Chapter Text
Achilles was 10 when he first saw Patroclus.
He was accompanying his father to one of the festivals they usually went to together. And, although Achilles could never grasp any real point in them, he always followed obligingly and tried seeming to be enjoying it.
It wasn't dull as much as it was lukewarm, half-done. As if life came from the walls and decorations instead of the people around.
And Achilles, who'd always enjoyed the sun better than the cold, and the freeness to dig his feet into the dirt, have his hair falling to his eyes, couldn't help the slight feeling of not belonging.
But all he was required to do was attend alongside his father. His adding presence counted more than his mind's. And Achilles knew his role could get filled by almost everyone just as well as he knew his mother would have seen the building on fire before enduring this type of contact.
He had been for a long time well acquainted with the instant scowl she'll make whenever he mentions the events.
It wasn't all bad, he thought. At the very least, the food there would be bound to be good, and everything was predictable, calm. Almost like when he'd feel sad about the sun's place taken by the moon, knowing his playtime was over but understanding it'd come back once again.
And that immutable truth kept revolving around the boy until, one day, a tall man stopped them.
"Peleus, my friend." Came the voice from above, on the brink of cheery yet collected. "Glad to see you here."
Looking up, Achilles took the man's sturdy form closely; he was not as tall as Achilles first thought ― not even equaling his father.
And yet there was still something undeniably big in his presence. His skin resembled the colour of old papyrus, creased on the edges just the same, and his eyes appeared to be moving steadily.
But, despite the firmness emanating from that person, the still and rocky surface, the boy could almost feel a heat as old as the earth and moving like the sun reaching his skin.
He looks like a volcano, Achilles remembers concluding.
"Odysseus," His father greeted, offering his hand out. "I'm afraid I can't say the same about you. Your presence is almost always a bad omen."
Achilles looked up, startled at his father's unusual antics. But the man ― Odysseus, the boy corrected himself ― laughed, taking Peleus hands in a shake, "I'm afraid I can't argue with you on it. But do not worry, for today it's Menoitius who should fear my appearance."
An arched brow, "The organizer of this dinner?"
Odysseus' tongue clicking hanged like a crack opening the earth, and Peleus' attention tapered solely on the man. It wasn't a strange occurrence to Achilles, enoughly so he already had a pattern to it.
Therefore, when he started hearing hushed terms such as accounts payable, financing and assets, the boy willed his consciousness to other places. He wouldn't understand the content if he tried, and he didn't want to. He could not want to.
He remembered his mother's husky sneer,
Men talk about nothing but themselves, do nothing but feebly lick their egos.
However, detachment was always a trait to be acquired rather than exercised. Achilles always had a hard time following his mother's advice.
"Embezzlement? Are you sure?"
Some parts were too insistent to his brain, some tones too interested,
And you, my child, you will not become like them.
"Oh, trust me, I'm sure. Menoitius has deeply hurt a few people around him, and they're not entirely comfortable maintaining business with him anymore. And it has been like this for years."
How could you be sure, mom?
Peleus appeared to be thinking for a moment,
"Coercion, then."
A hum, "Apparently, he happens to hold some sensitive information about them. Personal information, it seems."
"So they're tied to go away." Achilles heard his father murmur to himself, scratching his beard as he does when lost in thought, "But not you."
"No. Not me." Odysseus confirmed quietly.
"But, once the case blows, why wouldn't he expose them all the same? He would have nothing to lose." Peleus mused.
And the other man expressed a complete, distinctive emotion for the first time,
"Not if he doesn't know from where it came." He said, full smile half-mooning his eyes. Achilles felt a shiver run his spine, "Not if he thinks bribing them is still a valid exchange to have, let's say, a good lawyer."
Achilles could almost see his father's sudden wish to take a step back as if he was afraid of getting touched by the lava,
"Why are you here, Odysseus? It's not like you to confront your targets beforehand or share your plans with someone so unaware of the situation as I was." A cautious question, "Why are you telling me all of this? Do you need help?"
I know it because you're my child.
At that, Achilles watched the man giving an unlike sigh, almost unsure. And it felt like a spell lifting from his bones; He remembered himself to breathe then, to relax the jaw he didn't recall clenching.
The waiting for the following words felt like holding to a thin rope.
"No. I'm not here to confront Menoitius, either."
An arched brow, "Then?"
The next sound came almost with sentiment,
"He also has a kid. Patroclus, I heard. When this goes down, he'll be exposed too." Odysseus voiced, some of the warmth inside of him leaking. "Even I am not this callous."
"And the rest of his family?" His father asked, seemly only partially aware of the other man's weight on his sentence.
Just as Odysseus parted his lips to form a response, at the same time, both men appeared to recall Achilles' presence, looking down together.
And perhaps Achilles was bound to be a man like ones he should not be. Maybe he got invested in the wrong subjects ― men topics.
Nonetheless, he was still his mother's son.
So, when his eyes met the new man's one, Achilles refused to let the sense of getting caught spreading under his skin rise to his muscles; he refused to flee. Instead, he looked back.
It was not his place by any standards, neither his mother's, father's, or the new man's. Even for himself, it felt like intruding.
And yet, he would have held the exchange for longer ― his chin raised so he could not get looked down ― if the older man hadn't spun his head first, lips almost shaped in amusement.
"Another intriguing story," Was the levelled response when he got back to Peleus' waiting look.
"I see," As guarded as Odysseus had been.
"Look," Odysseus said abruptly, almost-cheered tone once more ― if not somewhat plain ―, turning again, this time away from both boy and man, "There are they."
In the direction Odysseus stood, a considerable space away from them, Achilles saw a mirror: a boy, mindlessly following his father along the long hall. They should be around the same age, Achilles thought. Also like himself, the boy was small and thin.
