Chapter Text
Aesop became busier, the necessary appearances he had to make to the other upper classes, and the numerous balls held during this time period taking up much of his time. Going back to his manor a while after eleven had become commonplace, and without fail, Aesop’s head butler, Eli, had kept up the responsibility of keeping the house working and tidy.
Aesop found himself dozing off in his office more often, waking up with bleary eyes to the sudden sunlight shining right into his study. Documents began to stack up on his desks, and he had to place orders for more ink to be sent over to his manor.
Slowly, the matter of the strange situation had been pushed to the back of his mind, the fast-paced workflow requiring no time for slack.
That was, until the day Aesop bought a painting to decorate his office.
In his defense, it was a beautiful pot of yellow roses. The painter had put in a lot of creativity into painting, strange geometric shapes neatly formed into the shape of a vase, with normal oil-based flowers inside it.
He had contacted the painter, who was glad to be able to make money, words of thanks and praise spluttering out profusely as he shook his hand with great enthusiasm.
Aesop had thrown away that set of gloves the second he walked out. What a shame, it was rather expensive.
Without much difficulty, the painting had been moved into his house, and Aesop had it hung on the wall of his office next to his desk. The painting had certainly brightened up the room, bright yellow amongst the dull greys.
Aesop had dived back into his work, reading and signing documents about tax fees, invitations and marriage proposals from different aristocrats, slowly, clearing up the stacks of paper.
Carefully scanning the records, Aesop penned down his signature carefully, writing letters if he disagreed with the terms and conditions, and also wrote back to the marriage proposal invitations, telling them to please kindly fuck off.
With more elegance, of course.
Eli came in occasionally, taking the finished letters to send them out to the other party, and bringing in tea, taking out the finished cup. There were no questions asked, years of cooperation had built up a mutual understanding between the two.
Then came the loud cursing.
In French.
No one in this manor spoke French.
Aesop jumped, picking up his fountain pen, pointing the tip at the door. He would’ve reached for the saber in the display case, but it was too far away for him to retrieve at the side of the room.
There was a series of loud crashes, and a faint voice that sounded like the person was cursing.
Which… didn’t sound like it came from the door.
The voice came from all around the room, making it impossible to discern the direction that it came from. That uncertainty made Aesop uneasy, hand trembling as he stood up from his desk, pointing his useless weapon all around the room.
His wide eyes darted around the room, hands shaking harder. Where was Eli when he needed him?
And something hit Aesop’s head, not hard enough to knock him out, but hurt just enough for Aesop to drop his pen, one hand reaching up to massage his temple as he looked around bewilderedly.
His eyes fell on the object that had hit his head. It was a small strange triangular shape, with bold black outlines around the white of the shape. Aesop knelt down, picking it up to examine it carefully.
It felt solid, like an actual rock, with a smooth surface that felt like marble. Turning it in his palm, the less it looked like a three dimensional object, and more like…
Aesop turned to the painting in his office. The stone in his hand looked like one of the shapes that makes the painting!
Except, instead of a vase of roses, he was met with a man in the painting, another piece of the vase held between long fingers, tossing it up and down as the man, the one he had forgotten about in the corridor, the painting that he had left to collect dust in, staring at him unimpressed, a small frown gracing his lips as he stared at Aesop with irisless eyes.
Aesop gaped at him, stone dropping onto the carpet with a soft thud.
Thank god Eli wasn’t here.
The man in the painting looked at the stone in his hand, seemingly pondering about something, before chucking it at Aesop’s head.
It hit Aesop squarely on the forehead, and now above his shock, confusion and work, Aesop also has a headache.
Goodness.
The two stared at each other, Aesop trying to channel his inner demons to glare at the other, while he stared at him with annoyance. (Can paintings be annoyed? This one was certainly expressive)
The man spoke first, low voice drawling out accented English, a tinge of mild irritation at the edges. A shiver ran down Aesop’s spine as he felt the familiar stare land on him.
