Chapter Text
Antinous was officially fed up.
Twenty years, no king. And that was fine! He was a very patient man and an even more patient schemer. He was willing to bide his time, wait for just the right moment, and put in hours of work just for the promised payoff. But this?
It was getting ridiculous.
Never before had Antinous met a woman so devoted to her husband. A woman so mindlessly loyal to a man whose body was probably lying at the bottom of the sea somewhere. They’d all seen the insane storms, not to mention the impossible tidal waves. There was no fleet, no king or crew, that could possibly survive that.
And yet! The queen—that stupid, stupid woman, it filled him with rage just thinking about it—continued holding on to hope. Or rather, in his opinion, loneliness induced delusion.
Try as he might, which was admittedly not very hard, it was difficult to have sympathy for her plights. After all, she was surrounded by over a hundred men, each ready and willing to become her right hand. And what did she do with their generosity? Their attempts to help soothe her troubled soul? Shoot them dirty looks, that was when she wasn’t busy ignoring them.
And fine, he could admit to himself he didn’t really care about the queen. What was her name again? Penguin? Peregrine? Something like that. And what did it matter? At this point, she was merely a washed up old wench. All the beauty she might’ve had during her marriage to Odysseus of the Underworld was long gone in old age. And gods above, he really wanted to jump across the dining table and strangle her some days, if only to let off some steam.
But that wasn’t the point! The gifts, the compliments, the presents, the time? Had it all been for naught? Antinous’ last three years would’ve been better spent mopping the ocean floor itself.
He groaned into his hands. Some suitor Antinous hadn’t bothered to learn the name of patted him on the back in sympathy. He nearly whipped out a knife on the man just for bothering him, but decided that’d be too much for so early in the morning.
And speaking of annoyances, his fellow suitors might’ve been even more obnoxious than the queen. A bunch of pigheaded loudmouth bothers who couldn’t even fathom the idea of planning ahead or strategy. If Antinous wasn’t surrounded by yes men who weren’t even capable of spelling the word YES, maybe he could’ve actually gotten somewhere in his quest for the throne.
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve.
Gods above, he was sick and tired.
And then there was that little prince. That empty headed happy-go-lucky little shithead who did nothing more than prance around the castle talking to himself. It was unthinkable to him that the boy had twenty years of experience on this planet and was still yet to grasp the gravity of his situation. He was beginning to suspect that delusions of grandeur ran in the lineage. Was their family tree a wreath or something? There was no other explanation.
Fucking Telemachus. That was his name. He had a stupid name, too, because of course he did. And he was all that fucking Pen-something-or-another cared about. The only time Antinous saw her smile was when she was talking to her waste of an egg.
He’d gotten to the point of hatred for the royal family where even their dog annoyed him. It was old and rusty and just sat around like a dust bunny all day. And he really, really wanted to drop kick that fucking dog. And, for whatever reason, it seemed to just adore him.
Case in point. A hundred men at the dining room table; a hundred men to irritate who deserved it far more than Antinous, but it consistently chose him. It sat by his feet looking at him with what could only be described as a feeble attempt at cuteness. But that only annoyed him more, because whenever the mutt came along, the other mutt was always soon to follow.
“Argos,” said Telemachus, whistling lowly from behind Antinous’ chair. “Come here, boy.”
Like fucking clockwork. Which god had he pissed off at birth to doom him to such a fate? Every single day of his life. Over nine hundred days in this hellhole. And counting.
He actually couldn’t take it anymore. The dog. The other dog. The bitch with the crown. The other suitors who got on his last nerve approximately fifty times per day. He was going to lose it. Hell, he’d already had lost it, whatever ‘it’ was.
Antinous sighed. He didn’t have the energy to be mean at the moment. “Just get your damn mutt, little wolf.”
The prince perked up like the annoying fuck that he was. “Someone’s in a good mood today. You didn’t even yell at me.”
Antinous slammed his face down onto the table in front of him. Gods, give him the strength not to murder a member of the royal family and get executed. Although he could honestly say that execution was looking better and better by the day.
Coolness. Calmness. Patience is a virtue. Patience is—
“Go fuck yourself with a knife and fork,” he grumbled.
“No!” Telemachus’ tone remained cheerful. “But, you know, it’s actually good timing that you decide to be nice today.”
He paused as though expecting him to press for more information. Antinous didn’t, because he could truly and honestly admit that he didn’t give a single fuck what the prince had to say. This was not only because said prince was incapable of staying on topic for longer than three seconds, but also because he’d developed a pretty great filter for tuning out the boy’s mindless rambling over the years.
