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Olympus High School’s physical education program dictates that each unit of PE will last five days. Units are selected at the beginning of the year, and most students come knowing that they will suffer while participating in whatever hellfire physical activity they were sorted into that day.
Patroclus, thank god, has a medical excuse to miss dodgeball, so he spends those days sitting on the sidelines and watching his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who’s wearing nothing but short shorts and a pinnie. The view might even make the month of bronchitis excusing him from the class worth it.
Or maybe not, he thinks, as he’s taken over by another coughing fit. Non-asthmatic people never appreciate clear lungs, he thinks.
Achilles glances at him from the dodgeball court.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Go back to your game.”
“Do you have your inhaler?”
“You’ve already asked me that today.”
Achilles shrugs. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t lost it already.”
Patroclus takes it out of his pocket. “There. All good? Now go beat yellow team.”
“Damn right I will.” He dashes back onto the court.
Patroclus could technically play today. His doctor gave him the okay to participate in physical activities again, as long as his asthma doesn’t act up. So naturally, Patroclus is milking his semi-excuse as long as he can and sitting out again.
He looks back to the game just in time to see Achilles take out a sophomore, who retreats to the other sideline where his team is lined up. Yellow team-- the enemy-- is good, but nobody is as good as Achilles. He hasn’t gotten out once.
Patroclus catches Achilles looking over at the sideline right after he gets the kid out. He is totally looking to make sure Patroclus is watching.
Coach Ares shoots Patroclus a dirty look when he laughs aloud at Achilles. Whatever. It's not his fault that Achilles is a massive dork.
He turns back to his notebook. What with midterms approaching and the research project he has to finish for anatomy, he really ought to be using the period to work. And yet. Why miss out on an opportunity to watch Achilles in action? Soccer season is over, so Patroclus has been distinctly lacking in Opportunities To See Achilles’ Hot Bod. He has to make up for the lost time. Yes, the short shorts were a great idea on Achilles’ part. Patroclus is definitely appreciating his legs today. And his arms, damn. And his hair. And--
His thoughts are rudely interrupted by a screaming match on court. He stands up so he can see better through the mass of boys crowded at the midline.
It's his boyfriend and Agamemnon. Even though they're on the same team, they're still fighting. Classic.
"You can't fucking hoard all the balls! It's a rule!" Achilles shouts. His voice reverberates throughout the gym.
"Dude, chill. It's fine. Go sit with your boyfriend and calm down," Agamemnon says.
Achilles is pretty much pouting. Patroclus makes a mental note to teach him that winning isn't anything or some life lesson like that. At least, winning isn't everything when it's high school gym class.
But, Achilles being Achilles, he doesn't stop there. "Give me a few. We all know I'm carrying the whole team."
"You're not that good. This isn't even a damn team. We're just wearing the same color pinnie." Agamemnon, however, still hasn't relinquished the dodgeballs. Patroclus is concerned that this is going to end up like last year, when Achilles and Agamemnon got into a fistfight over the last piece of pizza in the lunch line.
It seems, however, that Achilles has matured from his days of punching the other boy. He glares at him for a moment with all the force of a thousand suns. Agamemnon cringes under the burn.
"Fine. I'm out of here. You'll lose without me." Achilles storms away, straight past Patroclus, and out of the gym. Such a drama queen.
And now everyone is staring at the double doors of the gym, somewhat jerked out of their dodgeball mindset. Patroclus is convinced that they’re all going to hate Achilles for getting worked up over fucking physical education. His reputation is quite possibly ruined. If only he had some chill.
Agamemnon tosses one of the dodgeballs to Odysseus (who’s been doing nothing but hang around the end of the court for the whole game) and heads back out. Of course-- he’s fine with sharing now that Achilles is gone. What are they, five?
Odysseus shoots Agamemnon a look. Stupid gym game or not, their team is definitely going to lose now. Hector is on yellow team, and Achilles is the only one who’s ever to dodge his rapidfire throws.
“Stop standing around and get back to the game!” Coach Ares snaps.
Patroclus glances back at Achilles’ team one more time before slipping out into the hallway. They’re seriously outnumbered.
Achilles is sulking over by the water fountain. He’s red faced and his pinnie is stuck to his bare skin with sweat.
“Hey.” Patroclus wraps his arms around his waist from behind, and he jumps slightly in surprise. He’s very worked up.
“Go away.”
Patroclus rolls his eyes. “You smell gross. And you’re supposed to wear a shirt under these, by the way.” He tugs at Achilles’ pinnie. It’s so short that it’s practically a crop top on him. “I don’t think they’ve been washed since at least the nineties.”
“Whatever.”
“Go back and play. The period is over in twenty minutes. I think you can handle Agamemnon until then.”
“No.” Achilles pulls away and leans down over the drinking fountain.
