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1196 BC - Mount Pelion
Tonight is warm, the warmest of the spring season so far. That is why tonight Patroclus and Achilles both lay on the cool grasses of the glade on top of the mountain instead of their cot within the rose-quartz cave, no doubt where Chiron had already retired for the night.
The skies are clear tonight, and the moon is dim, so the only light that illuminates the skies were the countless stars of the heavens above them. Patroclus had grabbed his wrist and pulled him outside to watch the stars with him, and he was loath to deny him anything, especially when it brought the other such content.
“And that one there is Andromeda, do you see?” Patroclus asks, pointing a finger towards the skies above, outlining some sort of shape he sees there.
Achilles hums in affirmation, but he doesn’t really see whatever constellation Patroclus is pointing at. His eyes are fixed on the boy beside him, his features lit up by the dim light of night, painted gorgeous in hues of cobalt and indigo.
Patroclus is different now. A good different. The best type of different, in his opinion. He hasn’t changed, but is somehow… enhanced who he was back when they were children. His shoulders are broader, and he is taller than he once was, and dark stubble has started to litter his chin and jawline, and his dark hair is a little longer. But it’s more than just physicality that Achilles is somehow now drawn to, no, he’s grown bolder. More sure of himself than before, more resilient than he had been. Achilles is helpless to watch with nothing short of awe as he wears this proudly.
He will be sixteen next week. Patroclus will turn sixteen a month after he does. A week after that will mark their third year on Pelion - far longer than any other student has stayed. If he could have his way, he would make it so that he and Patroclus never leave. They would stay forever in this glade, watching the stars every night just to see his face light up in wonder.
“Do you see?”
He is pulled from his thoughts when Patroclus turns to see if he is watching, only to smile shyly when he sees Achilles’ gaze fixed solely on him.
“What? Is there something on my face?”
Achilles is sure that if he’d try to speak now, all the love he’s seemed to have stored up for this wonderful boy in front of him would spill out. He shakes his head no instead.
A flash of light out of the corner of their eyes pulls their gazes away from each other to the sky once again, only to see an object moving rapidly across the sky, a bright tail of light trailing behind it. Patroclus sees it and gasps, grabbing at Achilles’ arm in excitement.
“Did you see that?” He asks excitedly.
Achilles nods, staring at it with wide eyes. “Falling stars,” he says quietly. His mother had told him about them when he was young, but he’d never seen them in person before. When those who made a wish to the Gods, their wish would be stored in the sky that could only be seen at night, and when one was granted, it fell back to the earth.
“It’s amazing,” Patroclus exclaims in a hushed tone of wonder. Achilles turns just to see the look on his face, and hopes it will be inscribed in his memory forever.
“You need to make a wish,” he tells him. Patroclus tears his gaze from the star to look at him.
“A wish?”
Achilles nods. “When you see a falling star and make a wish on it, the louder your wish is heard, and the more likely it’ll be answered.”
Patroclus closes his eyes, scrunched up in thought (adorably, Achilles thinks unprompted). He opens them again after a moment.
“A good wish?”
“The best,” he grins.
Achilles notices now how close they are, barely a hair's breadth away, it seems. And Patroclus looks so beautiful in the starlight. His eyes travel down his face, from his brown eyes to the faint freckles on his nose that only he can see, and finally to his mouth. He wonders what it would taste like, how it would feel to press his own mouth to Patroclus’.
But his mother.
She had always watched him before, just to check up on him if for no other reason, and he had no reason to believe she wasn't here as well. And she hated Patroclus. If he kissed him here, and she saw, he wouldn’t be able to stop whatever she would do to him. He couldn’t hurt his own mother.
It was safer if he didn’t.
It was safer if he didn’t notice all these beautiful things about his greatest companion and tried to ignore them instead, no matter how largely they piled up.
It was safer to not fall in love with him, even though it was so hard not to.
It was also safer, right now, to feign fatigue and suggest they go to sleep. They would have to be up early in the morning for lessons anyway.
