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"Hi!"
"Hi."
The exchange was a rather awkward one. Odysseus looked at the stranger who waved at him. He was tall, taller than Odysseus (which wasn't really that uncommon, let's be honest), his skin was lighter and his built was stronger. His body was covered in deep blue garments decorated with silver thread, imagining lions and Minoan griffins. He looked like an average Spartan with the exception of his hair: the long curls that would soon reach the already strong shoulders glimmered in the sun like rich copper.
Ithacan stared and squeezed his eyelids. They weren't acquainted. Yet.
"You're not from around here."
A statement, rather than a question.
Odysseus knew how to make friends. This time, however, it struck him how random the whole situation was. He was just sitting there, minding his own business in the shade of the grand olive tree and suddenly, with no reason at all, a stranger approached him. Weird.
A small smile made its way onto his face. He liked weird.
"What gave me away?"
"The bow."
The... bow? The stranger said it in such a way, as if the answer was the most obvious and reasonable one.
His smile was brighter than Odysseus’. Calmer. Nicer. More genuine.
It suit him. Him and his young face with barely any hint of a beard on the chin.
The sun was scorching, the wind was non-existent. Which couldn’t be said about Odysseus’ curiosity.
“Yeah? What about it?”
The stranger chuckled.
“You’re holding it wrong. You’ll never attach the bowstring this way.”
He was right. Odysseus knew he was right. And yet…
“I just need to use more strength.”
“Hah!” Spartan leaned on the olive tree’s bark. “That’s what they always say. And then they huff, grit their teeth, spew a few curses and give up in sweat.”
Despite a little bit of mocking in his words, the stranger kept his gentle tone. For some reason, it made swallowing the shame easier.
“If you’re so smart, then why don’t you show me how to do it?” There was no need for him to waste his energy. “One Spartan gifted me this bow, maybe another Spartan could gift me some knowledge?”
“With pleasure!”
The boy sprung out from his lazy place and approached Ithacan with booming energy in his steps. Although his cheeks were red, such state didn’t come from embarrassment. It seemed that is was his natural look, a testament to his essence and a warm soul.
Odysseus handed him the bow, but to his surprise, instead of grabbing the weapon, the boy grabbed him. Odysseus shivered at the sudden closeness.
“What are you-“
“You can’t treat this bow like any other. You have to lean over like this,” the boy pushed him forward. Palms of his fingers brushed Odysseus’ back. “And then, pull the wood between your legs like this”, the boy pushed his leg in-between Odysseus’ thighs, making their skin touch in sudden contact. “Aaand reach over from behind.”
The way, in which ginger Spartan pulled his arm down, made Odysseus feel like instead of getting his bow ready, he was up for some strange stretching exercise. What was worse (or maybe better?) he could feel the warm sun-burnt flesh of the other right behind his back. For a brief moment he could even feel the copper hair brushing his neck in the lightest of touches.
He let out a rather distressed breath.
“What now?”
“Now you tie it.”
“Why would Spartans want to complicate their lives like this? Who invented this?!” Odysseus scoffed, frustrated. “One of your relatives?”
“Oh, gods, no. Thankfully. I’m not from around here.”
“Oh?” Gods damn this Ithacan for his curiosity. “How’s that?”
“I was born in Mycenae.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Odysseus huffed the question, still struggling to tie the bowstring.
“Ask my brother. There you go! It wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No,” Ithacan answered with bitter voice. “But it sure was frustrating.”
The non-Spartan smiled and stepped away. Now Odysseus could feel his cheeks burning and he was more than sure that it wasn’t a manifestation of his warm soul. He thanked the gods in his mind for his darker complexion. Making sure not to give away his embarrassment, he returned the smile and announced:
“Time to test this bad boy.”
“Oh? Ah, you mean the bow.” The ginger giggled. It was cute.
Don’t go alone to the continent, Laertes said. It’s dangerous, remarked Anticlea. Well, father, mother, boys his age should make good friends is what grandfather Autolycus said. And what better way to strengthen fresh ties of friendship than to boast?
“This bow may have struggled to accept my hold on it,” Odysseus started, slowly. “But you must know that I’m an excellent shooter.”
“Is that so?” The other boy seemed to catch the carefully crafted bait. He tilted his head in a manner of an overgrown puppy. “How about you put some weight to these words?”
“I sure can.” Odysseus tucked the loose strands of hair behind his ear. “You see that apple tree over there?”
“The one from the king’s orchard?”
“Very same. Bet that I can shoot some fruit from here?”
