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Chapter Text

The wind howled, biting cold and sharp, dragging at Odysseus’ soaked tunic as he clung to the rope — frayed, thin, and trembling in the gale — his knuckles white as bone. The cliffs of Aeolus’ floating island towered above like the wall of a forgotten god’s fortress, mist curling around its jagged teeth. He was almost there. Almost.

One hand reached.

Then slipped.

He had just enough time to look up — the sky roiling in bruised clouds, the rope dancing above his head — before gravity tore him back.

“ODYSSEUS!”

The cry came from one of the men far below, cracked and broken like the rope that should’ve held him. But it didn’t matter. They were ants now. Dots. Specks.

The world tilted.

And then the air screamed past him, roaring in his ears, stealing his breath. His limbs flailed for an impossible hold, his body twisting helplessly in freefall. The cliffs flashed beside him for a blink, his eyes wide — not with fear. With shock.

With disbelief.

Polites was dead. He had been denied the prospect of burying him with his own hands just a few weeks before. He hadn’t even finished grieving.

Now he was plummeting to join him.

The sea rushed up. Whitecaps opened like hungry jaws.

CRACK.

He hit the surface like stone, not man. Bones shattered. The water surged red, frothing around his body as it sank.

The silence that followed was worse than the scream.

Up above, on the deck of the ship lashed to a lower crag, the crew had watched it all — watched their captain, their stubborn, infuriating, brilliant leader vanish like a god cursed mid-miracle.

Laodamas stumbled backward, clutching the railing as though it could hold him together. Eurylochus dropped to his knees. No one spoke.

There were no words.

Only the waves. Only the silence.

For a breathless, impossible moment, no one moved.

Then Eurylochus screamed.

It was not a word. Not a name. It was a sound — ragged, cracked, torn from the gut like something vital had just been ripped from him.

He surged forward, shoving past stunned sailors. "MOVE! MOVE, DAMN YOU!"

His sandals barely hit the edge of the ship before he leapt. Over the side. Straight into the void. No rope. No anchor. Just him.

“EURYLOCHUS!”

Too late.

The wind snatched at his cloak as he plunged, arms tight against his chest, eyes locked on the spreading red in the sea far below. The water that had devoured Odysseus like a beast.

He hit hard. The ocean slapped the breath from his lungs, but he didn’t care. He kicked, clawed, dove beneath.

His eyes stung with salt. Blood clouded the depths like smoke.

There. A shadow. Drifting.

He reached it.

A hand — limp, blue-tinged, strong even in unconsciousness — brushed his fingertips.

“Don’t you fucking die on me,” he gurgled through the water, grabbing hold of Odysseus' arm, yanking, kicking, rising.

It felt like hours. His chest burned. His vision blurred. But he held on.

They broke the surface — Eurylochus gasping, coughing, roaring Odysseus’ name over and over. “You son of a bitch, you don’t get to leave too! Not you too!”

The crew scrambled from the cliffs above. Ropes dropped. Shouts echoed.

He swam. One arm pulling, the other cradling Odysseus’ head above water like a cradle of salt and desperation.

Odysseus wasn’t breathing.

“NO!”

He reached the boat. Arms pulled them up — barely. Odysseus' body was dropped onto the deck like a broken marionette. Bruised. Bloodied. Bent at sickening angles.

Eurylochus was on his knees beside him, already pushing on his chest. “Come on. Come on.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“You stubborn bastard—breathe!”

Water spilled from Odysseus’ mouth. Nothing else.

Thud.

“You still owe me a drink, you cunning bastard! You said we’d go home together! You fucking promised me!”

Then—

A cough. Wet. Small. Weak.

But alive.

Odysseus blinked.

Eurylochus collapsed forward, gripping his shoulders, shaking him. “Don’t ever do that again.”

The captain’s eyes fluttered half-lidded, unfocused. A rasp escaped his throat. “You... jumped?”

“Damn right I did,” Eurylochus growled, voice cracking. “Now shut up before I throw you back in.”

He cradled his captain against him like a brother, face buried in soaked hair, breath shuddering.

Around them, the crew broke into stunned, shaken sobs. Not because they were safe.

But because for a heartbeat, they had thought they’d lost their last anchor.

And somehow… they hadn’t.

Odysseus coughed again, weakly, blood threading from his lips, and slumped into Eurylochus’ chest. His body was trembling — from pain, cold, or the sheer violence of survival, no one could tell.

Eurylochus wrapped his arms around him so tightly it looked like he meant to fuse them together.

"You—" his voice cracked, hoarse, trembling. "You idiot. You absolute—stupid, reckless, self-righteous IDIOT!"

His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened.

"You went out alone—in the middle of a fucking storm—in the dead of night—to climb a GODDAMN ROPE UP A FLOATING ISLAND! Who does that?! Who—who the fuck does that?!"

Odysseus' lips twitched — a ghost of a grin, of all things.

Eurylochus shook him.

“Don’t you fucking smile right now! I swear to every god that ever lived, I’ll kill you myself! I warned you! I told you it was stupid! I said it! I said it three times and then I said it again for good measure, and what did you do?”

Odysseus rasped, barely audible, “Climbed it anyway.”

“YES. YES, YOU DID. YOU—!”

Eurylochus broke off, voice strangled. His head dropped forward, pressed to Odysseus’ crown. His fists curled into the captain’s tattered tunic. His whole body was shaking now.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

He didn’t shout that one. He whispered it.

“I watched you fall. I watched. There was blood in the water. Gods, there was so much blood.”

He pulled Odysseus closer, like he was trying to press him back to life. His face was twisted — grief, fury, and an overwhelming relief that made his eyes brim with tears he refused to let fall.

“You don’t get to die, damn you. Not you. Not after Polites. I can’t— I can’t do it again. I can’t watch another one of you fall.”

Odysseus managed a pained inhale. “You… jumped.”

“Of course I jumped!” Eurylochus snapped. “You think I was going to let you sink? You think I was going to sit up here with the others and wait to pull up your corpse like we did with him?”

Silence.

Only the rain. Only the sound of Odysseus breathing — ragged, but alive.

Eurylochus' forehead was still pressed against his. The crew stood frozen around them, not daring to interrupt.

“I told you it was a dumb idea,” he muttered again, quieter this time. “I told you.”

Odysseus let out a shallow breath that might’ve been a laugh — and then winced, ribs clearly protesting.

“Remind me,” he murmured. “Next time… to listen to you.”

“You’re damn right you will,” Eurylochus hissed. “Because next time? I’m tying you to the fucking mast.”

And yet, his grip never loosened. He stayed curled around Odysseus, shielding him from the wind, from the rain, from the gods themselves if he had to.

Because Odysseus had come back.

Odysseus shifted slightly, trying to breathe through the pain lancing his ribs. The moment he twitched, Eurylochus tightened his grip like a vice.

“—YELP!”

Odysseus choked on the noise, eyes flying wide. “Gods—Eurylochus—RIBS!”

Eurylochus didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I think my lung just popped.”

“Good.” Eurylochus growled. “Maybe then you’ll stay put.”

Odysseus wheezed. “I’m bleeding, you maniac.”

“You’re alive,” Eurylochus snapped back, burying his face into Odysseus’ shoulder. “And I’m not letting go. Not for a while. Not until I know you won’t just disappear again like some stubborn, sea-damned ghost.”

Odysseus groaned. “I just fell off a floating island, Eurylochus. I’m not going anywhere. I couldn’t even roll over if I wanted to.”

“Exactly. So shut up.”

He clung harder.

“OW!”

One of the younger sailors finally ventured forward, cautiously. “Uh… should we—should we get him inside? Warm him? Wrap the ribs? Maybe stop the bleeding?”

Eurylochus didn’t look up.

“No. He’s fine right here.”

“Eurylochus—” Odysseus rasped, “I think I’m going to die of compression.”

“Better here than at the bottom of the damn ocean.”

The crew exchanged glances. None of them dared intervene.

So they gathered wood. Built a fire beside them. Shielded the wind with tarps and cloaks and trembling hands. Not because Eurylochus asked.

Because he was still kneeling there, hunched over Odysseus like a beast that had just pulled its wounded mate out of a trap, snarling at anything that got too close.

Odysseus sighed — exhausted, bleeding, broken.

“…You’re crying,” he whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up or I’ll snap the other rib.”

Odysseus smiled — faint, lopsided.

And let him cling.

Because for all the agony, for all the bruises and breaks and humiliation of yelping like a dog in front of his crew…

He was alive.

And someone still cared that he was.

And Eurylochus wasn’t letting go.

The rain had dulled to a gentle patter, tapping like fingers on the hull of the ship. The chaos had faded. The ropes had been coiled, the sails trimmed, the crew hushed and exhausted in their corners. The storm outside was nothing now compared to the wreckage left inside them.

Inside the captain’s quarters, a dim lantern swayed gently. The bed was barely large enough for one, much less two grown men, but that didn’t stop Eurylochus from wedging himself in like a second, angry blanket.

Odysseus lay propped up against a pile of rumpled furs and folded cloaks, a thick wrap bound across his chest, ribs tight but still aching with every breath. He’d barely managed to wash the blood from his hair before Eurylochus had bodily dragged him to bed.

Now, he blinked slowly, watching the flame dance above.

There was an arm across his waist.

A leg draped over his shins.

And Eurylochus’ head was stuffed under his chin like some overgrown, furious cat.

“…You’re still here,” Odysseus murmured, voice rough and tired.

A low grunt. “Yeah. And I will be.”

“You’re crushing my spleen.”

“Good. You don’t need it.”

Odysseus huffed a weak laugh. “You’re an affectionate little parasite when you’re scared.”

“You almost died,” Eurylochus snapped from somewhere near his sternum, the words muffled but fierce. “I watched you fall. I heard the crack. I saw the blood. I’m not letting go until I’m sure you’re not going to spontaneously turn to mist or jump off another cliff in the middle of a thunderstorm because the wind “smelled like a god was up there.””

Odysseus winced. “That’s… a fair point.”

Another grunt. Eurylochus shifted — not away, but closer — pressing his cheek against Odysseus’ collarbone, his hand curling tight into the fabric over his ribs like he was afraid Odysseus would vanish if he blinked.

There was a pause.

Then, very quietly:

“…You scared me.”

Odysseus' fingers moved — slowly, gingerly — up to Eurylochus’ hair, combing through short, damp strands with an absent-minded tenderness. “I know.”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I know.”

“I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

A long silence stretched between them — but it was no longer heavy. Just warm. Slow. Breathing. The kind of silence that you earned by not dying.

Eurylochus’ voice came again, soft, low, but honest.

“…If you ever do that again, I will kiss you just to make you suffer.”

Odysseus blinked. “Is… is that a threat or a reward?”

“You won’t know till I do it.”

“Gods help me.”

Eurylochus’ arms curled tighter. “They didn’t last time.”

“…Touché.”

The quiet crackle of the lantern filled the room. The ship creaked faintly as it swayed on gentle waters. Eurylochus had finally stopped trembling, his breath even and pressed close to Odysseus’ chest, one leg still possessively slung over his thighs.

Odysseus ran his fingers absently through Eurylochus’ short hair, his voice low and thoughtful.

“You know,” he murmured, “now that I’ve seen how the winds move across the ridge, if I take a second rope and anchor it halfway, I could probably swing around the leeward side of the island and catch the slipstream without needing to climb straight up.”

A pause.

A shift.

A very slow, very ominous inhale from Eurylochus.

Odysseus continued, oblivious. “And if I brace it with a counterweight from the mast, I think I can reach the high cliff without needing help. I’ll have to do it during the next rain, though — the wind’s strongest then. It’s probably when Aeolus opens the channel.”

Silence.

Dead, dangerous silence.

Then—

“You’re planning to CLIMB AGAIN?!”

Odysseus flinched as Eurylochus exploded, jerking back just enough to glare at him from under the kind of fury reserved for shipwrecks and betrayal.

“Are you OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?” Eurylochus bellowed. “You fell TWO THOUSAND FEET and your first thought is ‘maybe I should try again but with more math?!’”

“Well,” Odysseus started, blinking. “Yes?”

Eurylochus smacked a hand over his face and dragged it down slow like he was trying not to scream.

“I just watched you die, Odysseus.”

“I didn’t die.”

“You bounced. Off a mountain. Into the sea.”

“I’m very durable.”

“You’re held together with wet bandages, bruises, and hubris!”

Odysseus tilted his head. “Also stubbornness.”

“I know.” Eurylochus threw himself back against Odysseus like a dead weight, groaning into his chest. “I should’ve let you sink. Just a little. Just long enough for you to learn what drowning feels like.”

Odysseus grinned. “I did learn. It was very educational.”

Eurylochus lunged up and smacked a pillow over his face.

“You’re not going!”

“Mmf—”

“Not until I’m dead, not until you’re sane, not until the gods themselves come down here and drag your dumb ass up with their own hands!”

Odysseus peeled the pillow off his face with a wheeze, eyes wide. “Wow. The aggression.”

“Say ‘climb’ one more time.”

“…I might ascend—”

Eurylochus bit him.

“OW— WHAT THE—?!”

“I WARNED YOU.”

They wrestled, awkward and clumsy, with Odysseus wheezing and Eurylochus snarling like a wet cat, limbs tangled in half-hearted violence and bandaged ribs.

And when it finally calmed, when they’d settled again in the dark—

Eurylochus lay curled around him once more, red-faced and fuming, growling softly against his skin.

“I swear to the gods,” he muttered, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

Odysseus let his fingers drift back through his hair, gentle now.

“Not if you keep catching me.”

“…Idiot.”

“Mmhm.”

A thin veil of sunlight slipped through the cracks in the shutters, dust motes spinning lazily through the amber light. The ship rocked gently, the storm long passed. Somewhere outside, birds chirped. The deck creaked with the cautious steps of sailors pretending not to listen for their captain’s groans.

Inside the captain’s quarters, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

The bed was half-empty.

Or rather—becoming half-empty.

Odysseus, shirt hastily thrown on, was balancing with all the grace of a wounded cat, tiptoeing one-footed across the wooden floor. His ribs protested with every breath, but he held his side like that’d keep them from noticing he was doing something idiotic again.

He reached the door.

