Jesus knew he was being watched as he carefully applied the red stain from the cherry on his lips. Peter’s frown was almost comical at this point, but the fisherman refrained from speaking up just yet. Jesus continued applying the juice high on his cheeks, tapping it in for a light blush, just like he had watched his mother and sister do all those years ago.

„What-..why are you doing this?“ Slowly he met Peters gaze, while popping the leftover cherry into his mouth. Jesus felt the same pang he had felt when he was a young adolescent. He had veiled on a sabbath, wanting to look like his mother. He remembered the looks he had gotten and how the other children had run away whenever he wanted to play with them from that day forward. He had formed birds of clay for them and breathed life into them to bargain for their company. Still, the upwelling feeling made his heart beat faster in his chest.

„I thought it would look nice.“ Was all Jesus could say as stoically as possible. Peter opened his mouth before uselessly closing it again. „Uh- it does…I just thought this is what girls do.“ Jesus fought to stay as composed like always. „…Have I not been made in my fathers image?“ He heard himself saying. Peter just looked perplexed. Of course he knew that the creator of all was above gender. Yet he had never imagined the messiah, their savior,…so soft.