"Lepidus..." the boy parroted his name, the sound lingering in the air, a soft echo against the hum of the forum. "Lepidus..."
A strange smile played on Caligula's lips, a curve that didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving them cold and distant. "Hmmm... So, Lepidus... do you know me?"
The question hung in the air, a subtle challenge.
Lepidus suddenly felt a strange compulsion to explain himself, to justify his presence.
But he remained stupefied, his tongue heavy, held captive by the boy's blue eyes that were trained on him.
Now that he was closer, and a sense of ease began to settle over him, he found something oddly disconcerting.
That even though the boy's gaze was fixed on him, there was a strange lack of focus, a sense of his attention drifting, like a phantom limb.
But when Caligula's attention shifted to the drawings, he noticed a subtle change.
The small circles in his eyes, the pupils, dilated and contracted, reflecting a flicker of genuine interest, a spark of life that was absent when he looked at Lepidus.
It was like watching a flame catch, then die, then catch again.
Having missed his chance to answer Caligula, who was now engrossed in the scrolls, he simply stared.
Absorbing the details he couldn't discern from afar.
He was more beautiful up close, he thought, otherworldly, mind-blowing. And he still stood by his earlier assessment from years ago: Caligula was a goddess.
"Tu es meum Deus.." he whispered silently as he watch the boy.
Caligula's fingers tightened around the scrolls, his brows drawn together in sharp focus as he scrutinized the illustration.
Unaware or just chooses to ignore what the strange boy whispered.
Lepidus watched, as the charcoal dust clung to the boy's fingertips, he felt uncertain if he had made a mistake by letting his drawings slip.. and also his tongue.
"These are really beautiful," Caligula murmured again as he looked at the other scrolls that he willingly gave, his voice softer than the rustling of the leaves.
He traced the lines with the tip of his finger—hesitant, almost reverent, as if touching something fragile. "Did you see these places yourself?"
Lepidus hesitated.
Some were drawn from memory, the sun-drenched fields near his father's estates.. a scene from his childhood, others from imagination, born of whispered tales and dreams.
"Most of them," he admitted, the rough texture of the remaining scrolls in his possession grounding him. "I like to capture things before they disappear."
Caligula's gaze flicked up to him, the blue of his eyes sharp against the warm, sunlit stone of the forum.
Something in the boy's expression wavered, a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked.
A shadow of thought, quickly concealed behind the familiar mask of indifference.
"Before they disappear…" he echoed, his voice distant, as if speaking to himself.
He knew he was treading on uncertain ground, the air thick with unspoken questions.
But he pushed forward, drawn by an irresistible curiosity. "Do you… like drawings?"
Then he whispered, "My drawings?"
Caligula exhaled sharply, a strange sound that was not quite a laugh, more like a sigh caught in his throat.
"I never thought about it. My… mother preferred statues." The boy closed his eyes and thought of the faces of the statues of gods and goddesses in the atrium.
Blurry.
"..Solid things." the boy continued. "..She said paintings and scrolls fade too easily. That they belong to poets and dreamers." The words hung heavy, a hint of bitterness in their undertone.
Lepidus swallowed, the taste of dust and the faint metallic tang of sweat in his mouth. "And you? Are you a poet? Or a dreamer?"
Caligula's lips pressed together, the line of his jaw tight.
For once, he didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the intricate lines of the drawing.
He stared at the scrolls, his fingers tightening around it, the fragile paper crinkling slightly.
"I don't know," he said at last, his voice barely a whisper. "But I do like them, your sketches."
Lepidus felt his pulse quicken, a strange mix of triumph and nervous anticipation. "Then… I can draw something for you."
Caligula's gaze snapped up, surprised, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes. "For me?"
He shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, the rough edge of the charcoal stick pressing into his palm. "Why not? You like them, don't you?"
The boy hesitated, the midday sun casting golden highlights on his slightly long blond hair.
Then he nodded, a quiet affirmation. "Yes." His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. "I do."
A silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustling of the scrolls, the distant hum of the forum, and the faint, sweet scent of overripe fruit from the thermopolia stalls.
"But.. we've only just met", Caligula's voice barely above a whisper.
Then the boy asked again, almost as an afterthought, his voice barely audible, "Can you draw people?"
Lepidus's fingers tensed around the remaining scrolls, the rough texture a stark contrast to the sudden clamminess of his palms.
Yes, I even draw you from memory. I draw you even when I don't mean to. But he only said, "Sometimes. But I'm not really very good at it."
Caligula wasn't listening, his attention still consumed by the drawing, still lost in the charcoal lines. "You should practice," he murmured, his voice distant.
A warm breeze swept through the forum, shifting the petals of the wildflowers on the bushes, their delicate scent mingling with the dust.
Lepidus glanced at the small flower Caligula still held, its white petals crushed slightly in his other hand's grip.
His golden locks are gently flying in the breeze, framing his intense eyes.