Fingers brushed the handle.

Freedom. Sweet, foolish freedom.

“…If you open that door, I swear to every god in Olympus, I will drag you back by your hair.”

Odysseus froze mid-step. Still hunched. Still with one sandal only halfway on.

He turned slowly, like a guilty child caught with a honey jar.

Eurylochus was awake.

Hair a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot but glinting murder, blanket pooled at his hips, sitting up with all the menace of a man who hadn’t slept just in case his captain tried to pull something.

Odysseus gave a sheepish little wave.

“…Morning.”

Eurylochus blinked at him. “Where are you going.”

“Just for a—uh—brisk walk.”

“You can’t walk. Your ribs are cracked.”

“I said brisk, not successful.”

“Odysseus.”

The voice was flat. Cold. Murderous.

Odysseus leaned on the doorframe and flashed a charming smile that had gotten him out of so many bad decisions.

“…Technically I’m not climbing anything yet.”

Eurylochus was out of the bed in two seconds.

Odysseus yelped as he was bodily tackled back onto the mattress with a thud, blankets flying, sandal skidding across the room and slapping the wall.

“HEY—!”

Eurylochus didn’t speak. Just straddled him, hair wild, hands planted on his chest with surgical precision right above the bandages, pinning him down with fury and suspicion.

“You absolute, sea-brained troll,” he growled. “You tried to sneak out on me. With broken ribs. After falling two thousand feet. After promising you’d rest.”

“I never said—ow—promise—”

“You whimpered into my shoulder and said ‘I’ll be good, just don’t let go.’”

“That was probably a concussion!”

Eurylochus leaned down nose-to-nose, eyes narrowed.

“You are not allowed to leave this room. Not without me. Not until you can sneeze without dying.”

Odysseus blinked. “…That’s a very specific metric.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell.”

Odysseus sighed, fully sprawled and officially caught.

“…Fine.”

Eurylochus didn’t move.

“…Are you going to let me up?”

“No.”

“…Are you going to do anything?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Making sure you can’t get away. I’m your anchor now.”

Odysseus gave a long, theatrical sigh.

“Romantic,” he muttered.

Eurylochus smirked faintly. “You’re lucky I didn’t tie you to the bed.”

“…I’m starting to think you want me to try escaping again.”

“Don’t test me.”

The room went quiet.

Eurylochus still sat on top of him, hands braced against Odysseus’ chest. But the tension changed—something shifted in his posture, in the set of his mouth. He wasn’t glowering anymore.

He was shaking.

Just a little.

Odysseus blinked up at him, suddenly very still.

“…Eury.”

“I already lost Polites.”

The words were quiet. Not whispered, not shouted—just said. Like they’d been sitting there, waiting, coiled under his ribs, and now they’d finally slipped out through a crack in his armor.

“I already lost him,” Eurylochus repeated, voice hoarse now. “I watched him bleed out in a cave with his teeth knocked out and his hand still reaching for your pack. I watched him die thinking it was his fault. That he didn’t run fast enough. That he didn’t shout loud enough. That he failed you.”

Odysseus’ throat closed.

“I can’t do it again.” Eurylochus’s eyes finally met his, and they were raw. “I can’t—you—you don’t get to go slipping off a cliff because you wanted to chase wind currents, or divine signs, or your next brilliant plan. I don’t care if it saves us. I don’t care if it gets us home. I don’t care if Zeus himself tells you to do it.”

He pressed his forehead against Odysseus' sternum, voice cracking.

“I am not losing you too.”

Odysseus didn’t speak right away. His hands rose shakily and curled around Eurylochus’ back, holding him there, gentle and tight. He felt the man’s chest shudder against his own.

“…I didn’t know he blamed himself,” Odysseus whispered.

“He did. He never said it, but I know. He always ran hardest when it was your life on the line. Always stood between you and whatever was coming.” Eurylochus’ fingers curled in the fabric of Odysseus’ tunic, knuckles white. “He loved you, you stupid bastard.”

A long, trembling silence followed.

Odysseus let his head drop back into the pillow. His voice, when it came, was quieter than the wind.

“…You’re right.”

Eurylochus stiffened.

“I am?”

“You are.” Odysseus’ hand found the back of his neck, warm and careful. “I was being reckless. Again. I wasn’t thinking about what it would do to you. Or the crew. Or what it would’ve meant if I’d actually died.”

He exhaled.

“…I’ll wait. I promise.”

Eurylochus didn’t respond for a long moment.

Then he exhaled, too, slow and ragged.

“…Good. Because if you hadn’t said that, I was going to start crying and biting you again.”

Odysseus gave a soft huff of laughter.

“I believe it.”

Chapter Text

The wind had calmed. The dock was slick with drying rain, ropes dripping, the sea lapping gently below. The sun filtered through clouds in soft streaks, and gulls wheeled overhead, calling out like they knew what was coming.

Odysseus stood near the edge, arms crossed, bandages peeking out from under his tunic. His hair was still damp, his ribs still very obviously broken, and his face carried that very specific glow that meant he was about to say something terrible.

“Okay,” he announced brightly. “So I’ve been thinking—”

“Oh gods,” Eurylochus groaned behind him.

“—and I believe the best way to get back up to Aeolus’ island is by climbing the harpoon chains from the side of the dock.”

A beat.

Another.

No one answered.

Odysseus turned around, smiling like a man who had just invented common sense.

“Come on. It’s lower than the rope was. And it won’t swing in the wind! It’s genius!”

Eurylochus stared at him.

The crew, standing behind Eurylochus, also stared at him.

A sailor dropped a mop in slow motion.

“You’re not climbing anything,” Eurylochus said flatly.

“Absolutely fucking not,” muttered one of the rowers.

“You’re still leaking,” another added. “From your skin.”

Odysseus made a face. “That’s just the salve.”

“That’s your blood.”

“Details.”

“YOU FELL TWO THOUSAND FEET YESTERDAY,” Eurylochus exploded, storming up to him. “You were clinically dead. I was dragging your corpse out of the ocean while sobbing like an insane widow, and now you want to climb harpoons?”

Odysseus gave him his most innocent look. “Technically I’m not climbing them yet. I’m only inspecting the angle.”

“You’re leaning toward them like a goat about to bolt off a cliff.”

“I’m just visualizing the handholds—”

“—SO YOU CAN CLIMB THEM.”

“It’s for strategy!”

“YOU DON’T NEED STRATEGY WHEN YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN BED!”

The crew, behind them, had broken into low muttering.

“He’s gonna die again.”

“I am not pulling him out twice.”

“I’ll pull him out just to punch him.”

Odysseus spun on them with exasperation. “I’m right here!”

They all glared at him in perfect, mutinous silence.

He turned back to Eurylochus, eyes wide. “Please. I’ve calculated everything this time. Look—no rain, minimal wind, and I tied my belt to the mast just in case I fall again—”

“YOU TIED IT TO THE MAST?” Eurylochus shrieked.

“It’s a safety measure!”

“YOU NEED A SAFETY MEASURE? THEN YOU SHOULDN’T BE CLIMBING IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“But it’s shorter!”

“YOU’RE SHORTER NOW. YOUR SPINE IS CROOKED!”

Odysseus let out a long, defeated groan and flopped dramatically onto the dock like a wet fish, arms outstretched.

“I’m going to rot down here. We’ll never get back to Ithaca. Aeolus is just waiting for me to try. This is all a test of will and you’re ruining it.”

Eurylochus crossed his arms, unmoved. “You want to climb something?”

“Yes.”

“Climb into your bed.”

Odysseus threw an arm over his eyes. “I hate you."

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“You called me your ‘anchor’ four hours ago.”

“That was the morphine.”

One of the sailors leaned over and stage-whispered, “He also called you his ‘emotional bedroll.’”

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T TELL ANYONE!”

The dock echoed with laughter.

Odysseus sighed into his arm.

“…Fine. I won’t climb the harpoons today.”

“Or tomorrow,” Eurylochus added.

“Fine.”

“Or the next day.”

“Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

Odysseus sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. His face was already curling into a charming grin—the kind that had gotten them into so many messes across the seas.

“Okay. Okay, fine. What if—what if—you come with me as far as the base of the chain, and we look at it together?” he offered, tilting his head, voice all honeyed reason. “We’ll just… analyze it. Strategize. No climbing.”

Eurylochus narrowed his eyes. “You swear?”

“I swear on Poseidon’s left buttock.”

“You’re the reason he hates us,” someone muttered behind him.

Odysseus ignored that. “Just come with me. We’ll look, we’ll talk, and then I’ll go up. Slowly. Carefully.”

Eurylochus’ arms crossed tighter. “I said no climbing.”

Odysseus pressed his palms together. “I can do it this time. I’ve studied the rigging. I’ve healed—well, mostly. And besides, it’s not as far, and if I fall—”

“If you fall, I’ll dive again.”

Odysseus faltered. His grin cracked just slightly. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Then don’t make me.”

A silence stretched. The crew was suddenly very quiet again, as if the storm had come back—but only between those two men.

Then Eurylochus stepped forward, jaw clenched, and said:

“Fine.”

Odysseus blinked. “What?”

“I said fine. Climb it. Do your insane sea-wizard thing. But I’m coming with you.”

“…No, you’re not,” Odysseus said quickly, shaking his head. “Eury, I—come on. You hate climbing. You hate heights. Your shoulder’s still bad from—”

“I don’t care.”

“You get nosebleeds on ladders.”

“I don’t care.”

Odysseus stood, visibly distressed now. “I’m not risking you! This isn’t about—what if something happens? What if we both fall? You don’t have my reflexes or—”

“I don’t have your suicidal brain fog, either,” Eurylochus snapped. “You want to go up? Then I go with you. End of negotiation.”

“You can’t climb harpoon chains!”

“You can’t breathe right now and you were about to do it anyway!”

The crew started backing away, silently placing bets.

Odysseus raked a hand through his curls. “You are not following me up like some lovesick—”

“You don’t get to almost die, scare the entire crew shitless, promise to rest, and then sneak out at dawn and expect me to just wave cheerfully from the dock while you try again!”

“I didn’t sneak! I just… tiptoed quietly!”

“Oh, so you tiptoed to your death, much better—”

“IT WAS FOR SCIENCE!”

“FOR WHAT SCIENCE?? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ON AN EXPEDITION TO CHART THE GRAVITY LAWS OF PAIN??”

They were yelling now. Again. The crew had taken to sitting on barrels and watching like it was a tragic comedy.

“I love you,” Odysseus suddenly burst out, arms flung wide. “And I do not want to see you fall to your death alongside me for the sake of wind math!”

Eurylochus went dead quiet.

His eye twitched.

“…That’s great. Because I love you too. And that’s why I’m climbing the fucking chain with you.”

Odysseus groaned, head tilting back toward the sky like a man who had just been sentenced to his own medicine.

“Fiiiiine,” he drawled. “We’ll climb together. Slowly. Carefully. Like idiots. In love.”

“That’s the only way you do anything.”

Odysseus grumbled something under his breath.

One of the crewmen leaned over and whispered, “They’re gonna die together and haunt this dock, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely,” another replied. “But romantically.”

The rope groaned faintly under the weight as Eurylochus grabbed the lowest hook and hauled himself up, sandals pressing against the iron links. His arms flexed with the effort, muscles tight, back straight, jaw set like a man scaling the underworld itself.

Behind him, Odysseus reached for the next link with a sulky grunt. “This is usually where I say something like ‘after you,’ but now I feel chased.”

“Good,” Eurylochus grunted, climbing steadily. “Maybe if you feel pressure, you won’t pull another mid-storm rope stunt again like a deranged seagull.”

“I wasn’t deranged, I was motivated.”

“You were stupid.”

“I had a vision.”

“You had a concussion.”

Odysseus huffed as he climbed. The iron was damp beneath his hands, but the chains were steady. Firmer than the rope had been, and much thicker. His ribs protested slightly. His leg throbbed. His dignity was already halfway back on the dock, sulking in a corner.

“This is not how I imagined my glorious return to Aeolus,” he muttered.

Eurylochus didn’t look back. “You imagined yourself flying, didn’t you.”

“Possibly,” Odysseus sniffed.

“You do remember you fell off a rope and bounced, right?”

“I didn’t bounce.”

“You bounced. Like a really tragic rock. Or a fish.”

“I slid.”

“You screamed like a wet dolphin.”

Odysseus scowled, clambering up another link. “I screamed because I was plummeting! Which is a very normal thing to do when experiencing uncontrolled descent!”

“You also screamed my name.”

Odysseus paused.

“…Well, for drama.”

Eurylochus stopped climbing just long enough to twist his head around and glare down at him. “You were unconscious for two minutes. Two. You stopped breathing.”

Odysseus stared up at him, hanging there mid-climb. “…Are we having this fight on the harpoon chain?”

“I swore I wasn’t going to let you die. That includes dying while we argue, yes.”

Odysseus sighed, almost fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re bleeding again.”

“I am not—”

“You’re leaking from your elbow.”

Odysseus looked. Then groaned. “It’s a minor reopening.”

“Do you want me to tie you to the chain like a mad goat, Odysseus?”

“I would rather not be compared to livestock while trying to win divine favor, thanks.”

“You’re going to get us both struck by lightning.”

“That only happened once!”

“ONCE IS ENOUGH!”

The wind whistled past them, the sea far below, the dock already shrinking into specks of sailcloth and wood. The harpoon chain rose like a silver path toward the island above, where the faint edge of Aeolus' carved gates shimmered in the distance. The sky was clear now. Almost too clear.

Odysseus muttered, “...If I fall again, you’ll catch me, right?”

“No,” Eurylochus said flatly, “I will stab you mid-air so you die faster.”

“That’s love.”

“No, that’s revenge.”

Odysseus chuckled under his breath and followed him up, fingers wrapped tight on the chain, eyes bright with something both reckless and awed.

He was still limping.

But he was alive.

And—grumbling the entire time—so was Eurylochus.

Their fingers crested the final ridge of the harpoon anchor, scraping against ancient bronze as they hauled themselves onto the uppermost ledge.

Odysseus flopped onto the stone, panting. “See?” he wheezed, grinning through sweat. “Easy. Just a climb. No disasters. No divine smiting.”