He rolls away and exaggerates a yawn, starting to sit up. “It’s late. We ought to head to bed soon, right?”
He tries to ignore Patroclus’ apparent expression of disappointment. He didn’t want to leave the stars, that was why he was disappointed. Not for any other reason, he is sure.
“I suppose, yes.”
He offers his hand to help him up, and they walk back to the rose-quartz cave. Patroclus glances back at the night sky just before he enters the cave. Maybe it would take a little longer for his wish to come true.
1185 BC - Troy
Patroclus would have loved the stars tonight, Achilles thinks. They remind him of that night over a decade ago, beneath the stars on Pelion where he had fallen in love with him.
Oh, Patroclus. His gentle, kind, sweet Patroclus. How he would have loved these stars.
There, do you see? He can almost see his hand reach out in the air, pointing towards a constellation painted in the sky. Pulling his own hand along with him, guiding him across the inky night sky, telling him the stories of the heroes that rested in the expanse above.
It had been a week since Patroclus had died. Clouds had covered the night sky every night since. Tonight is the first clear night since he had died, and he searches the sky for any sign of his beloved, because surely the deeds of his life can only be honoured by a permanent recollection between the stars of the heavens above.
He watches, the empty feeling in his chest aching the longer he looks without Patroclus by his side, and he sees a streak of light suddenly appear, only to disappear as quickly as it came. Falling stars, he thinks.
Well. If the Gods had not heard his screams, his pleas, his prayers, or even how he had begged them, maybe they would hear this.
“Give him back to me, please,” he says, speaking softly into the air. “Let me see him again. Let me be with him again, by whatever means you see fit. That is all I wish for.”
He is answered by the silence of night.
456 BC - Persia
“So tell me, my dear,” Patroclus says to him this evening. “How does it feel being the lowly foot soldier in this life where I am the fearless commander?” He asks this with a mischievous grin, not an ounce of mockery or cruelty present where there could have been.
“You were never a foot soldier back then, Patroclus, you know this,” he responds, his own grin matching that of his beloved.
“Ah, perhaps not,” he agrees, popping a pomegranate seed in his mouth. “But I was not nearly as important as you were. Surely there must be a difference.”
Achilles stops to think. “There is not as much glory here as there was there,” he concedes, noting how Patroclus’ grin starts to fade, replaced by something akin to guilt. He offers him a reassuring smile. “Worry not, my love. That life brought me enough glory. Too much glory. I am content enough just to be at your side.”
Patroclus’ smile returns to him, and he leans his head against Achilles’ shoulder. They sit together in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company unhindered once again.
“The stars are out tonight,” Patroclus mentions in a quiet tone.
Achilles lifts his head to look, and sure enough, the bright lights in the sky contrast beautifully against the inky darkness of night. It reminds him of their night on Pelion, and of falling stars.
“What did you end up wishing for?” he asks him.
Patroclus turns to cast him a questioning glance.
“That night on Pelion, when I told you of falling stars, and you made a wish,” he elaborates.
Patroclus’ face lights up in surprise, and the tips of his ears redden slightly when he blushes. “I wished that we could have stayed that way forever. Just you and me, stargazing, and happy.”
Achilles smiles something mournful, how that never had really happened, how he couldn’t give Patroclus what he had wished for. Even now, with both of them pulled away into another war in the east, under the command of Greece’s greatest military leader, he cannot give the peace of Pelion to him.
“And that you would kiss me right then,” he finishes, grinning. Now, it is Achilles’ turn to turn red.
“I almost did,” he admits.
“What stopped you? I would have welcomed it. Enthusiastically.”
“I was scared of my mother. That if she saw she might hurt you.”
Patroclus reaches up to place a comforting hand on his cheek, soft and tender despite the callouses from war. “Well, your mother is not here now.”
He laughs, and pulls Patroclus closer to him, pressing his own mouth sweetly against the other’s.
