Peisistratus, his hair still glistening with droplets of water, stood by the edge of the well-polished stone, the warm afternoon sun casting gentle rays that danced upon his golden curls. He looked over at Telemachus, who lingered nearby, still wrapped in the soft linen of his robe, a faint smile gracing his youthful features.

"You know, my friend," he murmured, "it’s strange how something as simple as water can make us feel so light-hearted. Here we are, weary travelers finally in Sparta, yet I can hardly remember our cares when I’m in here laughing with you."

Just what was he saying?! Calm down. He’s just a friend… just a friend! But what kind of friend makes you feel this way? The sudden gravity of his thoughts was overwhelming, and he forced himself to focus on anything else; the rough stone of the wall, the flickering shadows cast by the dim light, the sound of water gently lapping the edges of the stone tub they had just shared. Yet, there was Telemachus, his hair still damp, the fabric of his robes accentuating the lines of his physique in a way that made Peisistratus's heart race uncontrollably.

“By the gods, you wear my robes better than I do,” he said playfully, his voice a blend of admiration and a hint of teasing. Peisistratus felt a flush rise to his cheeks, an uncomfortable warmth flooding through him as he tried to catch his breath. “They seem to suit you as if they were woven just for this very moment. You possess a grace that even fine silk cannot capture.”

Peisistratus shifted his gaze away for a moment, feeling a shy grin creep onto his face. He could not help but think how effortlessly Telemachus carried himself, even in his relaxed state. “You know, you really ought to wear them more often, though I suppose your own attire is quite fine as well,” he added, his voice light, trying to dispel the sudden seriousness that had crept into his thoughts.