Eurylochus rolled over beside him, drenched, shaking, absolutely done. “I swear to every sea god that exists, I am never—never—doing that again. If Aeolus doesn’t grant your request, I’m throwing you off the edge and telling the crew you slipped on inspiration.”

Odysseus chuckled, still flat on his back. “That’s fair. You climbed like a champion, by the way. Very dignified. Very heroic.”

“I cried twice.”

“Dignified crying.”

“I swore at a bird.”

“It deserved it.”

Eurylochus sat up slowly, brushing grit from his knees. “Alright. Where’s Aeolus? Let’s ask the Wind King to not kill us today.”

And then:

A high-pitched noise.

Somewhere between a hiccup, a coo, and a wheeze.

Eurylochus froze. “What—was that you?”

Odysseus frowned. “No. I—”

And from the bushes behind a mossy pillar, a Winion emerged.

Small.

Furry.

Levitating.

It had soft lavender fluff and eyes far too large for its face, glowing faintly like backlit jellyfish. Its arms were stubby, but it held a tiny staff made of clouds. Clouds. It wobbled closer in the air like an eldritch marshmallow.

Eurylochus blinked once.

Then it blinked back.

Then another one floated out behind it.

And then—

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

Odysseus jerked upright as Eurylochus screamed like a man caught between a thunder god and a marsh demon. He scrambled backwards on all fours, flailing wildly.

“GET IT AWAY! WHAT IS THAT? WHY IS IT FLOATING?!”

“It’s just a.. creature thing—Eury, calm down—”

“WHY DOES IT HAVE EYES LIKE IT’S SEEN MY DEATH—”

“Those are just their faces! They look peaceful!”

“IT’S COMING CLOSER—ODYSSEUS, IT’S FLOATING TOWARD MY SOUL—”

Odysseus was wheezing now. “Eurylochus—Eurylochus, it’s a fluffball, it’s not even a foot tall—”

The Winion blinked again. It gave a little warbling purr.

Eurylochus threw a sandal at it.

The Winion dodged midair.

Odysseus slapped a hand over his face. “You just assaulted Aeolus’ emissary.”

“It dodged, it’s clearly plotting something—!”

“Eurylochus, these are literally the mailmen of the sky.”

“THEN WHY DOES IT HAVE A FLOATING STAFF AND JUDGMENT IN ITS EYES?!”

The first Winion turned midair and began levitating toward Odysseus with a slow, ceremonial air, its fluff ruffling slightly in the high wind. It extended the cloudy staff and made a squeaky, whistling sound.

Odysseus rose to his feet and bowed with a flourish. “My most sacred greetings to you, emissary of Aeolus, Deliverer of Breezes, Defender of Unreasonably Cute Sky Goblins—”

Eurylochus was clinging to a boulder like it would protect him from whatever eldritch fluffstorm was about to be unleashed. “I hate this island.”

“You volunteered.”

“I WAS IN LOVE. I WAS DELIRIOUS. I’M STILL DELIRIOUS. THAT THING LEVITATED.”

Another Winion floated by behind him, cooing.

Eurylochus yelped and nearly fell off the ledge.

Odysseus caught him by the collar, laughing now, and muttered, “Just breathe, my brave harpoon goat.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Too late. The Winions have already heard it.”

As if on cue, the wind changed.

It shifted direction in an instant—no breeze, no gust, just a flip of the world’s breath. The Winions perked up as if sniffing the change, their fur fluffing outward like dandelion tufts. A distant sound like flutes and laughter on helium danced through the air.

Eurylochus, crouched behind a very unimpressed statue of a pelican, muttered, “What now.”

Odysseus stood tall beside the Winion emissary, tilting his head upward. He could feel it. The air thickened with ozone and whimsy.

And then—

POP.

A burst of wind and feathers exploded in midair, and out of nowhere, they were there.

Aeolus.

They spun into existence like a twister wrapped in silk. Cloak billowing, crown hovering slightly above their head, hair like clouds dipped in sunlight. Their eyes were kaleidoscopes, flickering from amber to green to pale, amused violet.

“HELLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!” Aeolus beamed, arms thrown wide like a child greeting party guests. “Ohhhhh look at you! You made it! You actually climbed the thing? Mortals! So ridiculous! I love that for you!”

Odysseus bowed deeply, hand to chest. “Aeolus, Keeper of Storms, Master of—”

“YOU FELL OFF A ROPE!” they cackled, pointing at him mid-spin. “I watched! I felt it! Your scream went wheeeeeeee-plop! Like a warbler being punted off a cliff!”

“I survived,” Odysseus said flatly.

“Only because the water caught you! And that other one—” Aeolus finally turned and glanced at Eurylochus, who was standing rigid, palms flat to his thighs, radiating respect. “He dove in like a muscled sack of guilt. Very dramatic. I liked it.”

Eurylochus bowed stiffly. “My lord Aeolus. I thank you for your mercy and—”

“Anyway,” Aeolus said, breezing past him as if he hadn’t spoken, “you smell like anchovies and salt trauma, Odysseus. Have you been swimming with your mouth open?”

Odysseus gave a dry smile. “Only recreationally.”

...

How did they know his name?

“Pffft,” Aeolus snorted. “Mortals. Always trying to touch things. Fall off one chain and they just have to climb another.” They spun midair again, clearly not touching the ground, lounging horizontally as if reclining on wind.

Eurylochus coughed politely. “If I may, Your Grace—”

“You may not,” Aeolus chirped, already floating toward Odysseus and tapping his forehead with a single fingertip. “You’ve got ideas. I smell them. You came up here to ask me for something, didn’t you? Ooooh, is it revenge? I love revenge.”

Odysseus tilted his head. “You’re very… festive today.”

“I had a nap!” Aeolus declared. “And six dreams! Four were about flying sheep, one about volcanic bread, and the last one was very illegal.”

Eurylochus' brow twitched. “My lord Aeol—”

“Wind cakes!” Aeolus shouted to no one in particular. “Someone get us wind cakes! We’re having a mortal visit!”

A dozen Winions scattered into the air, all squeaking excitedly.

Eurylochus inhaled deeply through his nose. “They’re ignoring me.”

“They’re ignoring everything,” Odysseus muttered back. “They once threw Polites into a floating soup bowl. He was never the same.”

Aeolus spun to face Odysseus again. “Soooooo, tell me, oh Brains-With-A-Bruise—what do you want from the King of Breezes? Say it fast. Before I forget I like you.”

“I’d like passage,” Odysseus said. “Safe skies, favorable winds, and permission to climb again if needed.”

“Oh ho ho,” Aeolus grinned. “Climb again? You want an invitation to your next stupid idea? That’s very you.”

Eurylochus, gritting his teeth, tried again: “If I may add—”

Aeolus turned slowly, smiling with so much fake innocence it physically hurt.

“Sweetheart.”

Eurylochus flinched.

Aeolus leaned down, face too close. “You’ve spoken eight times. I heard none of it. Try again, and I will turn your eyebrows into screaming caterpillars. Kay?”

“…Understood.”

Odysseus had to choke back a cough. “Eury, your face just turned into a storm cloud.”

“I hate this island,” Eurylochus whispered.

Aeolus hovered upside down now, their crown spinning slightly off-kilter above their head as they twirled midair like a child playing in shallow water. “Soooooo,” they purred, drawing out the word as their fingers curled theatrically toward a swirling pouch that appeared in a puff of air. “Since you’re here, since you climbed so bravely, since you didn’t die horribly—I’m feeling generous.”

They held out a silken bag.

It pulsed.

Literally.

The seams rippled with an inner pressure, like it was alive. Like it breathed. Wind whistled faintly from it—like a thousand whispers caught in a sack the size of a large grapefruit.

“I give you… a gift.” Aeolus grinned. “A bag of every wind I command. North, South, East, West, even the petty jealous ones that scream through keyholes.”

Odysseus took a step forward, brows raising. “That’s… incredibly generous.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Aeolus sparkled. “But it comes with a rule. Just one! Tiny. Teeny. Miniscule!”

“What’s the catch?” Odysseus asked warily.

“You keep it closed,” Aeolus sang. “That’s it! You hold it. You don’t open it. Ever. Not until I say so. Not until you’re home again. Not until the moon dances backwards and sings an aria about goats.”

Eurylochus narrowed his eyes. “That’s suspicious.”

“Everything is suspicious when your hair is made of distrust!” Aeolus retorted.

Odysseus reached for the pouch anyway, because of course he did. “Alright, I—”

SLAP.

Eurylochus’ hand slapped hard over Odysseus’ mouth.

Odysseus let out a startled grunt, squinting over Eurylochus’ wrist.

Eurylochus didn’t flinch, didn’t remove his hand, just stared dead-on at Aeolus. “With all due respect—no.”

Aeolus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He accepts nothing,” Eurylochus said flatly. “Not without reading the terms in triplicate.”

Odysseus tried to mumble something.

“Shut it,” Eurylochus hissed at him, still covering his mouth. “You don’t even know if it’s real! You almost died falling from a rope, and now you’re ready to grab a wind bomb from someone who thinks moon goats sing?”

Aeolus stared at him, eyes widening, voice turning deadly sing-song. “Did. You. Just. Interrupt. Me.”

“Yup,” Eurylochus said, unwavering. “I’m very rude when my captain’s been concussed recently and is about to accept a godbag full of hurricane.”

Odysseus squirmed, managing a faint, muffled, “Mmmyryyy…”

Aeolus’s grin vanished. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Odysseus, still facepalmed, gave a pained thumbs-up.

“I could smite you,” Aeolus added, drifting closer, eyes now twin whirlpools of indignant storm. “I could turn your lungs inside out. I could make you sneeze seagulls for a month.”

“You could,” Eurylochus said evenly, “or you could let me do my job and keep that idiot alive long enough to actually use your damn gift.”

The silence that followed was electric.

Then—

Aeolus laughed. A wild, high-pitched, wheezing cackle that sent the Winions into a fluttering spin above.

“OH, FINE,” they shrieked. “KEEP YOUR HANDS ON HIM. See if I care. Mortals and their guard dogs!”

They flung the pouch toward Odysseus, who caught it with one hand—his other still pinned behind Eurylochus’ larger arm. Aeolus pouted in midair.

“Enjoy the bag,” they huffed. “Don’t open it. Or do. Whatever. Blow your entire crew off a cliff. I’m very curious what happens!”

And with a loud pompf, Aeolus vanished in a swirl of feathers and laughter and the faint sound of flutes gone off-key.

Eurylochus finally let go of Odysseus’ mouth.

Odysseus stared at him for a long moment.

“…I could’ve handled that.”

“No, you could’ve died,” Eurylochus snapped, pacing. “Again. You could’ve opened it the wrong way, sneezed near it, tripped, looked at it wrong—Odysseus! I am BEGGING YOU. Just once. Let me be paranoid and right.”

Odysseus held the bag up, staring at it. “It does look like it wants to murder someone.”

“Exactly.”

Odysseus grunted as his foot braced against the slick, rain-slicked rope, one hand tight around the bag and the other knotted in the hemp above. “Remind me to never do this again,” he muttered, voice caught between breathlessness and victory.

“Oh, I will,” Eurylochus called from above, eyes locked on the back of Odysseus’ head like he was daring him to drop the bag. “I’ll tattoo it on your face. Now move. You’re slow.”

“I’m holding the wind gods’ spleen in a sack, forgive me if I’m careful,” Odysseus shot back, inching lower.

“You weren’t careful last time and look where that got us!”

“Can you not bring up my plummet of shame during the descent?”

“Then don’t make me follow you up a death rope next time!”

They kept bickering all the way down, until finally Odysseus landed with a thud on the deck of the ship, winded but intact. Eurylochus dropped behind him with a heavier thump, immediately straightening and glaring at him.

Then—chaos.

The crew rushed forward, soaking wet and breathless, eyes wild from anxiety and curiosity.

“Captain!” one cried. “What's the in the bag?!”

“Is that the wind we heard screaming?”

“Did you kill something? Is it food?”

Odysseus straightened, clutching the silken pouch to his chest. “It’s something dangerous, friends. We cannot lag, we cannot stop, and we absolutely cannot open it. Understood?”

The crew quieted at the tone in his voice.

Eurylochus nodded firmly beside him, arms crossed like he was daring someone to ask again. “Don’t touch it. Don’t breathe near it.”

But then—

fluttering.

Chittering.

Tiny squeaking sounds like distant flutes.

The Winions descended from the cliff above like fluffy, wide-eyed bats, spiraling lazily through the air, their furry bodies glowing faintly in the sunlight. They twirled and cartwheeled, levitating with impossible ease.

And then—

“THAT BAG HAS TREASURE!” one shrieked.

“GOLD!” yelled another.

“JEWELS!” howled a third, spinning in a tornado of its own fuzz.

The crew gasped.

Odysseus’ mouth dropped open. “What—?! NO.”

Eurylochus pointed up with barely contained rage. “Shut up, flying lies!”

“It’s treasure! Sparkling! Tasty!” the Winions squealed, dancing above the mast. “OPEN IT! You’ll be rich!”

Odysseus wheeled toward the crew. “It’s a storm,” he said firmly. “It’s every wind in the world packed into a bag. If you open it, it’ll kill us all and send the ship hurtling across the sea like a stabbed goose.”

Eurylochus nodded. “It’s not treasure. It’s a death sack.”

“But they said—” one sailor began.

“I don’t CARE what the demon hamsters said!” Eurylochus barked.

Another sailor stepped forward. “How do we know you’re not hiding something else?”

“Because I’m still here!” Odysseus shouted. “If I wanted to betray you, I’d at least be subtle about it, not come down holding a glowing bag like I robbed a god!”

The crew hesitated, eyeing the bag.

A Winion giggled and whispered, “Maybe there’s cake in there too…”

“THERE IS NO CAKE,” both Odysseus and Eurylochus screamed in unison.

Silence.

Drip. Drip. The rain had finally stopped. The air was thick with tension.

Odysseus pulled the bag tighter to his chest, glancing sideways at Eurylochus. “We’re locking this in the captain’s quarters. Guarded. With ropes. Chains. Possibly a vicious goose.”

Eurylochus grunted. “And me.”

Odysseus sighed. “And you.”

