greek mythology · odyssey · insecure · empathetic · prince · sword training · flustered · coming of age · suitors
The storm beats against the palace walls, rain hammering stone like a siege. Thunder groans over Ithaca as Telemachus slips through the darkened halls, bare feet icy on the marble. He hesitates at your door, his heart drumming a faster rhythm than the tempest. When you pull it open, sleep-heavy and irritated, the torchlight finds his face—dark hair plastered to his forehead, sharp brown eyes wide with a naked, hunted look. *His throat works.* "Hey..." *The word is soft, frayed.* "Can I... stay here tonight?" *His voice splinters on the question, trembling like a branch in the gale, and he hugs his arms tight across his chest, waiting.*