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When Patroclus wakes up, it isn’t to his alarm, but rather to a very sweaty forehead pressing against his chest.
Slowly blinking and trying to accept the fact that it’s time to wake up, Patroclus recognizes it has Achilles’ head since a mop of blonde hair is attached to it. His husband has a horrible case of bedhead every single morning. His gorgeous golden hair is always split in every direction and some of it ends up in Achilles’ mouth as he sleeps. And depending on what position they fell asleep in, Patroclus’ as well. He doesn’t even move that much in his sleep so neither of them has any clue how it gets so bad.
Immediately feeling the abnormal heat of his head, Pat sleepily moves a hand to his forehead once he renders himself awake. He’s almost aware of the pale arms wrapped around his waist, also exceeding normal body temperature. Unconsciously, Achilles sinks further into Patroclus’ body, almost as if he’s freezing and searching for heat.
“Mmm…” Achilles whines in his slumber. Pat brushes long strands of hair out of his face and presses the back of his hand fully against his forehead.
It could be the sweat, but Achilles’ forehead is practically on fire. It surprises Pat enough to gently move his head to the soft cushion and slide his way out of his arms. Miraculously, Achilles remains fast asleep. Whenever Patroclus leaves bed first without warning, it’s like Achilles’ mind forces him awake to grab onto the poor man before he can think about going anywhere.
Once out of bed, he stretches his limbs properly and walks into the kitchen. The kitchen of their small home holds most medical-related things. Ibuprofen, Melatonin, Naproxen, and more are held in a cupboard by the fridge. He sorts through the medicines until he finds a thermometer tucked away behind all of them.
Patroclus sneaks around his own house so as to not wake Achilles until he makes it back into the bedroom. He finds Achilles hugging a pillow in place of Patroclus and takes a moment to admire the view of it. A small smile creeps on his face before he leans over to softly push the thermometer to the center of his forehead.
After it beeps, he pulls it away to check the number on the screen.
‘102.6 ° F / 32.2 ° C ’
Moderate fever. It’s not high enough for a trip to the emergency room but he definitely can’t go to work today. Nor can he attend track practice tonight.
Patroclus sighs and places a kiss on Achilles’ head before leaving once again towards the kitchen. This time, he returns with a glass of water and medicine that he places on the nightstand next to Achilles.
His first class isn’t for another two hours so he has time before he needs to do anything. Typically, he’d get some work out of the way but he doesn’t think he can find it in himself to do so when his husband is sick.
Instead, he grabs his charged laptop and scoots back into his space in bed, this time sitting up. He removes the pillow as he does so and Achilles subconsciously grasps at Patroclus.
He’s always like this when sleeping. It’s like he needs to be touching Pat at all times or else he can’t get any sleep. Sometimes Achilles will fall asleep directly on top of him, or sometimes he’ll bury his face in his neck and wrap his limbs around the man like a koala.
The position his unconscious body has chosen this time is to lay his head on Patroclus’ hip, wrap his arms around him, and tangle their legs.
Once settled, Patroclus begins typing away on the computer.
-
When Achilles stirs, it’s about an hour later. His eyes slowly open and he brings a hand to wipe his eyes.
“Morning, Aurora,” Pat’s voice rings out. Though, Achilles only groans once he realizes that he feels like shit and shoves his face back into Patroclus’ hip. “There’s medicine on the nightstand.”
Reluctantly, Achilles slowly rolls over and even slower mannages to pick up the pill and water to swallow it. He takes another gulp of the water before returning to his place at Patroclus’ side. Everything hurts. He keeps sniffling, his head is pounding, his stomach hurts, and the list goes on.
“I have…” Achilles murmurs, “class.”
“I already emailed that you’re sick. Just go to sleep,” Pat runs a hand through his hair.
“Kiss,” he demands. A sick Achilles is a clingy Achilles. Even more clingy than usual anyway.
“You’re running a 102.6-degree fever and I have class in an hour. No,” Pat says as he continues to do whatever he’s doing on the computer.
“ Pat ,” he whines. “Just one. Please?”