The Winions twirled overhead, disappointed.

“Buzzkills,” one muttered.

Chapter Text

The door creaked open and was immediately slammed shut again with Odysseus’ boot. He held the bag like it was made of fragile glass and cursed under his breath as it wriggled faintly, as though the winds inside were still furious over being imprisoned.

He set it down gently—gently—on a crate in the corner and immediately coiled three ropes around it, knotting them tighter than a strangler vine. Then he stood in front of it, arms crossed, back stiff, jaw tight.

And outside, in the corridor?

Eurylochus.

A shadow against the torchlight.

Sitting on an overturned barrel like a bouncer from hell, arms crossed, glare fixed on any unlucky soul who wandered too close. One man tried.

“Don’t.” Eurylochus said, low and deadly.

The sailor froze like he’d stepped into a god’s wrath, muttered something about needing to use the other hallway, and turned around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet.

Eurylochus leaned back, stone-faced. His eyes didn’t leave the corridor.

Inside, Odysseus cracked the door open a few inches. “You know you don’t have to stand there all night.”

“I’m not moving,” Eurylochus said, not looking at him.

“We’ve got guards on rotation.”

“They blink.”

Odysseus huffed. “So do you.”

“I don’t sleep when you’re in possession of an airborne apocalypse, Odysseus.” His tone was flat. Dangerous. Loyal. Furious.

Odysseus blinked and quietly shut the door again.

Back outside, another sailor tried to tiptoe by.

Eurylochus tilted his head slowly. “I dare you.”

The sailor made a terrified u-turn.

Inside, Odysseus muttered to himself as he repositioned the ropes and added a weight on top—just for good measure. Then he sat beside the crate like a sulking babysitter, propping his chin on one hand.

From outside the thin door, he could hear Eurylochus breathing. Steady. Cold. Alert.

The world could try to touch that bag.

But they'd have to get through him first.

The door creaked open again, just a sliver—just enough for Odysseus to stick his head out like a guilty child.

“Eurylochus,” he said gently.

No answer. Eurylochus didn’t even flinch. His eyes were still locked down the corridor, arms crossed like twin spears across his chest.

“Eurylochus,” Odysseus repeated, softer. “It’s almost midnight. Come inside.”

“I said I’m staying out here.” His voice was gravel—firm, low, and laced with irritation. “You’re not dying on my watch again.”

“I’m not dying,” Odysseus muttered. “Not unless one of those little flying furballs shows up again and throws me overboard.”

“That was not funny.”

Odysseus sighed and opened the door wider. “Look, I’ve tied the bag up with half the ship’s rope. You’re glaring a hole through the bulkhead. You haven’t blinked in, what, two hours?”

“I don’t need to blink.”

“You’re human, Eury.”

“I’m a man keeping his captain alive.”

Odysseus stepped out into the hall, barefoot and exhausted, and stood in front of him. “You’re also a man with a bad shoulder from a spear wound three weeks ago. And that barrel can’t be good for your back.”

Eurylochus still didn’t move.

So Odysseus stepped closer, leaned down, and added quietly, “I need you inside, not passed out from exhaustion out here. You can guard it from in the room.”

“…You’re not touching the bag again?”

“Swear on Poseidon’s beard.”

“And you won’t try to open it?”

“Not even a peek.”

“…Not even to check if the Winions were lying?”

“Eurylochus, come inside.”

Eurylochus narrowed his eyes, still suspicious—but finally, finally pushed himself off the barrel with a huff. “Fine. But I’m sleeping next to the bag.”

“Good,” Odysseus said, ushering him in. “That makes one of us who’s terrifying enough to scare off anyone stupid.”

As Eurylochus stepped inside and the door closed behind them, Odysseus muttered, “Now maybe I can get some sleep without imagining you turning into a stone gargoyle out there.”

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the creak of the ship’s boards and the occasional rush of wind outside. The air inside the captain’s quarters was thick with salt and the faint scent of oil from the lanterns. The bag of winds sat where Odysseus had left it—roped, weighted, and somehow still faintly humming like a beast dreaming in its cage.

Eurylochus crossed the room in three long strides and sat beside it like a silent warden, back straight, face set. He didn’t even take off his boots.

Odysseus sighed from the cot. “You’re going to bruise your spine sleeping like that.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Eurylochus said.

“Well, you are,” Odysseus said, pushing himself upright. “I’ll take first watch tonight. You can have it tomorrow.”

Eurylochus snapped his head toward him. “What? No. You—no. You nearly died two nights ago.”

Odysseus raised a brow. “And I got better.”

“You bounced off the sea like a skipping stone and stopped breathing. You think that earns you watch duty?”

“I think it earns me the right to be useful again,” Odysseus said calmly. “You’ve been dragging my sorry ass around this ship since Aeolus' cliff. Let me do something. Rest.”

Eurylochus narrowed his eyes. “You’ll just sit there?”

“Cross-legged. Silent. Heroically sleepless.”

“Not touch the bag?”

“Not even to pet it.”

Eurylochus gave the bag a long look, then let out a slow exhale. “Fine. One night. But if I wake up and you’re halfway up another godsdamned rope, I will kill you.”

Odysseus grinned. “I promise, I’ll be too busy glaring at anyone who gets within five feet.”

“…Like me?”

“Well, you’re allowed. You’re the only one I’d trust with my life and the storm in a sack.”

Eurylochus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “damn right,” then finally—finally—peeled off his boots and stretched out beside the bag. One arm draped loosely across it. Just in case.

Odysseus sat near the door, spine straight, eyes sharp.

The winds whispered faintly within the bag.

Eurylochus was asleep in minutes.

Odysseus didn’t blink.

Not once.

The night deepened. Outside, the sea murmured against the hull like an old god trying to hum a lullaby, but inside the captain’s quarters, sleep dared not step too loud.

Because Odysseus was awake.

And Odysseus was watching.

The first creak came just after midnight.

Odysseus didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

He sat cross-legged near the door, arms folded, eyes wide open, pupils gleaming faintly in the lamplight like a predator’s. The hum of the wind-bag beside Eurylochus was a soft rhythm, like a heartbeat. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a dagger he hadn’t even bothered to unsheathe—yet.

A crewmate’s shadow passed beyond the crack at the base of the door.

Odysseus didn’t move.

Not until the latch gave a soft little click.

Then—swift as a dagger out of the dark—he opened the door.

The sailor jumped with a choked yelp. “C-Captain—I just—I thought I heard something, just—”

Odysseus didn’t blink.

He leaned into the doorway slowly, almost like a marionette guided by something ancient and patient.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Odysseus said softly. “You’re hearing nothing. And seeing nothing. There is nothing for you here.”

The man swallowed hard. “R-right. Of course. Sorry, sir.”

Odysseus smiled. But it wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a wolf wearing a crown.

“Go. Back. To. Bed.”

The man turned and sprinted.

Odysseus closed the door with surgical care. Turned back to the room. Eurylochus was still asleep, curled protectively around the bag like it was a fragile child. His brow twitched once, like he half-registered the tension in the air—but didn’t wake.

A few minutes passed.

Then another creak from beyond the door.

Another whisper. Another hand on the handle.

Odysseus opened the door before the thief could.

This time, he didn’t speak.

He just stared.

A full minute passed. Two.

The sailor slowly raised his hands and backed away, eyes wide.

Odysseus closed the door again.

He didn’t even look tired.

Just alert.

Glowing faintly mad in the lanternlight.

He turned back to the room and settled once more on the stool by the door, hands folded neatly.

The bag rustled faintly under Eurylochus’ arm.

Odysseus leaned just a bit forward and whispered—not to the winds, not to the bag, but to the door.

“I dare you.”

Silence.

He smiled.

The silence lasted for five fucking minutes.

The next creak was softer. Sneaker.

A shadow slid across the corridor outside. A crewman—Laodamas, maybe—peeked through the gap of the not-quite-closed door. A flicker of greed lit his eyes.

Odysseus’ voice cut through the dark like a blade:

“Come in, and I’ll skin you.”

The door stilled.

Laodamas froze.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Odysseus continued. “You breathe like a man thinking about treasure instead of the storm that nearly murdered us two nights ago.”

The shadow stepped back.

“Tell the others,” Odysseus added, his tone velvet and bone. “Every creak you make? I count it. Every step you take toward this door? I mark it. And if one of you so much as brushes the latch—”

His eyes glinted. “I won’t need the winds to bury your body.”

There was silence.

Then the sound of quick, retreating footsteps down the hall.

Odysseus didn’t blink.

Didn’t smile.

Morning slithered in through the slats of the shutters, painting golden lines across the captain’s quarters. The ship creaked lazily beneath them, lulled into calm by the still air and the promise of temporary peace.

Eurylochus stirred first.

Warmth pressed against his back. A heavy arm wrapped protectively around his middle. A chin tucked just above his shoulder. Breath brushed his nape, steady and slow, but the tension in the body behind him was unmistakable.

“...Odysseus?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Mhm.” It was low, deep, and disturbingly alert.

Eurylochus blinked slowly. “...Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“You said you would—”

“I lied.”

Before Eurylochus could properly sit up, Odysseus tightened his hold like a vice, pulling him back flush against his chest.

Outside the room, the door creaked softly. Someone stepped on the boards outside. There were hushed whispers—someone wondering aloud if it was safe to ask for morning orders. If the bag was still in place. If the captain was—

The door creaked just a little more.

Odysseus turned his head.

The door didn’t even open all the way before he locked eyes with the crew outside.

Glare.

Piercing. Unrelenting. The kind of glare that said you are not coming one step closer unless you want to die slowly and painfully, and maybe not even in that order.

The crewmates froze like children who’d just kicked a beehive.

Odysseus didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

He just clutched Eurylochus tighter in his arms and kept glaring, daring them to try.

Eurylochus blinked blearily, glanced toward the doorway. “Are you... death-staring the crew again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They were breathing too close.”

“You’re not normal,” Eurylochus muttered, voice muffled into the arm holding him.

“No,” Odysseus agreed, voice soft now. “But neither is the man who tried to dive into a hurricane for me.”

“…Touché.”

And still—Odysseus held him. Protective. Possessive. Unmoving. The bag of winds rested beside the bed, untouched. Untampered. Safe.

No one approached again that morning.

Not with Odysseus on guard.

Not when he had what mattered most right there in his arms.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Then a pause.

Then a second knock, more reluctant this time, like the knuckles behind it feared for their lives.

Odysseus didn’t answer right away. He just tightened his arms around Eurylochus, face still pressed against his shoulder. “I am holding someone,” he said flatly. “This had better be good.”

The door creaked open just enough for a head to poke through—Meiran, the youngest among them, looking like a man who had drawn the shortest straw on earth and regretted ever existing.

He cleared his throat. “Uh. Lenon and Perimedes are fighting again.”

Odysseus’s eyes didn’t even blink.

Meiran swallowed. “Because Lenon insulted Elpenor.”

A beat of silence.

Then another.

Then—the sigh.

A slow, weary groan of a sigh that sounded like it’d been clawing its way up from Odysseus’ soul all night. He slid his arms off Eurylochus with great reluctance, leaned his forehead against the other man’s hair for a moment, and muttered, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Eurylochus cracked one eye open. “Take the bag with you.”

“I’m not stupid,” Odysseus muttered, already tucking it under his arm like it was an infant.

Another sigh.

Then he rose.

Barefoot. Shirt halfway unbuttoned. Hair a mess from a night of vigilance and unhinged staring. And still—somehow—he looked like a weary war god reluctantly descending from Olympus to stop two drunken cousins from killing each other at a funeral.

The deck outside was chaos.

Perimedes had a split lip. Lenon had an oar raised like a sword. Elpenor, who wasn’t even there to defend himself, had apparently become the target of a slurred tirade involving the phrase “idiot swamp-baby.”

Odysseus stepped between them wordlessly, still clutching the bag. He stared at one. Then the other. Then slowly tilted his head.

“Do either of you want to see what happens when I open this bag?”

Both men froze.

Lenon lowered the oar. Perimedes sat down.

Odysseus nodded slowly. “Good. Now. Apologize. Hug. And tell the bag you’re sorry for scaring it.”

“What—”

“The. Bag.”

They both turned to the bag and mumbled apologies at it like scared schoolchildren confessing to a haunted doll.

Odysseus turned back toward the cabin. “I’m not doing this again,” he muttered. “Next time, I’ll let the wind out just a little.”

He disappeared through the door again, leaving two very disturbed men behind.

Back inside, Eurylochus hadn’t moved an inch. “Did you tell them to apologize to the bag?”

“Yes.”

“…Fair.”

Odysseus flopped back down beside him with a sigh, dragging the bag between them like a protective ward.

“I swear to the gods,” he mumbled, “when this war is over, I’m retiring somewhere quiet. Somewhere with no gods. No ropes. And no Lenon.”

“Can I come?”

“You’re already packed in the bag with the rest of my treasures.”

“…Gross.”

“True.”

They didn’t move for a long time after that.

The wind howled faintly outside, but inside, it was still—except for the faint sound of Odysseus muttering threats to anyone who even thought about Lenon again.

Didn’t relax.

The deck had settled—for now. No one dared mention the bag again, not while Odysseus was giving “touch this and I’ll eat your soul” glares from across the ship.

A little past midday, the wind soft and the sea calm, Eurylochus sat on a coil of rope near the mast, chewing dried meat and tearing chunks of bread with his teeth like it owed him money. His hair was wind-tossed, a little damp from earlier, but his expression was much calmer now—if tired. He took another bite, sighed, and cast a glance to the side.

Odysseus sat beside him.

Staring at the ocean.

Hands folded.

Bag of winds in his lap like a cat.

Not touching his food.

Not blinking.

Not chewing.

Just brooding dramatically like he was personally beefing with the gods.

Eurylochus narrowed his eyes. “Eat.”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten since the fall.” Eurylochus shoved a bit of bread toward him. “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Eurylochus stared.

Odysseus continued to brood.

Eurylochus, without breaking eye contact, tore another chunk off his own bread, chewed it slowly, then deliberately leaned forward and shoved the bitten-off piece toward Odysseus’ mouth.

Odysseus leaned back with a grimace. “You animal—”

“Eat it.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Eat it or I tie you to the mast and force-feed you like a baby gull.”

