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Joseph and Aesop’s relationship was, more or less, the typical “survivor-hunter” relationship seen at the manor. They didn’t like each other per se, but they didn’t hate each other, either—they saw each other as a nuisance, at best, and with Joseph’s arrogance and Aesop’s aversion to human connection, the pair never even tried to pursue any kind of conversation outside of matches.
This wasn’t to say that Aesop stayed clear of the hunter side of the mansion entirely. In fact, he was as frequent a visitor as the rest of his fellow survivors—especially since Mary and Michiko often hosted brunch or tea parties with enough sweets to go around. Despite not being too fond of large gatherings, Aesop often still attended briefly, as he had been invited, after all, plus it was a chance to try new foods he’d never heard of before.
It was on one of these days, when Aesop slipped away from the gathering early and made his way down the empty hallway, when his attention was drawn to a single, partly-cracked door, tucked away down a fork in the hallway.
Music softly trailed from the room, a peaceful piano medley, and Aesop found himself drawn closer to the source of the music. When he was close enough to see, he peered through the gap in the partially-opened door to find what greatly resembled a ballet studio—and one Joseph Desaulnier inside, alone, dancing to the rhythm of the music.
The photographer moved slowly, methodically, in time with the soothing keys of the piano, stepping in a pattern that was all too familiar to Aesop. But…
He frowned. It made sense, Aesop reasoned, that Joseph knew ballroom dancing—he had been French nobility, hadn’t he? Obviously he would’ve been more-or-less forced to learn something like this, so it wasn’t as if Aesop had any issue with the fact that Joseph could hold his own in a ballroom. No, what really bothered Aesop was much more simple.
“Your timing is off.”
Joseph stopped dead in his tracks. After what felt like an eternity, he turned on his heel and cast his gaze upon his intruder, locking eyes with Aesop. Joseph crossed the distance between them, placing one hand on the door, and for a moment Aesop was certain Joseph would slam it in his face. Which, if you asked Aesop, was a completely fair reaction.
To his surprise, Joseph simply opened the door wider, as if to verify that it was, indeed, Aesop who had so rudely interrupted him.
He raised an eyebrow, his speech methodically slow, “I admit, it has been… a while since I last rehearsed.”
Joseph drummed his fingers against the wood of the door, “I assume, due to your comment, that you’re familiar?”
“Ah, y-yes, I am.”
“Wonderful. Then you wouldn’t mind rehearsing with me.”
Aesop only managed a barely audible ‘huh?’ before he was dragged into the room, Joseph’s hands clasped in his, face-to-face with the photographer.
He only paused a few moments, letting the phonograph begin a new song before he took a sturdy step forward.
Though thrown a bit off by Joseph’s bold initiative, Aesop quickly recovered. He’d always found something soothing about dancing, and all it took was a few familiar steps to fall back into it with ease. Though he usually was without a partner, he found it wasn’t all that different from dancing alone. In fact, it was better with a partner.
He couldn’t fathom why.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised you actually know what you’re doing.”
Joseph’s words ghosted against the curve of his ear, and though he knew he ought to be offended, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Joseph essentially called his bluff, didn’t he? Besides, he could feel his ears heat up in response to… what? Joseph’s breath? His words? His close proximity?
Distracted, Aesop stumbled, stepping on Joseph’s foot. Aesop winced from embarrassment alone, “Ah, sorry.”
The corner of Joseph’s mouth turned up in a small smile, “A klutz and an arrhythmic. What a pair we make.”
“Your timing wasn’t off by much,” Aesop admitted, avoiding eye contact out of habit, “I just tend to notice these things more… often than others.”
“No, by all means, point it out, Monsieur Carl; I am a bit of a perfectionist myself, so I appreciate the chance to remedy any and all errors.”
“Aesop.”
“Hm?”
“Ah, you can just call me Aesop. It’s… fine.”
There’s no response right away. Aesop starts to sweat—maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe he said something wrong? Maybe it was the social anxiety? Maybe there was some kind of line he crossed—
“Very well. Aesop.”
Ah. So it was the social anxiety again.
“How about you? Would you prefer a more formal title, or will your first name suffice?”
“Please, if I’m to call you by your first name, surely you can call me by mine. Fair is fair.”
If it weren’t for the tone of arrogance that accompanied nearly everything he said, Aesop would find Joseph quite nice. Maybe the tone wasn’t on purpose, but instead a force of habit?
“I hope you don’t mind, Aesop, but there’s one more thing I’ve been meaning to practice lately and… well, it’s frankly impossible without a partner. Mary won’t allow me to try with her, since she worries I’ll drop her.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Uhm, sure, Joseph. Go ahead.”
Aesop wondered, belatedly, if he should’ve asked what this ‘thing’ was. Before he could ask for clarification, Joseph grasped one of Aesop’s hands tightly, snaking the other around the base of his partner’s back, and dipped him.
It only lasted half a second, if that, but it was more than enough time for all the blood in his body to rush to his face, where it remained even when he was pulled back to his usual standing position.
“I suppose I should’ve warned you. Apologies, Aesop—I’d allow you to do the same, but I’m afraid I don’t trust you not to drop me.”
Maybe his brain wasn’t working right. Maybe the blood rush somehow surprised his inhibitions. Maybe he just really wanted to do it. But whatever the reason, Aesop mirrored the hand placements that Joseph had just demonstrated, and dipped the Frenchman without a word.
… and proceeded to drop him on his ass.
The room is dead silent for the longest five seconds of Aesop’s life. Then, like a chorus of angels singing, the room filled with the sound of Joseph’s laughter.
Not his usual sadistic chuckle that can be heard on any given match, no—this was genuine. It was boisterous. It was beautiful.
Aesop kind of wanted to kiss him.
Instead, he pulled Joseph to his feet, bowed and apologized as quickly as possible, then booked it from the room in a panic.