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The first time the nightmares came, Patroclus dreamed of red.
Splashes of red on the grass beneath his feet. Red seeping through white bandages. The dried red on the pointed edges of spears and the metallic surfaces of shields. Red staining gentle, nimble hands.
Then a war unfolded, encircling him without any means of escape. He was enclosed with loud cries, of agony and of triumph. Men, scorched by the sun and clad in armor, were tangled in restless battle. Whichever way he turned, there was only death and bloodlust. Patroclus was trapped and it was suffocating him by the second.
When will it end? How many more have to die?
A flicker caught the sunlight. A swift-footed warrior parted the crowd, wielding his weapon as if he were born to do so. Patroclus’ breath was caught in his throat at the sight of the golden warrior; dread mingled with longing in his gut. Patroclus wanted to run towards him, towards the man with the golden hair and guileless grin.
He opened his mouth, lips forming a name at the tip of his tongue.
Patroclus opened his eyes, which slowly adjusted to the darkness. His breathing was shallow and his clothes clung to his skin with sweat. Memories of his dream faded, leaving him flashes of war and blood and gold. He glanced at his bedside table; the clock showed him that it was midnight.
Deciding that he wouldn’t be able to return to sleep, he grabbed a thick sweater from the closet. It was December, and he was going to start freezing soon. After pulling the sweater -a fluffy green thing Briseis got him last year- over his head, he left his bedroom as quietly as he can, careful not to wake his roommate. He settled on the ledge of the window, his favorite place in the apartment, and stared out into the city. He shivered; Christmas was coming.
He tugged on what was left of his nightmare and tried fitting them together like a puzzle. He kept coming back to that name he almost said. Something far away yet strangely familiar. But every time he inched closer to an answer, it slipped farther from him. He tried conjuring the face of the warrior, but all he recalled was a blur. He was beyond frustrated with himself. His dream felt so far away, like centuries past rather than minutes ago.
“I didn’t know you were the type to brood.” Patroclus didn’t have to turn away from the view to know that his roommate was wearing his usual mischievous but bright smile. He felt Achilles sit across him, casually draping himself on the ledge. “Worrying over cadavers and mitochondria?”
“I have a life outside of med school, you know.” Patroclus kept his tone light despite his heavy thoughts. Typically he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes off Achilles, his too-attractive-for-his-own-good roommate, but Patroclus couldn’t shake off the hollow feeling in his chest.
The silence that settles between them was not uncomfortable. Patroclus’ frown was getting deeper by the second as his mind returned to the fragments of his nightmare. He almost didn’t notice Achilles’ intense green eyes boring into his skin.
“Pa-tro-clus,” the boy in question sat straighter, sensing the concern in the others’ voice. There was definitely urgency in Achilles' eyes. Those green eyes scanned Patroclus frantically. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Let me-”
There was no point in hiding the truth when Achilles went to overprotective mode. Patroclus hugged his knees, hoping it was too dark for Achilles to see the blush creeping up his neck. “It’s just a nightmare. I’m fine.” The blond didn’t look the least bit fooled by his forced smile. But that discussion can wait until another day. Before Achilles could reply, Patroclus added, “Why are you up so early on a Sunday? You usually wouldn't be awake until noon.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Achilles said slowly. He was humoring Patroclus by going along, but Patroclus knew that Achilles won’t let the subject drop so easily. A wide smile graced Achilles’ face, exposing perfect white teeth. “Maybe you can diagnose my condition, doc?” He rested his head against the window, looking at Patroclus with those pretty green eyes.
Patroclus couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not going to specialize in sleep medicine, but I’ll see what I can do for you.” He stretched his legs a bit, getting to a more comfortable position on the ledge. “Tell me everything.”
“Well, there’s not much to tell. It’s just hard for me to fall asleep. I don’t think it’s insomnia.” Achilles tapped his fingers against the glass absently. “Just… It doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it because I’ve been sleeping alone on that bed for a while and nothing’s changed, but it just…doesn't feel right.”
Somehow, it did make a bit of sense, and Patroclus could empathize a bit. The forgotten warrior still weighed on his shoulders. He looked at his roommate and offered a small smile. "Yeah, I get it. It's like you're missing something."
Achilles lights up. "Yes! Exactly, like, part of me is searching for something. What's that line? The one poets say? Half my soul."
Patroclus chuckles and nudges Achilles with his foot. "Maybe we are all searching for our soul mates unconsciously."
"Or perhaps the universe brings soul mates together," Achilles grinned.
"You're such a dork." Patroclus rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the fond smile away from his lips. His stomach flipped and erupted into butterflies. God, this crush was getting worse by the day.
Their laughter warmed their cold apartment. They talked until dawn colored the horizon and even after then.