Chapter Text
"Did you get enough love, my little dove?
Why do you cry?
And I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best,
though it never felt right.
My little Versailles."
- Sufjan Stevens, Fourth of July
October 11th, 2010, 7:43 PM
Mt. Pelion General Hospital
It had all started with a headache.
A sharp, stubborn headache that hadn’t given him a moment of peace since it had started three days prior. A headache that he kept his mouth shut about until it caused him to black out on his bedroom floor, where his father had found him.
And now, here he was, slumped over in a stiff hospital waiting room chair, eyes shut tight. Patroclus knew that he probably should have told someone sooner. He had thought about it countless times throughout the course of those three days, desperate for an ounce of relief from the pain that hadn’t left him since it had arrived, like an unwelcome houseguest who wouldn’t take the hint.
But every time he had almost gained the bravery to say something, the image of his father flashed in his mind. The memory of the disappointment on his father’s face after Patroclus had wept after an injury during a neighborhood baseball game a year ago was still fresh in his mind. Seeing the way his proud father had sheepishly apologized to the other parents, clearly embarrassed over his son’s tears, was enough to make him want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
He wiped away a bead of sweat as it trickled down his cheek, a result of his rising body heat. His father had checked him into the emergency room several minutes ago, then had received a phone call, walking out of the room to answer and leaving his ten-year-old son by himself.
There were a few other people sitting nearby. An older couple, with a shared distressed look on their worn features, were holding hands. A little girl, probably younger than Patroclus was, held an ice pack on her knee, sitting next to her mother. An older boy looked a little green as he held a plastic bag, seemingly fighting the urge to vomit. Patroclus gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as another sharp ache pierced through his skull once again. He only opened his eyes to the sound of a woman’s angry voice.
He looked over to where the voice was coming from, which was at the front desk of the emergency room. A tall, slender woman was angrily gesturing at the receptionist, her resonant, booming voice commanding attention from everyone in the room. To her left was a young boy with his right arm in a sling. Patroclus tuned in closer to what the woman was saying.
“You don’t seem to be understanding me. This is an emergency room, and my son is experiencing an emergency. He needs to see a doctor right now. I don’t care if there are others, my son’s arm is shattered .” The receptionist was much quieter, shaking her head and attempting to re-explain that there were other emergencies and that a broken arm could wait. This only prompted louder demands from the woman, gesturing to the golden-haired boy at her side as if the receptionist simply hadn’t seen him, and that once she had, certainly she would let him in immediately. Patroclus looked back to the others sitting in the waiting room chairs, and everyone shared an irritated glance.
The golden-haired boy turned towards his mother, his uninjured arm desperately gripping her navy blouse. “Mom, please. I promise I’m okay, I can wait. Can we please go sit down now?” He sounded like he wanted to absolutely crawl in a hole and never come out. He was wearing a muddy light blue soccer uniform, his blond hair pulled back in a small ponytail. Looking at him, Patroclus realized that he had recognized him.
After a few more exchanged words between the boy and his mother, she finally conceded and tossed her silky black hair over her shoulder, turning towards the waiting room area. When her son turned around, Patroclus finally put the pieces together. Sure enough, he had known the boy from class. He was Achilles Peleides, the shining star of his fifth grade class. He looked down, seemingly trying to avoid the stares of the other patients. This was the opposite of the expression he usually wore. At school, Achilles was confident, loved and admired by everyone. He was always kickball captain in P.E, always picked on every time he raised his hand in class, and was praised regardless if he had gotten the answer right or not. He was worshipped by teachers and students alike, even being asked by the older kids to play with them in their recess games. He mostly hung out with the other popular kids, but he spent a fair share of time with pretty much everyone else in class as well.
That was the thing about Achilles that had stood out to Patroclus. Patroclus was a quiet kid, with admittedly not an endless supply of friends. This caused him to be the target of his fair share of teasing from the other kids. He had grown used to it, but the painful knot in his stomach hadn’t ever fully gone away whenever he had to speak in class. Speaking in front of a class of 25 ten year olds was more anxiety-inducing than you would think.
But every time he experienced some ill-intended jibe, one of the only people who had never laughed was Achilles. Sure, he never outright defended him or anything, but he always looked visibly uncomfortable. Sometimes, he would flash Patroclus a warm and apologetic smile, or would change the subject and made the class go into a different conversational direction. Patroclus would have preferred Achilles to tell them outright to stop being dicks, since they would have listened to him. But regardless, he appreciated it. Achilles wasn’t the type of person he would feel comfortable asking for a pencil or anything, but he wasn’t really afraid of him.
