A Sharp Sensation

18

The midmorning sun shined above in a sky smattered by clouds. Blue and green met on on the horizon, the field stretched as far as the eye could see. Dandelions, yellow florettes, daisy weed and mouse ear flowers scattered the landscape, creating white and yellow dots in a sea of green grass.

"I believe im owed a crown," Aesop says, seated beside you on the picnic blanket.

"Owed?" You ponder. "I think not, nothing comes from nothing."

"How can I pay you?" Fable asks with a grin.

You tap your cheek. "I'm not sure I can think of anything."

Aesop pecked at your check before tackling you to the ground and covering your face in kisses, causing you to giggle.

"Stop- I can't make a flower crown if you're trapping me!" You squeal. It all felt surreal, you felt such unbelievable happiness and you could tell he felt it too. Here there was no wolf, no stress and no fear.

"I'll release you on one condition," he says, his eyes softening. "Make me the best flower crown in the world."

After collecting flowers together, you rest your head in Aesop's lap as you got to work tying the flowers together. At first the chain looked scraggly, but once you added more flowers it became a beautiful thing, fit for a king.

"Your highness," you say once you finished, holding it up as he peered down at you.

"You do the honors," he murmurs and you sit up to place the crown upon his head.

It truly was a a sight to see. This beautiful man wearing a beautiful crown, he looked like something out of a children's fable. He granted you a silly grin and your heart melted. This past month has been a whirlwind. Learning of his malady, an impromptu confession, and an awful lot- and I mean a lot- of kissing...

It had only been a month but everything felt so perfect, so right. When you took this job, you knew your life would change; but you never thought it would change in such a drastic way.

Aesop hooked a finger under your chin, staring into your eyes. "I've been in love with you since that night on the Quidditch pitch, you know? The way you looked at the stars... I wanted to be looked at that way."

Your heart ached, your hands clung to his stubbled cheeks as he was a lifeline. "I think I've loved you since that first day, you had called yourself old-" you giggle.

"I am old," Aesop groans.

"You're hardly older than me," you reply, but then it occurred to you you really didn't know how old he was. "How old are you?"

Aesop laughs, one of those deep belly laughs. "I just turned forty this summer."

You counted on your fingers. "Yeah, that's only 18 years older than me!"

"Only eighteen?" Aesop chuckles. "When I was your age, I was still a fledgling at the Ministry!"

"I bet you were quite handsome back then," you say, leaning back to rest your head on the blanket beneath you.

"I may be biased, but I do believe I was," Aesop replies, crossing his arms behind his head to cushion them.

You rolled over to look at him. "I don't mind, you know? You're age. The number hardly matters at this point, were both adults."

"I feel like an old man, I've got grey hairs already!" He whines.

"Shut up," you bite back. "I like your hair!"

"You like running your fingers through it," he replies, giving you a teasing glare.

"I do, it's very soft!" You say, crossing your arms in defeat.

"Sleakeasy's," Aesop says, referring to the popular hair potion created by some man named Potter.

You reached out to fondle his locks, grinning when he leaned into your touch. You scooted over, daring to rest you head on his outstretched arm, cuddling up.

"Where'd you learn to paint Fable?" You ask, discreetly peering at his lips.

"When I was your age, I had a coworker who was very talented with the arts," Aesop explained. "She taught me everything I know."

Your nose scrunched up. "Oh?"

"I believe I still have some of my earlier art, a poorly drawn model of her, a pathetic bowl of fruit," he lists off.

You felt your brows furrow. So she was modeling for him? "Delightful," you grumble, thought you felt anything but.

Aesop of course was far to wise, "You're jealous." He wasn't questioning, he was stating a fact.

"She modeled for you," you grumble even quieter, an embarrassed flush on your face.

"(Y/N)," he whispers, a grin on his face. "She was over one hundred when I met her. Arabella never had Grandchildren, she adopted me as hers."

Oh.

"Don't worry, you're still my best inspiration," Aesop whispers in your ear.

You blush. "I've never modeled for you..."

"You hardly need to," he says. "I have your beautiful face memorized."

You pout and preen. "Maybe I wanted to model?"

Aesop reaches into his pocket, producing his wand. In a silent swish of the wooden rod, he conjured a notebook and charcoals. You began to sit up but he pushed you back down.

"No stay like that," he says, a sudden line of concentration appearing between his eyebrows.

You relent, closing your eyes and relishing in the warm sun. Very warm, quite nearly stifling. You peek up at him, ensuring he was well distracted before popping open a button on your dreadful cotton blouse.

"What are you doing?" He asks, peering over his paper, eyes transfixed in your neck.

You flush. "It's hot out."

"It's fall," he deadpans.

You flush even more, not helping your warmness. You throw your hands up in exasperation. "I'm sweating!"

He glances away, suddenly looking quite embarrassed himself. You peer down and noticed the next button had come undone in your sudden outburst, leaving a rather exposing display.

"I'm sorry-" you squeal, crossing your arms to cover yourself.

"Leave it," Aesop growls.