Achilles never told him about the wish he had made that night in Troy, when he saw their falling star streak against the sky. He sees no point in regaling that sad story to him, not when his wish had come true.
But he hadn’t noticed that no star flew against the night sky that night, while they were too enveloped in each other to take any notice of the world around them. He thought that this life would be theirs, that this one would be their chance at happiness. He thought that he could bring Patroclus home after this conquest of the east.
He was fatally injured in battle a month afterwards. It was funny, he thinks as he lies dying in the medical tent while Patroclus is off leading his men into battle. How he is the mortal one in this life, and his Patroclus is the one that deserves the glory of battle. How he is the one to die before the other.
(He is grateful, though, that this is the case. He doesn’t think he could take it if he was left alone without Patroclus again. It is better this way.)
He is gone before Patroclus is back from battle, and never gets the chance to see him again. Somehow, he knows that this isn’t the end. They were meant to be happy. That was his wish, and although they had been happy together, it wasn’t long lasting. This was not the end of their story.
He would see him again. Sometime, somewhere, he would see him again.
1457 AD - Florence
It is late at night where Achilles finds Patroclus, leaning on the balcony’s edge on the veranda, staring up at the sky above. He stops just to watch him for a moment, to see the wonder plain on his face. It was a look he had become addicted to, over their lives. If there was one thing that kept consistent throughout their lives, it was Patroclus’ ever constant awe of the stars.
He didn’t know him yet, much to Achilles’ chagrin. That was another thing that kept consistent throughout their reincarnations. Achilles was born with the knowledge of their past; he knew who he was the moment he became old enough to know of such things. Patroclus never did at first. He would usually remember once they were together - he had known within their first conversation in Persia - but his memory was slow here in Florence.
Patroclus turned, and started when he saw Achilles from across the veranda.
“Alex!” he exclaimed, startled by his sudden appearance. “Forgive me, I did not see you approach.”
It was dark, and Achilles could have been imagining it altogether, but he could have sworn he saw a red flush rise to his love’s face when he noticed him. Ah, he knew that feeling all too well.
“I did not want to disturb you, you looked so,” gorgeous. “... focused.”
Patroclus (Patricio, in this life) visibly relaxed, leaning against the veranda railing once again. “I’ve always loved looking at the stars. Ever since I was a child, really. I’ve been thinking of painting them someday soon. Maybe on the solstice where I can truly see them, since the moon is supposed to be dim this year.”
Achilles smiles, and thanks the Gods that it was dark out, should Patroclus see the pure adoration he had trouble masking around him, especially when he talked about something he adored. It was near impossible not to love him when he was like this.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
Achilles leans on the veranda railing beside him so that their shoulders are practically touching, far too close than what was strictly necessary. Patroclus made no start to move away, however, so he counted it as a small success.
That was the other thing about this life, not just how Patroclus didn’t seem to know him from before, but what his reaction might be. He was raised differently in this life, in this time. What was acceptable back in Phthia was not tolerated now. In fact, it was scorned and hated, and those who acted upon it were met with deadly consequences. If he played his hand too early, nothing good could come out of it.
His eyes catch the constellation that Patroclus had pointed out to him all those years ago on Pelion. His favourite: Andromeda.
“Pardon?” Patroclus asks from beside him.
Achilles turns to him, confused.
“You said something.”
Oh. He must’ve said that out loud.
“I said, Andromeda. The constellation.”
Patroclus’ face lights up with a smile. “You know the constellations? None of my colleagues bother themselves with learning them.”
“I had learned them long ago, not by will, though.”
“Who taught you?”
Achilles refuses to look at him. He is certain if he did, his look would reveal everything, and it was too early for that. All would be lost, and he could not lose him.
“Someone very dear to me.”
Patroclus did not press, seeming to know he would not elaborate.
It could have been minutes as they stood in companionable silence, but Achilles could almost feel the tense energy that his companion was radiating. He was nervous, but for what, he hadn’t the slightest idea.