Patroclus rolls his eyes. Achilles may be nearly eighteen, but he acts like a baby. “Fine. I’m going to play, then.”
Achilles turns and shoves him. “You can’t.”
“I’m fine. I’ve been fine for a week, Achilles. My lungs suck, but I think I can handle a few minutes of dodgeball. Your team needs another member to stand a chance.”
“Ugh.” Achilles slumps against the wall. His pinnie rides up quite a bit.
“This wouldn’t be a problem if you stopped being a child about this.” Patroclus leans over and pecks his cheek quickly.
“Ugh.”
“Your loss.” Patroclus pulls away just as Achilles leans closer for another kiss. He tugs Achilles’ pinnie back down to a less scandalous level and re-enters the gym.
The bag of leftover pinnies has been abandoned on the sideline, and he leans over and grabs a blue one to match Achilles’ team. And no, he will certainly not be taking his shirt off under it. Not everyone has Achilles’ abs. What kind of high schooler has abs, anyways? It just makes Patroclus look more-- well, it makes Patroclus look pretty lame in comparison.
But he can’t think about that for long, because his team needs him. He manages to join his side and escape notice for about five minutes before he dashes forward to grab a dodgball that’s rolling toward the midline and chuck it at a junior on the other team. It deflects off the boy’s shoulder.
Not bad, Patroclus thinks. Especially for the boy who was quite literally picked last for every recess game of dodgeball and kickball back in elementary school.
However, the throw attracts the attention of none other than Hector. Hector, who is not only a head taller than Patroclus, but also bulked up from a combination of football, wrestling, and a general grab bag of bullying and intimidation habits. He eyes Patroclus and grins.
Patroclus is starting to understand why deer freeze in front of headlights. Sure, he’s not unused to being a target, but to be totally honest-- he’s used to having Achilles there to tell the other guys to piss off, or even throw some punches, in extreme cases.
But Achilles is busy being a whiny baby, and Hector is now getting the attention of his teammates and nodding in Patroclus’ direction. Shit, shit shit. Patroclus is weak and slow. Where Achilles is a baby mentally, Patroclus is probably no better than a baby physically. He reaches for a ball that’s rolling by but misses it by a few inches-- shit, there’s no way to recover and make that look cool. He stands back up and pretends to laugh. Yeah, that sounds pretty awkward too.
He scans the court in front of him to see where-- Jesus Christ, Hector is right there across the midline. He’s holding a dodgeball in each hand and Patroclus can pretty much see his life flashing before his eyes.
Oh well. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to sit out the rest of the period after getting demolished. He misses the safe sideline with his anatomy textbook and his cell phone right there. Why did he ever leave?
Right. To help Achilles’ team so they don’t lose and hate Achilles forever. He can do this.
(he totally can’t, but whatever)
Another ball rolls by, and this time he manages to muster enough coordination to grab it. When he straightens back up he’s only a few feet away from Hector, who seems to just be taunting him and drawing out his victory to enjoy it.
It’s only a few feet-- surely Patroclus can’t fuck this one up. He throws the ball.
Hector sidesteps it and it lands a yard away. Shit.
Suddenly there are two moving masses on either side of Patroclus and he’s being shoved-- what? Are they even allowed to cross the midline? He’s regretting not paying attention to the rules of the game. His left arm is grabbed sharply and he manages to look back up at Hector for a second. He’s laughing, and dammit, Patroclus would laugh at himself too. He’s an idiot.
It’s the last thing he sees before he’s pelted with half a dozen dodgeballs. One nails him in the forehead and he sees stars as another hits him in the stomach. He’s doubled over as another barrage of dodgeballs fly his way and he’s shoved again, and it only takes tripping over one stupid ball rolling on the ground before he hits the floor, hard.
He sees nothing and hears nothing but a roar in his ears for a moment before his senses come back to him and holy fuck, he can’t breathe. He gasps and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die right there, mouth open to take in air and lungs refusing to fill. Achilles isn’t going to be happy.
“Hey, hey, hey-- Pat, buddy, don’t freak out. You just got the wind knocked out of you.”
Warm hands rest on his shoulders and keep him from trying to sit up. It’s Odysseys, and sure enough, Patroclus manages to get a lungful of air a moment after. Maybe he won’t die today.
It’s still too shallow, though-- his throat feels like it’s closing up. He feels dizzy and although adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, his body is stinging from the impact with the ground. Shit. He needs his inhaler. He fumbles around for a moment before he finds it in the pocket of his gym shorts and takes a puff. And another.
Less dizzy now.
Odysseus tugs on his arm. “I’m going to bring you to the nurse because I want to get out early.” Thanks, Odysseus. Always a charmer.
However, Patroclus is barely breathing enough to stay conscious, so he’s not going to complain right now. He’s tugged to his feet and holy fuck that hurts. “Ankle.” He manages to croak out.
