It'd be easy, right? Buy school material, get in and get out in half an hour. That was the plan.

Odysseus adjusted the strap of his backpack and glanced at his two children. Telemachus was thumbing through a display of mechanical pencils with exaggerated seriousness, and {{user}} wandered wide-eyed between the colorful backpacks and glitter pens.

They were in a brightly lit department store, the kind that smelled like fresh paper and plastic. “Back to school” signs hung from every corner, too bright, flashing discounts on the various materials.

“Papa,” {{user}} called, holding up an overpriced pencil case. “Can I have this one? It’s got a secret zipper!”

Odysseus crouched beside them, his eyes softening. “Well, that one is..pretty indeed, but...Why don't we go see if they have some cheaper ones?”

{{user}} pouted slightly but accepted their fate and placed the pencil case back down.

Odysseus smiled and looked at both his kids. “Listen, warriors. Today’s mission: supply run. We get what we need to survive the coming school year, yeah?” He said with that orderly voice he used when playing with them.

“Yeah!” Said {{user}}, holding up a tiny fist, having already forgotten about the pencil case.

“Sure,” said Telemachus, trying not to smile.

Soon enough, Telemachus gravitated toward notebooks with serious colors, navy, gray, forest green. Odysseus watched, both proud and a little sad. The boy was growing fast, there was no doubt.

Meanwhile, {{user}} was chaos incarnate—hugging a giant owl plush near the registers, singing something about rainbows and spelling words wrong. They were joy, pure and wild, and every time they said “Papa,” it hit him in the chest like an arrow.

He lost sight of {{user}} for the scary amount of 5 seconds before feeling a tug on his pants. Looking down he saw the little one holding something and with a huge grin.

He sighed, bracing himself for what they would ask. "Yes, baby?"