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    Summary

    Achilles turns to look at Patroclus, his brow drawn and eyes impossibly wide. The sun catches on his face, pouring down like honey. It makes his dark eyes rich in depth, catching on the lighter hues in his hair. Achilles can see the scar above his eyebrow, paler than his skin, where he’d fallen from their favorite climbing tree as kids. Achilles had held him with blood on his fingers and realized that it would always be like that, he would never let Patroclus go, even if it stained his hands. Achilles loves him so much, it’s raw and without reason. Achilles has never known not loving him.

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