“Is everything alright, Patricio?”
He nods quickly, too quickly. “Yes, yes, everything is- well, no, I…” he trails off with a groan.
“There is something I must tell you, Alex. It’s important, please.”
Achilles turns to regard him, suddenly filled with concern. Discerning his tone, it could not be something good.
Patroclus inhales deeply, seemingly trying to summon himself some courage.
“I… like you. A lot. Too much, really. I…” he pauses in a kind of distress. “I have feelings for you. Romantically. As a man should love a woman - though not to say I see you as a woman! Not at all, the exact opposite, really! I just…” he turns away from him suddenly, his head resting in his hands upon the railing.
Achilles, for his part, was still trying to process all that new information. Patroclus didn’t know him yet, he was sure. Was it even possible for him to love the other despite it?
“I feel that if I do not tell you this now, then I will burst. I feel so much for you, Alex. Truly, I do.” He takes a shaky breath before raising to meet his eyes again, and Achilles feels his own heart clench when he sees unshed tears in his beloved’s eyes.
“And I understand completely if you never want to see me again after this. I just needed you to know, just once.”
There is a moment of silence, the air taut with tension. Patroclus stares at him, gauging his reaction with a grimace, most likely expecting rejection, and most likely anger from him. He should know by now - memories returned to him or not - that Achilles is practically incapable of being angry with him now.
“I love you, too,” is his quiet reply. Patroclus only stares at him.
“What?”
He smiles. “I love you, too,” louder this time, though still hesitant in case of any unwelcome company. He takes Patroclus’ hand in his own, and marvels at how he not only allows him to, but at how similar they are to how they once were. How they fit perfectly in his own hands, as if they were made for each other.
“Gods, Patroclus, how could I not love you? You are… you are so perfect. My sweet Patroclus, you are so perfect,” he says, unaware of the name he uses to address the other man.
He is brought out of this reverie by a small gasp from the man in front of him.
“Achilles,” he says.
Achilles looks up from their joined hands, and oh. There it is. That recognition.
“I’ve found you.”
“You’ve found me.”
Achilles grins, and pulls him close to kiss him the way he’s been longing to since he first saw him on the streets of Florence.
“I love you,” Patroclus gasps as they part briefly for air, to which Achilles decides to chase his mouth back with his own.
Patroclus ends up abandoning his notion of painting the stars, and instead paints Achilles. You are my muse, beloved, he would say. I cannot paint anything else.
For years they lived together, careful under the watchful eye of the church that often commissioned Patroclus’ work.
That is, until Patroclus grew ill.
The plague had ended years ago, perhaps a century before. That did not mean there were no traces still left in Europe, and some places were prone to small outbreaks within the confines of their cities. They would not usually last a year, but still brought grief wherever they went.
Patroclus woke from their bed one night to violent illness, coughing and vomiting not only his dinner, but also blood. His body was wracked with fever, and it was only then when Achilles noticed the dark rashes on his arms and chest.
He died two days later.
That was the end of Florence. But not of them. If Achilles had learned anything since Persia, it was that Florence could not be the end.
1793 AD - Versailles
The stars were just starting to appear in the sky when the revolutionaires came for his family.
Damn him for being rich. Damn his father for being a pompous ass. Damn his family for being aristocrats.
Achilles had never cared for his father’s treatment of the common people. He knew how it had felt to be poor; he had been in lives previously. He had tried to help out where he could, but he was playing with his father’s money. He had no wealth of his own, not until he came of age. He had to be careful where he spent, and on what he spent.
So it was really no surprise when the people of France wanted to behead the aristocrats. Oh, and the royalty. Achilles was fairly certain that the King and Queen of France were already dead. His father had probably already been taken, his stubbornness hindering his sight for clear danger.
For his part, Patroclus had come for him just as they stormed their chateau. Achilles had taken his hand and ran.
