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Patroclus watched with increased trepidation as Phoinix dragged in the oldest, rustiest cot he’d ever seen in his entire life. It made no sense that the luxurious palace in Phthia even housed such a thing. He was shifting from foot to foot awkwardly in Achilles’ bedroom, still not entirely sure why he was there in the first place.
The cot grated across the stone floors as Phoinix pulled it in with little grace, scraping up the fine, white marble. Patroclus felt guilty, even though he hadn’t done anything. Finally, the cot was dropped off on the far side of the room, looking distinctly out of place.
“Where on earth did you find that?” Achilles’ voice rang out, loud and aggravated.
“We keep it in the old storage room in the darkest part of the castle. It’s from a plague outbreak way back before you were born.”
“That doesn’t explain why you brought it here,” Achilles said. Patroclus could tell that he was frustrated by having such a hideous thing in his bedroom, but was hesitant to take it out on his trusted advisor.
“I’m sorry, Prince Achilles, but your mother specifically requested I bring this cot.”
Patroclus didn’t know much about Achilles’ mother other than she was a sea-nymph and was notorious for hating mortals. He started to sweat from nerves. This cot was probably going to try and kill him, then. It had to be cursed or something.
“She did?” Achilles asked, raising an eyebrow. He gracefully walked over to the cot, resting a hand on it, cautiously. “Did she say why?”
“She did not,” Phoinix said, but he looked uncomfortable, as though he too were wary of the cot. “She said…it was good enough for your new friend.”
“It’s disgusting,” Achilles said. “Find him another.”
“I’m sorry, but all the other cots have been destroyed.”
Patroclus didn’t really know what to say, so he settled for staring at Achilles’ feet. He wasn’t quite up to the task of eye contact at the moment.
“Destroyed? How?” Achilles asked, placing himself between Patroclus and the cot.
“I am not sure, but if I had to guess,” Phoinix looked around the room before continuing. “I would say Thetis had them destroyed.”
“She must have her reasons,” Patroclus tried, blushing at the sound of his voice.
Achilles turned to look at him and Patroclus immediately dropped his gaze. He wasn’t really sure why he had decided to speak. He felt a little guilty that Achilles and Phoinix were fussing so much. He would be happy just sleeping on the ground, honestly.
“I am sure the cot is fine,” Phoinix said, and sat down cautiously in order to test it out. It creaked so loudly that Patroclus was afraid the glassware would shatter. Thankfully, Achilles’ room did not have much glassware.
“Terrible,” Achilles muttered. “But I suppose it will have to do for now.”
Phoinix threw a few blankets down on the cot, struggling to make it look as though it hadn’t just come out of a three-hundred-year-long storage. Finally, he left.
Patroclus was at a loss for words. He didn’t want to sit down on the cot and cause it to screech again, but Achilles was already getting ready for bed and he didn’t want to just stand there awkwardly either.
“I am sorry, Patroclus,” Achilles said. Patroclus turned around to face him. He would never tire of hearing Achilles say his name. “We will find a better cot tomorrow.”
“It’s all right,” Patroclus said, and he sat down slowly on the cot. It let out a high-pitched creak and seemed to be yelling at him. Both Achilles and Patroclus cringed in agony.
Patroclus lay down, struggling not to move a muscle. He pulled up the covers as slowly as possible, so as not to disturb the cot.
Achilles was soon fast asleep. Patroclus, even if he had not been sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable cot, would still have been unable to sleep. He watched Achilles’ soft features and thought over and over again about how exactly he’d come to be sleeping in Achilles’ room. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe Achilles just felt sorry for him and didn’t want him to be whipped. That was the most likely. Tomorrow he’d probably go back to being ignored.
Sighing, he turned over so that he could try and get some sleep without watching Achilles’ beautiful face the entire night. Of course, this small action caused the loudest noise ever to screech through the silence, startling Patroclus half to death. He jumped up in fear and the cot closed around him, folding in on itself.
He struggled to break free, crawling out from under the blankets which tangled around him. Achilles was beside him instantly, tearing the blankets from him, worry etched on his face. Patroclus felt absolutely ridiculous. He was supposed to be a beloved companion but instead he was just a klutz.
“Are you all right?” Achilles asked, throwing the blankets aside and gazing at Patroclus with wide, green eyes. He looked absolutely stunning in the moonlight which fell from the open window, illuminating the room in a pale glow.
