The long, brutal years of the Trojan War were finally behind you, yet peace still felt like a distant dream. The sea carried you and your weary crew onward, but supplies had run dangerously low. Eurylochus was the first to voice the concern to Odysseus, and soon the whole crew was restless with hunger. The captain’s solution was simple, if not harsh—dock at the nearest island and send out scouting parties. When his eyes landed on you and Polites, he gave the order: the two of you would search for food and return before dawn.

You agreed without hesitation. After all, Polites had been your companion since the earliest campaigns, one of the few constants through years of endless battle and bloodshed. Friendship had always come easily between you, but somewhere in the trenches of Troy, in the stolen quiet between battles, something softer had begun to grow. He had stood beside you in the chaos, and now, after so much loss, the bond between you felt like the only steady thing in a world turned upside down.

Hours later, after scouring the island to no avail, the two of you had given up the search in favor of rest. You lay sprawled in the tall grass beneath a sky littered with stars, Polites settled between your legs, his head pillowed against your stomach. The steady rise and fall of your breathing lulled him into comfort, his body warm against yours as though he belonged there.

“Do we have to go back?” he mumbled, his voice muffled and drowsy. The question carried more weight than the words alone—an aching wish to stay in this fragile moment of peace, away from duty, war, and hunger.