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It’s sometime around midnight, and they’re outside, laying on the grass and watching the stars in the way that you can only do when you’re so high you don’t even care that you live in the city and can barely even see the stars.
“You know, stars are dead by the time we see them.”
“Thank you so much for crushing my dreams of making a wish on a star, Pat. You are truly the most positive person ever when you’re high.”
“I’m just saying.” Patroclus puts his feet on Achilles’ lap. “Stars are still pretty awesome.”
Achilles doesn’t reply, just takes another hit, then passes the joint to Patroclus, their fingers brushing lightly.
“Where’s Briseis?”
Pat shrugs. “At her new girlfriend’s house, I think. I invited her to come along but this week's conquest says she's straight edge, so she passed.”
Achilles snorts. “That’s not gonna last.”
“Yeah, well, try telling her that.”
Achilles closes his eyes, listening to Patroclus hum a song, some obscure indie band that no one’s ever heard of, certainly not Achilles, since he listens to top 40 and classic rock. He sometimes wonders how they ever got together in the first place.
“Hey,” Achilles whispers.
“What?”
“I love you.”
Achilles can see Patroclus trying to hide his smile. “Love you too, you pothead.”
“Dickhead.”
“Jackass.”
“I thought you said you love me.”
“With all my heart,” Patroclus replies in a high pitched voice.
Achilles huffs, pinching his ankle.
“Ow, I take that back, I hate you.”
“You could never.”
“You’re probably right.” Patroclus sits up, moving his legs and scooting to sit closer to Achilles.
“Probably?”
“Fine, most likely.”
“Hey,” Achilles snatches the joint from between his fingers. “You’ve had that thing for like 5 minutes.” He glances at it. “Hey, it’s almost finished!"
“Not my fault you don’t pay attention.”
Achilles is so focused on every lungful of smoke he breathes in and on how each individual blade of grass feels like prickly silk under his palm, it takes him a second to notice that Patroclus is no longer next to him.
“Hey, where’d yo-“
Pat's on his lap suddenly, his hands gripping his shoulders, his ankles hooked behind Achilles’ back, and Achilles can barely breathe at the sight of his boyfriend against a backdrop of stars.
“Share?” Patroclus gestures to the blunt dangling from Achilles’ mouth.
Achilles holds the joint between two fingers, inhaling deeply, then presses his lips against Pat’s. They both open their mouths, Achilles exhaling as Pat inhales, and he holds the lungful of smoke in for a second before he gently blows it out onto Achilles’ cheek.
“That tickles,” Achilles murmurs, the cigarette falling from his fingers as he leans forward to kiss him again. Patroclus returns the kiss, their lips lazily sliding against each other as Achilles brings his hands up to grip his hips.
“Hey,” Patroclus whispers, “we should probably get back. Your mom’s gonna be pissed if you get home at 3 am again.”
“So?” Achilles asks, nipping at Pat’s bottom lip.
“So, if you get grounded, no more getting high on Friday nights, staring at the stars, and quoting Pablo Neruda.”
Achilles considers it. “You’re probably right.”
“Don’t quote me.”
“I’m not! You don’t own that sentence.”
He kisses Achilles. “Yeah I do.” His mouth moves down, past his jaw, down to the curved part of his neck, and Achilles' eyes flutter shut.
“You know, it's really hard to argue with you when you’re kissing my neck like that.”
“Good.” Pat stands up, his crotch directly in front of Achilles’ face. “Now get up. I don’t want to be Thetis' scapegoat today.”
“Get your dick outta my face,” Achilles laughs, laying back down on the grass.
“I’m walking,” Patroclus calls out, stepping over his face. “I’m leaving, I’m walking home without you.”
“Wait up!” Achilles struggles to sit up, then stands, taking one last hit and dropping the blunt as his fingers begin to heat up, grinding it under his heel before he chases after his boyfriend.
“Hey.” He wraps his arm around Pat’s waist, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
“What?” He leans back into Achilles’ body.
“Some people call me the space cowboy,” Achilles whisper-sings into Pat’s ear.
“Please don’t.”
“Some call me the gangster of loooove.”
“Stop it.”
“Some people call me Maurice!”
“Stop singing!”
“Cause I speak of the pompitous of love!”
Achilles lets go of Patroclus, gesturing wildly. “PEOPLE TALK ABOUT ME, BABY!”
He points at Patroclus. “SAY I’M DOING YOU WRONG, DOING YOU WRONG!”
Patroclus rolls his eyes as Achilles comes closer, singing, “WELL DON’T YOU WORRY BABY, DON’T WORRY!”
He presses a kiss to his nose. “Cause I’m right here, right here, right here at home.”
“Cause I’m a picker,” Pat sings, shoving Achilles back.
“I’m a grinner,” Achilles replies, smiling broadly.
“I’m a lover.”
“And I’m a sinner.”
“I play my music in the sun.”
“I’m a joker.”
“I’m a smoker.”
“I’m a midnight toker.”
“I get my lovin’ on the run.”
“Woooo! Wooo!”
“All right, that’s enough.” Patroclus laughs, bending over as he catches his breath.
“But I love this song,” Achilles protests, crossing his arms and pouting.
“But look,” Patroclus points to the sprawl of houses before them. “We’re hitting civilization. No more loud singing, not in the suburbs.”
“Fine.” Achilles makes a grab for Pat’s hand. “But I’m still singing it. In my head.”
“You do that,” Patroclus replies, pulling Achilles along. “Now c’mon, your house is like two blocks away. We need to get you home before your mom sends the police out looking for us.”
“She won’t send the cops after us. Maybe.”
“Let’s not take that chance.”
Achilles stay quiet for a second.
“Anyway, let’s go.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Patroclus stops abruptly. “Never, ever, call me that again. I don’t even wanna-" He cuts himself off, shuddering.
“Don’t kink shame me.”
“Don’t ever say that again, either.”
Achilles laughs. “You’re kinda cute when you’re grossed out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They walk down the empty streets, watching as two spotted cats chase each other in a circle until one dashes under a car.
“Wait. Only ‘kinda’ cute?”
“Don’t make me say you’re super cute, it’ll just be embarrassing for the both of us.”
“But you like calling me cute.”
“That’s true.”
“Hey,” Patroclus skids to a halt. “Here’s your house.”
“Ew.”
“Get inside.”
“I don’t wanna."
He pushes Achilles onto his lawn. “C’mon. Get inside before your mom hears us and then comes down and smells you.”
“My mom’s not gonna smell us,” Achilles grins. “She’s not a pervert.”
“Now is so not the time for jokes that aren’t even funny.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going. I just wanted to keep you here for a little bit longer.”
“I know.” Patroclus smiles. “Get some sleep. Put in eye drops or something.” As he leans in to kiss him, he wrinkles his nose and adds, “And for the love of everything holy, wash your face. There’s dirt on your eyebrows.”
“You like me even with dirt on my eyebrows.”
“Yeah, but now it looks like you bleach your hair.”
“I would never,” Achilles replies indignantly.
“Go to bed.”
“Gimme a kiss first.” Achilles purses his lips, waggling his eyebrows
“If you insist.” Patroclus leans forward, his lips barely brushing the corner of Achilles’ mouth. “Now go to sleep.”
“Fine,” Achilles walks backwards, keeping his eyes on Pat. “But I’ll be dreaaaaming of you tonight.”
“Not again.”
“Till tomooorrrooww, I’ll be holding you tight.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You secretly love it when I serenade you.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“See you tomorrow, philtatos."
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You have to say it!”
Patroclus sighs. “Later, aristos achaion."