“Your future lover would be very disappointed in you, Monsieur Aesop Carl.”
Aesop blinked. His eyes darted around the room, and Aesop thought about how much money he had spent buying the original painting and decided against throwing something back at it.
Seeing no response from Aesop, the man’s frown deepened, and he grabbed a larger chuck of the vase behind him, toying it as he stared unwavering at Aesop.
Aesop doesn’t have to be a genius to know that one was going to hurt.
“What do you mean?” Aesop tilted his head, a drop of sweat trickling down his forehead.
(“Aristocrat Carl’s Son found dead by rock to head by a painting” suddenly rose in his head and Aesop’s lip twitched, his mouth thankfully covered by his mask. God knows how angry the painting (ghost?) would be if he saw him laughing at him.)
The man scowled harder, eyes narrowed as though as he wished he could just kill Aesop with his gaze.
“We had an agreement!! Do you know how bored I was? Besides, you seriously would rather put THIS in your study rather than ME?” The man demanded, pointing a finger at the half destroyed vase somehow holding itself up, the yellow roses thankfully not affected much by the broken vase.
Aesop’s eyes narrowed, and he had an urge to defend himself. He would not be insulted by a 420 year old ghost, thank you.
“I think it's a creative blend of realism and abstract art.” He retorted stiffly. His gaze didn't waver as he locked eyes with the other.
The man’s teeth grinded together, and Aesop’s own lips pursed behind his mask, his displeasure apparently as his fingers twitched, eyebrows furrowed, but that was mostly from the headache.
He really wanted to throw the rock back at the painting and give him a headache too.
Silence passed as neither backed down, the tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it.
It was broken by the door opening, and Eli waltzed in, a new set of tea balanced in his hands, stack of papers tucked under his elbow as he made his way to Aesop’s desk, putting down the papers and replacing the tea cup.
Aesop stared at him, stunned to silence. Eli smiled at him, before nodding his head to the man in the painting, who waved at him.
Then he was gone, like nothing had ever happened.
“You- how do you know my butler?” Aesop spluttered, hands reaching to pull on his hair. Did everyone know about this before him? What kind of house owner was he?!
The man scoffed, eyes dropped to his hands and he checked his nails while answering carelessly. “Someone had to clean up the room when you decided to betray our agreement. On the seventh day I gave up and asked him where he was. He didn't even question it and just directed me to your office with a knowing smile.”
Aesop stared at him, before collapsing back onto his chair, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. This didn't seem good for his heart.
As the man looked at him with absolute disgust, Aesop leaned back, feeling the comforting warmth of the cushions swallow him. The chair was a good investment, he should buy more from its manufacturer.
After taking a moment to compose himself under the gaze of a very angry painting, Aesop lifted his eyes, staring right back at it.
“You keep mentioning an agreement. I'm certain that I have never talked with you before, so what are you talking about?” He asked curiously, tilting his head.
The man had taken the moment of silence to calm himself too, and he was staring at Aesop with unreadable eyes, studying him carefully.
“It was a silent agreement. You spent ten million purchasing my portrait, I would think you would have a basic decency to admire it.” He said at last, leaning on the simple frame of the other portrait.
Now he was calmer, the accent in his voice was less apparent, English spoken fluently for a foreigner.
Aesop decides he likes the sound of it.
“So you came into my office, because you felt betrayed.” He said slowly, a little mystified.
Excuse his confusion, it wasn't everyday that someone got the attraction of a painting.
A furious red blush spread across the man’s face, disappearing behind the masquerade mask as he gaped at him, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
“I- what?! No! Who cares about your presence! Mon Dieu, est-ce ainsi que les Britanniques agissent de nos jours?-“ he spluttered, the blush spreading to the top of his ears, as he covered his face with his hands, dragging his fingers down with an amount of force that made Aesop wince.
Somehow that mask didn't fall off, even with all that pressure exerted on his skin.
