Chapter Text
Telling Achilles anything had been a mistake, because now he won't stop pestering Patroclus.
He asks for more details. First, of course, who the mysterious boy is. You, Patroclus is dying to blurt, but he keeps his lips sealed. He needs time to think over how he will go about stepping over this boundary, perfect the confession just at the tip of his tongue.
Achilles would embarrass him if he told him who it was, Patroclus lies instead. It seems to do the trick.
"Then I'll find out myself," Achilles had promised over lunch one day. Patroclus paused mid-chew, sandwich half eaten in his hands as he gazed over his laptop and at his determined friend. "I'll make sure he's good enough for you. Only the best man can date you, Patroclus."
Patroclus had blushed at that. He sputtered in protest and ducked his head back behind his computer screen while his friend went on about Patroclus deserving someone as wonderful as him, how he would need to have any boyfriend approved by himself. The more he talked the lower Patroclus sank in his seat. Achilles and his sincerity would be the death of him.
They walk together to class, Patroclus pulling the sleeves of his jacket over his hands to shield himself against the cold. Beside him, Achilles has a scarf wrapped around his neck and carefully placed over his nose and mouth. There's nothing to protect his ears. The tips are a bright red that Patroclus can't help but glance at every now and then.
"Is he in your major?" Achilles asks. They'd started this strange game of twenty questions where he'd pop a question about the mystery boy and Patroclus would give a one word answer. It irritated Achilles to no end, much to Patroclus' amusement, but a bad answer was better than nothing.
Patroclus hums thoughtfully and taps his chin. He can sense Achilles' agitation as he pretends to give the question some thought. "No," he says truthfully. Patroclus may want to keep his feelings at bay for now, but he'd never lie to Achilles. "He isn't. Sciences bore him, I think."
Achilles nods in understanding. Patroclus was a biology major with intent to do something in the medical field. What exactly, he wasn't sure of yet. Nursing sounded nice, but Patroclus had always been a little meek around strangers. Any time he talked about medicine or future careers, Achilles' gaze would gloss over with disinterest. "Is he a business major?"
"No."
"Good. You can do better than a business major." Patroclus and Achilles share a smile. They continue on in a comfortable silence before Achilles tries again. "Something art related?"
Patroclus can see his classroom building up ahead. Achilles' class was still a ways down the road, but his friend always insisted they walk together. He was on the track team, Achilles would say when Patroclus protested. He could easily cover the extra half a mile in a minute or two.
He doesn't want this game to be over, as silly as it is. Patroclus almost never wants to tell Achilles the truth. Watching his friend take so much interest in his life was… endearing. Patroclus worries that when it's over- if Achilles doesn't reject him, of course- that they'll go back to less personal conversational topics. Patroclus wasn't sure he could handle it if all they talked about were Achilles' weekend track meets and how to find the standard deviation of a particular math problem.
So he shrugs. "He's no good at drawing, and I think he'd be a terrible actor."
Achilles tips his head to one side. "How about music?"
Patroclus thinks of the guitar propped against his friend's wall in his dorm, of the sheet music spread haphazardly along the floor. The gentle strum of soft love ballads that graced his ears when he did his homework at Achilles' place and the excitement plastered so plainly on Achilles' face when he told Patroclus he'd learned a new song and wanted to play it for him.
"This is my stop," he says, expertly skirting the question. "I'll see you in a few hours."
Achilles stares. "Wait!" He reaches out to grab Patroclus' wrist, but Patroclus dances out of reach before he can be caught. "So is he a musician or not?!"
"Bye, Achilles."
He can hear Achilles grumbling under his breath about how unfair Patroclus was as the door shuts behind him.
…
"What color is his hair?"
Patroclus looks up from his textbook, pencil hovering over the page in his notebook. He'd felt Achilles' bore through him while they did homework together in Patroclus' apartment, and he'd simply been waiting for his friend to break. "I can't tell you what he looks like," he objects. "You'll bother every guy on campus with the same hair and eye color."
Achilles sits backwards in Patroclus' desk chair, arms crossed over the back. His face is hidden in his forearms except his eyes, which narrow at Patroclus' reluctance to answer. "So it's an uncommon color?"
Ah, Achilles had him there. But if Patroclus started describing Achilles in detail, even the hard-headed athlete would be able to figure it out eventually. "No," Patroclus relents. Just one more bit of information wouldn't hurt. "Blond hair."