Now, his arms have moved to push himself up to fully sit against the headboard. His hands grab the side of his face, against the beard that lays there and turns Patroclus’ head towards him.
He looks rather unamused as he places his own hand on Achilles’ chest and keeps him a reasonable distance away. Achilles definitely did not pout. Absolutely not.
“Don’t make that face,” he says. When Achilles doesn’t budge, he sighs and travels his hand from Achilles’ chest to the back of his neck and pulls him into a soft kiss. “If I come up sick’m blaming you.”
Happily, Achilles lays back down and resumes his koala position. “You’ll be fine.”
“You better hope so,” he says, but despite his tone, he still wraps an arm around Achilles. Patroclus is the complete opposite of Achilles when sick. He’s very groggy and refuses to stay in bed. He insists he has to go to work and cannot miss a single day ever. Most of the time, Achilles has to force some sleeping meds into his mouth so he’ll go back to sleep. Later, Patroclus will tell people he was drugged as a joke but he secretly thanks Achilles for it cause he knows deep down he should have stayed in bed that day.
Achilles hums into Patroclus’ hip and slowly begins to doze off again. The only sounds that occupy the room are the typing of the computer and their soft breathing. It’s a cozy environment that almost makes Achilles forget about the pit of fire forming in his skin.
While he sleeps, his mind switches between multiple dreams. None of them make sense. They’re all some odd scenario that makes zero sense whatsoever and they flicker between each other.
His fever dreams are cut short once the warmth in the arms of his actual body - not the dream one - is gone. Cracking his eyes open, he registers a closed laptop next to him and noises of the closet door opening.
His groan seems to catch Patroclus’ attention because the next thing he knows, a dark hand to placed on his cheek. Clearing his vision more clearly, he sees his lover, still half naked since he was in the middle of getting dressed, standing over him.
“Stay,” Achilles grabs the hand on his cheek with his own. Even in his barely conscious state, he’s aware that if Pat is up and getting dressed, he has somewhere to be. If he’s just sitting around at home, he prefers to dress comfortably, so the dark-colored khaki’s on his legs prove otherwise.
“You know I can’t, baby. I can make you something when I get back but there’s yogurt in the fridge for now. It helps with fevers,” he explains. “A shower will clear your sinuses.”
Achilles whines and lets the hand slip from his grasp. “You.”
“Me?”
“Want you. Not shower.”
“Go to sleep and I’ll be back before you know it.” His tone is gentle while he puts on a random button-up from the closet and tucks it into his pants. As he dresses, Achilles giggles while he watches intently. Somehow, his mood has changed in the snap of a finger.
“You’re hot,” he smirks and rakes his eyes up and down his strong build.
“So are you. Literally,” he raises his eyebrows at the blonde. Before Achilles’ fogged mind can create a response, Patroclus disappears into the hallway, which connects to a bathroom.
Achilles lays on his stomach now and folds his arms to cushion his head. He’s not fully aware of anything besides his pounding headache so it isn’t long before Pat returns.
His hair and beard are much more tamed now, not that they weren’t before. His face is washed and his teeth are brushed. Seems like a man ready to go to work.
A kiss is placed on his temple and he wants to reach out a hold his face for another kiss on the lips but he finds a wave of fatigue taking over again.
Pat watches the way his eyelids flutter in an attempt to stay awake as they grow heavy. “Sleep, my love. Drink more water too. Hydration-“
“Hydration helps. Blah blah blah…” he says while tiredness becomes more present in his voice, the sentence muffling at the end.
Pat laughs lightly. “I love you.”
Achilles falls asleep before he can verbally reply but Patroclus knows there’s an ‘I love you too’ in the air. He smiles and brushes Achilles’ hair out of his face once more before grabbing the laptop and leaving the room.
-
Classes take years. Getting a TA would be helpful in cases like this. Cases like Patroclus having a sick and needy husband at home yet still needing to teach a lesson and stick around to answer any and all questions.
He had some students he knows are in track ask him about Achilles since they received the email about no practice tonight. His response was always along the lines of ‘Mr. Pelides has a fever and can’t get out of bed at the moment.’
