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    Summary

    Antinous blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?” he asked, confused. “I just asked about your birthday.”

    Telemachus sighed and rolled his eyes. He shifted on the couch, his fingers stopping their ministrations in Antinous’s hair. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, though his tone clearly said otherwise. He wrung his hands together, still staring out the window like it was going to save him from this conversation.

    “It’s obviously not nothing.” Antinous pushed himself up into a sitting position. He crossed his arms, giving Telemachus a pointed look. “You sigh like I just told you we’re out of coffee, and then you roll your eyes at me which you never do. What’s the deal?”

    Telemachus shot him a withering look. He paused, then muttered, almost under his breath, “I… don’t like celebrating my birthday.”

    ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

    Alternatively, Antinous finds out Telemachus doesn’t celebrate his birthday. He takes it personally.

    Language:
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