But, from where he was, the similarities stopped there; The boy had his skin darker, brown hair curling decidedly, unlike Achilles' own formless locks.
With both features blurred, Achilles wondered how were they, if he and the other boy could get along. He had never seen him before; would he be the same as his other playmates?
But there was something odd, he noticed. What was it exactly? The boy didn't appear bored or too happy like the other kids Achilles' knew in these pointless reunions; he wasn't walking around slowly or peeking excited at the sides. He merely moved along the taller man, unreadable.
Looking at them felt akin to being cold, somehow.
They were still looking at the distant figure when his father spoke again, "What would suggest, then?"
"Hm... I'm still debating over it as well," Odysseus pondered. Neither father nor son believed him, "But I trust I'll have your aid when I find a solution?"
At that, Achilles saw his father clearly hesitate. And the action wasn't strange for the boy; he knew his father was careful in ways people usually either didn't understand or deemed naive.
His union with Thetis was a clear example of this ― Achilles has known of what people whispered behind their backs for a long time. About how odd it had been for the sweet boy to marry the ruthless daughter of Nereus.
But he also knew his father had his motives for doing so; Part of him suspected, reluctantly, it had little to do with love.
Weird, however, was what Odysseus said next,
"This case will have great repercussion."
The air seemed to thicken for an instant as the two men stared at each other until his father nodded,
"Then it's settled. When the time comes, I'll make sure to offer my support in the best way I must."
With a last deep nod, the man left as silent as he had come. Achilles thought to see him limping, but his father was pulling him away before he could be sure,
"Seems like it's time to go, eh?" Peleus said lightly, "What do you say about some ice cream on our way back?"
On the boy, Achilles believes he categorized him like the wind.
Later, when Achilles asked, his father looked almost shocked at him. He pretended not noticing it and repeated himself. This time, he had the question promptly explained to him.
"Odysseus is a journalist, and a scary one at that."
"Why?"
Peleus eyed him suspiciously. And Achilles ignored him once more. He had always urged his son to be more interested in business topics.
"Well," A shrug to hide his eagerness, but it's useless, "We all have things we'd prefer to keep hidden for as long as possible. Odysseus has his job out of finding those secrets. When they're too significant, he tells the world about them."
"Has he found something too significant, then?"
"One could say that." Careful. Like he was hoping to narrow down the following questions.
"But not you?"
"To know is different to also knowing how to prove, son." This time, Peleus is warm, almost in a joking mood. Relieved, "When you have both conviction and proof, it's when it gets dangerous for the other part."
Would he find something on you?
He doesn't ask.
"And he has both?"
"Yes," His father says, humming curiously, "I wonder what will happen then."
Achilles is still 10 when he meets Patroclus again.
This time, the boy is inside his house, blankly holding himself at Peleus' side. And his father is suspiciously vague as he explains there will be another kid living with them from then on.
"What do you think, son?" His father said, almost warmly, pointing to the boy Achilles hazily remembered, "Patroclus will be here with us for the time being. You two could be friends."
Achilles looked at the boy who could be nothing but younger than him, catching the details he had missed when he had seen him from a distance. He had delicate features, a round face, huge eyes.
And a purplish swelling on the side of his mouth.
As they stood looking at each other, Achilles noticed the lack of facial expression couldn't seem to reach his eyes: the brown pupils shone steadily. Like a hurricane. Nearly proud, inherently defiant.
Those eyes shocked Achilles as soon as they stared back right into his own; suddenly, he felt the compelling sensation he should be doing something at this moment, like talk to him, ask him to tell his story, to achieve -
Achieve what?
He doesn't know. It's a call for motion, but moving to where? To do what?
They're unsettling.
Then, another pair of eyes flashed in front of him, darker than the first, deadly-still where the other's never stopped thrusting, verging to tar-black and feminine. Thetis, his mother, stern as she scolds him for letting himself get affected for something so foolish as restless eyes.
He can feel the heat threatening his cheeks. He pushes it away.
"It's okay." He shrugs as indifferently as he can hope, "After all, this has nothing to do with me."
His father whipped his head at him, perplexed. He gazed at his son for a beat, then two. Like he was seeing someone else, someone older and fiercer. Achilles looked back almost curiously at what will he do.
"Achilles, this isn't very-" His father starts, almost stuttering.
Achilles glanced away, waiting to see the same look the other boys would give when he didn't want to play with them.
"Sir, can I go to where I'm going to sleep?" The other boy speaks for the first time, running over whatever Peleus was about to say. His voice was limpid as much as it was quiet, "I am tired."
He didn't look like anything. There wasn't a single part of him acknowledging Achilles' presence anymore. Not a sign showing he'd heard what the blond had just said, let alone feel something about it.
Father and son look at him then, both seemingly caught out of guard.
"What?" His father says, halting on his track of thought. Achilles almost mirrors him.
The boy secured his bag-strap closer and spoke again,
"It's been two days, and I couldn't leave the station once. Can I sleep?"
Like everything about the boy, the sentence comes quiet, almost inconsequential. Achilles stilled like he had been slapped, his heart rushing like the time he fell from a tree.
"Oh, sure," Peleus speaks again, distracted, "It just that dinner is a few hours from- Oh, but two days without sleeping? Sure, let's go."
Achilles has his cheeks fully heated this time. Somehow, the image of the boy sitting alone for two days, waiting for... Was he even waiting for something to happen?
When his father starts directing Patroclus to his room on the other side of the house, Achilles hurries upstairs to his own room, going straight to his hiding place under the pile of pillows on his bed.
He doesn't know why, but he feels deeply embarrassed.