Achilles didn’t look up until he and his mother took their seats, which was about 5 seats down from Patroclus’s left. His mother took her phone out of her purse and started aggressively texting, still visibly agitated from her encounter with the receptionist. Patroclus looked down as his feet, feeling a whole lot smaller just by being in her presence. She was very physically beautiful, but she reminded Patroclus a little bit too much like the mom from Coraline after her transformation . Nothing but sharp edges that could probably slice through skin if you got too near. Her contrastingly soft-featured son sat to her right, a seat closer to Patroclus.
Suddenly, he could see movement coming from the corner of his eye. He looked over tentatively to see no one but Achilles, looking right at him. He was wearing a wide, glistening grin and was waving his good arm.
“Hey, you’re from my class, right? I’m Achilles, we sit next to each other during Language Arts,” He said, as if there were any sort of attainable reality where Patroclus wouldn’t have recognized him.
Patroclus nodded quietly. This prompted Achilles to nod down at his injured arm. “Was knocked down during a soccer game earlier and landed on it funny. One of the parents was a doctor. He looked at it but said I should go to the ER just in case it’s broken.” When Patroclus only responded with another silent nod, Achilles continued. “So, why are you here?”
Patroclus suddenly got insecure, figuring that his problem sounded pretty lame compared to a broken arm. “Uh, a headache. I passed out.” He admitted softly. He had expected Achilles to be unimpressed, to just dismiss it and move on. But he only flinched. “Woah dude, that sucks! I’ve had headaches before, but never that bad! Does it still hurt now?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes it does, my dad said they were just gonna give me medicine and we would go, so I’m just waiting for that.” Patroclus could feel some surprise at himself. He never talked so openly with someone he’s never really spoke to before. Hell, he didn’t even interact with his own family that much. But the way that Achilles seemed genuinely interested, hanging on to every word, encouraged him.
They sat in conversation for a while, talking about various things. How boring the Social Studies lesson they were currently learning was, which teachers they had in elementary school, what they would be doing this weekend. They bounced from subject to subject seamlessly, despite that it was mainly Achilles carrying the conversation. Achilles had a definite habit of mainly talking about himself, mentioning how his soccer team was the best in the 10 year old league and probably the 11 and 12 year olds, too. He talked about how he was in four other sports, including swim, track, basketball, and volleyball. He also mentioned his guitar lessons, the pranks that he and his friends were planning against his grouchy next-door neighbors, and how much he despised math homework. Despite this, Patroclus didn’t seem to mind. Achilles had a special way of making everything sound like some kind of adventure.
Achilles also started asking Patroclus a fair amount about himself, and Patroclus suddenly had the urge to lie. He wasn’t outgoing or nearly as adventurous as Achilles was. He was an indoor kinda kid, and reading fantasy novels all day definitely paled in comparison to the adventures Achilles seemed to be constantly experiencing. However, Patroclus wasn’t as much of a liar as he was a master of telling half-truths to get him out of awkward situations. So, he gave vague “I don’t know’s” and “just whatever I feel like’s” and Achilles seemed to be somewhat satisfied. If he wasn’t, he didn’t let on. One thing that they never acknowledged was how Patroclus had been treated at school. It was like to Achilles, it had never happened, and he was just another buddy of his instead of the class weirdo. It was only odd once he thought about it, but it never plagued their conversation, so he just let it go.
Achilles’s mother didn’t pay attention too much, other than the occasional glance she threw at Patroclus, with an unreadable expression. Patroclus pretended he didn’t see, afraid that if he made eye contact that he would turn to stone. Patroclus noticed the second that his father returned. He didn’t acknowledge his son, except for looking at him and Achilles talking, then proceeding to look back at his watch. It seemed to Patroclus that he and Achilles apparently did seem to have at least one thing in common: strange parents.
Eventually, Patroclus heard his name being called up front, breaking his conversation. His father quickly stood up, his impatient gestures still present, which urged Patroclus to move faster. He waved goodbye shyly, before feeling his father’s firm hand on his back, turning him around. He heard Achilles’s voice. “I’ll see you at school!”
Patroclus quietly smiled as he and his father followed a young nurse. His father hadn’t said anything about his encounter with Achilles for about a minute, and then,
“That blond headed kid you were talking to? I’ve seen videos of him playing soccer on Facebook. Now, that’s what a young man should be.”