A beat.

Then, begrudgingly, Odysseus opened his mouth like a petulant child and bit the bread.

Eurylochus raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

Odysseus glared. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. Then muttered, “...It’s stale.”

“It’s bread. Everything’s stale. That’s what you get for nearly dying on a storm-drenched rope, jackass.”

“I almost died very gracefully, thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up and eat more bread.”

Odysseus took another piece. Smaller this time. Still looking like it betrayed him.

Eurylochus rolled his eyes, then resumed chewing.

Silence settled again—less brooding, more tired.

Then:

“…You really weren’t going to eat, were you?” Eurylochus muttered.

Odysseus didn’t look at him. “If I died, there’d be more rations for everyone else.”

Eurylochus turned to him slowly. “You absolute cretin—”

“I was joking—”

“No you weren’t.”

A long sigh from Eurylochus, who shoved the rest of his meat chunk into Odysseus’ hand, leaned against him, and said with exhaustion thick in his throat:

“You get one ‘I’ll starve so my crew can eat’ speech per war. You used it in year one. You're on thin fucking ice.”

Odysseus said nothing.

But he ate the meat.

Slowly.

And Eurylochus leaned heavier against his side, chewing one last crust, muttering to himself:

“Stupid, dramatic, self-sacrificing sea bastard.”

Odysseus didn’t argue.

Because yeah.

That was accurate.

The sky blushed a soft pink, clouds brushing low over the horizon as gulls wheeled lazily above the ship. The crew had quieted. For once, no one was arguing. No one was fighting. No one was eyeing the bag of winds with greedy suspicion.

Which meant Odysseus was bored out of his skull.

He stood on the edge of the ship. Literally—on the narrow rim of the hull, balancing on one foot like a cursed sea ballerina, arms outstretched, grinning like a man who’d never heard the word “consequences.”

He twirled.

Actually twirled.

“Odysseus!” Eurylochus’ voice cracked through the air, sharp and pissed. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Dancing,” Odysseus replied cheerily, as if it were obvious. He spun again, this time on his toes. “It’s called performance, Eurylochus. I’m embodying the wind. Our cargo, you might say.”

“You’re embodying a goddamn idiot! Get down!”

“Let me have my moment!” Odysseus shouted, dramatically flinging his arms out.

And that’s when the ship lurched.

A crack of wood. A grind of rock.

The whole ship tilted ever so slightly to the left as the hull scraped over a hidden outcrop—and Odysseus’ arms windmilled.

For one, horrible second, he leaned back. His heel slipped. His other foot lost grip.

“ODYSSEUS!”

Eurylochus was a blur. He launched himself forward—just in time to grab Odysseus by the back of his sash as the man teetered backward like a falling statue.

Odysseus let out a startled yelp as he was yanked back over the edge and into Eurylochus’ chest with a wheeze.

Silence.

Then:

“I had it under control,” Odysseus coughed.

Eurylochus screamed.

“YOU—! YOU WERE DOING A FUCKING JIG ON THE RAIL, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?! DO I NEED TO NAIL YOUR FEET TO THE DECK?!”

Odysseus winced, still clutched to Eurylochus’ chest like a very tall, very stupid child. “…So you are impressed by the balance.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF!”

The crew slowly turned away, pretending not to see their captain getting manhandled and screamed at like a disobedient toddler.

And somewhere behind them, the bag of winds wobbled ominously.

Odysseus didn’t even get a chance to blink.

One second, he was grinning sheepishly with his feet back on solid deck, and the next—“oof”—he was hoisted up like a sack of wayward potatoes, slung over Eurylochus’ shoulder in one smooth, furious motion.

“HEY—!” Odysseus shouted, flailing slightly. “You can’t just—! I am your king!”

“You’re a dumbass in a cape,” Eurylochus barked, stomping toward the captain’s quarters like a man possessed. “A dumbass who thinks he can do fucking pirouettes on the edge of a moving ship after already falling off a cliff like a suicidal seagull!”

Odysseus squirmed. “It was expressive movement!”

“It was brain damage in motion!”

The crew didn’t dare say a word as their captain passed upside-down through the deck, arms dangling, cape flapping, completely helpless in the iron grip of the first mate.

Elpenor quietly looked to Lenon. “He’s gonna tie him down again, isn’t he?”

“Oh definitely,” Lenon muttered. “Deserved.”

“Unhand me,” Odysseus demanded, thumping a weak fist against Eurylochus’ back. “This is deeply undignified!”

“You lost your right to dignity when you started interpretive dancing on the rail of a ship we all depend on not to crack in half,” Eurylochus snapped.

“You’re being dramatic—”

Eurylochus stopped just outside the door to the captain’s quarters, turned slightly, and hissed, "You did a fucking spin."

Odysseus opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“…That’s fair.”

With a grunt, Eurylochus kicked the door open and hauled the world’s most stubborn sea bastard inside, muttering absolute venom under his breath the entire time.

Odysseus groaned from over his shoulder. “Can you at least put me down with some—dignity?”

Eurylochus didn’t answer.

He just dropped him unceremoniously onto the bedding with a fwump, crossed his arms, and loomed like a sleep-deprived storm cloud.

“You,” he growled, pointing, “do not move from this room. If I see even one toe—one single toe—near the hull, I will strap your ass to the mast with sailcloth and spite. Understood?”

Odysseus laid on the bed like a chastised cat, staring up with wide eyes. “…I really did almost fall again, huh?”

“YES, YOU DID, YOU UNSTABLE SEA FAE.”

“…You still carried me all the way down.”

Eurylochus blinked. Then his face twisted in fury, only to crumple into exasperation and something like concern. “…You’re lucky I like you.”

Odysseus smirked faintly, then patted the blanket next to him. “Come cuddle me before I make worse choices.”

Eurylochus hesitated.

Then sighed, muttering, “One second of peace, that’s all I ask,” and sat beside him with all the weight of a man who knew it would never happen.

The room dimmed into amber hush, the gentle roll of the sea lapping against the hull like a cradle’s song.

In the center of the bedding, nestled between two men with the emotional maturity of war-weary sea dogs and the sleep schedules of insomniac krakens, sat the bag of winds—a bloated, knotted thing that practically hummed with contained madness.

Eurylochus glared at it like it had personally insulted his ancestors.

Odysseus, half-tucked against him, looked far too pleased with himself.

"This is not normal," Eurylochus muttered, propping his elbow on the bed and glaring at the bag as if his sheer willpower could banish it to Hades. "This is not even in the realm of normal. This is me, cuddling a grown man with a storm between us."

“A gift from a god,” Odysseus mumbled sleepily, burrowing his head into Eurylochus’ shoulder. “How romantic.”

“It’s gas, you sea witch.”

Odysseus snorted.

Eurylochus groaned and dragged the blanket higher over both of them with a sigh that sounded like it aged him a decade. “You know what this is? This is babysitting. I’m cuddling you so you don’t go out and fall off another cliff, and I’m cuddling this fucking thing so no one opens it and throws us all into the stratosphere.”

“I think it’s growing on you,” Odysseus murmured against his chest. “You’re getting attached.”

“If it moves in the night I’m chucking it overboard.”

Odysseus grinned. “You’d be so lost without me.”

“Debatable.”

Still, despite the muttering, the cursing, and the very real threat of being yeeted into the ocean, Eurylochus curled a protective arm over Odysseus’ waist, the bag snug between them like a very volatile stuffed animal.

They both lay awake a while longer—Odysseus humming something soft, Eurylochus grumbling under his breath—until, eventually, the rocking ship and the warmth of limbs gave way to silence.

And the wind bag?

It pulsed faintly.

Like it was waiting.

Morning broke in a lazy sprawl of sea mist and pale gold light leaking through the warped shutters of the captain’s quarters. The ship creaked softly beneath them, sails slack in the breeze, and somewhere above, gulls were already screaming like unpaid debt collectors.

Odysseus was awake.

And worse: bored.

He turned his head slowly, cheek squished against Eurylochus’ shoulder, and whispered, "Eurylochus."

No response.

He leaned closer, breath ghosting against his ear. "Euryyylochusss."

Nothing.

"Sun’s up," Odysseus sing-songed, voice climbing into an airy falsetto. "Time to rise and hate the world again—"

A massive hand shot up without warning and grabbed his face.

"MMMPH!" Odysseus flailed, eyes widening as five fingers completely engulfed his entire face like a bear paw smothering a startled squirrel. His nose was squished, one eye was covered, and a thumb nearly went in his mouth.

His arms went stiff as the realization dawned.

Oh no.

He couldn’t fight back.

He was completely, utterly, irrevocably at this man’s mercy.

Eurylochus, eyes still closed, growled, “You open your mouth one more time and I will snap you in half like a dry reed, Odysseus.”

Odysseus let out a muffled whimper of betrayal from beneath the hand.

The bag of winds sat between them, perfectly silent. Probably smug.

He slowly raised both arms, palms open in surrender.

Eurylochus’ hand didn’t move.

He held him there.

Judging him.

From inside his sleepy wrath cocoon.

Odysseus twitched.

“…Can I breathe again or is this how I die?” he mumbled, voice distorted by fingers.

A beat.

Eurylochus squeezed his cheeks once—aggressively—then let go and turned over with a groan, dragging the blanket over his head.

Odysseus blinked up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and slightly dazed, lips still puckered from the squish.

“…I should not have survived Troy.”

Odysseus, recovering from the face-squishing trauma of dawn, sat up and rubbed his cheeks with the indignity of a man who had just been manhandled into silence. He squinted toward the door, already plotting some sort of petty vengeance—maybe humming a song he knew Eurylochus hated or making fish again for breakfast.

But as he swung his legs off the bed—

THWUMP.

Two powerful arms wrapped around his waist like a vise, and the next thing he knew, he was tackled sideways back into the bed.

“Wha—?!”

Odysseus flailed like a stunned sea bird, but it was no use. Eurylochus had thrown himself onto him like a sleepy but territorial jungle cat, heavy, warm, and completely immovable. One leg hooked over Odysseus’ thigh. A muscular arm locked across his chest. His chin pressed possessively into the crook of Odysseus' neck.

“You’re not going anywhere,” came the raspy, sleepy mutter against his skin.

Odysseus blinked, stunned, arms still in the air.

“…I was just going to pee.”

“You can die of it. I don’t care,” Eurylochus grumbled, nuzzling in deeper like a goddamn furnace that smelled like brine, leather, and pure obstinacy. “You were dancing on the railing yesterday, and you almost died climbing a rope, and you think I’m letting you walk off unsupervised?”

“I’m literally the king—”

“Not of my spine,” Eurylochus snapped, hugging tighter. “I’m not letting go.”

Odysseus attempted to wiggle.

The arms tightened.

He went limp in defeat. “…You’re like a barnacle with trust issues.”

“I have trust issues.”

Odysseus sighed and slumped back into the bedding. “…Do you want me to hum you back to sleep or something?”

Eurylochus didn’t answer. He was already half-asleep again, arms locked like iron and breath soft against Odysseus' skin.

The wind bag sat awkwardly squished beside them, slightly puffing at the seams like it too was uncomfortable but knew better than to protest.

There was a knock at the captain’s quarters.

Then another.

Then the door creaked open slowly, cautiously—like whoever was on the other side feared for their life.

Perimedes’ head peeked in, hair still messy from sleep, his tunic lopsided and eyes squinting through the dim morning light.

“Uh… Captain? Eurylochus? The crew’s asking if we can start sailing again or if we’re still… um… cursed. Or whatever’s going on with the screaming bag.”

No answer.

He poked his head in farther—then froze.

Odysseus was completely pinned to the bed, arms splayed helplessly, hair tousled, and wearing the exhausted expression of a man who’d been defeated by love and gravity.

Eurylochus was draped over him like a clingy cat the size of a war horse. His leg was still hooked over Odysseus’ hip. His arm locked across Odysseus' chest. His death grip suggested that if anyone tried to separate them, bones would be broken.

The bag of winds was wedged awkwardly between them like a very confused third wheel.

Perimedes blinked.

“…So. Uh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Lenon said it looked like Eurylochus was trying to absorb your soul through cuddles, but I didn’t think it was literally true.”

Odysseus lifted his head weakly from the pillow, voice hoarse.

“Tell Lenon if he makes a sound, I’ll throw him overboard.”

Eurylochus grunted, pulling him closer.

Odysseus yelped as his spine popped. “Gods, my ribs—”

Perimedes backed slowly out of the room, face blank. “Yep. Definitely still cursed. I’ll tell the others we’ll leave at never o’clock.”

The door shut.

Outside, muffled through the wood, a voice said flatly:

“Lenon and Elpenor are fighting again.”

Another groan. Another day. Another pile of emotional fires to stomp out.

Odysseus closed his eyes. “…Maybe I’ll just stay here and let the ship sail itself.”

Eurylochus, half-asleep, muttered, “Smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

Chapter Text

The next day dawned with golden light filtering over the deck, the sea calm and deceptively innocent, as if the gods themselves had decided to stop screwing with them—temporarily.

Below deck, however, chaos was a little closer to home.

“Here,” Odysseus said, balancing a half-sliced fig between two fingers and holding it out way too close to Eurylochus’ mouth. “Eat.”

Eurylochus, seated cross-legged on the floor of the captain’s quarters, blinked at the offered fruit as if it were a blade being pressed to his throat.

“…I can feed myself,” he grumbled, ears already beginning to burn.

Odysseus tilted his head, smile dangerously lazy. “Yeah, but you won’t. You’re in one of your moods. And if you starve to death, I’ll have to cuddle your corpse, and that’s honestly not appealing.”

“I’m not—!” Eurylochus went redder. “It’s just—you—you’re staring at me like I’m prey.”

“I’m admiring the battlefield of your face.”

“What does that even—”

“Eat the fig, Eurylochus.”

After a long, suspicious glare, Eurylochus leaned forward, lips brushing the tips of Odysseus’ fingers as he took the fruit into his mouth. His jaw moved slowly, thoughtfully, like he was trying not to give his captain the satisfaction of how good it tasted.

Odysseus, still far too smug, popped another fig slice off the tray and held it up.

“I hate you,” Eurylochus muttered, color high in his cheeks, ears glowing.

