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Mike is helping him with makeup again.
It’s not a strange occurrence, at this point. Aesop at the very least has to admit that.
It’d started when the clown had complained about being too “dead” in Aesop’s coffin in a match, his subtle makeup skills clearly lacking to the man who thought eyeshadow was a personality trait.
Aesop had almost wanted to ignore him, except…
As accepted as he is now in the manor, people still don’t meet his eye when it comes to his in match skills. Mike’s complaints are the first time anyone has blatantly come out and asked him about it.
So, he listens.
“Oh that is way too much rouge! You’re making me look like a clown!” Mike huffs from his place on Aesop’s bed, where he’s obnoxiously been making himself at home for weeks now in these little ‘lessons’.
The room is scattered with powders and creams and brushes both used and sparkling clean. There’s glittery eyeshadow that Aesop had refused to use smeared onto the edge of the blanket Mike is using to keep his modesty. There’s a water bowl somewhere with a towel slowly evaporating in it, for mistakes. Aesop is slowly realizing this is a mistake.
“What are you, if not a clown?” Aesop replies, refusing to turn to look at his muse. He doesn’t honestly need to. They’ve been having these little…tutoring sessions so often lately that Aesop can perfectly picture the mask of faux offense painted across Mike’s face: One hand placed on his bare chest; mouth open in a perfect circle; eyebrows drawn up like he can’t believe the audacity.
“I am an acrobat, dear Carl.” Mike exclaims, voice pitched up to match his expression. Aesop still doesn’t turn away from the cadaver doll.
“Ah, pardon me then.” He says, dripping with reverence. He takes the small brush he’d been using for eyebrows and smears it directly over the cadaver’s closed eyes, making them look ruddy and blackened. “Now you look like an acrobat, moments after your bomb explodes in your face. Killing you instantly.”
He says it with such a gravity that it takes a second for Mike to crack, his laugh bright and wheezing. It’s his genuine one, not the one he puts on to be more —just, more. More aggravating, more flirtatious, more demure. Aesop has been watching Mike, outside of these little makeup sessions, and has realized that while man puts on many a face, so rarely are they his own.
Aesop finally turns, forcing himself out of his own musing.
“If you’re not careful with those bombs, this is how you’ll end up. No amount of makeup can ever make you pretty again.”
“Oh! So you think I’m pretty, then!” Mike says, sitting up. He’s shirtless and flushed down to his shoulders, showing how pleased he really is with the compliment. Aesop’s glad the smile he wears is covered by his mask.
“Mm. Pretty annoying.”
“Hey!” Aesop’s own bed pillow gets tossed at him. He catches it with an ease and grace, that speaks of getting hit one too many times. It gets clenched in one fist, the other still holding the makeup brush. Calmly, as calm and as put together as he can make it, he walks over to the bed.
There’s a beat.
Two beats, Mike staring up at Aesop with plastic hearts in his eyes in an attempt to prevent the reckoning.
Aesop attacks, smacking Mike with the pillow so hard the man goes limp on the bed. Aesop follows him, smacking him with the pillow in an attempt to muffle Mike’s peals of laughter, his shrieking for sure waking poor Eli next door.
“Ooh Mr. Carl, nooooo,” he screams, mouth a bright too-happy-too-lovely line whenever Aesop removes the pillow to rear back and attack him again. “I’m a delicate flower, easily bruisable!”
“It’s fixable.” Aesop declares, before attempting to smother Mike.
This is not the start of the relationship, but it is where Aesop realizes…oh, this could be for him, too. This whole…love thing.
Matches continue, Mike getting bolder and bolder with the way he fights and runs and helps. Aesop sees the bruises he comes out with, covered up with the makeup he’s learning to recognize now as not just a fashion statement but as another subtle lie.
It’s hard to notice a blackeye under all that eyeshadow.
“You know, you could be more careful.” Aesop says, watching Mike step out of the coffin planted deep in the snow of the map. He’s done his best to accommodate Mike’s outrageous style of makeup but the hair thin slice from Mary’s jagged glass is still visible where it bisects his mouth. Maybe Aesop should invest in some brighter lipstick to cover up the blood. He’s sure the other girls would like it too, if he made them up and they came back to life looking like a celebrity.
“Why? Then I would miss seeing you!” Mike says, barely alive from the regeneration process and already causing Aesop problems. He shakes off the rest of the goop, stepping out of the coffin fully only to bump into Aesop.
He’s close. Too close, he needs to get out of here, continue the match, maybe help Emma on the other side of the map. Instead he’s still staring at Mike, at where the bloody line Mary had carved into him in downing him is caked with foundation and setting powder. It’s barely noticeable but Aesop knows exactly where to look to spot the difference.
He’s been staring at Mike’s face for almost a month now, part in study and an even smaller part in…appreciation. He’s counted the freckles across his face a hundred times, he’s studied where Mike’s mouth gets red when he bites his lip, he’s watched every single expression —real and fake— cross his face and how it wrinkles and stretches his skin.
He’s staring now.
Mike stops. His smile fades slowly, getting less wide but no less intense.
“You know, you could use a touch up on your makeup too, dear Aesop.” Mike says. His voice is low and gentle, this moment just for them.
“Really now?” He replies.
“Mhm, really.” One explosion scarred hand comes up to cup Aesop’s face, shockingly gentle as it pulls down his mask.
The kiss pressed to his lips is not a surprise, but it is a pleasure. It’s a soft exhalation, and the sticky pressure of Mike’s lip gloss smearing onto his mouth as they kiss. He almost doesn’t know what to do, but Mike does, and it doesn’t matter because the sound of one of their teammates getting hit has Mike pulling back.
“Look at that, can’t apply lip gloss to save your life, Mr. Carl,” Mike jokes, eyes gently as his thumb strokes at Aesop’s tacky lips. “It’s all smudged. I guess I’ll have to…meet you later for some more instruction.”
“Of course,” Aesop says, voice breathy with it. There’s a feeling in his chest he’s wholly unused to. Something bigger than himself, for certain. It bubbles up until he’s smiling crookedly, mouth stained with gloss and tingling at the unfamiliar pressure of another’s.
“I’ve always wanted to see your smile. I know you do, underneath that mask.” Mike says, pressing another kiss to the grin, more of a peck than anything. He’s gone before Aesop can do anything, already running away to help the team on the other side of the map.
Aesop’s breath leaves him in a puff of steam, a sigh so powerful he can see it in the cold air of the snowy map. He pulls his mask back up, hiding both the messy makeup and the grin he can’t quite wipe off his face.
He’s looking forward, for once, to find Mike making a home for himself in his room later.