His stomach drops when his friend's eyes grow big with realization. "Oh! Like me!" Achilles takes a lock of hair and twists it around his finger. He's so cute that it makes Patroclus' heart ache terribly. Or maybe that was just the anxiety of being found out.
"I guess so, yeah." Patroclus hopes he sounds more dismissive than he thinks. His voice seems so shaky to his own ears.
"Hmm…" Patroclus is on his stomach doing his work on the floor. Achilles tended to sit wherever pleased him with no care that this wasn't his room, and that usually meant stealing Patroclus' bed or desk. Not like Patroclus minded. He liked this more comfortable position.
So it takes him by surprise when Achilles' face comes into view. He's slid off the chair and mirrored Patroclus' posture, legs crossed in the air carelessly.
His eyes are beautiful up close. They sparkle like cut gemstones, a kaleidoscope of greens and golds and blues. Patroclus finds his lips parting as he takes in the sight in front of him, and it takes an effort to close his mouth.
"Is he as handsome as me?" Achilles teases, grinning wide. Gods, he would really be the death of Patroclus. There's no way to respond to that, nothing that wouldn't incriminate Patroclus immediately. He's trapped in a corner. Maybe Achilles wasn't as dense as he thought he was. If he says yes, this boy is just as handsome, then he's admitting he finds Achilles attractive. And Patroclus would never say no. He can't possibly lie through his teeth like that to someone he cares about so dearly.
Patroclus swallows and tries to act nonchalant. He picks up a highlighter and streaks yellow over a word just to have something to do with his hands. Yellow, like the golden ringlets that fall in Achilles' eyes when he takes his hair out of its ponytail. "He's… the most handsome boy I've ever met. He's radiant, like the sun. No one could ever compare."
When he glances up, Achilles' smile has fallen.
"He sounds marvelous," Achilles says, but his tone is flat and his gaze has hardened. Patroclus stares at him openly. He hadn't hurt his ego, had he? Achilles had never minded being poked at in the past.
Achilles works in a heated silence. He scribbles the steps to his problems more aggressively than usual, his lips set in a straight line. Patroclus offers his input on how Achilles is working towards an answer, and his friend tenses in response instead of the usual light-hearted laugh followed by a 'thank you.'
Why is he being so weird? Surely he isn't jealous? Jealous of himself, Patroclus' brain reminds him helpfully. As if he wasn't already aware of the dilemma he'd put himself in. Leave it to him to mess things up by making Achilles envy himself.
When he finishes his homework, Achilles packs up his stuff to leave. It's extremely out of the ordinary: usually he'd stay and talk to Patroclus until one of them reluctantly left to see to prior obligations, or Achilles would complain about his stomach growling and drag Patroclus along to go eat somewhere. The sight leaves Patroclus stunned, unable to do anything except watch as Achilles zips up his bag more aggressively than usual.
He's only shaken from his daze when he feels fingers curl around his wrist. Patroclus startles and looks up into Achilles' eyes. His heart pounds in his chest. Achilles had never looked so intense, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown and his nose wrinkled.
"Patroclus," he says simply.
"Achilles." His friend's grip on his arm is gentle, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions on his face.
Achilles seems to soften at his own name. He lifts Patroclus' wrist and moves his hand to gently cup Patroclus'. His palm is warm and soft, and Patroclus fears his own might be gross and clammy with nerves. Somewhere in the back of his mind there's some sense, a logical voice telling Patroclus that the real issue wasn't how his hand might feel to the boy he likes, it was why exactly Achilles was doing this in the first place.
"Don't forget about me," Achilles murmurs, his voice softer than Patroclus can remember it ever being before. He lowers his lips to Patroclus' hand and brushes them against his knuckles. "Even with the boy. Even when you graduate. Don't leave me."
Patroclus inhales raggedly. His fingers twitch, and his whole hand tingles where Achilles touches him. "Never," he promises quietly. He's scared that if he speaks louder than a whisper, he might break this strange spell that has settled over them. "I wouldn't dare."
His answer seems to satisfy Achilles. He drops Patroclus' hand as quickly as he'd taken it, and Patroclus feels so much colder than he had before. "Tomorrow at the library? Same time?" Patroclus rubs his hand absently, unable to stop himself from staring at his own fingers. What had just happened? "Oh, I may be a few minutes late, so don't leave if I'm not there. I have a politics exam I have to take." His mood seems to have dissolved, fizzled out into only the kindlings of a raging fire. There’s still the spark of something close to madness in Achilles’ eyes, but his lips are pulled back in his usual lazy smile. Strange. Patroclus had witnessed his bizarre switch in emotions before, but never to this extent.