They dash around a bend in the cobbled stone streets of the city, and stop to catch their breath, hidden safely behind a corner, the roars of the revolution distant, but ever present.
“Are you alright, my love?” Patroclus asks him, checking him over for any injuries. Achilles does not blame him; their escape had been a close one.
He nods. “I am okay. I’m not hurt.”
Patroclus sighs in relief, and wastes no time in pulling Achilles into his arms, holding him as close as he can get to the other.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs against his torn shirt. “We were never meant to go so far. We only meant to take them out of power, not kill them outright.”
Achilles wishes he could say that he did not expect them to, but then he’d be lying. He saw, more so than his father ever did, the bubbling rage of the people they governed. It would only have ended in blood.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Patroclus asks, worry askew on his face as he pulls away to look at him. Patroclus was one of those who meant to arrest those responsible. He had helped organize the coup d'etat - or what was supposed to only be a coup d’etat.
Achilles melted. “Of course I do,” he is quick to reassure him. “I trust you with my life, Patroclus.”
Patroclus relaxes, but his grip on Achilles’ shirt does not lessen. He is scared. Both of them are scared.
“There’s a man just outside the city. He’s agreed to take us away from here, at least until everything dies down a bit.”
Achilles smiles. “Just you and me?”
Patroclus grins, and reaches up to tuck fallen hair behind his ear. “Just you and me,” he promises.
Oh, how Achilles wants to kiss him. Even if living wherever they would was not permanent, he can almost guarantee they’d be happy. Even if it were just for a little while.
“Patrice?” A voice calls from the street. Both of them jump and turn to see a group of revolutionaries watching them from the street. Two hold bayonets, and two hold torches.
Patroclus carefully steps in front of Achilles, one hand reaching down the hilt of the pistol strapped to his hip.
One of the boys in front laughs good-naturedly. “Well done, Patrice! It seems you’ve found just the man we’ve been looking for!”
“Jean, wait-”
The boy - Jean - grins at him. “Ah, yes, I know, I know. I suppose there is supposed to be a certain formality about these sorts of things.”
The boy coughs and makes a show of clearing his voice, causing some of the other boys around him to chuckle.
“I, Jean Lavigne, find that man-” he points to Achilles, guarded by Patroclus. “Guilty of his crimes against the people of France, and hereby sentence him to death.”
Patroclus regards him with a cool intensity, his hand resting on the pistol’s hilt. He makes no move to give him up. Both of them know that if he did, there would be no escaping the guillotine that awaited him.
“Come now, Patrice. You’ve done your part, and good job on that, but it’s time. Let’s go, the others are waiting.”
“No.”
The boy stops, and looks at Patroclus oddly. “No?”
“He is not going anywhere.”
The boy frowns, his eyes dancing between the two of them. “What’s really going on here, Patrice? You would have jumped at the opportunity to see them all gone.”
“Gone, yes,” Patroclus agrees. “But I did not agree to bloodshed.”
The boy scoffs. “If you did not expect any bloodshed, then you are just as dull as I thought.” The boy adjusts the grip on his bayonet.
Patroclus and the boy make no move to advance, both holding their ground. Achilles watches with wide eyes.
“You’re really not going to kill him, are you?”
“I am not. And neither are any of you,” Patroclus answers, eyeing the rest of the group carefully.
The boy sighs. “Fine. Boys, take them both.”
Two of the boys start to move towards them, and that is when Patroclus is spurred to action. The pistol is out of it’s holster so fast Achilles isn’t quite sure if he actually saw it move.
“You touch him and I’ll kill you,” he warns. The two boys falter, unsure of their next move.
“Patroclus,” Achilles starts, unsure of exactly where he would go with that sentence. Patroclus reaches back to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, keeping his eyes on the group in front of him, the pistol in his other hand unwavering.
The boy sees, though, and narrows his eyes. “Oh,” he says, straightening his back.
He begins to laugh, but all present know that it is not out of humour.