On the topic of mindless rambling, that was another misfortune that made Antinous’ life a living hell. For whatever reason, just like that ancient relic he called a pet, Telemachus seemed very intent on constantly talking to him. Or at him, really. And there was no real explanation for this behavior other than that Antinous’ existence was a really long joke with no punchline or forseeable conclusion.
“It’s my birthday!” Telemachus blurted, his three second attention span officially spent. Antinous didn’t lift his head from the table.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, you should.”
Antinous was already exhausted by this exchange. But if there was one thing he’d learned during his torture session in this damn castle, it was that once Telemachus got to talking, he just didn’t shut the fuck up. There was no stopping it. You just had to grin and bear it, or knock him out cold, but that would also probably lead to execution.
Maybe he ought to try that, actually.
…
Eh, maybe next time. He was a bit tired for resorting to physical violence at the moment. Not to mention that, irritating as he may be, beating on the prince would be sort of like kicking a puppy. He squeezed his eyes shut, massaging at the blossoming headache in his temple.
“Just get to the point already and leave me alone.”
“Since you asked so nicely…” Telemachus made a grand flourishing motion, manic smile widening. “You should throw me a birthday party!”
Antinous lifted his head from the table and stared at him blankly. He couldn’t place exactly what expression he was wearing but it must’ve been equal parts disdainful and incredulous.
Yeah. This settled it. Everyone in this gods-forsaken kingdom was out to give him premature gray hairs. If he even had any left by the time the queen decided to remarry. And that was only if he hadn’t slit his own throat by that time to escape from his neverending misery.
“Ooh, a birthday party? For whom?” One of the nearby suitors asked, all smiley like this was actually something to be happy about. Had these idiots forgotten that the prince and his mother were quite literally public enemy number one?
Where the hell was their pride and rage?!
Oh, forget it. He knew where it was. In an alternate universe where he could live a happy, peaceful life away from these dimwits. Did they even have the brain power to feel emotions other than sadness, anger, or joy? Not likely.
As if to prove his point, the suitor’s loud mention of a birthday party caused more men to take notice. Rumbling talk of a party that would never fucking happen because this was the queen’s son and Antinous wanted his head on a pike erupted across the table.
“Happy birthday!” Someone called.
Telemachus beamed, bowing slightly at the attention. “Thank you, thank you.”
Pestiforous. That was what he was. Like a malaria ridden mosquito slowly and subtly sucking his soul away, wearing him down until he dropped dead from disease and blood loss. Or something like that. Figurative language is hard.
Before Telemachus could take his silence as an invitation to draft an autobiography, Antinous spoke.
“And why, pray tell,” he said, slow and disbelieving, “would I ever do that? Have you forgotten that I hate you and long for the day where I can watch your body decompose?”
“Of course not!” Telemachus shook his head so quickly he had to wonder if he was trying to send his head flying from his neck.
And, oh, how he would love for that to happen.
The boy continued on, unphased by his disinterest. “It’s not so unbelievable. Haven’t you ever heard of killing someone with kindness?”
“Usually when I kill people, it’s with a sword.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Telemachus waved a hand around haphazardly. “Lead from the heart, see what starts?”
“Whatever self help book you got that little platitude from,” Antinous grumbled, “you’d be better helping yourself by burning it.“
Argos stood from its place next to his feet, wagging its tail tiredly. He sighed. “See? Even your pile of bones agrees.”
“Argos is not a pile of bones and I am not burning the book! It’s a family heirloom!”
“So it is a self help book.”
“So what? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to better yourself!”
Antinous couldn’t deal with this today. He was going to kill himself. He was going to call upon the gods and get this entire island drowned for its sheer stupidity and lack of motive to exist. Was that allowed? He was going to make it allowed.
“I’m not doing this,” he growled. “How about you go celebrate your birthday by taking a long walk to the cliffside and flinging yourself off of it? Preferably with a time and date so I can watch.”
Telemachus was silent for a long, rare moment. For a minute, Antinous was almost grateful. Then he had to go and ruin it like he always did, the fatherless fuckass fucking fucker.
He cocked his head. “I’ll pay you?”
Antinous sat up straight with renewed interest.
Telemachus smiled hesitantly. “Gold slaters? Super heavy?”
If he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging. He stood up in record time, clapping the prince on the shoulder and nearly tilting him over in the process. “Well, shit. Happy birthday, wolfie, how old are you turning? No need to answer, actually—uh, how much gold are we talking here?”