The ginger hummed, his gaze still stuck to the new shooting point.
“If you manage to, then what prize would you like?”
Odysseus smiled in the most charming, yet mischievous way. He shrugged innocently.
“A kiss.”
The boy’s cheeks went instantly red. Well, redder than they were. He knitted his eyebrows, then hummed and then finally – finally!- smiled brightly.
“Just one?”
Ithacan nodded. He struggled with not showing how pleased he was with the outcome.
“Fine, but,” he underlined the word with his tone of voice. “You let me try after you. You’ll get your kiss only if you succeed and I fail.”
His voice was sweet like a fig dipped in a jar full of honey. His rosy cheeks and sudden innocence didn’t fool Laertiades – he was sure the boy had many similar propositions during his short life. He looked like someone who got many suitors. Odysseus hated suitors. They seemed to always cause problems for the families. He should know, his future father-in-law (whom Icarius certainly was, even if he struggled to accept it) hated him with burning passion. Valid response to a nasty suitor, if you ask him. Too bad Odysseus was the nasty suitor.
“Bet’s on,” The ginger nodded eagerly. It was interesting how he didn’t ask for something himself. Then again, only an experienced archer could shoot arrows well enough to even attempt such fit. Maybe he expected to fail. And if so, maybe, just maybe, Odysseus could teach him a thing or two later.
“Watch and learn then,” Odysseus grabbed his bow and jumped fiercely for the arrows. It didn’t get him long to get ready. He was calm and confident, that’s all that it took. He knew his skills, father taught him well.
The arrow flew with a clean, swift motion, tearing the air that stood in its way.
The ginger stretched his back and leaned just a tiny little bit onwards. Odysseus smirked. He knew the boy wanted to see better the unavoidable moment. The victory already tasted sweet in his mouth.
Young Mycenaean gasped when the arrow reached its destination and pierced right through the apple, taking it even further with itself in the motion. Both the arrow and the fruit were gone, but Ithacan’s pride remained. Oh, if only Penelope could see this!
“Awesome,” exclaimed his companion. His voice was now loud and shouty, booming with excitement and wonder.
Ithacan straightened his posture, displaying his pride and confidence in all his glory.
“Your turn,” he handed the bow to the boy, all his nonchalance gone as soon as he saw the boy’s eyes, staring at him with deep admiration.
He really had a thing for redheads, didn’t he?
The ginger took the weapon in his hands not getting rid of the endearment in his eyes. When he held the bow, getting ready to show off his Spartan skills, Odysseus found himself in a rather peculiar state of missing something. He didn’t know what exactly has he omitted, but the weird sense of something lacking, something being unknown, something escaping him, kept on crawling up his skin. He looked at the reddish curls, at rich blue clothing covering the sweaty skin. Ah, how beautiful was-
Was-
Ah. He forgot to ask the boy's name.
“Hey,” he started gently, making sure he wasn’t interrupting the shot. He’d hate to be accused of cheating and losing his prize in return. “You said that what was your name?”
The boy didn’t turn his head, too focused on the task.
“Oh, it’s-“
"MENELAOS!"
A shout that erupted from the nearby hill was so sudden that the ginger boy accidentally sent the arrow too soon. It missed the tree and landed in the nearby river with a faint lap, never to be seen again.
Well. Odysseus was short an arrow, but at least he learnt something new - a name. One of those that he could feel he will hold onto dearly during his lifetime.
"Sorry. I have to go," the boy muttered while handing him the bow.
Odysseus glanced at the shouting man. He was still standing on the hill and his posture was a visible sign that he was very pissed. All that Odysseus could make of his features was the rather large black beard.
"Your father?"
"I wish! My brother. Although," Menelaos giggled. "He does act like one most of the time."
"You have a brother? Nice. I only have a sister."
"Oh? What's her na- Hey. What's your name? I can't believe I forgot to ask."
“It seems that we both fell victims to oblivion. It’s Odysseus.”
“Odysseus,” his name sounded sweet on the foreign tongue. It made him feel nice.
He opened his mouth to say something, when another cry erupted from the nearby hill.
“I really have to go,” Menelaos was still smiling, but there was a hint of rush and anxiety in his voice and he was already backing away. “I hope to see you again. Goodbye!”
“See ya,” Odysseus waved lazily. He stood under the tree alone, still holding his bow. He watched as the two men walked together, for as long as he held them in his view.
And then it struck him. The arrow landed in the water. It never even reached the apple tree.
The ginger still owed him a kiss.