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Their argument starts like always.
“There’s…” Joseph’s lower lip trembles. “There’s no more French fries.”
Aesop stops breathing. He almost misses Joseph’s next word.
“Sorry.”
Sorry. How many times has Aesop heard the same thing?
It’s the rage and indignation that forces Aesop to finally find his tongue. “What?” He breathes. “What do you mean they ran out?”
“You heard me,” snaps Joseph. He snaps. Aesop doesn’t think he’s ever seen Joseph this enraged, this cold fury that seems to just build and build. “I can’t make it any clearer.”
A prick of hurt. “You mean you didn’t save any for me.”
“Oh, for--” Joseph throws his hands up in the air and scoffs, shaking his head. “Aesop,” he says exasperatedly, mockingly. It almost sounds sweet. “Aesop. My dear. Does this conversation sound familiar to you?”
“It should be, because you haven’t saved any fries for me ever since last month.”
“Aesop--” Joseph begins impatiently, reaching out.
Aesop hates being touched. Joseph knows this, but he’s also aware that most of the time he’s an exception. But Aesop is furious.
“Don’t touch me!”
There’s a whirl as Aesop swipes his hand towards Joseph’s general direction, and then a blur of white as something long and hairy comes tumbling down Joseph’s head.
Aesop’s not too sure what happens in the next second.
There’s a bright, all encompassing light that assaults his vision. But Aesop can’t forget what he’s just seen.
It’s blinding. It’s brilliant, bright, everlastingly shining, but more importantly--
Joseph is… Joseph is…
Bald.
Aesop drops to his knees.
“Aesop!”
Aesop faintly registers Joseph’s face next to him. His very bright, very shiny, very bald head.
It’s hard to make anything out when he feels like he’s just stared at the sun too long without any eyewear protection, though.
“Aesop, are you okay?”
He closes his eyes and groans.
“Aesop?” Joseph’s voice was near panic. “Can you hear me?”
Aesop’s eyes flutter open. “Yes, I can.” Now that he was properly shielding his eyes, he could make out Joseph’s silhouette nearby him. One of Joseph’s arms is gripping him, and the other is supporting his back.
The light is still as vibrant as ever, shining off Joseph’s bald head.
“I’m…” Aesop’s voice trails off as he looks into Joseph’s face
Joseph’s expression is frantic, with his eyes wide with tears. And his hair… well, his wig, has buried itself into the corner of the room, abandoned by Joseph now that his secret was out.
Aesop blinks.
“It’s alright.” Aesop reassures him. “I’m fine. See?” He gestures to himself, wincing as the light intensifies when he lowered his hands.
“But I’ve deceived you,” sobs Joseph. “Surely you do not think lower of me?”
“It’s… bright.” Aesop manages. “Very.”
Joseph lets out a strangled scream.
“Oh, no,” Aesop hurriedly continues. “I meant to say that it’s very bright, my dear. Like… a metaphor. Brighter than… the stars. And… and the moon.”
“That doesn’t make it sound better,” mourns Joseph, although he’s sitting up and giving Aesop a pouty, not at all cute expression that’s warming Aesop’s heart.
“You’re pretty to me.”
“Even without the wig?”
“Even without the wig,” Aesop agrees, and leans in.
“Although…” Aesop murmurs. “That’s what happens when you eat too many fries.”
Joseph flushes, and he very pointedly stares away in the distance.
Aesop doesn’t miss the small smile that makes its way across the corner of his lips, though.
Cute dumb idiot. His cute, bald dumb idiot.