A lot, apparently. If there was one thing this dysfunctional family was great at, it was inflating their bank account. And their ratio of dead to living relatives, but that was neither here nor there. Antinous would’ve skipped if not for the weight of his satchel holding him down.
The maids were looking at him oddly. The millisecond Telemachus turned around, humming something low and jaunty sounding under his breath, Antinous held up the knife he was holding threateningly. They squeaked and scattered like rats, exiting the kitchen in record time.
He’d never been to the kitchens before. Never had the interest, either, but the magnitude of sharp objects and open flames did make the area quite appealing to him. He glanced back at the little wolf. If he could just get him a little closer to the fire, then…
The boy whirled around, holding up an apron like an offering to the gods. KISS THE COOK. “Ta-da!”
Antinous lowered the knife to the table. “Are you kidding me?”
“Uh, no. Baking is messy stuff.”
He snatched the apron from the peppy idiot’s hands, looking it over with an expression he hoped screamed unimpressed. “Why do you even have this, wolfie? Don’t tell me you’re into this corny shit.”
“Not into the apron, no, but kissing? Sure.” Telemachus smiled smugly. “The word of the corny apron is law, you know.“
Antinous stared at him, appalled and genuinely wondering if he was trying to insinuate what he thought he was. Gingerly, he set the cloth on the counter and nudged it behind him, safely out of sight.
He shivered in fear. Was the money really worth it? “Yeah, I don’t—“
“Worked for my parents.”
It absolutely was not. The world would rejoice the day he learned the art of foresight. “Put it on your mother and then we’ll talk.”
Telemachus scowled at him, lip poking out slightly in an absolutely shocking display of immaturity. “I don’t get why everyone here is so into my mother. She’s very beautiful and elegant, but…”
Honestly, Antinous didn’t get it either. She really wasn’t that fucking special. Who was trying to go through all this pain and suffering just to get to a pussy that had to look like roast beef and smell like old lady perfume?
He shuddered to himself. Seriously, there were lowly servants with more appeal than that. Hell, there were literal bagels with a more inviting entrance than that of the queen—though the only hole he was really concerned about was the one within a crown. Gods above, he really just wanted to be king. Screw the bagels and the servants.
He really only made comments about her to, one, delude himself into believing he could actually handle ruling alongside her for however long it took for the old broad to drop dead. Antinous had to at least find some sort of light in that plague of darkness, even if it was just strongly falsified attraction. Sue him for trying to make this purgatory slightly more enjoyable.
And, two, because it annoyed the little wolf. It really seemed to grind his gears when he spoke of the boy’s mother, and it sometimes even dissuaded him from trying to make conversation. Clearly not today, though.
He discreetly tossed that demonic apron into the fires of hell as Telemachus chattered away to himself. Holy gates of Olympus, he really never shut the fuck up, did he? If not for the generous profit he’d made, Antinous would’ve shoved that stupid apron down his throat already for a minute of peace. Or, better yet, silenced him forever with a well placed stab.
Well, whatever. If all he had to do was bake a mediocre cake to be left alone for a while, so be it. He wasn’t a complete psycho. Yet. If he could just figure out where these idiots stored their ingredients…
Telemachus’ yapping had ceased for a moment. Antinous glanced up from where he was bent over, peering into a low cupboard. Whoever managed the organization in this joke of a castle deserved to be shot.
The silence was quickly uncomfortable. Even the lack of irritating humming had become disconcerting.
He shot the prince a judgemental look from where he could barely see over his shoulder. “What?”
“Sorry,” Telemachus said, sounding slightly dazed. “I think I just had my sexual awakening.”
Antinous straightened and turned so quickly that something in his neck popped, and it wasn’t just a vein. ”Huh?”
He blinked up at him, not even a hint of shame in sea green eyes. “My spiritual awakening? Like, Hestia just came to me and said, This cake is gonna be so freaking good, gods bless, amen. That ever happen to you?”
The suitor genuinely could not tell if he was being gaslit or if his hearing was failing him. No surprises there; he was barely pushing thirty and his spine had already partially given up on him. Going deaf seemed like the natural follow up. Developing schizophrenia was also a possibility, though that had less to do with his age and more to do with the bullshit he was forced to put up with every day.
Case in fucking point.
“Uh.” Just in case, he lowered himself into squat this time. “No?”
“Ah. Shame.”