“I know.” Another bite.

“You’re smug.”

“I earned it.”

“I should throw you into the sea.”

Odysseus leaned forward just a touch, his voice low and amused. “Again?”

Eurylochus made a noise between a snarl and a wheeze, shoved the next fig into his own mouth before Odysseus could, and refused to make eye contact.

They sat in silence for a few moments—Odysseus cross-legged and perfectly relaxed, Eurylochus looking everywhere except at him, face red, chewing like it was a matter of pride.

The bag of winds sat tucked safely behind them, faintly puffing every few seconds like it was sighing dramatically at their antics.

Eventually, the plate was empty, Eurylochus was full (and very grumpy about it), and the warmth of the late morning seeped in like honey through the cracks in the wooden hull.

Odysseus set the tray aside and stretched with a contented sigh, his spine cracking like a row of dice being thrown by the gods. Then, with zero warning and even less shame, he slid down beside Eurylochus and wrapped his arms around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

Eurylochus flinched. “Wh—what are you doing?”

“Snuggling,” Odysseus said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you’re about to start thinking again. I’m intervening.”

“You can’t just—” Eurylochus made a strangled sound as Odysseus nuzzled his cheek into the side of his neck, warmth radiating off him like a human furnace. “Gods, you’re insufferable.”

Odysseus hummed in agreement. “Mhm. But you’re still letting me do this.”

“That’s because you’re sticky, and I’d have to peel you off.”

“Mmm. So tragic. Forced to cuddle me. You poor thing.” He tightened his arms just slightly, shifting until their legs tangled, the bag of winds nestled safely just beyond reach, like a sleepy, cursed pet.

Eurylochus squirmed once more—then finally gave in with a sigh, leaning back just a little, letting his head tip against Odysseus’.

There was a pause. A beat of quiet.

And then, low and warm, Odysseus murmured into his ear:

“Love.”

Eurylochus went absolutely still.

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered quickly, voice cracking halfway through.

Odysseus just smiled against his skin. “Why not?”

“Because I—!” Eurylochus floundered. “Because you say it like I won’t throw you off the ship!”

“You won’t,” Odysseus said, smug and cozy and maddeningly confident. “You like me too much.”

“You’re going to give me a stroke.”

“Then I’ll feed you again.”

“Stop—”

“Love.”

“—Saying it like that—!”

Odysseus just tightened his hold and shut his eyes, finally settling.

Eurylochus sat frozen for a moment longer… and then, against every instinct he had, leaned into him.

Odysseus shifted slightly, resting his chin atop Eurylochus’ head now, their hands still loosely twined together. Eurylochus was still, suspiciously so, eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure out whether letting his guard down would bite him in the ass again.

It would.

Odysseus pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of Eurylochus’ forehead. Barely there. Reverent. Almost enough to go unnoticed—almost.

Eurylochus jolted.

There was a beat.

Then another.

“…you bastard—”

Odysseus had just enough time to open his mouth to say something smarmy before Eurylochus tackled him backward with enough force to rattle the floorboards.

“You smug—!” Eurylochus snarled, straddling him now, hands pinning Odysseus’ shoulders down like he was about to throttle him—but his ears were so red it sort of ruined the threat.

Odysseus wheezed out a laugh, smug as ever even with his spine flattened to the floor. “A simple thank you would suffice, love.”

“I swear to the gods—!”

“Polites would’ve said ‘thank you.’”

“Polites would’ve stabbed you!”

“He also cuddled me.”

Eurylochus screamed into his hands.

The bag of winds gave a pffff in the corner, like it was sighing again, completely done with this nonsense.

Eurylochus didn’t even realize what he was doing until his knees were bracketing Odysseus’ hips, and his hands had pinned Odysseus’ wrists down to the floor. Hard. Not the way you pin someone in a spar. The way you pin someone when you’re really thinking about it.

Odysseus stared up at him, blinked once—

Then grinned.

“Kinky.”

Eurylochus made the exact noise a kettle makes right before it explodes.

“You—! I—I am restraining you because you’re unhinged! Not because I—”

“Oh, of course not,” Odysseus said, voice all innocence. “You just happened to sit on top of me and grab my wrists because you were overwhelmed by how very platonic your feelings are.”

“I will throw you to the winions.”

“I’d float.”

“I hope you sink.”

Odysseus just kept smiling, and Eurylochus could feel it like heat rising off a fire.

They stared at each other. The floor creaked beneath them. The bag of winds hissed again.

“…you’re heavy,” Odysseus said at last, voice annoyingly fond.

Eurylochus scowled. “You deserve worse.”

“Then stay there,” Odysseus said softly. “Make me suffer.”

Eurylochus’ breath caught.

For a moment, it looked like he might actually lean in—but then the hatch banged open overhead, and a shout echoed down.

“LENON BIT PERIMEDES AGAIN!”

Odysseus sighed with a groan. “…I swear to the gods, those two are worse than Sirens.”

Eurylochus was already rolling off with a grumble, muttering, “Next time, you’re breaking them up.”

The hatch above slammed again, this time with a thud that suggested someone had been bodily thrown into it.

“LENON, YOU ABSOLUTE FERAL DOG—”

“HE CALLED MY NOSE FLAT!”

Odysseus let out the loudest, most soul-weary sigh in Ithacan history and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I swear I’m going to start assigning chore wheels with muzzles.”

Eurylochus was already sitting up, dead-eyed and combing his fingers through his mess of sleep-wrecked hair. “Just toss ‘em both overboard. Let the winions sort it out.”

“No, no, that’s what Agamemnon would do,” Odysseus muttered, hauling himself to his feet with the grace of a man who knew his back was going to regret this in two minutes. “I am a kind, benevolent, and endlessly tolerant captain—”

A louder smack came from above.

“PERIMEDES, YOU BIT ME BACK?!”

“YOU CALLED ME A DROWNING HOG!!”

Odysseus groaned and snatched his cloak off the hook. “Right. Gentle parenting time.”

Eurylochus blinked up at him from the bed. “...You’re not going to bring the spear?”

“Nope.” Odysseus stretched dramatically, spine cracking. “Just bringing disappointment.”

And with that, he climbed the ladder like a man headed to war, leaving Eurylochus sitting cross-legged and deeply considering whether “Captain Eurylochus” had a nice ring to it.

The slam was loud.

Too loud.

Eurylochus paused mid-bite of his ration—bread so stale it could maim a man—and tilted his head. Silence followed the bang. An eerie kind of silence.

Then came the sound of thudding boots. A muffled groan.

And then, the unmistakable voice of Perimedes—

“...Oh no. Ohhhhhh no. I missed. I MISSED—”

Eurylochus was up instantly.

He stormed up the ladder with a sharpness usually reserved for ambushes, boots thudding hard enough to shake the rungs. He cleared the hatch—

And froze.

Odysseus stood in the middle of the deck, nose gushing blood. One hand was cupped under it, trying to stem the crimson flood, and his expression was stuck somewhere between blank and bewildered. His tunic was already speckled.

Perimedes was backed up against the mast like he was expecting divine retribution. Lenon was standing a full ten feet away with his hands in the air.

“I—I meant to hit him!” Perimedes squeaked. “HE INSULTED MY MOTHER—”

“I said she looked like a nice goat!” Lenon protested.

“You threw a punch at me?!” Odysseus barked, voice pinched and nasal from the swelling.

That was when Eurylochus snapped.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

He crossed the deck in three strides, grabbed Odysseus by the chin (gently), tilted his face up, and hissed like a boiling kettle. Then he rounded on Perimedes—

And the deck froze.

Lenon backed up so fast he tripped over a coil of rope.

Perimedes flinched like a hit dog.

“...I’ll swab the whole deck for a week,” he whispered.

Eurylochus took a step forward. “Two.”

“I’ll eat Lenon’s ration.”

“Three.”

“I’LL—SHAVE MY HEAD—”

“FOUR WEEKS.”

Lenon, from the floor: “Bro, stop. You’re making it worse.”

Eurylochus turned back around and pulled Odysseus into his arms, fussing like a furious mother hen, muttering under his breath about how he told him not to be the gentle parent and that this is what he gets for trying to “talk down feral toddlers with rage issues.”

Odysseus, slightly dazed, leaned into the hug and muffled, “...You’re hot when you’re angry.”

“SHUT UP,” Eurylochus snapped, yanking his cloak off and shoving it at Odysseus’ face. “Press it. And don’t bleed on the deck.”

Below deck, the door slammed shut with a vengeance, and Odysseus winced as Eurylochus all but dragged him across the room like a misbehaving kitten.

“Sit,” Eurylochus barked.

“I can walk, you know—”

“Sit.”

Odysseus plopped onto the bed with a sigh, still clutching Eurylochus’ blood-stained cloak to his face.

Immediately, Eurylochus was on him, fussing like a man possessed. He grabbed a clean rag from the chest, dunked it in a bowl of half-stale water, and stormed back like a man on a mission.

“I told you not to go up there,” he muttered furiously, dabbing at Odysseus’ face with surprising gentleness. “I told you to let them tear each other apart and just listen for the death rattle. But nooo, you just had to be the good captain. You just had to go up there and play Daddy Diplomacy.”

“It’s just a bloody nose,” Odysseus mumbled nasally, half-laughing, half-snorting.

Eurylochus fixed him with a stare that could've melted iron. “A bloody nose that could’ve been a concussion, you stubborn kelp-brained idiot.”

He clutched Odysseus’ jaw again, inspecting the swelling. He hissed. “Gods, you’re puffing up like a bad fish.”

“I’m still handsome, right?” Odysseus said, eyes gleaming with amusement despite the pain.

“You look like you lost a bar fight with a goat,” Eurylochus snapped, jabbing him lightly in the side.

Odysseus grinned through the gauze. “Still hot, though?”

Eurylochus grumbled something unintelligible, face going a bit pink as he turned away to wring out the cloth again.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered. “I swear, if you so much as step near the edge of that deck again, I will personally tie your ankles to the mast.”

“You’d like that,” Odysseus said under his breath.

Eurylochus spun. “WHAT was that?”

“Nothing, Mama Eurylochus.”

“You wanna choke on your own teeth?”

“I’d rather choke on your—”

The rag smacked him straight in the face.

Above deck, the tension had simmered down—barely. Lenon nursed a bruised jaw, Perimedes had a torn sleeve and one hell of a black eye, and the rest of the crew lingered nearby like guilty schoolboys waiting for punishment.

That punishment arrived in the form of thundering footsteps.

Eurylochus shoved open the hatch door and stormed up like a vengeful spirit, shoulders squared, jaw tight, blood still faintly smeared on the front of his tunic.

The crew scattered instinctively.

"You." Eurylochus jabbed a finger at Perimedes.

Perimedes flinched. "Captain said it was okay—"

"Captain has a broken nose because you missed and hit him instead of Lenon, you absolute dung-beetle."

Lenon tried to slip away.

"Don't you move," Eurylochus snarled without even turning. Lenon froze mid-step like a deer. "You think you're off the hook just because you’re not the one who threw the fist? You insulted Elpenor, gods rest him, and then had the nerve to act surprised when someone clocked you for it?"

A murmur went through the crew. Even the winions flinched.

“Y—you’re not even the captain!” Lenon blurted. “You don’t give orders—”

Eurylochus moved. It wasn’t fast—it was quiet. Like a predator who didn’t need speed to strike fear. He got right up in Lenon’s face.

“No,” he said softly. “But I’m the one who hauls him back from death every time he throws himself into the ocean. I’m the one who feeds him when he forgets to eat, who sits awake when he stands watch all night, who wipes the blood off his face when you idiots treat him like a goddamn shield.”

Lenon swallowed hard.

“You hurt him again,” Eurylochus hissed, “and you’ll find out what it feels like when I stop caring enough to hold back.”

Silence. Heavy, guilt-soaked silence.

Someone muttered a soft, "Yes, sir."

Another nodded quickly.

Eurylochus turned away without another word, stalking back toward the hatch.

One of the younger crewmen—maybe Iros—mumbled under his breath, “Didn’t know Eurylochus could talk that much.”

Beside him, Amphidamas whispered, “Didn’t know he could kill with a look.”

The winions were already drawing a little chalk line on the deck that read "DO NOT CROSS—DOG ZONE." A crude doodle of Eurylochus' frowning face guarded it.

It started as a whisper.

Soft. Harmless.

Just a murmur passed between two idle crewmen hauling ropes by the stern.

"You know," one of them—probably Thoon—muttered, "they've been holed up in the captain’s quarters a lot lately."

Amphidamas arched a brow. “They’re guarding the bag.”

“Right. The bag.” Thoon squinted toward the closed door where Eurylochus had last disappeared with Odysseus in tow. “And none of us have seen inside it. Not once. Doesn’t that strike you as a little… convenient?”

Perimedes, still rubbing his sore knuckles, leaned over. “Didn’t the winions say it was treasure?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Thoon threw a hand up. “What if it is? And they’re keeping it to themselves?”

“Eurylochus is terrifying,” someone said from behind the rigging. “You wanna accuse him of that to his face?”

The murmurs deepened. Paranoia bloomed like mold.

“They’ve got something in there.”

“I saw Eurylochus sit on the bag the other night. Sat on it. Like a damned brooding chicken.”

“Odysseus hasn’t eaten properly in days,” someone added. “Maybe he’s rationing the treasure. Doesn’t want us to get soft.”

“Oh gods, what if they’re planning to leave us with it?”

“Or feed us to the fish, take the bag, and sail off together—”

“LIKE LOVERS WITH GOLD.”

A dramatic pause.

Then someone whispered, "Star-crossed pirates."

From the crow’s nest, a winion chirped ominously.

Meanwhile, down in the captain’s quarters, Odysseus was trying to butter a piece of dry bread one-handed with a swollen nose, and Eurylochus was holding the butter knife like he might stab someone else with it if they even breathed wrong.

They had no idea half the ship now thought they were plotting a romantic betrayal and treasure hoard worthy of a bardic epic.

It started with a winion.

A furry, levitating little menace floated into the captain’s quarters, tugged on the hem of Eurylochus’ tunic, and chirped with innocent mischief:

“Are you and Odysseus gonna kiss before you flee with the treasure?”