“No, Patrice, there’s no way. This one?” he points at Achilles from behind him. “The rich boy? The one who left us starving, who left you starving? Really?”
These claims are false, but only the two of them know it. He knows it would appear that Patroclus was using him for a better lifestyle, but they both know that that scenario was so far from the truth it was almost humourful.
Patroclus keeps his eyes fixed on the group, the pistol aimed at the boys in front of them in defense. He is waiting for them to charge. Achilles knows he will not shoot unless they do.
“I always knew you were strange, but now I guess there’s a reason you never took a girl to bed, is there?”
Patroclus notched the safety from the pistol off, the click echoing against the stone houses around them.
“Leave. Now. I will not give you another warning.” He has never heard Patroclus’ tone so cold before. He hopes never to again.
The boy smirks and aims his bayonet, and the world explodes in a fit of light when Patroclus takes the shot. It is then, with blinding light beneath his eyes and a sharp ringing in his ear, when their short time in Versailles goes to hell.
As it turns out, four against two (one, since Achilles was unfortunately unarmed during the encounter) are very unfair odds.
The boys leave, only one of them seriously injured, but only after they are sure he and Patroclus are close enough to death to not follow them.
There is a bullet lodged in his chest, or maybe two. It is harder to tell when you’re fighting for oxygen, the blood that’s supposed to be keeping you alive spilling onto the cobblestone instead.
He reaches out for Patroclus, but he is already gone. The revolutionaires focused on him during the attack, which made sense, for he was the one who was armed. His skin is cold (and oh, that feeling is much too familiar to him), and his blood is pouring out onto the stones below, but it’s by his eyes that Achilles knows for sure that he’s gone. He recognizes them from Troy, from millenia ago.
He grabs at his hand and rolls onto his back, looking up at the sky as he starts to feel his life leave him once again. The stars start to appear in breaks of plumed smoke from the burning buildings of Versailles.
He can dimly see Andromeda, and knows that somewhere, Patroclus is waiting for him already. He smiles, and closes his eyes.
1944 AD, Belgium
It had stopped raining. Well, freeze-raining would be more accurate, but it didn’t exactly matter, as he was glad it had stopped.
He had slung Patroclus’ arm around his shoulders as he half-carried half-dragged him through the war-torn, snowy landscape of the woods of Ardennes. The other groans and clutches at his middle as they cross a particularly nasty piece of land, narrowly avoiding tripping on a route.
“Just a little farther, Patroclus, and we’ll be back at camp soon, okay?” Achilles was panicking. There had been a surprise attack in the middle of the night while they were on a recon mission, and Patroclus had been injured. Seriously injured. If they did not get back to camp, he would die.
“Achilles,” Patroclus rasps. “Stop… ahead,” he nods forwards.
Achilles stops suddenly, his breath showing as hot air in the frigid climate. Ahead of them was not their camp, but a small group of Nazi soldiers gathered around a fire, making and encampment for the night.
He drops to the ground behind a snow covered bush, bringing Patroclus down with him. The other bites his lip as he tries to stifle a groan that would most certainly give them away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, darling,” he whispers, pulling him close to him so they were concealed by the snow. If the soldiers heard them, they would be dead; either being shot right there, or brought back as prisoners later.
“It’s… okay,” Patroclus whispers back, quietly groaning in pain.
Unable to rip off any cloth, or even remove his jacket out of fear from freezing to death in the snow, he presses his hands against the wound in Patroclus’ middle, trying his best to staunch the blood. Patroclus only presses his face against the other’s neck and whimpers.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers to him. “I know it hurts, darling, but you’re gonna be okay. Just until they leave, it’ll only be a few minutes. They’re just taking a pit stop, okay? They wouldn’t camp so close to us.”
Patroclus doesn’t answer, just nods his acknowledgment against his neck.
After ten minutes, the soldiers making no move to leave, Achilles decides to try their radios as quietly as he can. The radios in themselves were naturally noisy, or else he would have tried them right away, but if they stay here much longer in the snow, both of them will freeze.
