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"You look like a child. Look at you!", Achilles tells me while with his thumb he tries to wipe the corners of my mouth, dirty with the sweet juice of the peaches we just picked.
He's right. I do look like a child and not just because of how my face looks right now. I look much younger than him even though we are only a year apart. I'm 15, he'll be 16 in a few days and he already looks like an adult warrior. He is muscular, tall, golden skin and hair on fire. Those arms could kill a man without the slightest effort.
I, on the other hand, am the opposite. I am petite and my brown hair moves in the wind in a messy, wild mass. Even the first beard is slow in coming. I never learned to fight and I don't even care much.
I am a child.
Also on this, as on many other things, Achilles is right. No one will ever take someone like me seriously, but they will with him. This is a certainty. He's a mortal in whose veins runs half the blood of the powerful goddess Teti. No one will ever be like him.
Achilles is the best of men.
He smiles at me while he brings that same thumb - the one that until a little while ago was cleaning my face - to his lips. He sucks on it like a baby does in its cradle when it's about to fall asleep. If anyone saw him now, they would never think he is the man the prophecy speaks of. He's just a boy having fun with his best friend.
Best friend.
That's the official version. In reality there is more that remains hidden from the eyes of the rest of the world. Achilles doesn't care about scandals and deep down neither do I, but I don't want to be a stain on his pride. I want to help him achieve the glory he has been promised.
I tap him lightly against the shoulder. He doesn't even move. He looks like a rock.
"And you, on the other hand, you look like a baby! Look at you, sucking your thumb like a child!", I tell him, sticking my tongue out.
He bursts out laughing and as I see his beautiful eyes fill with the sunlight filtering through the branches of the tree we're sitting under, he lays his wet thumb on my parted lips.
I look up at him. He does the same. We shouldn't. Someone might see us. Teti might see us, and she doesn't approve of this kind of thing. In fact, she doesn't approve of me. His mother hates me and the feeling is mutual, but I love her son more than my own life, so much that it would be impossible for me to let him go, even if I were forced to.
Ten, maybe fifteen, seconds pass and then finally my tongue begins to move up and down along his thumb that tastes like peaches and him. It's like eating straight from the hands of the gods. At this moment I feel like the luckiest guy on earth.
Achilles never takes his eyes off me. He looks at me attentive and happy. My pleasure satisfies him and I understand because it's the same for me with him.
Suddenly there is a slight breeze and I freeze. I have learned how to recognize the arrival of Teti. Now the air is colder and the world seems to have stopped.
Achilles removes his thumb from my lips and I suddenly miss him even though he is still here with me.
He stands up and fixes his hair. He likes to look his best in front of his mother. I do the same, but I don't get the same result. My hair doesn't want to cooperate, but who cares, the goddess will look at me with her disgusted expression no matter how I present myself.
"Mother!" says Achilles seeing her coming tall and pale in front of him.
"My son, I did not expect to find you in the company of..."
She doesn't even utter my name. She looks up in my direction and that's enough for her. After a few seconds she goes back to ignoring me.
"I'm sorry, mother. We got distracted and lost track of time," Achilles replies in a cheerful voice.
Usually he is much more composed than that, but today he is in a good mood. It's a sunny day and Chirone has left us free to rest since the next day; Achilles will start to train in combat while I - almost certainly - will stay on the sidelines to observe. I'm not complaining, I think this is the task that best suits me.
"Can we talk alone?" asks Teti in her scratchy voice.
I'm about to turn on my heel and leave. I don't like being in her company and it's better for Achilles to be alone with his mother.
But he shakes his head. He doesn't want me to leave and for a moment I am amazed. It's the first time he imposes himself on Teti and I remain by his side. It feels good and my chest swells with pride.
He has chosen me.
"Achilles...", the goddess scolds him, but he points his feet, just like a spoiled child.
"Patroclus stays. He's my partner," he states confidently.
He's not referring to what's between us, but I see Teti narrow her eyes. She hates me more than anything else in the world. I am a weakness to her son, and great warriors cannot afford weakness.
I stay two or three steps behind him and observe the scene. A few words are exchanged and Teti whispers into the wind in an attempt not to be heard by me. I can only catch a few words.
"You'll have to leave soon. You can't-"
The wind picks up hissing and her voice is covered by the sound of a distant sea.
Achilles shakes his head. He looks troubled, but moments later a smile forms on his lips. He turns in my direction and while I lose myself in watching him, Teti disappears.
She takes me by the hand and together we head to the waterfalls where we always go when we want to be completely alone, hidden from the rest of the world.
He takes off his robe. He stands naked in front of me and I wonder what he sees in an awkward, ugly boy like me.
"Patroclus, let's have a race to see who can get under the falls first!" he tells me.
He will win, as always. I can't compete with his strong, confident strokes. Sometimes I get there first, but only because he lets me.
This is one of those times. I cling to a rock as I see him come right behind me. He has slowed down on purpose. He splashes me with water and I burst out laughing before I start doing the same.
Then, all of a sudden, he stops and like a shark with his prey he jumps on me and kisses me as his arms wrap around my waist.
I can't help but reciprocate, surrendering to him and Achilles to me.
I run a hand through his wet hair, moving it back.
"What did your mother tell you? I couldn't hear," I ask as I try to catch my breath.
He shakes his head.
"Nothing important, but just know she'll leave you alone from now on."
There's a moment of silence and then he adds with a laugh, "Or at least she'll try!"
Those words make me laugh too because we both know it will never happen.
We kiss again. Our hands roam along our bodies. He grips me more tightly as I cling to him like my life depends on it. Maybe it really does.
By now I have come to the conclusion that my existence revolves around Achilles. Without him I would only be ashes scattered in the wind and forgotten forever.
But he will be remembered, according to the prophecy, and perhaps with a little luck, I will be remembered with him too.
Our movements begin to become more desperate. We touch each other, push against each other to relieve the pressure in our lower bellies, and suddenly I see him rest his head on my shoulder. I do the same and let go as I feel his warm nectar spill over my abdomen and mix with the water. I follow close behind him.
Our breaths become regular again, but Achilles doesn't move his face from the crook of my neck.
"It's my favorite place in the world," he once told me.
He kisses me and I feel another shiver run down my wet, exposed skin.
"You're the best of men," he says all of a sudden.
For a moment I don't understand. Is he talking to me or to himself?
Then I understand. He's talking about me and it seems absurd. I shake my head, but he stops me.
"Don't let anyone, not even yourself, think you're less than that. You are the best of men. Better than me."
I want to answer him that it's not true, that someday poets will sing about his adventures and not mine, but I don't. For just one second I want to believe him. I want to be able to think it's the truth.
I must be the best of men if the gods have given me the honor of putting me in Achilles' path.
I kiss him again.
I think I love him.
I do love him.
Achilles is half my soul, as the poets sing.