Chapter Text
Down the long hallways, past the giant marble pillars and the many of the misleading doors, Aesop finally reaches the outdoors. So confusing and so irritating. Aesop shakes his own head, too many paths leading to other people. And those people would start talking to him, and they would follow him. Watching him. Aesop shook in disgust, he never liked the idea. Not to mention the groups of them wanting to crowd him with their siren-like voices. No, no. He must stop these thoughts or else they would come true.
Now, even though Aesop hates people, there are people Aesop actually likes. Well, when they’re alone that is. But if there was one other person in the room, Aesop is content being in the background. For example, Joseph who saw the world and its people the same way he did. The preservation and breathing of life in the dead was a start of a blooming friendship. The Gravekeeper, Andrew Kriss, was another. They had a good business partnership, Aesop was looking forward to seeing the crisp body-filled coffin being buried. Well, it did happen but not really. They both had an argument about the burial. Even after all these months, Joseph still hadn’t forgiven him.
There was just one person in this manor that Aesop often finds himself drawing near to. That person was Lucky, that one unknown variable everyone knows and doesn’t. How interesting. Those innocent-looking eyes shine brighter than Emma the Gardener, more life than her in this so-called horrid manor. Those eyes were so aloof, which Aesop fell thinking the glisten of light were clouds. They were so green that Aesop thought they were life itself. Green as the leaves and stems of his beloved yellow roses. That bright and soft smile Lucky always wears reminds Aesop of his mother. Beaming and loving she was. Oh, how Aesop is melting thinking of it.
Honestly, Aesop suggests to himself that Lucky was much a mystery that no one needed to know but himself. Aesop knows he can keep a secret, just like how he did with Jerry’s own.
Out of his thought bubble, Aesop went to the local flower patch filled to the brim of yellow roses. He was glad that Lucky spoke to Emma about his love of yellow roses, talking about how it relates to Aesop’s childhood. Which isn’t wrong, but Aesop didn’t object. Often He finds himself being subtle when he does object. Maybe this comes from his dislike of people, just maybe. But with Lucky, Aesop felt calmed when he talked. Lucky explains in a sort of vagueness because Lucky himself doesn’t know Aesop as well as Aesop does. Aesop is thankful that Lucky doesn’t push himself to know Aesop, rather he waits for Aesop to open up. As Luck often said “I-i’d rather you talk when you’re comfortable. You don’t look at ease with others.” So sympathetic.
With a careful touch, Aesop was able to gather a handful of the golden blossoms. He needs lots of them for the next coffin. For the next game or the next person like that little girl, who had given him his letter. Who knows? Well, Aesop did but he wasn’t willingly going to state it. As he thinks of placements and beauty marks, Aesop was absorbed into his thoughts.
A voice calls out to him in a feathering tone, “Aesop?”
Aesop nearly jumped, flinching from the sudden noise. He quickly turns his grey-haired hair, only to see the familiar forest eyes.
“Ah, Lucky.”
Lucky peaks up with his shoulders at his attention. Relaxing his body after a moment, before kneeling with Aesop. Looking at the batch of blooms, Lucky spoke, “What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing for another coffin.” Aesop responded, stating the obvious in a blatant tone. Aesop often wonders if his tone was a cause of this. Lucky doesn’t seem to mind, Lucky knows that Aesop doesn’t mean his jab condescending way. The others think otherwise.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Who is it for?” Lucky choose to say next. Normally, Lucky would talk about how the day is or the games. But it seems that Lucky wants to try a new topic, they both haven’t tried.
“Someone special.” Aesop replies, hesitantly. He wants to keep this for someone a secret. Aesop plans to reveal all to Lucky at a later date. As Aesop gathers more flowers, Lucky talks about something. Aesop couldn’t find himself paying attention to what Lucky was saying. It was so calming and soothing, much more comforting than Ada’s skills. He swears Aesop could fall asleep much easier with Lucky on the much -er– bad days. On occasions, Aesop would nod his head or state his opinion in smaller sentences.
He folds the stems one by one. As the minutes, or an hour, pass, sooner or later Aesop has a tiny wreath of flowers. Mini enough to be a crown. Without a second thought, Aesop turns to Lucky and places the crown on Lucky’s head. Carefully, he did, of course. The thorns are sharp enough to give anyone papercuts.
“Ah!” exclaims Lucky, his eyes widened with shock from the sudden movements. Jumbling whatever sentence topic Lucky was talking about. Liar, Aesop, the topic was about Jack and Edgar’s artist propositions.
“Oh,” Aesop was taken aback by the sudden action. Thinking of the worst, Aesop’s own heart was breaking into chunks then into pieces like diamonds. “Y-you don’t l-ike them? I can take the-”
“Oh, no! It’s not that!” Lucky shouts, stopping Aesop’s hands from removing the garland. “I-i was just surprised, that’s all. I have never seen you do it before.”
“Oh,” Aesop loosened, his breathing became normal. His heart beats slower at the claim. Ok, good. Aesop would feel embarrassed if he just outright panics in front of Lucky. Lucky would have just pity for him! Not his truth!“Maybe I can show you one day”
The other nods in response. Lucky’s pointer finger covers his lips, in a cute and innocent way. Ah, he was thinking. Aesop made a small noise, it was too adorable for him. Lucky was silent for a few minutes, before saying, “What about lavenders or bellflowers?”
“What?”
“You know something that matches with your yellow roses,” “Something to spice things up a bit! I heard from Edgar that purple compliments yellow!”
“Do you suggest that the coffin should be filled with anything other than yellow roses?” Aesop asks in confusion.
“Maybe,” Lucky laughs, sounding like bells and raindrops. Hair locks fell from his frame as Lucky tilted his head. “It’s ok to try something new, maybe it could benefit you. Maybe helping you for that someone?”
Aesop thought for a moment.
But seeing Lucky with that crown of roses. Yellow, golden and bright as the sun itself. The rays of the sun hit Lucky’s chocolate hair as a halo. Aesop had no words, he always does when he’s with Lucky. Aesop always uses yellow roses because roses were the symbol of love, as yellow was the symbol of current life and being bright. Happiness was one of them.
WIthout a thought, Aesop reaches his gloved hand as he pushes some of the brown locks away. Away from blocking those dazzling and shimmering green eyes. Aesop ended up placing another yellow rose, pinning it to the once fallen locks. That same hand cups the other’s cheeks, in a loving manner that his mother used to do. Lucky’s peach cheeks turn even more pinker, maybe pinker than his embalming lipstick. How cute.
Aesop locks his other hand to one of Lucky’s. Slowly but surely, Lucky’s smooth fingers interlock with Aesop’s. Aesop feels the warmth from Lucky, even if his gloves are shielding him from human skin. It was a cozy and mellow feeling from his own freezing hands.
People come and people go, Aesop understood that. However, Aesop guesses that he can cherish this moment. Maybe even longer than his relations with Jerry. Aesop hums, delightly than he suspects.
“I think yellow very much suits you, Lucky.”