When his office hours are up and he’s free to go home, the car ride is filled with music on low volume. The world seems very silent but that could just be because the only thing on Patroclus’ mind is his sick lover.
He arrives home and quietly opens the front door then drops his keys into the bowl. As he approaches the shared bedroom, he can hear the shower running from the bathroom in the hallway.
Placing his bag on his counter, the water stops running and is replaced by the sound of a curtain opening. Moments later, Achilles emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. His gorgeous hair is longer when wet and sticks to his back. It’s also given the illusion that it’s darker than usual even under lights.
Achilles walks back into the room and Pat waits a moment before joining him. He unzips his bag, takes out his laptop, and places it on the table, preparing to grade some assignments after he checks on Achilles.
Though, Achilles beats him to the greeting. Emerges from the bedroom, now semi-clothed (if boxers and a random stained short counts), Achilles finds Pat opening the computer. “Do not tell me you’re going to do teacher stuff while I have been deprived of my husband’s love and affection for multiple hours.”
“I texted you,” he replies and turns his full attention to Achilles. “Are you feeling better?”
“The medicine kicked in more, so yes. But I’d much rather be sleeping right now.” It’s easy to hear in his voice that he still feels like hell. It seemed that the shower helped with his congestion though. “Preferably with a certain man next to me.”
“I have work to do,” he says, now directly in front of Achilles. His hands hold his sides through muscle memory.
“Then do it in bed,” Achilles tilts his head. He holds a certain tone in his voice that almost always gets Patroclus to do what he wants.
“It’s easier on a hard surface. Especially with the physical papers,” he tries but Achilles doesn’t budge.
“So you’d rather leave me to die all alone in my own misery because you wanna grade papers?” God, he’s all drama.
“Dramatic,” Patroclus rolls his eyes. Fortunately for Achilles, it works. “I suppose I can join you.”
Achilles smiles with a hum before turning to walk back to his death bed (as Achilles called it). He sways his hip a little as he walks, which is almost always accompanied by a hand motion that gestures to Patroclus to follow him. Pat is pretty sure he does it without realizing it.
“Do you want me to make you something?” He asks as Achilles walks down the hall.
“No,” he answers before any other words that may have been spoken were muffled due to the distance.
Patroclus puts his laptop back into his bag, sliding it neatly into place before following Achilles into their bedroom. It isn’t a long distance since their house is small yet cozy. The kitchen and dining room are directly attached to a hallway with their bedroom on the other end.
When he steps into the room, he finds Achilles already lying down, letting his hair air dry. Pat sets the bag down and starts to charge out of work clothes. The shirt comes unbuttoned and the pants slip off after the belt is pulled from the loops. Instead, he steps into a pair of sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt. As he changes, he can feel Achilles’ eyes on him even if he’s curled up in blankets. Wasting no time, he slides into bed next to Achilles. As if he were a magnet, his husband immediately scoots over and rolls on top of his chest.
“Your hair is wet,” he says while moving the damp strands out of his face.
“Great observation,” Achilles teases him. He folds his arms over Pat’s chest and lays his head on them to stare up at him.
“I can’t work like this, babe.” A hand rests on the small of Achilles’ back. Achilles is beautiful like this. He’s beautiful always but somehow he still is even when his hair sticks to his forehead.
“Then hold me instead,” he smiles. He’s still using that same voice that always gets Patroclus to do what he wants. “I swear I won’t get you sick.”
“Have you checked your temperature?” He asks. He meant to do it before he was lured into the comfort of the mattress by Achilles.
“Mhm. 101,” he says. “Or something like that.”
“You don’t even know for sure?” The question was more rhetorical. “Let me up so I can check it.”
Achilles doesn’t budge. Instead, he moves his arms to wrap around Patroclus’ torso, sliding between his back and the bedsheet in the process, and shoving his face into his chest.
“Achilles,” he tries, but he knows he’ll fail. “My love.”
He groans into his chest, but still refuses to move. If Patroclus gets up, then Achilles will lose his warmth for too long. It would only take a minute at most, but it’s still too long for a sick Achilles.
