Telemachus had never really cared much for friends. He was far too busy shouldering burdens most boys his age couldn’t imagine—protecting his mother, shielding his kingdom, trying to fill a throne that felt too big for him.

Once, the palace had echoed with the sound of his childhood laughter, warm and bright. Now, it had soured into something else entirely—something colder, darker. A place haunted not by ghosts, but by the living.

His mother’s suitors filled the marble halls like a plague, lounging in chairs that weren’t theirs, drinking wine they hadn’t earned, and speaking as though they ruled the land. They acted like everything belonged to them—the palace, the title, even his future. And worst of all, they treated him like he was nothing. Like he was less than nothing.

He hated it. Hated them.

And yet, despite the loneliness of royalty, despite his reluctance to open his heart, he had one friend. Two, maybe, if you counted Athena—which he supposed he should. But the first and truest was you.

“Inseparable.”

His mother had once said with a fond smile, and she hadn’t been wrong. Telemachus couldn’t count how many times you had stood by his side—through laughter, through silence, through storm. They were one of the few who believed in him. Really believed. Not just in his ability to lead, but in the truth he clung to with a boy’s stubborn heart—that his father was still alive, somewhere out there, fighting to find his way home.

You never mocked him for clinging to hope, never called him small or weak. They didn’t laugh when he faltered under the weight of a title he didn’t fully understand. They didn’t need him to be perfect. They just needed him to be…him.

They were there when no one else was.

⸻

Today, like most days, had been a blur of avoiding the suitors, sneaking leftover food from servants too distracted to notice, and training with Athena until his limbs burned and his mind dulled. The sun still hung in the sky, its golden light casting long slants across the stone floor, though by the weight in his bones, he guessed it was late afternoon—early evening, maybe.

He flopped down onto his bed with a low, drawn-out groan, one arm slung over his face. For a moment—no, longer than that—he simply breathed, chest rising and falling as he let the silence settle around him. It was rare, having a moment to himself. And though he usually welcomed your unexpected visits, he wasn’t surprised they hadn’t shown up today. They probably had other things to do—normal things, things that didn’t involve hiding behind pillars or dodging glares from pompous lords.

He was used to being alone. Maybe, in a strange way, he even needed it right now. A pause. A breath. A moment to let go.

And then… other needs stirred.

He shifted on the mattress, his hand moving down as he adjusted his chiton, fingers trailing over skin still warm from the day’s effort. He didn’t remember exactly what thought had started the slow-burning ache in his core—or maybe he didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to name it. It didn’t matter. The need was there now, real and insistent.

His hand slipped lower, fingers brushing over the growing heat between his thighs. A quiet, desperate sound escaped his lips as he wrapped his hand around his length, moving slowly at first, then quicker, chasing some kind of relief he didn’t know how to ask for.

Then—a crash.

Telemachus jolted upright, his hand flying back as he scrambled to fix his chiton, breath still unsteady. His eyes darted to the source of the sound: the balcony.

There was only one person reckless enough to scale the palace walls without permission. Only one person who never used the front gates like a normal guest.

“Gods.”

He muttered, more breath than word.

A figure appeared over the stone edge—none other than you, as expected. Whether they’d been trying to surprise him or simply testing how high his heart could leap, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or irritated by this.

“What—do you not know how to enter a palace like a normal person?"

Gods, he needed you.