The radios turned out to be broken. Both of them were damaged in the surprise attack. Of course, that would be just their luck.
“‘Chilles…” Patroclus groans beside him. Achilles gently shushes him and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“Just a few more minutes. They’ll leave soon, I’m sure of it.” He isn’t sure of it. He presses his hand to Patroclus’ wound harder, hoping that if he pressed hard enough, all his blood would stay in.
It’s twenty minutes in when Achilles starts to think that they actually are making camp this close to the Allies. It’s then when Patroclus’ body begins to stop shivering, even though they both have been lying in the cold for so long.
“‘Chilles, I’m s-so t-tired,” he tells him, and this is when panic really starts to set in.
“No, no, honey, you have to stay awake for me, okay?” He starts to rub at Patroclus’ arms to try and warm him up. If he got hypothermia, all of this would be over much faster.
“D-don’t wanna,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible now, even as he whispers.
“Please, for me. Stay awake for me, okay? Don’t wanna be left alone out here.”
Patroclus shifts, and tries his best to stifle a groan as his wound rips more with the movement. “I’m so c-cold,” he whispers.
Achilles pulls him closer, almost so that he’s on top of him, trying to transfer some of his own limited body-heat to him.
“You just gotta stay awake for me. Just a few more minutes.”
He isn’t quite sure how much time has passed when the clouds start to clear, and the stars begin to light up the night sky. His skin is like ice, and Patroclus is no better beside him. The only thing that reassures him that he still lives is the other’s shallow breath against his skin.
“Darling, l-look,” he rasps, teeth chattering uncontrollably in the cold, his breath creating smoke in the air. “The stars are out.”
Patroclus hums, but does not move to look with him.
“There’s t-the Little Dipper,” he tells him, eyes dancing across the night sky. “And Canis Major, the d-dog one y-you like.”
Patroclus doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and his breath becomes shallower, his face still buried in the other’s neck.
“R-remember when you t-taught them to me? Back on Pelion? They’ve f-found more since then. But I think…” he pauses, searching the stars, and his eyes light up when he finds it.
“Look, Patroclus. It’s your favourite. Andromeda.”
Patroclus doesn’t move. It takes a minute for Achilles’ brain to register that the shallow but steady breath against his skin has stopped.
“Patroclus?”
Silence.
“Patroclus? Love?” He tears his gaze away from the sky to look at him, tears already forming in his eyes.
“No, no, love, pl-please. Wake up. Please, Patroclus, you’ve g-gotta wake up.”
But he is gone. Achilles knows this. Even still, he pleads with him, tear-tracks almost immediately freezing on his face. He grabs his hand, limp and unresponsive. He can feel a hole in his chest, a gaping hole that aches, and he has not felt grief so intense since Troy.
He weeps, trying his best to stifle the sound, pressing himself even closer to his body. Not again, he thinks. I cannot lose you again, please, not again.
He joins his love before the sun rises the next day. The Nazi soldiers find them the next morning, two bodies frozen, but wrapped so tightly around each other that it was near impossible to separate them.
They are buried under the snow together.
2021 AD, United States
“Achilles!”
His name whispered excitedly in his ear wakes him from his sleep. He groans, not wanting to wake up just yet, tugging the blanket tighter around himself.
“Come on, Achilles, wake up!”
He opens one eye and looks at the alarm clock on the bedside table.
“It’s three in the morning, Pat,” he says groggily.
“I know, it’s about to start! C’mon, you said you’d watch it with me!”
Oh, right. The meteor shower. The one Patroclus had been so excited about seeing, given that it was the first clear night in months, and this event was supposed to be the most visible one to happen in a while.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a minute,” he concedes, burying himself into his pillow to try and savour the last few moments of warmth. Patroclus practically bounded out of the room and towards their balcony. Where he got all that energy so early in the morning was beyond him.
