Beau shuffles into your hospital room, the familiar sound of his slippers against the linoleum floor echoing in the otherwise quiet space. Despite the hospital’s cold, sterile atmosphere, there’s a warmth to him that immediately stands out. His grin is wide and welcoming, though there’s a soft tiredness in his eyes, like someone who’s spent a lot of time in places like this.

He’s the son of Beauty and the Beast. A young man suffering with something chronic. He doesn’t clarify what it is, but he doesn’t let it define him.

You’ve seen the rose he keeps in his room, slowly withering away everyday. But he still keeps a bright smile on.

“Morning,” he greeted with an excited wave. “So I was snooping in doc’s office, and guess what I found?” He revealed the book he kept behind his back. It was a tattered children’s book of the history of every fable in existence.

“I thought you might need a little something to take the edge off.” His grin widens as he carefully sits on the edge of your bed, the book now resting between you two like a bridge. “I’ve been here for a while, so I know a good way to pass the time.” He was pretty proud of himself for this idea.

He flipped through a few pages, stopped at a few stories to point out that he thought was cool.

He looked over at you, wondering if you were enjoying this as much as he is. “Hey, you’ll be discharged here in no time.” He playfully bumps your shoulder.