"I could draw you," He found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could think better of it, the heat of the moment urging him on.
Caligula blinked, looking up sharply, a flicker of surprise and something akin to curiosity in his eyes. "Me?"
Lepidus forced a small, teasing smile, trying to mask his nervousness. "If you don't mind sitting still."
Caligula's nose scrunched in mild offense, but there was a flicker of interest, a challenge, in his eyes.
"I can sit still," he said, his voice laced with a hint of defiance.
He hummed, lowering himself to the ground, the rough stones cool beneath his fingers.
"Alright, then. Stay there." He pulled out his charcoal stick, smoothing out a blank scroll, the parchment cool and smooth.
He had drawn Caligula before, countless times, from memory, from the fleeting glimpses he had caught in public processions.
But never like this. Never when he was actually there, his presence filling the space between them.
He felt a surge of excitement, an indescribable happiness in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Lepidus readied himself on the ground, his fingers poised to begin drawing.
He looked at Caligula, who was smiling shyly, yet sitting stiffly.
I want to capture this image forever in my mind. I could probably draw more than one from this memory, he thought solemnly.
But before Lepidus could start, a sharp voice cut through the air, shattering the fragile intimacy of the moment.
"Caligula! We are leaving." Agrippina, her face tight with impatience, a mask of regal displeasure, stood a short distance away, surrounded by senators, their togas rustling like dry leaves.
Caligula's demeanor shifted instantly, like a mask falling into place.
The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cool, distant expression, as impenetrable as the marble statues his mother favored.
He straightened, his shoulders stiffening, the boy disappearing beneath the weight of his role.
He glanced at Lepidus, a flicker of something unreadable, perhaps regret, in his eyes.
"I must go," he said, his voice formal, the words clipped and precise. "Thank you for showing me your drawings."
Lepidus nodded, a sense of disappointment settling in his chest, heavy and cold, a stone sinking within him.
"Of course," he said, his voice quiet, the words lost in the ceaseless hum of the forum.
As Caligula turned to leave, he noticed the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his gaze drifted away from the crowd, towards the distant horizon.
He watched him walk away, towards his mother and the senators.
Their voices a low, discordant murmur.
He wondered what burdens the young boy carried, what darkness he concealed beneath that mask.
Lepidus started to gather his scrolls once he was out of his sight, but a sudden, rapid series of footsteps, growing louder, made him look up.
He saw Caligula, breathing heavily from running, struggling to catch his breath.
"What happened?" Lepidus asked, looking around, his eyes sharpening.
Then he glanced back at Agrippina's entourage, who were still walking, unaware that her son had returned.
"Hah... ha..." Caligula tried to speak.
Lepidus wanted to help, and he instinctively moved closer, wanting to reach out and touch Caligula, but the boy raised his hands, stopping him.
"Just... just in case you didn't know, I am Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus." He paused, his breath still ragged.
"Yes, my father was Germanicus." Then he smiled, a smile that never reached his eyes.
A smile that sent a shiver down his spine.
Lepidus longed to see that smile reach his eyes.
"And I'm staying at my grandmother's estate." he paused again as if he was choosing his words carefully.
"My birthday is one week from now. Come." And with that, Caligula turned and ran back to his mother, leaving Lepidus more stupefied than ever.
************************************
Caligula didn't know what made him invite the plebeian to his birthday, one week from now.
It was an impulse, a sudden, inexplicable urge that seized him as he stood there, breathless, before Lepidus.
Perhaps it was the drawings? he reasoned with himself.
In his colorless world, he already knew that he was missing something, that others perceived a vibrancy he couldn't.
Lepidus's drawings revealed that the world held beauty even in its shades.
And he felt, for the first time, that he understood him through his drawings in a way no one else did.
Perhaps, too, it was because Lepidus was someone he genuinely enjoyed talking to.
The first real conversation he'd had since regaining his awareness..
With a stranger, no less. He thought wryly.
Who didn't seem to expect anything from him.
Well, maybe? What had Lepidus whispered earlier? Tu es meum Deus?
He was a bit crazy, Caligula thought, like himself.
He almost wanted to burst out laughing.
But I still can't see faces... I wonder what he looks like?
Does he have crossed eyes? A big nose? Missing teeth? He couldn't tell.
He looked back to where Lepidus had been standing, but he couldn't see him.
The growing crowd obscured his vision. Caligula bit his lip.
Will he come? I want him to come. I want him to draw me. He prayed.
The feeling he'd had when Lepidus offered to draw him was... indescribable.
It's a mixture of every feeling.
Caligula wants to see his face. His own face, a memory fading.
And now, with this opportunity, in Lepidus's fingers, he wouldn't miss it for the world.
I must befriend him. He decided. Determination rising within him.
I wanted to be normal.
Then he looked ahead and focused on Agrippina's back.
I want to see Mother's face too... and Father's...
And maybe, Lepidus's face too. The boy who held a key.
************************************
INDEX:
Tu es meum Deus - you are my God