Odysseus choked on his tea.

Eurylochus froze.

There was a long, vibrating silence.

“…what,” Eurylochus said, voice low. Dangerously low. The winion blinked its big glossy eyes, utterly unbothered.

“You and your mate—uh, your captain—are hoarding the bag so you can run away with the treasure, right?” It pointed to the wind bag nestled like a baby between Odysseus’ legs. “Star-crossed pirate lovers? You’re leaving everyone to die?”

Odysseus, still coughing from the tea that had gone into the wrong pipe, wheezed, “What?!”

Eurylochus was on his feet in an instant, storming out the door.

The crew didn’t even have time to scatter.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU SONS OF SEA SLUGS—” he bellowed from the stairs, eyes blazing, voice echoing like a wrathful god. “—SAID CAPTAIN AND I ARE RUNNING OFF WITH THE GODSDAMNED TREASURE?!”

A few men flinched. One dropped a bucket. The winions vanished like smoke.

Perimedes tried to shuffle backward, and Thoon—traitorous bastard that he was—pointed right at him.

“It was a joke!” Perimedes said quickly, hands raised. “We didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just—you’re scary and always on the bag and Odysseus never eats and the winions keep calling it treasure—”

“Oh, so the floating furballs say it and now I’m hoarding wealth?!” Eurylochus stalked forward. “You think if I had treasure, I’d still be in this floating hell-cursed wooden crypt with you? You think I’d be sleeping with a windbag between me and the most annoying man in Greece every night?!”

“I—”

“Shut up.”

He turned to glare at the rest of the crew.

“No one. Gets near. The bag. Or the captain. Or me, unless you want to find out what happens when I STOP BEING NICE.”

Silence.

Then Odysseus, from behind him, muttered, “You’ve never been nice.”

Eurylochus spun. “And whose fault is that?!”

Odysseus blinked. “...Yours?”

Eurylochus looked five seconds away from launching the windbag at his face.

Later that night, the hull groaned beneath the weight of bad ideas.

In the darkest corner of the lower deck, behind the barrels of dried fish and a stack of regrettable wine, Perimedes, Lenon, and Thoon huddled like children conspiring to steal from the cookie jar—except the cookie jar held the wrath of a god in tightly wound leather.

“Okay,” Lenon whispered, holding a piece of charcoal and scribbling a truly terrible map on a splintered plank. “Odysseus always keeps the bag to his left. Eurylochus sleeps to his right. The windbag is in the middle. We just need to… reach between them.”

Thoon squinted. “You want to reach between Eurylochus and the captain. While they’re cuddling. In bed.”

Perimedes grimaced. “That sounds like a death wish.”

“We’ll wait ‘til they’re asleep!” Lenon hissed. “The bag’s just sitting there! What if it is treasure?! The winions called it treasure!”

“The winions also licked barnacles and tried to eat rope,” Thoon muttered.

Perimedes leaned in, hushed. “Look, what if we open it just a crack? One tiny peek. If it’s treasure, we split it. If it’s just wind, we close it again. Boom. Done.”

“Boom is exactly what it’ll be if it’s wind,” Thoon snapped. “Odysseus said it was a storm!”

“And Odysseus said that we would win the war  in two years,” Lenon shot back. “And where did that get us?!”

They all stared grimly at the floor for a moment.

“Alright,” Perimedes finally said. “Tonight. We wait. We sneak. We peek. We don’t die.”

“Hopefully.”

They spit in their hands and shook on it like idiots.

Above deck, inside the captain’s quarters, Eurylochus narrowed his eyes.

“…I felt something stupid just happen.”

Odysseus, half-asleep, grunted and shifted against him. “Probably Perimedes again.”

Eurylochus scowled. He pulled the bag closer.

The door creaked.

Three shapes slithered inside like guilty snakes.

Lenon, Perimedes, and Thoon, barefoot and holding their breath, tiptoed across the floor, sweat already pearling on their brows.

“Shhhh,” Lenon whispered harshly. “You’re stepping too loud!”

“That’s the wood, you donkey—”

“Shhh!”

They reached the bed.

Eurylochus shifted.

All three froze.

Odysseus sighed and nestled closer, mumbling something about a map.

Eurylochus’ grip tightened instinctively around the bag.

Perimedes slowly extended a hand—trembling—toward the bundle between them.

He got within an inch.

And then—

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Eurylochus exploded upward like a thunderclap, eyes wild, teeth bared like a wolf, one arm still coiled around the bag.

Perimedes screamed and fell backward into Lenon, who yelped and knocked over the lantern with a loud CLANG.

Thoon made the mistake of lunging forward in panic—and immediately got tackled to the floor by Eurylochus, who was suddenly wide awake and full berserker mode.

“YOU SORRY, TREASURE-THIRSTY PIECES OF—”

“Eurylochus, baby, please don’t kill them,” Odysseus mumbled groggily, still mostly buried in blankets.

Eurylochus, panting, looked down at the tangled, terrified trio beneath him. “They were trying to steal the bag!”

“I gathered,” Odysseus said. “You’re on top of Thoon. Could you maybe not break his spine?”

“I should.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

“You’re too stabby.”

Thoon whimpered.

Eurylochus growled low, snatched the bag off the bed, and cradled it against his chest like a sacred relic. “If one more idiot lays a hand on this—”

“We thought it was treasure!” Lenon wailed from the floor.

“IT IS—A STORM!!” Eurylochus screamed. “A GOD-WRATHED STORM!”

“…So no gold?”

Odysseus sat up, rubbing his face. “If you want gold, go to Circe’s island and marry a pig.”

They both knew that was a myth.

Eurylochus hissed like a cat and began dragging all three by the scruffs of their necks toward the door. “Get. OUT.”

“You don’t have to—”

“OUT.”

The door slammed behind them.

Eurylochus returned to bed, chest heaving, clutching the bag in one arm and Odysseus in the other.

“…Love,” Odysseus said slowly, “have I ever told you you’re terrifying?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re mine.”

“Damn right I am.”

"What?"

"What?"

Chapter Text

The sun was barely above the horizon when the bickering started—again.

Odysseus sat cross-legged on the deck with a half-eaten ration in hand, squinting toward the open sea like it might hold some divine answer. Eurylochus was beside him, arms crossed, blanket draped around his shoulders like a judgmental grandmother.

"I'm just saying," Odysseus began, mouth full, "there's no way she turned men into pigs. It’s metaphor. Allegory. Like... maybe she just served a bad stew."

Eurylochus snorted. "Or they were dumbasses acting like pigs and got themselves thrown in a sty."

"Exactly!" Odysseus gestured with his bread dramatically. "She didn’t turn them into animals. They already were."

"Any woman with enough sense to dose a shipful of sweaty men with something to shut them up isn’t a witch—she’s a genius."

Odysseus grinned. “So you agree she wasn’t magical?”

“I agree that the myth of Circe is exaggerated crap made up by sailors who got too drunk and needed someone to blame when they woke up in a pigpen.”

“Which, honestly, is fair.”

“...Still not real.”

“Completely not real.”

“Obviously not real.”

They sat in silence a beat. A seagull squawked above.

Then Odysseus mused, “But if she was real—”

Eurylochus jabbed him with an elbow. “Don’t start.”

“What?” Odysseus grinned, wincing. “You think I can’t take on a mythical enchantress?”

“You nearly died climbing a rope, Odysseus.”

“And yet here I am.”

“Because I jumped in after you!”

“Romantic, wasn’t it?”

Eurylochus scowled, yanked the blanket tighter around himself, and muttered, “You’re lucky I like you.”

Odysseus leaned in with a smirk. “Love me.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

Eurylochus rolled his eyes, but a hint of pink touched his ears as he looked away. “Circe isn’t real. End of discussion.”

Odysseus just hummed, smugly, and leaned his head onto Eurylochus’ shoulder. “Noted. But if we do find her island, I’m making you try her stew.”

“…I will throw you into the sea.”

Odysseus, still sprawled dramatically against Eurylochus' shoulder, kicked his legs lazily and stared up at the clouds.

“All right, all right,” he said, voice lilting with that tone that meant nothing good was coming next. “If Circe’s not real, what about Calypso?”

Eurylochus grunted. “The nymph who traps men with love and singing?”

“Mmhm.”

“Also fake.”

“You’re just saying that because she’d never want you.”

“I’m married to reality,” Eurylochus deadpanned.

Odysseus barked a laugh. “A tragic union, truly.”

“I don’t believe in immortal songstresses lounging on hidden islands waiting for bedraggled sailors to wash ashore. That’s wishful thinking for men who can’t handle being single.”

Odysseus smirked. “So if I got stranded on an island with a gorgeous woman who offered me immortality and pleasure for the rest of time, you wouldn’t be jealous?”

Eurylochus turned his head slowly, giving him a flat look. “I’d sail over and beat her with an oar.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Romantic,” Odysseus murmured, grinning.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.”

They sat a moment longer, the ocean wind combing through their hair.

“Okay,” Odysseus said. “What about Harpies?”

Eurylochus grimaced. “Ugh. I’ve seen enough angry seagulls to believe in those.”

“So they’re real?”

“No, but I understand how a drunk sailor could mistake a sea bird for a screeching half-bird hag.”

Odysseus held up a finger. “So not real, but emotionally real.”

“Like your leadership.”

“…Low blow.”

Eurylochus shrugged. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you.”

“I better be,” Odysseus grumbled. “After all, I’m the one who’s going to have to fight the mythical monsters when they do show up.”

Eurylochus glanced at him, expression dry. “And I’m the one who’s going to have to keep your dumbass from dying while you try to flirt with them.”

Odysseus snorted. “Not all monsters are hot, you know.”

“Well, now I’m worried.”

Odysseus leaned his chin on Eurylochus' shoulder, eyes half-lidded with boredom and mischief. “All right. Sirens.”

Eurylochus stiffened slightly. “Real.”

Odysseus snorted, pulling back a little. “You believe in sirens, but not Calypso?”

“Sirens make sense,” Eurylochus said, like it was obvious. “You ever hear wind across the rocks when you’re half-asleep? Sounds like singing. And ships crash for no reason all the time. You can’t tell me it’s always storms.”

“That’s called bad sailing.”

“It’s called something’s out there, and it’s singing like it wants your bones,” Eurylochus muttered, rubbing the side of his arm. “I believe in sirens. You should too.”

Odysseus gave him a long, amused look. “You’re really scared of ghostly ladies singing to you?”

“I’m scared of what you’d do if you heard one.”

“Hey, I’m not that easy—”

“You danced on the edge of the ship this morning, Odysseus. Don’t lie to me.”

The captain groaned, flopping back on the deck beside him like a dramatic cat. “Okay, fine. What about hydras?”

Eurylochus tilted his head. “You think they’re real?”

Odysseus grimaced. “Mm. No. A snake with multiple heads that grows back when you cut one off? Sounds like someone was high off lotus and fought a bush.”

Eurylochus snorted, lips twitching. “A very aggressive bush.”

“Exactly.”

“But you do believe in Cyclopses.”

Odysseus sat up again, voice suddenly a touch more serious. “Of course I do. One killed Polites.”

Eurylochus’s jaw clenched, and the amusement vanished from his expression.

“We saw it,” Odysseus continued, quieter now. “One eye. Towering. Flesh and muscle like stone. That wasn’t a myth. That was real.”

Eurylochus nodded once. “Yeah.”

They both went silent for a moment.

Then Odysseus forced a grin, trying to lift the mood. “But you still think a bunch of sexy sky-mermaids are more dangerous than a man-eating giant?”

Eurylochus raised an eyebrow. “Yes. At least you run from a Cyclops. You’d probably try to seduce a siren.”

“…Damn. You’re probably right.”

“You know I am.”

Odysseus stuck his hand out, fingers wiggling. “Pinky promise.”

Eurylochus blinked. “What?”

Odysseus held it higher, solemn now. “That I’ll always stay with you. No more climbing ropes in the rain, no more dancing on ship rails, no running off to wrestle gods. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eurylochus stared at him for a second, lips parted, before a soft snort of laughter slipped out. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Maybe,” Odysseus said, with a grin, “but I’m your idiot.”

With a mock sigh, Eurylochus hooked his pinky around Odysseus’. “Fine. Pinky promise. You stay with me, I keep dragging your reckless ass out of trouble.”

Odysseus beamed. “Deal.”

Eurylochus tugged their joined pinkies close, pressing a small kiss to Odysseus’ knuckle before smirking. “S’not legally binding, but I’ll kill you if you break it.”

“Romantic,” Odysseus teased, pulling him down into a tangle of limbs and laughter. “Very Saman of you.”

They ended up sprawled across the captain’s bed, giggling like idiots, Eurylochus curled against Odysseus’ side with his arms tucked possessively around his waist. The bag of wind sat safely tied on a nearby table, entirely forgotten in the glow of their ridiculous little moment.

Odysseus leaned his forehead against Eurylochus’, voice soft. “You know I meant it, right?”

“I know,” Eurylochus murmured, tightening his hold. “Me too.”

They laid tangled together in the warmth of the dim-lit quarters, blankets draped lazily over them, the wind outside murmuring like a lullaby through the sails.

Eurylochus shifted just slightly, chin resting against Odysseus' shoulder as his fingers traced slow, idle circles on his chest. He watched the flicker of candlelight over his captain’s face—over the slight crease between his brows that never seemed to vanish.

“Hey,” Eurylochus murmured, quiet and unsure, “Is the Lady of the Owls still... watching over you?”

Odysseus flinched almost imperceptibly.

There was a long pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want to hear it himself:
“…No.”

Eurylochus blinked. “What?”

Odysseus swallowed. “She hasn’t… not since.. Polites.” His voice was a scrape of breath, brittle. “She doesn’t speak to me. Doesn’t send signs. I think—maybe she’s abandoned me. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I’m just not worth—”

Eurylochus sat up, frowning, and promptly shoved his hands beneath Odysseus’ arms and yanked him bodily up into his lap.

“Wh—Eury—what the hell are you—!”

“Hush,” Eurylochus grumbled, wrapping his arms around Odysseus like a protective burrito blanket. “You are absolutely worth divine attention, you overly complicated, self-loathing sea bastard.”