How could Achilles be so collected when Patroclus felt like he was about to crumble to dust? He nods a little bit, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Okay." His voice cracks, and Patroclus wants to hide and wither away to nothing. If Achilles notices, he doesn't mention it.
…
There’s still an edge to his friend the following day and the week that stretches after that. Patroclus catches Achilles watching him intently more than once. Achilles diverts his eyes the first few times, but he eventually stops trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring.
“Is something wrong with my face?” Patroclus had asked the first time Achilles gave up looking away.
“No. Never.” Achilles propped his head up on one hand, elbow leaning against the library table. “Is something wrong with mine?” His gaze was cool, steady. There’s a warning in his voice that Patroclus couldn’t quite place.
“What? No, I just-”
“Can you explain how you did that again?” Achilles interrupted. It was the third time he’d asked Patroclus to go over a particular problem. Each time he’d repeated his steps before, Achilles had gotten closer so he could watch over Patroclus’ shoulder. By now, their arms were pressed together and Achilles was so close that Patroclus could see the light spatter of freckles across his tanned face. It made it difficult to think, and Patroclus stuttered worse the third time around than he had previously.
They work now in the library, Achilles by Patroclus’ side despite the two empty chairs on the other side of the table. Patroclus takes notes on one of his chemistry classes while Achilles lays his head on his arms. He’s drowsy, eyes half closed after studying all night- or so he claims.
“Do you see him often?” he mumbles, muffled by his mouth pressed against his arm.
Patroclus pauses, pen hovering over his textbook. “Who?”
“The boy.” Achilles smiles slightly. “The one you’re replacing me with.”
“I’m not-” Patroclus huffs and pokes Achilles in the forehead with the butt of his pen, earning a half-hearted grunt in response. “You’re not being replaced. I don’t think anyone could compare to you and your insanity.”
His smile grows wider. “Mm… but you didn’t answer my question.”
Patroclus isn’t sure how many more details he could disclose to Achilles. His questions had gotten a lot more pointed as of late, and Patroclus just barely managed to answer them without giving away too much. Sooner rather than later he was going to have to fess up. “I do, yes,” Patroclus admits slowly. “Although not enough for my liking.”
Achilles shifts so he’s leaning his head against Patroclus’ bicep instead. His golden curls splay across his friend’s shoulder. Patroclus feels like he cannot breathe, choking on the air caught in his throat. If he moves, Achilles will surely leave. This moment is as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. “Don’t spend less time with me.” His eyes flutter closed, and Achilles turns his face so it’s buried in Patroclus’ sleeve. “How am I to pass statistics if I lose you?”
His weight against Patroclus' arm is comforting, more welcome than he could've ever imagined. It was rare for Achilles to be so… possessive. Even if it was because he was jealous of someone stealing his friend away from him, it was endearing. Patroclus loves this boy so dearly.
"As if you'd ever let me go," he teases. "I'd have my Favorite Statistics Failure blowing up my phone." He lets himself have this small piece of paradise. Patroclus timidly lifts his other hand, the one not currently weighed down by a cute guy, and cards his fingers through Achilles' hair. His curls are wild but not tangled, and they're softer than Patroclus had dreamed of.
Achilles hums in agreement, or possibly approval at the fingers gently tugging at his hair. Patroclus would like to think the latter. "You forgot the emojis," he says. "They add flare."
"Sorry, I mean Favorite Statistics Failure Heart, Sparkles, Eyes, Winky Face."
His friend nods. "Much better."
…
The weekend is the first one with nice weather since the beginning of winter. There isn’t a chill that bites through Patroclus as he makes his way to the pond with Achilles, their arms interlocked. His friend carries a tote bag with a blanket and some snacks they’d prepared. Achilles had been the one to suggest they have a picnic to celebrate the end of fall, and Patroclus couldn’t imagine any other way he would want to spend his Saturday.
It had been a surprise when Achilles stepped out of his dorm building and immediately hooked his arm through Patroclus’, but Patroclus had long since learned not to question any changes to Achilles’ behavior. He’d tilt his head and play dumb or, worse, grow agitated and shut down. Patroclus didn’t want to take any chances and ruin their outing together.
“Have you been to Theta Pond before?” Achilles asks, bumping his shoulder against Patroclus’.
Patroclus thinks hard. His first two years before Achilles came to campus had been packed with studying. He was too shy to go to any parties he had been invited to, and there was no significant other in his life. Patroclus’ only real friend he hung out with was Bri, and she had stopped inviting him out a while ago. “I don’t think so,” Patroclus admits.