The humming picked up again. Antinous was almost grateful, but not quite. His patience and sanity were on a quick downward spiral because, no, the little wolf had definitely not said “spiritual” and he didn’t need young ears to figure that one out.
Whatever. Whatever! Maybe this was the prince’s idea of being funny, even if all it gave Antinous was heart palpitations and a heightened blood pressure. Was this what he’d meant when he’d brought up the concept of killing with kindness?
He muted his brain, blocked out the prince’s irritating, blood boiling, hysteria inducing humming, and continued his scavenge for materials. He emerged from the cupboard with several bowls, a cutting board, a spatula, and another knife.
The knife had little to do with the baking process. It had everything to do with the fucking noise machine standing next to him.
Chucking the objects in his hands at the little wolf and nearly sending him straight to the floor did bring him some satisfaction, though. Helped to quell the rapidly spreading fire of annoyance inside his soul.
Telemachus stumbled back slightly, scrambling to keep everything braced against his smaller frame. “Hey!”
Antinous ignored him, moving to the pantry. There was the distinct sound of items clattering. Then—
“Did you just throw an actual knife at me!?”
He emerged once more with ingredients and a sadistic grin. “Lucky catch.“
“Freak.” Telemachus glared at him, then his face promply brightened as he took in what was in his arms. “Ooh, are those strawberries?”
Gods above, this kid really didn’t seem to understand the concept of time and place. Or the danger he was in, apparently, since he treated Antinous with about the amount of cautiousness one might show an anklebiting dog with anger issues.
Should he be offended by that? Screw it, he was choosing to be offended. Or at the very least annoyed because—well, because everything Telemachus did sort of annoyed him. He was just so damn cheerful all the time and it never failed to piss him off.
He sighed. Apparently they were moving right on from the attempted murder—or at the very least, mutilation—thing in record time. How very predictable.
“Yes, wolfie.” He shoved the fruits onto the counter. “Glad to know your eyes still work.”
Telemachus smiled, eyes practically sparkling. “Can I have them?”
“No.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
“And this is my cake, so we go by my rules. And quit fucking looking at me like that.”
The prince dropped the puppy dog eyes reluctantly. “Okay… but—“
“Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Shockingly, they were able to fall into some sort of functionality. Telemachus worked on the batter and Antinous diced strawberries, focusing his aggression into the blade while he allowed his mind to wander. And oh, did it wander, because Telemachus had definitely said sexual awakening and what the fuck was that supposed to mean?
His knife slammed harder against the cutting board. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? Was this the prince’s grand strategy to run him out of the palace, simply annoying and overwhelming into submission?
No, not possible. The little wolf wasn’t nearly shrewd enough to try such a thing and, besides, Antinous was the least of his problems. It wouldn’t work, anyway—why should it work? He didn’t care if the prince thought he was attractive because he totally was and anybody with eyes would share that particular view, and also Telemachus was probably joking. And even if he wasn’t, the little prince should be more worried about getting his shit together and acting like a functional adult, not to mention avoiding obtaining a new stepfather and—
Wait, shit. Antinous should be his biggest problem; he hated this guy! He was going to steal his throne, his mother, and quite possibly his life, and he’d do it with a smile on his face. But he was also currently baking him a birthday cake, so what exactly did that say about him?
Antinous’ head hurt. He was doing something objectively nice. For the little wolf. This was more than reasonable grounds for an identity crisis, and he was really trying to get in the zone for one—it just wasn’t the same when the mood wasn’t right—, but that was seriously super impossible with the loud and bothersome humming being emitted by the “person” next to him.
He picked up the cutting board, knuckles pale with the force he was holding it with. He dumped the contents into the bowl of cake batter. Telemachus looked quite at peace. He’d be fine with that if his peace wasn’t so damn disruptive.
He tilted his head, smiling passive aggressively and too wide for his face. “Who sings that?”
The prince startled, then grinned. “Well, apparently my godfather Polites used to—“
“Great!” The smile dropped. “Keep it that way.”
A long pause. Telemachus pouted, and the sight did something strange to his soul. “That’s rude. He’s dead.”
His eye twitched wildly. “Shall I send you to meet him, then? Are you trying to turn his little solo into a fucking duet?”
“Well, technically, it was always a duet. My father—“
Antinous drove the point of the knife deep into the cutting board. The red juice still splattered across the wood looked almost like blood. He fucking wished. The suitor planted his elbows down on the counter, buried his face in his hands, and let out a guttural groan of agony. His life had to be some sort of satirical spinoff of another, better man’s existence.