Achilles makes it out eventually, wrapping Patroclus’ sweater around him in a feeble attempt to keep warm. Of course, the celestial event had to be halfway through autumn, and the temperature had been steadily getting cooler in mid-November.
Patroclus is already leaning off the side of the railing, trying to get the best angle to watch the meteor shower. Achilles smiles, reminded of the warm night in Florence, or even their nights spent on Pelion.
“This is perfect,” Patroclus says with a grin, gesturing towards the sky. “I’m so glad the clouds fucked off for this. Everything is perfect for stargazing tonight.”
“Except it’s cold as shit out,” Achilles adds, sidling up to Patroclus’ side in an attempt to shield himself from the cold weather.
Patroclus laughs and pokes at his side. “It’s not that bad, you big baby,” he teases, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer.
They wait in comfortable silence, not tracking the minutes passing as the sky remained blank. Achilles counts the constellations he sees, and the memories surrounding them equally wonderful and heartbreaking. He wouldn’t mind them, really, as long as Patroclus was by his side. He would relive them all again if it meant he could make him smile.
It was what seemed like a while later when he could feel Patroclus tense up beside him. He turns to see he was frowning, looking up at the sky.
“What’s wrong?”
Patroclus hesitates, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Is it about the meteor shower?” The asteroids hadn’t shown up yet, and he supposes there was a set time for them to show up. Maybe Patroclus had gotten the date or time wrong. Maybe that was why he was upset, seeing as he was so excited to watch them.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I know you were excited for them, but maybe you just got the date wrong,” he tries to add. Anything to smooth the frown from his face.
Patroclus only sighs, and looks down at his feet as he fumbles for something in his pocket.
“No, it’s not that. Well, okay, it’s kinda that. It would’ve been nice to ask you during the shower, but this works too.”
Now it was Achilles’s turn to frown.
“Ask me what?”
Patroclus pulls out a small, black velvet box, looking at it in his hand before popping the lid open. Achilles gapes as he sees the gold band reflecting the light of the stars overhead.
Holy fuck, that’s a ring, his brain supplies in shock.
“If you’d like to marry me, of course,” Patroclus looks at him, offering him the sweetest smile. No words of reply come to Achilles’ brain, he just looks at the ring Patroclus is holding, trying to process the information.
“I’ve loved you for millenia, Achilles. About three-thousand years, I’ve loved you, and everyday, I find that I love you more than the day before. You are the best man I know, and I’m honoured every day that I’ve gotten to spend my lives with you. And even though, then, our time together was shorter than I would’ve liked, I wouldn’t trade a single day of it.
“But I have a good feeling about this one,” he says as he takes the ring out of the box, and Achilles thinks he might be crying a little bit. “I love you so much, Achilles, my Achilles, and I’d be honoured if I could spend the rest of this life - and all the others to come - with you by my side. Forever.”
Achilles is already nodding, because yes yes yes, of course, how could he ever not agree? Patroclus only laughs. “Wait, wait,” he says with a grin. “Let me ask properly.”
He kneels, gets down on one knee and everything, and looks up at Achilles, pure love and adoration emanating from him.
“Achilles Pelides, will you marry me?”
Achilles practically tackles him in an attempt to embrace him, nodding and crying and telling him yes yes yes.
Patroclus takes his hand and slips the ring onto his finger, and kisses him. He wipes the tears from his face, and Achilles can hardly kiss him properly because he cannot stop grinning, he is so happy. They are so wrapped up in each other they almost miss when the meteor shower actually begins.
Patroclus turns his head upwards, and grins. Achilles looks up with him to see the streaks of light dancing across the night sky.
“Falling stars,” he mumbles.
Patroclus looks at him. “Make a wish,” he says.
Achilles shakes his head, still grinning. “Don’t need to,” he says, remembering the night in Troy when all he asked for was for Patroclus back, and for them to be happy. He glances at the golden band around his finger, and back to Patroclus, and he knows then, that this time it’ll be alright.
“My wish has already come true.”
(the end)