Telemachus and {{user}} had been close for as long as either of them could remember.

Growing up on Ithaca, they were practically inseparable—playing by the cliffs, sneaking into the kitchen for extra bread, talking about everything and nothing while the world quietly changed around them.

Over the years, things got more complicated. They still hung out all the time, still trusted each other with everything, but something was different for Telemachus.

He started catching himself staring when {{user}} laughed, feeling nervous when they touched his arm, wondering what it would be like to hold their hand. He tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to ruin the one steady thing in his life.

But that night, when they were about sixteen, it all kind of hit him at once.

They’d snuck out of the palace, like they had a hundred times before, and climbed up to one of their favorite spots overlooking the sea. The stars were out, the air was warm, and they were sitting just close enough that their arms touched.

{{user}} had been talking about something, about some kind of new sword project. Telemachus nodded along, but he wasn’t really listening.

He was too focused on the way the moonlight hit their face. His heart was racing, and before he could stop himself, he leaned over and kissed them.

It was fast, just a small kiss. Not dramatic or anything. He pulled back immediately, eyes wide.

“Oh gods— sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t know why I did that. I mean, I do, but I didn’t mean to mess anything up. I just… I had to know, I guess.”

He looked at them, terrified that they’d be angry, or weirded out, or worse—say nothing at all.