And Patroclus had definitely been staring too long.
“Yes,” he said.
They both turned to look at the cot, which lay in a crumbled heap.
“I don’t think your mother is very fond of me,” Patroclus commented. Even though they’d never met, he assumed this was indication enough.
“Perhaps not,” Achilles said, and he seemed to be in deep concentration. They were both still sitting on the floor, and Patroclus once again felt bad that he was keeping Achilles awake with his antics. He was grateful for the darkness, because he was certainly blushing.
“I suppose we have no choice,” Achilles said, at last.
Patroclus assumed he would have to sleep on the floor until something could be done about the cot.
“You will have to sleep in my bed with me.”
Patroclus blanched. That was certainly not what he’d expected. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to meet Achilles’ eyes. He was staring at Patroclus with a look of sleepy intensity.
“All right,” Patroclus managed, finally.
Achilles stood and reached his hand out, pulling Patroclus up beside him. Patroclus flushed when their hands touched, struggling to get himself together. If Thetis’s plan had been to scare Patroclus away from Achilles, it’d had the opposite effect.
Achilles got into bed first, moving over so that there was space for Patroclus, who hesitantly followed. Achilles’ bed was certainly one hundred times more comfortable than the demonic cot from the underworld, and Patroclus was grateful for that, at least.
“Good night, Patroclus,” Achilles whispered in his strange, Phthian accent. It warmed Patroclus to hear his name spoken in such a way. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep, hyperaware of Achilles beside him, snoozing. He hoped he wouldn’t do anything embarrassing in his sleep, like start to snore, or drool, or roll over onto Achilles.
Instead, only moments after falling into a fitful sleep, he was once again visited by the ghost of the boy he’d killed. It was a nightly occurrence, it no longer surprised him, and yet, it was never any less terrifying. He was unable to run away, frozen in fear as the boy approached closer and closer, reaching out his hand.
Patroclus woke with a start, sucking in breath, trying desperately to orientate himself. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer in the communal room with the other boys – he was in Achilles’ bedroom. In Achilles’ bed.
He turned to find Achilles awake, staring at him with concerned eyes. He had probably cried out in his sleep, and woke him up. As if he wasn’t useless enough already. Achilles was probably already regretting his hasty decision to make him his companion.
“Sorry,” Patroclus muttered. He was sitting up as a result of the nightmare and before he could lie back down and attempt to get his heart rate under control, Achilles was sitting next to him, green eyes shining in the darkness.
He seemed impossibly close. Patroclus could feel the heat from his body, the soft smell of the lavender oil on his skin. The dream seemed far away, no longer frightening. He felt foolish, however, for crying out.
“It was just a dream,” he said as way of explanation, not wanting to lie and not wanting to look weak.
He thought maybe Achilles would scoff or make fun of him. Instead, he simply nodded and brought one warm palm down on Patroclus’ hands, which he noticed were shaking slightly.
Although Achilles probably intended the gesture to be calming, the simple touch caused Patroclus’ heart to race even faster. He flushed from the small contact, unable to lift his eyes from the blanket bunched around him.
“It’s okay,” Achilles said, in a soft voice, almost a whisper. His voice was light and pretty, and Patroclus missed the weight of his hand when he pulled it away. “You’re safe now.”
Achilles fell back against the pillow, his golden hair fanned out around him. Patroclus lay beside him, feeling the brush of hair against his face. He doubted he’d be able to sleep at all, regardless of any nightmares.
“Patroclus.”
Achilles’ soft voice startled him. He thought that he’d fallen back asleep. He turned guiltily to the side, their noses practically touching.
“Are you okay?” he asked, blinking green eyes in the darkness.
Patroclus contemplated telling him about the nightmare. He’d probably heard from his father or the other boys about his reason for being banished, so he already knew part of the story. Still, it seemed an awkward thing to discuss in the dead of night. He didn’t want to think about the boy. He was having trouble concentrating on anything other than Achilles, anyway.
“I’m all right,” he managed.
“That’s good.”
Achilles closed his eyes, pulling away and rolling onto his back.
“Good night, Patroclus.”
He was asleep instantly. Patroclus found himself drifting into sleep himself, immersed in the scent of Achilles around him, the hum of his voice still ringing softly in his ears. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time in weeks.