In his peripheral, Telemachus shrugged, then smiled. A slender hand began to dip into the bowl to pluck out a strawberry and—
He smacked it away from the rim with force, not even bothering to look up. “Hands off the ingredients you fucking neanderthal.”
Telemachus sighed, grabbing a spatula and beginning to mix. “Worth a shot.”
He began to hum again shortly afterwards.
Antinous was going to kill himself.
Minutes passed—maybe twenty, though it felt like no less than an eternity. Telemachus was watching the batter slowly rise with an intensity and interest unbefitting of something so trivial. He’d finally cut out with the noise, if only because Antinous had threatened to cut out his noisemaker, but he found that the air felt strangely empty. He almost missed the chatter.
Huh?
Telemachus blinked, head turning to look at him. He had to crane his neck upwards due to his insistence on squatting right in front of the fires despite the ever present threat of getting his face burnt off. Dumbass. “Did you say something?”
“Me?” He sure hoped not. “I think you’re hearing things.”
The little wolf looked at him something almost knowing in his eyes. “If you say so.”
They lapsed into silence once more. Antinous skin itched with the desire to say something which was… unique, to say the least. He didn’t often feel compelled to speak in situations where such a thing was unnecessary, and certainly not with the prince, but now the silence was killing him.
He looked down at Telemachus. His dark curls looked extra fluffy from this angle—from every angle, really. And okay, wow. Did he ingest some sort of poison at some point? Was he fucking dumb? What even—
“Have you never baked before?” he asked as the spirit of idiocy posessed him.
The little wolf looked up at him once more. For reasons beyond his comprehension, he looked positively thrilled. “You really wanna know?”
He felt strangely embarassed at that. “Were you dropped on your head as an infant? Why else would I ask?”
“Okay, chill.” Telemachus was smiling, magnetic. “Do you never tire of being so angry all the time?”
“I’m not angry.”
“That’s new. You mean to tell me my presence isn’t pissing you off today?”
Antinous paused. Well, fuck. He’d walked straight into that egregious assumption and—oh, shit, it was hardly an assumption because he really wasn’t angry. This was a change, not to mention an unwelcome one. Being pissed at the little wolf was practically an integral part of his character at this point.
Time for another crisis. He might as well just change his identity and move to another continent to save himself the struggle.
“Well,” he said and stumbled over his words, “I mean, it is now.”
Telemachus laughed. He didn’t know what was so damn funny. Sometimes he really wished to know just what ran through his mind during moments like these, and sometimes ignorance really was bliss. In this specific instance, he was swayed toward the former.
“Sure.” The other man turned fully now, still the slightest of upturn to his lips. He had a beauty mark just to the right of his philtrum. “No, I’ve never baked. The maids make all my food and they never let me help, even when I beg them for the chance to do anything—it’s boring here, y’know? And everyone treats me like such a fragile little baby. It’s super annoying, especially my mom? I love her, but she’s so overprotective; I mean you’ve seen how she acts, right? I get it, but I don’t. And all the staff act similarly, like they’re walking on eggshells around me which, okay, fair, but it still gets on my nerves. Sometimes I just wanna run away and live in the mountains, but I’d never do that, obviously. I’d probably tire of it pretty quickly because I really love my bed. Super comfortable, and the covers are red which is my favorite color. I love warm colors, they remind me of summer and fall which are two best seasons, obviously. The temperature is always just right. But then again, I feel like I’d be a pretty good goatherd. Mountain goats are so adorable, have you ever seen a mountain goat? I went on a trip once when I was really little and I saw them just sorta wandering around and they were so, so cute. Also, they love me. Not just goats, but all animals, actually. And I… you know you can tell me to shut up anytime now, right?”
Antinous felt like cool water had been poured over his head. Somehow, he’d become completely entranced with the little wolf’s mindless rambling, the way his mouth curved around certain letters and sounds. That was a first. He was acting weird. He felt weird because, for perhaps the first time since he’d entered this castle of clowns, Telemachus’ presence felt tolerable.
More than tolerable. It felt…
He wasn’t going to finish that sentence. He was going to finish this stupid cake and then become a goatherd in the mountains himself because what the actual fuck was wrong with him today?
He realized he’d been silent for a beat too long, looking once more at the intricacies of the prince’s expression. He looked… self conscious. Antinous could hardly remember the last time he’d seen such shame on the little wolf’s face; being blatantly shameless was what he was best known for, after all.
