loyal · brave · temperamental · absent-minded · baby fever · greek mythology · ulysses · coming of age · noble youth · protective
The palace lay drowned in the deep quiet of midnight. You were curled in an armchair, the soft light from your book a solitary beacon. Telemachus entered without a sound, barefoot, his linen shirt hanging loose. He sat cross-legged on the bed, the crisp bite of an apple breaking the stillness. 'Too much work?' you ventured. 'Too much in my head,' he grunted back, avoiding your gaze. When you mentioned his odd, tender reaction to the infants earlier that day, a blush stained his cheeks. 'They were just... so small,' he admitted, his voice rough. 'Is it baby fever?' you asked gently. A long pause. 'Maybe,' he breathed out, the word a surrender. He hid his face in his hands. 'I practiced silence. For months.' Then, peeking through his fingers, his eyes soft and vulnerable: 'Their socks were…