drabblewriter

Banging on his chamber door jolts Telemachus awake, breath sharp and heart pounding in his ears. He always keeps the door locked, too afraid of the final dreaded news of his father, of the suitors having stopped holding back from hurting his mother, of one of them coming for him instead...

But it's been months since his father returned. The palace is safe again.

He flinches as the door rattles once more, but this time it's followed by a muffled voice.

"Telemachus? Please, it's me, it's-"

Everything falls back into place as he scrambles from the bed, shaking fingers fumbling with the lock. He finally pulls it open and barely gets a glimpse of the hall as a trembling body tucks itself against him, a golden-haired head nestled firmly beneath his chin.

"Orestes," he breathes, welcoming him with arms closed around him, drawing him close.

"I'm sorry," the other boy whimpers. "I had a nightmare. It was the Furies and I couldn't get away and they were hurting me and then the door was locked and I couldn't-"

"I'm sorry," Telemachus murmurs back. "Habit." And Orestes has only been visiting Ithaca for a few weeks. There's something growing between them, Telemachus thinks they're both aware of it, but he hadn't expected an after-dark visit to his room. Perhaps especially not like this.

Orestes looks up at him, cheeks wet, and Telemachus kind of wants to kiss him, but now isn't the time. Instead, he nudges the door a little wider with an elbow and asks, "Would you like to come in?"

Orestes's eyes widen like he hadn't though that far ahead. "Would that be proper?"

Telemachus speaks through his flush. "We'll just sit together. It seems like you don't want to be alone."

Orestes sniffles. "I don't."

"Come on then." Telemachus steps back into the room, immediately missing the warmth and weight of the other boy when he slips away. He shuts the door and turns back to find him already perched gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Do you want to talk about your dream?" Telemachus asks as he joins him, leaving plenty of comfortable space between them.

Orestes gives a wilted shrug, not looking at him. "Not much more to say. Partly memory, partly dream." He makes a wet little sound. "Maybe partly curse, partly madness, too."

Telemachus frowns. "I don’t think it's madness to hurt when you're been through something awful." He bites his lip, deciding, then goes on. "I feel the same way sometimes though. When you woke me up, my heart was pounding like I was in the middle of a battle. While my father was away, I used to worry all kinds of bad things would come through that door, and I guess it hasn't gone away yet."

Orestes turns wide, guilty eyes on him. "I'm sorry I did that to you."

"You couldn't have known. And you needed me."