Still. He’d be embarassed too had he gone on a minute long tirade about family drama, beds, and goats in response to a completely unrelated question, but…
“You’re allowed to talk,” he said begrudgingly. “It’s not like I could make you be quiet for longer than five seconds either way.”
“Oh.” He sounded almost confused. “But you always tell me to shut up.”
“Did you want me to?”
“No!” The word came out quick and loud. Telemachus looked almost surprised at his own outburst, quickly reigning it in. “No, I like it when people listen to me. It’s just that people don’t usually do that, so…”
Well, that was a little sad. Antinous could certainly see why people had a tendency to ignore him—he did talk a lot, and often about nothing—but still. He felt almost bad for him, even a little guilty. And that just made him feel bad for himself because guilt had no place in his heart and certainly not for the royal family. He felt more and more as though he were hurtling toward a conclusion he didn’t particularly like.
“Like I said.” He nudged the prince to the side, stooping to free the now risen cake from the flames it was hovering over. “You can talk if you want. I don’t particularly care for listening to you bitch and moan about your spoiled rich kid problems, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve been subjected to.”
“You’re so rude.” His tone was brighter now. Antinous had to wonder if he was even capable of holding a grudge.
“You sound a lot happier about that than you should.”
“Well…” The smile took on a nervous lilt. “You’re grumpy and mean, but I’d take that over stiff politeness anyday.”
Antinous blinked at him stupidly. This… guy. This foolishly lenient idiot. Did Telemachus seriously mean to say that he preferred the company of one of his mother’s suitors that barely even tolerated him over that of his staff? Over the other suitors who were far more friendly? Out of every single person on this island, and he preferred Antinous?
It was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, and he’d just spent the last hour with this man. And, worse than that, he could feel the skin of his face warming and he couldn’t possibly explain it.
“You’re crazy,” he muttered, averting his eyes from the prince and focusing on moving the cake from pan to tray. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re wrong. I’m not normal, or nice, and I am certainly not your friend.”
“It’s not like I don’t know that.” Telemachus was standing somewhere behind his right shoulder. “But I don’t think most people would describe me as normal, either. And, for the record, I don’t want to be friends.”
He sighed, exasperatededly turning his head to look down at the prince. “Then what do you want from me?”
Their faces were very close. When had they gotten so close. Telemachus chewed his lip, a conflicted expression on his face as though fighting himself on something. Up close and personal like this, Antinous could see every dark eyelash and count the light freckles on his cheeks. He looked a lot like his mother, actually—how had he never noticed that? Only he didn’t look at him and see a crown, he saw…
A man. One who talked too much and still grated incessantly on his nerves, but somehow not so bad. He was like mold, growing on him rapidly and without hope of stopping.
Telemachus’ jaw set as though finally coming to terms with something. Antinous raised an eyebrow at his continued lack of speech and more serious demeanor. “Well? Are you going to spit it out or—“
And then the prince went up on his toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. All contents of his brain went fully blank the moment soft lips pressed chastely to his skin for a second, a minute, an hour, then retreated just as quickly.
Telemachus pulled back, his face bright red as if he’d done something truly scandalous. Antinous guessed he sort of had.
“The fuck?” Antinous said because he’d never been terribly good with words and also, the fuck?
“Uh…” Telemachus inched backwards toward the kitchen door. “Yeah, so that was… I think that was my sexual awakening, actually, funny how that works, but you totally did not need to know that so I don’t know why I’m still talking.”
He felt too dazed to have any real opinion on that. “Uh… huh?”
“Yup. So I think…” Telemachus smiled again, clearly flustered and nervous, one hand on the door. “I think I’m gonna go now.”
Antinous glanced at the cake. It’d turned out surprisingly well for something that was the product of their partnership, and maybe he should consider wording that differently. “Are you… gonna take the cake?”
He paused. His eyes darted between Antinous and the cake before the little wolf took a hasty step forwards to grab the cake tray from the counter, then an equally rushed step back.
“Ah, right. My bad. Thanks. See you, uh…” he flushed. “Around. If I don’t flee to the mountains and become a goatherd which, y’know, unlikely but always possible. I’ll shut up now.”
He shot him an incredibly weak and incredibly awkward finger gun with his free hand before scrambling out the door. Antinous simply stood in the middle of the kitchens processing. Or not processing, really, because he felt like the epitome of braindead.
His eyes wandered back to the fire. There was a scrap of charred fabric clinging to the edge of the pit. KISS THE COOK.
He could’ve shed a tear.