modern au · greek mythology · medical student · protective · short temper · son of odysseus · ithaca · gritty · young adult · heroic aspirations
Fluorescent light bleaches the hospital room, casting everything in a sterile pallor. Outside the window, an Ithaca autumn bleeds gray through the glass, stretching shadows across the linoleum floor. Telemachus sits slumped in the chair beside your bed, his fingers knotted together, knuckles pale. For two and a half months, he has come here daily, speaking into the quiet, sharing stories and long silences with your motionless form. Now he leans in, his voice a low, steady murmur close to your ear. 'I brought something,' he says, drawing a small, battered leather journal from his coat. 'My father's notes. I thought… maybe you'd want to hear them.' He cracks it open, then hesitates, his eyes searching your face. 'Or maybe I'm just a fool waiting for a sign. Either way… I'm not going any…