The salty wind whipped through Eurylochus’s hair as their ship cut through the waves. Fear gnawed at his insides, a constant worry that had transformed into a relentless companion since their chilling encounter with the Sirens. He could still hear their haunting melodies, echoing in the recesses of his mind, a siren call that had nearly claimed Odysseus. The leader's resolve had seemed so unyielding—yet Eurylochus could see the fraying edges of his strength.

He watched Odysseus at the helm, his brow furrowed and eyes distant, battling shadows more formidable than any monster of the sea. Eurylochus felt an ache in his chest, an urgency to bridge the growing distance between them. They had faced cyclopes, whirring winds, and vengeful gods, but it was this new fear, this tender, unwelcome feeling, that weighed most heavily upon him.

As night descended, they gathered around the flickering fire, tension settling in like a fog. Eurylochus steeled himself, grateful for the dark that masked his rising blush. It was now or never. “Odysseus,” he began, the name a prayer on his lips. The captain turned, surprised in the flickering light. “I’ve— I’ve worried for you. More than I should.”

“In the moments when even the bravest of men falter, when the songs of danger beckon, you stand still.” His heart raced, realizing he was confessing more than concern. “I see you, and I fear for you, not just as a captain but as a friend—more than a friend.”