Achilles snorts in amusement. “It’s in the middle of campus! I would’ve thought even a stickler like you would take time to visit some of the sights. Where have you been going all this time?”
A stickler. Patroclus frowns. He wasn’t that boring, was he? Achilles had stuck around after all. “It’s not near any of my classroom buildings,” he argues. “They put the pond near the psychology and business colleges. Discrimination against the pre-med students, I think.” His friend snickers in response, and Patroclus’ fear that he’s dull subsides.
“Well, this undecided student is going to show you what a weekend without your nose in a book looks like.” Achilles pauses at the edge of the sidewalk. Just below, the ground dips downhill and towards a small pond. There’s rocks lining the edge, and a small bridge going across the water. It’s cute, but it’s nothing to write home about. Achilles looks much too excited to hang out around a glorified puddle.
Achilles untangles himself from Patroclus and pulls the blanket out of his bag. Without the warm body pressed against his own, Patroclus feels strangely cold. He stuffs his hands further into his jacket pockets and watches as Achilles spreads the fabric across the ground. As soon as it’s free of any wrinkles, Achilles flops onto his side. He pats the blanket beside him for Patroclus to join him.
“It’s colder by the water,” Patroclus comments, sitting down next to his friend. He hugs himself and tucks his chin against his chest. There’s a breeze coming off the pond that’s just barely bearable.
He feels a hand on his knee. Achilles presses down until Patroclus’ legs are flat on the ground. He nods in approval before resting his head on Patroclus’ thigh. Patroclus is grateful Achilles is looking away, because he knows his face is beet red. Think good thoughts, Pat, his brain supplies helpfully. Your grandma, dying puppies. Anything but Achilles two inches from your lap.
Achilles must have said something, because he turns slightly to give Patroclus a look- really, like Patroclus was the one acting out of the ordinary. “Did you?”
“Did I what?” Patroclus says smartly.
His friend huffs in exasperation. “Did you want to eat now? I’m starving.” He was absolutely insufferable.
Patroclus had packed them both sandwiches and a small array of fruits. It was a little domestic, he would admit, but he didn’t mind making Achilles lunch. His friend was always grateful for everything Patroclus did for him, and Patroclus secretly liked the excited gleam in Achilles’ eyes when he praised him.
They eat in silence, Achilles with one elbow across Patroclus’ lap propping him up and Patroclus leaning back on one hand. The pond laps softly at the shore and moves pebbles around. There’s little fish in the water that Patroclus watches with mild interest, and a family of ducks have slowly made their way towards the pair, nibbling at the grass with their beaks searching for bugs.
Achilles breaks off a piece of bread from his sandwich and tosses it to the ducks. They freeze at first, but after one of them snatches up the crumbs and gobbles it down, the rest follow suit. “You shouldn’t feed them bread,” Patroclus says. “It can make them sick.”
“A little piece here and there isn’t going to kill them,” Achilles objects. Just to make his point, he throws another small bit of crust at the birds.
“No, here-” Patroclus reaches into the tote bag and pulls out a baggie of bird seed. “This is actually made for them.”
Achilles takes the bag and stares down at it for a long moment. “You just… carry birdseed around with you?”
Patroclus coughs into his fist. It was a little weird, he’d admit. “I like to feed the pigeons sometimes,” he mutters. “And the geese.” He didn’t want to sound any stranger than he already did, but Patroclus had managed to befriend some of the wildlife on campus. There were a pair of geese that he passed every morning that he spread some seed for, and there was a little squirrel that always came down from its tree outside the biology department when it saw Patroclus.
God, he sounded less like a man and more like some sort of Disney princess.
Achilles is looking at Patroclus very intensely. “You’re absolutely wonderful,” he says very suddenly out of nowhere. It makes Patroclus’ eyes widen. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Be-Because I feed some birds?” He’s at a loss for words. Achilles had been acting so differently lately, and this felt like some sort of breaking point. Truthfully, Patroclus had been a little nervous when his friend invited him for a walk. They didn’t normally hang out on the weekends, what with Patroclus studying and Achilles going to frat parties. Maybe now was when Achilles would tell him what’s up. Or… Patroclus would finally get the courage to say how he feels, although his mind is fogged over with Achilles so in his personal space.
His friend shakes his head. Achilles has that same frustration on his face as before, when he’d asked questions about Patroclus’ crush. Come to think of it, he hadn’t brought it up in a few days. “No, I-” He sits up and lays his legs out over Patroclus’ thighs. Their faces are only inches apart, and it takes an effort not to glance down at Achilles’ lips as he continues to speak. “What’s your family like?”
