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"Mr. Embalmer." Formal and polite. Aesop doesn't even acknowledge it. He waits till your footsteps fade away before turning around and picking up the files left for him. He eyes the steaming cup of coffee that came with them. By the time he takes a sip, it's grown cold.
"Good morning, Mr. Carl." This time he deigns to nod in your direction. The chatter in the room is a low hum. It's easy to blend in and be missed, yet you'd taken the time to greet him.
"Aesop Carl." Full name. He walks up to receive his assignment. His eyes flicker up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before looking back down. Your fingers touch (though his are gloved) as he takes the envelope from your hands, and he lingers in front of you for half a second longer than necessary.
"Good game, Aes—Carl." As the noise level grows, so does his desire to leave. But your words make him pause, wondering, for a moment, if it might be worth sitting through the talking. But his voice is muffled through his mask, so he ends up leaving.
"Aesop." A greeting in passing. It unnerves him slightly—not your interest in him, but his reaction to it. He begins to leave his room more often. The next time you speak, it's him who seeks you out, though he spends most of the conversation listening. But you can tell he isn't quite comfortable in the daytime where anyone could walk in on them, so...
"Aesop." A whisper in the dead silence. In the quiet of the garden, the two of you sit, gazing up at the moon. His hand creeps closer to yours, never touching. He sneaks glances at you whenever you aren't looking. At some point in the night, he'd unhooked one side of his mask.
"Aesop?" He looks at you over the dinner table, blocking out everyone else. He wouldn't be here if not for you. He watches you talk to the others, but when you look at him, he ducks his head, hiding his face.
"Aesop..." A hand reaches out to touch his chin. His ungloved hand clasps it gently and looks up. There is a momentary silence as you gaze at each other. When you call him cute, he frowns, but it is so very different from the way he frowns at others. Almost petulant.
"Cutie?" His brow creases further.
"Dear?" He looks slightly mollified.
"Darling?" He shakes his head like he's exasperated, but you don't miss the way his mouth curves slightly.
"Darling." It's him who says it this time, his voice quiet. "It sounds nice."
His fingers rub over your knuckles and he raises your hand, kissing your pulse point. The action is featherlight, hesitant. Then he presses your palm against his chest. Despite the stoic demeanour he exhibits, under the surface you can feel his heart beating overtime.
His next words are barely audible. "It's strange. To feel so..."
You lean closer. He looks up suddenly. His pupils are blown wide, and you can see flecks of yellow in those grey irises.
"Alive."
A cool hand reaches up to your neck and pulls you closer. His eyes flutter shut as he presses his lips against yours. The moon is your only witness that night.