Whatever the owner intended to create, he continued to seek marble over ten feet long, despite endless failures.
Perhaps it wasn’t easy to succeed in delicate work with a broken arm, as most attempts ended in failure. Whenever that happened, Aaron would sink into a deep depression for a long time; in truth, MacQueen had wished for his lover to give up sculpting. Of course, that was merely his own thought, and he had never revealed such a feeling to his lover.
It was while he was scanning the large marble, which bore the marks of failure, amidst these rambling thoughts.
“……?”
His slow pace stopped. MacQueen Lester frowned further, staring at ‘that sculpture’ to confirm what he had just seen.
“……This is.”
He took one more cautious step forward. That sculpture was situated among the large stones filled with countless traces of failure.
Something carved upon a white marble base with a bluish tint was too crude to be called a finished work, yet too exquisite to be called a failure. Because the area below the shoulders had been roughly carved, it was difficult to tell if it was a work in progress or a discarded failure. Realizing once again that he possessed no artistic sense, MacQueen stepped closer.
“…….”
MacQueen reached out and stroked the face carved into the statue. The features were familiar. It was a man he knew well. A face he had seen countless times in the mirror.
The sculpture was undoubtedly himself.
And it was also the version of himself that his lover saw in the world.
I was in the world you created.
“Who…”
At the sound of a voice and a presence, he turned his head to find his lover, who had awakened, looking at him. The dazzlingly bright sun contributed to an atmosphere that made the lover seem as if he were not of this world.
Unaware of when he had begun to cry, MacQueen’s face was a mess, drenched in tears.
“…….”
“…….”
A silence filled with the spirit of spring flowed between them. That stillness was no longer anxiety-inducing. The silence that flowed between them had long since become a form of expression and conversation. MacQueen gazed at his beloved, not even thinking to wipe his wet cheeks. His lover might have replaced a rebuke with a light laugh at his pathetic appearance.
Or.
“Arthur.”
Yes.
With that cool yet tender voice, he might call out the one and only name he had lost long ago.
This was the record of the greatest sculptor England ever produced, Blake E. Wizfeldon, and the companion who stayed with him until the end, Arthur S. Stuart.
Fin.