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Achilles’ sitting silhouette, lit by the moonlight streaming from the window beside him. He was reading, sitting on the ledge of the window, legs folded uncomfortably so he would not completely fall off. Patroclus pulled his hand out of the sheets and tugged on the hem of his pajama pants. They were thin, stripped, and white. Good for the summer but it was the beginning of winter now.
How was he not cold? He wondered. Achilles glanced down at him.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Come back to bed.” Patroclus said groggily, mouth heavy with sleep.
Achilles removed himself from the window still, leaving his book face down and open, surely bringing it to the fate of damp and crumpled pages by the morning dew. Achilles bent down to slip under the covers. They were laying on blankets on the floor of their new house, all their furniture was still sitting in the moving van as they arrived late at night. When he slipped under the covers Patroclus buried his head between the crevice of Achilles’ shoulder and neck, breathing him in, letting himself enjoy the rise and fall of Achilles’ chest. Welcoming sleep to overcome him.
“I can't sleep,” Achilles whispered in his ear, breath ticklish and warm, waking him up the slightest.
“Rest anyways, otherwise you'll be too tired to unpack” he mumbled back.
“Hmmmm” Achilles wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer.
New house. New town. Newly married. Patroclus couldn't believe it was real, but the sunlight in his eyes and the warmth of a body next to his the next morning proved otherwise.
Cancer in his left leg, it would have to be amputated to stop the spreading. The doctor told Patroclus, and then Patroclus told Achilles. His leg had been bugging him for a while but he thought it might have just been bones healing wrong as he broke it when he was fifteen. Four years of living in Pythia and something had already gone wrong, typical when looking at the rest of Patroclus’ life. But nothing could be done. The amputation was scheduled, and his leg was gone, and that was that.
They made him stay in the hospital until his stump healed. The nurses were nice, at least, Chryseis was his favorite. She wheeled him around in a wheelchair if he wanted to go on a walk and talked about birds. He had been taught and made to practice how to balance and hop on one leg, which for Patroclus, who was not a man of balance, all but excelled in.
Achilles visited him everyday after work and stayed until visiting hours were over. And they talked, and talked, and talked. Talked about his work (someone had made moves on elses’ wife), if Briseis had come over (she missed Patroclus), other patients acting silly, until the nurses came in and told them visiting hours were over. Then Achilles would brush his curls back from his forehead and kiss him goodbye.
He was worried, Patroclus could tell, there seemed to be a permanent fold between his eyebrows, no matter how many times Patroclus ran his thumb over it.
What if you still have cancer? What if there is no point in amputation? What if, what if, what if. Achilles looked on the verge of tears sometimes, so Patroclus looked on the bright side.
Thank gods we moved into a one story. He had once said, and the fold got deeper.
At least my leg is jacked now. He joked. Brought it out of the covers and rested it on Achilles, flexing the muscles to prove his point. And Achilles just looked pained.
When he was dispatched Achilles drove him home. Achilles’ brought the wheelchair out the back and wheeled it to the door so he could get in it and wheel himself to the house. Achilles had already built a ramp for his wheelchair for their door ledge. Patroclus’ heart swelled and he pulled Achilles down to peck him on the cheek.
Once inside, Achilles bent down to kiss him in a way he couldn't in the hospital. Lips to lips and tongues darting out. When they broke for air they pressed their foreheads together and stayed like that for a while. Then, Patroclus’ stomach grumbled, ruining the mood.
Achilles just grinned.
“Hungry?”
“Yes.” He skipped lunch, the food they served at the hospital tasted appalling as it smelled.
Achilles went to heat up leftovers. Patroclus opened their freezer to check for ice cream and pulled the tub out once he spotted it. He checked the expiry date to find it wouldn't expire in a long time, Achilles had newly bought it for him. Neapolition, fresh and new. Now it was his turn to grin, pulling Achilles down for another smooch.
Briseis came over the next day, asking a plethora of questions and helping to feed their cat, phoenix.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yes, sometimes,”
“Are you going to be in a wheelchair forever?”
“No, I will get a prosthetic in a few months,”
“What’s that?”
“A fake limb,”
“Huh???”
He chuckled, “You will see soon, little one,”
“How are you going to garden if you can't walk?”
“Well, I have you and Achilles to help me with that don't I?”
“...Can I push you?”
“Okay.” He laughed.
She plopped Phoenix down on his lap and wheeled him around the house as fast as she could, breathless and laughing. Then she sat down on his leg and made him wheel them around the house.
