DRAWING

The men Kiku draws, in Herakles' point of view, are too delicate, too slim, too long-haired. They have thick eyelashes and sparkles in their eyes. They have perfectly glossy lips, not at all chapped like Herakles' sometimes are. They are all pale, perfectly white, with the tiniest blush when required. Herakles is tanned. He's tanned because he has, for a long time, worked in the fields bathed in the bright sunlight. Because he swims in the transparent waters of the sea. Because he drives boats a lot.

Herakles is nothing like the men in Kiku's drawings. He wonder whether he does or does not fit in Kiku's kind of men. Kiku has noticed, of course, because Herakles would always sulk whenever he would show him those kinds of artworks. One day, Kiku asks:

"What's wrong, Hera-kun? You're sulking."

"Am not..." The tall Greek grumbles.

"Definitely are." Kiku's knowing eyes are too much for Herakles so that he can't lie to his little lover any more.

"It's just... Well... Are these... Your ideal kind of men?"

Kiku has this knowing smile too, and, closing his eyes, he chuckles to himself.

"I see. Well, follow me."

His thin hand takes Herakles' large one.

"Wait, where are we.."

Kiku puts a finger on Herakles' mouth and he steps forwards, dragging Herakles through the corridor leading to his bedroom. However, when they pass the bedroom by, Herakles can't help but feel a little disappointed, and they enter a nearby, unknown room. Kiku turns the lights on and, without hesitation, as if he did it everyday, he goes straight to a shelf in the back and drags a cardboard box out of it. He puts it on the floor and opens it ceremoniously. There are at least a hundred drawings in this box. Kiku spreads them all over the floor, for Herakles to see.

Herakles sees rough lines and shapes. There is only one subject, always the same: square jaw, green eyes and a manly face softened by chestnut, curly hair. On some of them, Kiku's added a light brown for the skin.

And Herakles knows he's looking at himself. Some of the drawings are close-ups, where his green, beautiful eyes stand out sharply, wide and bright, and his lips are full, shadowed by a thick line of ink and a bit chapped at the bottom. On some of them he's in the nude, looking intense and sensual, and Herakles knows by the reality of them that Kiku was inspired by treasured moments. A hundred different expressions, that he easily recognises as his, some of them he didn't even know he could have, like the way he arches his left eyebrow when thoughtful or surprised. On every sheet of paper, some older than others, he is drawn lovingly, with extreme care, or sometimes just drafted.

"I've been drawing them ever since I met you. There are about three other boxes, but the drawings inside are a bit worn out. These are the most recent."

He smiled a bit self-consciously at Herakles, who made a half-smile back. Kiku lowered his eyes then cocked his head, looking at the inside of the box.

"Uh? There is one left at the bottom..."

He delicatedly picked up the tiny sheet of paper. Herakles saw the drawing.

He and Kiku walking hand in hand, under an umbrella, kissing.