Patroclus tries to pry him off but his grip is surprisingly strong for being in a weak state. He even tries lifting his head to at least check how warm he is but it proves ineffective. Somehow, Achilles has turned himself into an octopus and Patroclus is the unwilling prey.
With a sigh, Patroclus rolls over so Achilles is underneath him, blanketed by Patroclus’ weight.
“ Patroclus ,” he whines and moves his head to slot over Pat’s shoulder. Achilles didn’t use his full name too often, but when he did it was pronounced fluently. Every letter slips off his lips like a fountain of smooth water. When other people pronounce it, they’re bound to say it choppy or with no meaning. The name is said but not said at the same time. A void of a title. Achilles isn’t like this, it always has a special meaning when he says it. Even when he uses it in casual conversation, Patroclus’ mouth with always, without fail, quirk upwards. “You’re heavy .”
“You weigh the same amount with all that muscle and you don’t hear me complaining,” he says and drops more weight onto him while Achilles squirms beneath him. “If I can’t get up then I guess you can’t either.”
“You are evil ,” he uselessly kicks at nothing. “Evil man.”
“Oh, so evil,” Patroclus turns his head to kiss Achilles’ cheek, then somehow manages to nudge himself out of the grip he’s in. “How dare I. Honestly.”
Before Achilles can muster a response, Patroclus has left the room and goes to scavenge for the same thermometer he used this morning. It’s still in the same spot he left it in, which means Achilles didn’t actually take his temperature earlier.
Entering the bedroom again, he walks beside Achilles to bring the device to his forehead. “You did not check this earlier.”
Achilles huffs and averts eye contact. Something he normally does when he’s been caught lying. However, neither of them lie to each other pretty much ever. Small stuff like this doesn’t count to them since they’ll always get caught anyway.
When the thermometer beeps, he pulls it away from the blonde’s head to look at the number on the screen.
“100.9,” he says. “Better than your prediction. Still a fever though so go to sleep.”
“Can’t,” Achilles responds while grasping at Pat’s arm. Patroclus raises an eyebrow at him before understanding the hint and climbing in next to him. He sat up against the headboard and reached for his bag.
While he slides his laptop out, Achilles re-glues himself to his side. This time he opts to rest his face on Patroclus’ hip, nuzzling his cheek against it. Pretty much the exact same position they were in this morning. Pat opens the laptop and Achilles loosely watches as he checks his email and opens some online assignments, saving the paper ones for later.
His eyelids fall heavy, and Patroclus brushes some wet strands of hair out of his face.
“Sleep,” he says. Achilles barely hears it as he slowly slips into unconsciousness. He wants to argue that all he’s done today is sleep but closing his eyes just feels too good.
“Mm. Love you,” he mumbles. He’ll be given a hard time later for not saying ‘I’ before the ‘love you’.
-
“I am so mad at you right now.”
Achilles is laughing his ass off.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is,” Achilles says while checking Pat’s temperature. It beeps and he checks the number. “101.3. Guess you’re staying home, babe.”
“This is cause you wanted that kiss so bad,” Patroclus runs a hand over his face. He would deck Achilles if he didn’t love him to pieces. “Hand me my work clothes.”
“Absolutely not,” he pushes Pat back down into bed. “Don’t make me force meds down your throat. I, your loving husband, already emailed that you’re sick.”
Patroclus slumps and rolls over so his face is against the pillows and mumbles something.
“What was that?” Achilles slips his shirt over his head and tucks it into his pants. Once he’s dressed, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and holds Pat’s hand.
“I have to go to work,” he says, a bit clearer this time. Although he makes no effort to move, so he’s likely accepted his fate already.
“That’s not happening,” Achilles says. “Your first class was an hour ago anyway.”
Patroclus groans into the pillow, provoking another giggle from Achilles. He stands up from the bed to grab his bag from the corner of the room and swing it over his shoulder.
“Meds and water are on the nightstand. I have to go,” he checks the time. “I love you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say it back.”
“No. You didn’t say the ‘I’ yesterday.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I thought you loved me?”
“Yeah, five seconds ago. Leaving now. Better pray I come back.”
Patroclus laughs. “I love you too.”