“What? My family?” What an odd change in subjects. Patroclus had never really spoken to Achilles about his home life before. He had never seen the reason to, since he lived close by the college for the past semester and not with his parents. “My, uh… My mom is in a group home,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s never been entirely there, you know? In the head. My dad didn’t want to take care of her, so she’s somewhere where nurses can look after her and she can’t hurt herself.”
Usually when he told that story, Patroclus would get pitied looks and awkward apologies. Achilles only nods in understanding, like it makes perfect sense. Did it? Did Patroclus seem like he came from a broken home? “And your dad?”
“He…” Patroclus makes a small noise in the back of his throat. He hated thinking about the man that raised him. Less of a father and more of a strict disciplinarian always breathing down his throat. “He never really liked me. I didn’t get into sports and I never brought home a girlfriend. I think he wished he had a different son- well, no, I know he does.” He can still hear his father berating him in the back of his mind. You’re no son of mine.
Well, that was alright then. Patroclus was perfectly fine on his own.
Achilles tips his head to one side. “Did it ever get better?” he asks. He sounds so genuine that Patroclus can’t be mad at the sudden invasion of privacy. They were friends, after all, so it only made sense he’d eventually tell Achilles his life.
“No, not really,” Patroclus admits. “I went to college and I think he was relieved he could finally pretend I didn’t exist. We don’t talk much, save for holidays.” If they even saw each other, that is. Last holiday season, Patroclus had stayed in his dorm and invited Bri over for Christmas eve before she went home to her family. It was lonelier that way, but also so much freer.
“Does he know you like boys?”
Patroclus stares at Achilles. He expects some sort of taunt to follow that, or a look of disgust in his eyes, but he just looks curious. “Yeah,” Patroclus swallows. “I think it just added insult to injury. He didn’t, like, tell me off or anything, but he sighed and looked so disappointed.” Even now, the memory makes his gut twist with misplaced guilt. It had taken a few years of therapy to even start to get over the feeling that there was something inherently wrong with him. “Why so many questions today, Achilles?” He’s feeling a little bit defensive. It’s like Achilles had cut him open and exposed all his sensitive parts.
Of course, Achilles never answered questions the way Patroclus wished he did. Instead, he tells his own story in reply. “My dad is pretty cool,” he starts, hugging his knees and looking at the ducks tearing apart his bread. “He was, like, a big macho guy or whatever. Quarterback for his football team in highschool and in college.” His head is so close to Patroclus’. He wants to press his forehead to Achilles’ temple and feel the vibrations of his voice as he talks. Instead, Patroclus takes a pinchful of birdseed and tosses it to the grass in front of him.
The ducks abandon Achilles’ bread and start to peck at the bird food instead. Patroclus smiles at the small victory, and Achilles only rolls his eyes in response
“So I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, you know?” Achilles rests his head against Patroclus’ shoulder. That works too, Patroclus supposes. He could smell Achilles’ shampoo so close to his nose. It was almost suffocating. “Be some star athlete and whatnot. I mean, that was cool and all. I like sports. I did track and field in high school and got a scholarship here. He was kinda sad I didn’t get into football, but Dad was still happy I was at least doing something”
He hesitates. “But?” Patroclus prompts.
“But my mom,” Achilles breathes, his eyes widening at the mention of his other parent, “nothing was ever good enough for her. I’d get a gold medal at a meet and she’d tell me off for an hour about how I should’ve broken a record. I’d practice until I passed out, and I’d wake up to her demanding I go back outside and jog around the block some more.”
Patroclus aches for him. He sounds so pained. Achilles always loved telling him about his track meets, and Patroclus realizes it must be because Patroclus was always proud of the victories he did achieve, not the ones that he thought Achilles should have been able to reach. It must be so different than when he was home. Patroclus was the support that he had sought after as a child but never received, he realizes with a pang in his heart.
“She didn’t not like me, but I don’t think she loved me. Not really.” Achilles waits for Patroclus to throw another bit of seed at the birds before continuing. It gave them something to watch while Achilles spoke. Patroclus had the feeling that Achilles didn’t want to meet his gaze while admitting so much about his home life. “She just always thought I could do better.”
“You’re fine the way you are,” Patroclus insists. Achilles flashes him a small smile before tucking his head back against Patroclus’ shoulder.