“Right, right.” Odysseus glances down. “Shit, yeah, that doesn’t look good. Lean on me.”
He slings an arm around Patroclus and manages to half support, half drag him out of the gym while Patroclus continues to grip his inhaler like a lifeline. Which it is, technically.
Patroclus hears Hector’s brash laugh as they exit.
They’ve barely stepped into the gym when Achilles rushes to them.
“What’s wrong? What the fuck? What’s wrong? Patroclus?”
It’s endearing, really, but Patroclus can only wheeze in response to reciprocate.
Achilles turns to Odysseus and the glare is back, full-force. Patroclus wants to tell him that Odysseus isn’t at fault, but he’s really a fan of not passing out, so he concentrates on the breathing thing instead.
His worries are for nothing, though. Achilles only asks, “Who did it?”
“Hector.”
“Thanks.”
And then Achilles’ hand is a comforting weight on the small of Patroclus’ back and the hair is being brushed out of his eyes. “Hey. breathe with me, okay?”
The last bit of Patroclus’ brain that had been panicking begins to settle. This is routine. Achilles has helped Patroclus this way through a thousand asthma attacks and will help him through a thousand more.
They breathe. Patroclus’ brain clears and he stops swaying dangerously. Unfortunately, that makes the pain in his ankle all the more unavoidable. “Ow.” He motions down and his leg and Achilles looks down with him.
“I’m going to kill Hector.”
“Don’t.”
Achilles gets the look he gets when he’s going to something stupid. “Get him to the nurse’s office, okay?”
Odysseys nods in response.
“Achilles, I swear to god, it’s no big deal.”
Achilles ignores him and re-enters the gym, leaving the other two in the hall.
“Odysseus, convince me to break up with him. He’s an idiot.”
“Break up with him. He’s an idiot.” Odysseys parrots.
“Ugh.” Patroclus can’t help but smirk at himself, because he sounds just like Achilles. Fuck, he’s picking up the drama queen mannerisms.
With Odysseus’ help he manages to limp to the nurse’s office and is awarded for his trek with a cot and a pillow to prop his leg up on. The nurse hovers over him for a few minutes and confirms that his ankle is definitely sprained, if not broken. He only barely manages to convince her not to call his dad to get him picked up.
He hopes that Odysseus might stay for a bit, but he excuses himself to get a head start on making it all the way across the school for his next class. He assures Patroclus that it’s hell to get up the staircase and down the hallway he needs to use and slips out.
This leaves Patroclus alone on his cot with only a diagram of the digestive system and a “hang in there!” poster to look at. He lies down properly and tries to ignore the sharp ache in his ankle. What the hell is he going to do about it? He can’t exactly drive home with it this swollen.
Even with his mind racing, it only takes him a few minutes to doze off in the dim lighting of the backroom of the nurse’s. Nearly doze off, that is. He jerks awake when the lights of the room are flicked on and Achilles flops onto the other cot.
“Hi,” he says, sheepishly.
“I swear to god, Achilles.” And yet, Patroclus is glad he’s here. “Come over here.”
Achilles maneuvers himself onto Patroclus’ cot, careful to avoid his ankle. Patroclus looks him up and down and notices the ice pack pressed to Achilles’ arm.
“You hurt yourself.”
“Definitely not as bad as you’re hurt.” Achilles is getting his haughty look again.
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
“No, you are.”
“No, you--” Patroclus is cut off with Achilles kissing him firmly on the lips. He responds for a moment, then pulls away. “You’re hurt. You have to stop doing this.”
“It was worth it. You should have seen it, Patroclus-- Hector totally thought he won, and then bam, I took him out while he was still laughing. It was the best thing ever.”
“Then how’d you hurt your wrist?”
“He, uh, kind of fell on it.”
“And how was he close enough to fall on it?”
“We got into a fight after the game.”
“Achilles!”
He doesn’t even have the tact to look sheepish this time. “I had to avenge you, babe.”
“Oh my god. Never call me babe again. And don’t avenge me, either.” Now Achilles adopts a hurt puppy look. “I appreciate it. I really do. Just-- we’ll talk about this later.”
“Mmkay.”
“I need to figure out how I’m going to get home, so--”
“Yeah, no. I’ll call my dad and he’ll bring us to the hospital to get checked out.”
He wavers. Anyone else and he would say no, but he knows Mr. Pelides can afford to bring them both to the emergency room, and he’s definitely not getting any treatment for his ankle otherwise. And anyway-- like he’s ever been able to say no to Achilles.
“Pleaaaaase, Patroclus? It can be a date.”
Patroclus laughs. “You’re the worst.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah, love you too. Now scoot over. You’re taking up the whole cot.”
They slide into each other’s arms like lock and key, and Patroclus rests again. Everything hurts a little less now.