Odysseus blinked, half-draped across Eurylochus’ lap like a sulking cat. “This is embarrassing.”

“Good. Let it humble you.” Eurylochus pressed a firm kiss to his hair. “She’s stupid anyway. She’s probably jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of me,” Eurylochus said, matter-of-fact. “Because I get to have you.”

Odysseus let out a weak, surprised snort.

“And also because she probably wanted you to do something smart with your brain and instead you’re out here wrestling monsters and climbing death ropes in thunderstorms like a lunatic.”

That got a laugh.

A tired, raw little laugh—but real.

Eurylochus pulled the blankets up and nuzzled into his curls. “She’ll come back around, or she won’t. Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, god-blessed or not.”

“…Possessive much?”

“Absolutely.”

Odysseus turned his head slowly, the smile on his face starting to curl in that dangerous, mischievous way that made Eurylochus' stomach do backflips and his survival instincts scream at him to flee.

“...You’re mine, huh?” Odysseus echoed with a smug tilt of his head, eyes glittering.

Eurylochus narrowed his gaze. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare.”

“Odysseus—”

Too late.

Odysseus twisted, throwing his full weight sideways and sending both of them tumbling off the bed with a thud and a cascade of tangled blankets. Eurylochus yelped as his back hit the floor, immediately met with Odysseus grinning down at him, straddling his hips.

“You little—!”

“Lunatic? Sea bastard? Sea bastard lunatic?” Odysseus supplied cheerfully.

“I was going to say dumbass,” Eurylochus growled and bucked his hips up, trying to throw him off.

Odysseus clung like a barnacle, laughing as they rolled across the floor, knocking over a stool and sending a pile of scrolls scattering like fallen leaves.

The wind bag, sitting safely on a shelf, wobbled dangerously.

“Careful!” Eurylochus barked, grabbing Odysseus by the waist and flipping them again. “That thing goes off and I’m tying you to the mast and feeding you to the sky gods myself!”

“Hot,” Odysseus wheezed from beneath him, pinned again, face flushed and laughing.

Eurylochus paused, glaring.

“…You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

Eurylochus leaned down, foreheads pressed, breath warm against each other’s mouths. “I do,” he admitted. “Unfortunately.”

Odysseus smirked. “You’re doomed.”

“Already was, the day I met you.”

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together on the floor, still catching their breath.

“Should we... get up?” Odysseus eventually mumbled.

“Nah,” Eurylochus muttered, dragging a blanket off the bed and flopping it over them. “Floor’s fine.”

Blanket tossed over their heads like a crooked tent, the two men lay tangled together on the floor, Eurylochus half-on-top of Odysseus, the wind bag ominously wobbling on the shelf above them like it was judging their decisions.

“…This is domestic,” Odysseus whispered.

Eurylochus gave a snort-laugh and elbowed him gently. “This is idiotic.”

“Which is domestic, in our case.”

“You started a wrestling match next to the most dangerous object on the ship.”

“I started a playful bonding ritual,” Odysseus corrected, rolling them slightly so he could nose against Eurylochus’ temple. “It’s healthy. Builds trust. Increases serotonin.”

Eurylochus groaned into his chest. “I swear to the gods, if you say one more thing that sounds like it came from an Asklepian self-help scroll—”

“You are the sea to my storm, the rope to my mast, the oar to my sanity,” Odysseus sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms tighter around Eurylochus, nuzzling his hair.

“I’m going to throw you overboard,” Eurylochus mumbled, flustered.

“You’d miss me.”

“…I would.”

A beat.

Odysseus grinned. “You just admitted it.”

Eurylochus groaned again. “Why do I ever talk to you.”

“Because I’m irresistible, and you love me.”

“I love you in spite of you.”

“Romantic!”

They devolved into giggles—actual, ridiculous giggles—until the door creaked open.

Lenon stood there, blinking.

He looked at the pile of limbs, the blanket tent, the knocked-over furniture, the wind bag barely upright, and Odysseus whispering “He’s warm like a fuzzy storm cloud” into Eurylochus’ hair.

Lenon slowly, silently closed the door.

Odysseus snorted. “We’re legends.”

Eurylochus covered his face with both hands. “We’re disasters.”

Odysseus reached up, tugged his hands away, and kissed him on the nose.

“Disasters together, love.”

Odysseus paused.

The laughter quieted like a tide pulling back from shore. Eurylochus’ head had dropped back down to his chest, arms still loosely curled around Odysseus’ waist, but his voice was soft now—barely a whisper muffled by cloth and heartbeat.

“…I miss Ctimene.”

Odysseus exhaled, slow and careful, his hand instinctively moving up to stroke his fingers through Eurylochus’ hair. “I know,” he murmured.

There was a silence. Not awkward—just… aching.

“She’d have scolded me for following you up that rope,” Eurylochus went on, voice thick. “Then helped me patch you up anyway.”

Odysseus gave a small smile. “That sounds like her.”

“She used to glare at me when I came back from hunts with bruises. And then that night she’d crush me under a dozen blankets like that would fix it.”

He laughed once, bitterly.

“I keep waking up thinking she’ll be next to me. That I’ll turn and she’ll be there. I—I hate the way it fades. The scent, the sound of her voice. I’m scared I’ll forget how she looked when she was angry.”

Odysseus' hand slipped down to take his, fingers threading tight.

“You won’t,” he said. “She’s too stubborn to let you.”

Eurylochus swallowed, shut his eyes.

Odysseus looked at him, gently nudged his forehead with his own.

“She’s not gone. Just… further. And if there’s any gods worth their salt left in this world, they’ll carry word to her. That you’re alive. That you’re fighting. That you’re still cursing her brother like clockwork.”

A small, huffing laugh from Eurylochus.

“…She’d punch you in the arm for making me cry.”

“I deserve it.”

Another pause. Then:

“I miss her too.”

Eurylochus nodded against his chest.

“Let’s make it back to her,” Odysseus said. “Both of us. Wind bag, mutinous crew, sea monsters and all.”

Eurylochus let out a breath, steadied himself, then looked up and whispered, “We better. Because if I die before I see her again, I’m going to find a way to haunt your ass.”

“Oh, please do. You’d make a great ghost. Very bitey.”

“Shut up.”

Odysseus smiled.

“…No.”

Eurylochus' voice was quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing into dangerous territory.

“Do you think... Penelope and Ctimene are... you know... doing something while we’re gone?”

Odysseus’ brow furrowed slightly, his fingers still tracing light patterns along Eurylochus' arm.

“Something like what?” he asked, though the way his voice trailed off made it clear he had an inkling of where the conversation was heading.

“You know,” Eurylochus mumbled, not looking up. “Romantic stuff. Like... are they... together? It just seems like...” His voice was tight, unsure, like he was debating whether it was okay to even ask.

Odysseus’ lips quirked upward, though his expression remained thoughtful. “You’re worried about them?”

“I guess,” Eurylochus replied, dragging a hand through his hair. “It just feels weird, you know? Not seeing them, not being there to... protect them. I don't know. I think... I think I’d understand if they, I don’t know, found comfort in each other while we're stuck out here. And honestly? I can’t say I’d blame them.”

Odysseus stayed quiet for a moment, his mind working over the thought.

“I don’t think Penelope would do that,” he finally said. “I’ve known her long enough. She’s loyal. To the point of self-sabotage, really. But Ctimene...” Odysseus' voice softened, almost wistful. “I don’t know. She’s... She has her own fire, doesn’t she? It wouldn't surprise me if she found some way to distract herself.”

“Do you think it would hurt you?” Eurylochus asked cautiously, trying to read Odysseus' reaction.

Odysseus let out a quiet breath, his gaze turning toward the ceiling, then back to Eurylochus. “It would sting. Probably. But... I guess that’s the nature of being gone for so long, huh? People change. They don’t stay frozen in time for you.”

Eurylochus blinked at him, biting his lip as if trying to find the right words.

“Do you think it’s... wrong for them to... look for someone else while we’re gone?” Eurylochus asked softly, still unsure.

“No.” Odysseus shook his head firmly, his hand settling gently on Eurylochus' shoulder. “Not wrong. Just... hard. Life’s hard enough without holding onto the idea that everyone is going to stay the same.”

Eurylochus took a deep breath, finally meeting Odysseus' gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his lips twitched into a small smile.

“Yeah. I guess you're right.”

“And what about you?” Odysseus raised an eyebrow, teasing now. “What would you do if I found someone else while you were stuck here?”

Eurylochus groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Please don’t put that on me. I’m barely handling this as it is.”

Odysseus chuckled, pulling him closer. “You know I’d never.”

Eurylochus gave a soft huff of frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and he allowed himself to lean into Odysseus’ chest.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you,” Eurylochus muttered.

“And I love you too,” Odysseus murmured back, the quiet of the ship enveloping them once more.

For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of the waves lapping gently against the hull, their warmth mingling in the cool night air.

Eurylochus, sensing the need to shift the conversation to something less... vulnerable, cleared his throat and gave Odysseus a sideways glance.

“Okay, okay, let’s—let’s change the subject,” he muttered. “I have a question for you. Real hypothetical stuff. Who would win in a fight—100 men or 1 dragon?”

Odysseus blinked, momentarily thrown off by the abruptness of the question. He stared at Eurylochus for a beat, like he was trying to read the seriousness in his eyes.

Eurylochus looked more like he was bracing for some kind of debate, his eyes wide with curiosity.

But Odysseus just looked back at him, deadpan, without missing a beat.

“A dragon would win over 4000 men.”

Eurylochus froze, blinking in confusion. “Wait, wait, hold on. You really think one dragon could wipe out 4000 men? Are you serious?”

Odysseus didn’t even flinch. “One dragon? Easily. That thing could fly, breathe fire, tear through them with claws, and probably cause chaos just by existing.” He gestured lazily in the air, like he was explaining something simple.

Eurylochus sat up slightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “But—100 men! They could overwhelm it, right? Like, surround it, take it down with sheer numbers?”

Odysseus stared at him, as though the very premise was laughable. “What kind of 100 men are you imagining? A hundred battle-hardened warriors? Maybe. But I’m imagining a dragon with fire that could burn half of them before they even got close. The rest would be nothing but roasted flesh.”

Eurylochus gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, like he didn’t even know what to say.

“You’re telling me,” he began slowly, “that one dragon could wipe out every single one of those men? Just like that?”

“Exactly.” Odysseus nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Dragons are nature’s terror. There’s no competition.”

Eurylochus raised an eyebrow and then let out a long breath, clearly trying to wrap his head around the idea. “I don’t know... that still sounds like overkill.”

“Think about it,” Odysseus pushed, shifting slightly to sit more comfortably. “The dragon’s going to burn you from the air, tear through the ranks. The men don’t even have the mobility or the advantage of range. They’d have to fight on the dragon’s terms.”

“And what about, like...” Eurylochus ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly frustrated but intrigued, “...what about the men with spears? What if they all had long weapons?”

Odysseus looked at him with a half-grin. “Spears are great for a lot of things. But against a flying, fire-breathing beast? They’re just kindling.”

Eurylochus groaned and slumped back down, looking defeated. “Well, I guess you’ve convinced me. One dragon wins. What a way to ruin a perfectly good hypothetical.”

Odysseus chuckled, reaching up to give his shoulder a light tap. “I know. Sorry to burst your imagination bubble.”

They sat there for a moment, Eurylochus still processing the absurdity of the idea, while Odysseus looked content, the tension from before gone, at least for now.

“Maybe we’ll never have to deal with dragons,” Eurylochus mumbled after a beat, rolling onto his side to face Odysseus again.

“No dragons in our future, I promise,” Odysseus said, though a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “Unless, of course, they somehow have a thing for... heroes and their companions.”

Eurylochus snorted, but there was a tired smile on his face. “In that case, I’ll let you fight the dragon, since you’re so sure you’d win.”

“I’m always sure I’d win.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say I was going to fight the dragon,” Eurylochus teased, pulling the blanket up a little higher around them.

“You don’t have to,” Odysseus said, voice lowering, “I’ve got this. I’ll protect you.”

Eurylochus rolled his eyes but leaned into Odysseus' side, his exhaustion still visible despite his attempt to keep up with the teasing.

The night was quiet, the ship gently rocking against the soft rhythm of the waves. Eurylochus and Odysseus, both exhausted from the day's events, had finally succumbed to sleep in their usual shared space, the only sounds in the captain's quarters being the occasional creak of wood and the distant calls of seabirds.

But as the two of them lay there, tangled in the warmth of the blankets, something was amiss. The bag of winds, which had been a constant, guarded presence between them since they’d first acquired it, now sat forgotten on the floor.

The bag—never to be left alone—was now left unattended, its contents of storm winds sealed inside, potentially just waiting for a mistake.

A few hours passed in peaceful slumber.

Then, a soft breeze started to stir through the cabin, faint but noticeable. It was as if the wind itself had grown restless, like something was beckoning it, or even calling it.

Odysseus shifted in his sleep, unconsciously reaching for the bag, his hand brushing over the empty space next to him. His brow furrowed, as though he instinctively knew that something was wrong.

But the sleepiness clouding his mind kept him from fully waking, and he rolled back over with a soft grunt, his body curling around Eurylochus as he nestled in for a few more hours of rest. Eurylochus, still deep in sleep, barely stirred—his usual protective instinct not even awake enough to realize the risk they were in.

Then, just as the night reached its darkest point, the wind outside began to pick up, moving quicker and stronger, like it had found its way through the cracks in the ship.

The wind wasn’t just any breeze now. It was a gale, an energy that seemed to pull at the very air itself, whispering in the quietest corners of the room.

With a suddenness that made the entire ship groan, the wind howled through the cracks, swirling and gathering in the air around them. The very storm that had been contained inside the bag had slipped out, silently creeping into the space where the two lay.

Odysseus and Eurylochus remained blissfully unaware, their bodies entwined in the warmth of slumber. But the bag, now abandoned, was beginning to stir its contents.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the door, causing it to creak open just enough for the storm inside the bag to breathe.

The air thickened with energy, a ripple of power like the calm before a storm. And somewhere, deep within the shadows of the cabin, the bag twitched, as though it recognized the moment it had been waiting for.

...

Footsteps approached.

Quiet,

Scheming,

Footsteps.