“It got worse when I told her I liked boys as well as girls,” he explains. “My mom had already planned out my entire life for me: a college career based on sports, a job position at my dad’s company, a nice wife that could bear boys to carry on my legacy. I think the thought of that being ruined drove her up the wall.”
Patroclus feels sick to his stomach. How could anyone possibly not see that Achilles was perfect? That this golden boy was everything a person should be and then some?
Achilles exhales slowly. “So I wasn’t allowed to hang out with guys outside of my own house. I was only really allowed to leave to go to practice, and even then she kept an eye on me.” He looks away. “She was a teacher at my high school, so I wasn’t even safe there. I knew she was always just around the corner watching.”
The ducks quack in disapproval at the lack of food being thrown their way. Achilles reaches into the baggie and tosses them some so they stop making noise.
“I got a scholarship at a school all the way across the country and left as soon as I possibly could, but I still never felt safe. I still thought I’d see her across the street glaring at me, or have her barge into my room and tell me I’m not trying hard enough.” Achilles takes his head away from Patroclus’ shoulder and looks at him very seriously. His eyes are shining with something Patroclus can’t quite place. “Until I met you.”
“Me?” But Patroclus was just a tutor, one more student that would graduate this place and leave no legacy to his name. He didn’t think badly of himself, but he wasn’t anything more than average.
Achilles nods excitedly. “Yeah, you.” He begins to smile. “You made it feel like I could breathe again. Hanging out with you was like I was finally living.”
Patroclus is wide-eyed with confusion. “Is statistics really that great?” he whispers.
His friend throws his head back and laughs. It’s loud and rings clearly through the quiet air. The ducks ruffle their feathers in fright and waddle away quickly at the noise. Patroclus doesn’t remember ever hearing anything more wonderful. “No!” Achilles giggles. “No, no. I like just being with you. You’re always so laidback and funny and really cute, you know?”
Cute? Patroclus feels his face grow warm with embarrassment. He’s not used to being complimented at all, even after being Achilles’ friend for so long. It almost feels wrong, but Patroclus doesn’t want it to stop.
“So when you started talking about someone else, I got jealous,” Achilles finally admits. His face falls like it did the first time Patroclus had described how handsome the boy was- how handsome Achilles was. “Someone else was taking you away from me, and I guess I realized just how much you meant to me.” He turns to face Patroclus fully. His eyes flit down to Patroclus’ lips and back up to his eyes. “How much I don’t want to lose you.”
Patroclus doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.
He isn’t sure who moves in first, but one moment they’re looking at each other, and the next Patroclus has his fingers in Achilles’ hair and their lips are slotted together. Achilles makes a small noise in surprise and Patroclus worries he must have taken this all the wrong way, but Achilles wraps his arms around his shoulders and smooshes their noses together until it’s almost painful. Patroclus keeps an arm around his waist to hold Achilles in place. He’s never letting him go, he’s decided. Not now, not ever. He grips his golden locks tighter and leans his head back just enough to catch his breath.
“Oh,” Achilles murmurs. Their lips brush against each other when he speaks. “Wait. Am I the boy?”
Patroclus scoffs. “Of course you’re the boy.” He kisses him again, his hands moving to cup Achilles’ face. His cheeks are so soft and warm, flushed from the wind coming off the lake.
Achilles huffs through his nose in annoyance, his breath puffing against Patroclus’ face. “Well you could have just said so,” he grumbles when Patroclus lets him up for air once more.
“I tried.” Achilles looks unconvinced. “Really?” Patroclus says incredulously. “Sporty? Blond hair? Tall? Musician? Someone I’m always hanging out with? Not my major- or any major, actually. I was practically spelling it out for you.”
“You never actually confirmed the musician thing,” Achilles points out.
Patroclus groans in response and presses his face into Achilles’ neck. He was in love with a total moron. “As if I could even like anyone but you.” Achilles holds him tighter in response.
They stay embraced for a short while until Achilles climbs onto his lap and kisses him deeper than before. Patroclus is convinced this is how he’ll die. He feels like all he’s ever known is the shape of Achilles’ lips against his own, the strong hand on the back of his neck keeping him from backing away. Eventually, Achilles guides Patroclus onto his back, and Patroclus keeps a hold of him with one hand gripping his thigh tightly.
“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” Patroclus admits breathlessly when Achilles moves to kiss his exposed collarbone.
Achilles hums in response. “No, just this one guy,” he teases. “He’s really cool. Maybe you can ask me a million questions about him and I’ll give you vague and completely useless answers-”’
“Enough.”