Aesop peered at him, before picking up his pen, nodding his head slightly. “Of course.” He said, pretending to agree, careful to bury the disbelief in his voice.
Judging by the annoyed growl from the man, he wasn't very successful.
Aesop sighed, before moving the stack of letters lying on the desk, checking the papers Eli had brought in, barely managing to hold back his sigh. How did he predict this…
“Let's make an agreement, shall we?” Aesop offered, his pen scribbling on the clean sheet of paper. The dark ink created neat letterings on the paper, as the man watched the pen with slight curiosity.
The room fell silent, the soft sound of the nib pressing against the soft paper echoing through the room.
After a while, Aesop held the piece of paper up, hand pulling up his mask as he stared right at the painting. “This is an agreement. If it gives you more assurance, you can hand this to me if I ever forget again.”
He did not know why he was going out of his way to create such a contract, only that it felt…right.
Aesop waved the paper at the painting, tilting his head. “I have already signed my name. You need to acknowledge this agreement.”
The man sniffed haughtily, glaring at the paper with narrowed eyes. “Who needs your agreement.” He glanced away, hand subconsciously picking at his fingernails.
Aesop blinked at him, hand outstretched as he stared at him with wide eyes.
The man gritted his teeth, glancing back at him, turning his head away, and sneaking a peek back at him again, before groaning in annoyance. “Fine! Maudit sois-tu, toi et tes yeux gris ! Arrête de me regarder comme ça, mon dieu!”
Aesop felt a smile tug at his lips, as he stood up from his desk, walking towards the painting.
“Do you have a quill? I do not have any idea how to use that…”, The man waved a lazy finger at Aesop’s precious fountain pen offered to him, his lip curled in slight disgust. “Thing.”
Aesop frowned, eyes falling on his pen. It was a limited edition DeRoss custom made edition fountain pen, only five in the world. The money was nothing to scoff at. He opened his mouth to protest.
Instead, “Fine.” was forced out through gritted teeth. With more force needed than necessary, he went back to his desk, taking out one of the whitest feather quills his mother had insisted on keeping, dipping it in the opened ink bottle at the corner of his desk, before thrusting it to the man.
For a moment, Aesop stood there, hand outstretched, waiting for the other to receive it. The man stared down at the contract, eyes darting from his hand to his face, hand still held to his side.
Aesop’s arm was beginning to ache. Just when he was about to give up, cold fingers brushed against his own. The man reached over, snatching the quill and paper from his hands,leaning against the frame as he bit the tip, presumably reading through the conditions before he signed on the line with careless strokes.
Aesop felt a blush crept onto his cheeks as he stared down at his uncovered fingers. He had chosen not to wear his gloves today, thinking that he did not need any unnecessary communication with others.
Aesop silently thanked his past self for that decision
The man's fingers felt soft against his, nothing like how one would expect paint to feel like. Does he become a real person when he travels through dimensions? Aesop wondered, eyes furrowed.
“Here. Is that all you need, Aesop Carl.” The smooth velvety voice snapped Aesop out of his thoughts, cheeks burning warmer. Aesop stumbled over, nearly losing his step with the carpet as he received the contract and quill.
His eyes locked onto the signature that was added, thumb brushing over the words ‘Joseph Desaulniers’, careful not to upset the ink. “That would be all. Thank you, Mister Desaulniers.” Aesop cleared his throat, turning back to the painting- Joseph.
Joseph remained silent, eyes sweeping over him. With an annoyed huff, he turned around, leaving Aesop with his half ruined painting and the stack of documents left unfinished in his study.
Aesop stared at the empty spot in the painting, frozen on the spot. He blinked, making his way back to his seat. With delicate fingers, he tucked the contract onto his lower right drawer, where he keeps most of his mother’s items, careful not to accidentally crinkle the edges.
He picked up the quill, dipping it into the ink, before sliding the next set of documents in the pile. As he read through the contents, his nose crinkled in disgust while biting lightly on the tip of the feature.