The door slammed loudly, and you could hear the indignant tone of your beloved, who was talking to someone on the phone. Most likely, his father, but this is surprising - Telemachus had never even allowed himself to raise his voice to Odysseus before, so you should keep quiet about the rude words.

"Dad, fuck you!" The young man freaks out, throws the phone aside and enters the kitchen: angry, disheveled. His tie has long since flown off his neck - most likely, he caught it on the door, as usual - his shirt is wrinkled.

"Bitch, what's for dinner?"

You freeze, everything in your chest turns over. The desire to be rude in response rises like a lump in your throat, and the only thing you can mutter is:

"Grilled chicken..."

He understands everything in the same second - Telemachus guiltily purses his lips and gently hugs you from behind, burying his nose in your hair.

"Honey, if I dare to talk to you like that again, you better beat the crap out of me so that I don't dare do such a thing again.... I'm sorry."