When she left Patroclus started on dinner, grabbing his crutches and standing so he could use the stove.
Achilles came home and they ate, he was shoveling food in his mouth at a pace that we would regret later.
“Slow down,” Patroclus laughed at him.
“Can’t,” a reply came from a mouth full of food, “Your cooking is the best in the world and I missed it.”
He snorted, “Flatterer.”
Achilles replied by shoving more food into his mouth.
After dinner they sat on the couches. Eating ice cream and reading. Patroclus’ leg draped over Achilles lap, his fingers running over it as his other hand holds up the novel he is reading. Patroclus himself is holding a bowl of ice cream, spoon clinking against the bowl when he scooped some up. He brought the spoon close to Achilles urging him to have some. He leaned over, eyes leaving the page to take a bite.
“So is my leg jacked or what?” He said bringing the spoon back to the bowl, getting some ice cream for himself. Wigging his leg on Achilles’ lap.
Achilles just huffed and pressed a kiss to his knee over his flannel pajamas.
It started with what he thought was a bad cold. Pneumonia maybe, it was hard to breathe and he found himself unable to do daily tasks without feeling winded or dizzy. Achilles urged him to stay in bed so he did.
He should have known, or maybe he did know deep within the back of his mind but he wouldn't let himself think that way. A simple cold, a fever. Nothing more. Four days of rest and medicine and he would be better. By the fifth day he was in pain, every breath he took was painful. By the sixth Achilles drove him to the doctors. They knew then, but Patroclus still had hope that it wasn't.
They waited in the ER for two hours. Achilles gripped his hand and twisted his face at every wheeze he heard from Patroclus. They finally took Patroclus in, scans were made and tests were run. High possibility, they had said, but results were to be given the next day.
Achilles might have yelled a little.
On the drive home Achilles wouldn't stop tapping on the wheel with his index finger. His leg was bouncing and his shoulders were tense. Patroclus was just tired. For four years he had gone without a sign of cancer, and now it was hitting him all at once. He tried not to think about it.
He slid his hand onto Achilles’ leg, stopping it from bouncing, “Can we go to the beach?”
Achilles glanced at him and nodded.
It was the beginning of fall, nobody was at the beach when they arrived. It was chilly and the wind was beating his face. Achilles gave him his jacket. They walked over closer to the water and sat on a log, watching the waves come in and the seagulls glide. Patroclus removed his prosthetic and let it fall in the sand and leaned into Achilles.
He sobbed. And sobbed. Tears clouded his vision and the waves grew blurry. The wind blowing into his eyes did not help. Achilles wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer. Crying hurt, he wheezed and choked and couldn't breathe in without his lungs crying out in pain. Achilles squeezed tighter, pulling his other arm around him and burying his face into his shoulder. Patroclus could only grip his arm and try to gain some composure.
He ran dry of tears eventually and watched the waves again, listening to the crashing of the cold and unforgiving waters to forget the sound of his own breathing. He savored Achilles' breath again shoulder, reveling in how warm it was. He slipped his hand into his and hoped that this would not be the last they saw of the sea together. That it was all just pneumonia all along. It was unfair, he thought. Once was enough wasn't it? Or maybe he was lucky, most people only lasted a few months or a year before getting it again. He doesn't know.
They stayed until after the sunset, the heater blasted on their way home to warm their purpling and numb hands and toes. When they got home they went to go shower, washing the salt breeze off each others’ hair and backs, Patroclus in his chair and Achilles moving around him. Achilles lathered up Patroclus’ face and took a flat blade to it, shaving off the stubble; straddling him and letting his touch linger on his face. He kissed the smooth skin after he was done, and Patroclus did the same for him.
When they went to bed they held each other close. Not a sliver of air could be seated between them. Patroclus lay his head on Achilles’ chest and breathed him in, letting himself enjoy his beating heart and rise and fall of his chest. Funny how the simple things that meant one was human and alive were such a comfort, oh how they were able to make a moment so tranquil. Achilles' arms wrapped around him were a weight that kept him here on this earth in this moment. A sob sounded, but not from him this time, from Achilles. This is the first Patroclus heard him cry, it was a horrible sound, a sound that should never come from him. But he could do nothing but wipe his tears away with his thumbs and push back his hair. Achilles only cried harder. It hurt to hear him cry, hurt more than the pain in his lungs but he could cry no longer.
He waited until Achilles dried of his tears before pressing a kiss to his forehead and burying his face into the nook of his shoulder and neck, not wanting to fall asleep.