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Patroclus awakes with a teasing beam reflecting across the cavern wall. He feels his body thrumming with its easy warmth, and struggles to resist Hypnos’ pull. It’s only been a week by his count since he ran away to Pelion.
To Achilles.
He feels himself smile foolishly, remembering the previous dread of the unknown and missing presence of his friend. He knows it isn’t wise to, but he feels himself accustomed to Achilles’ warm presence beside him constantly, whether it be during teaching from Chiron or by themselves in the few moments of their privacy and playing. There’s a comfort settled deep in his bones, consistent enough to be known but fragile enough to be broken. He hopes it doesn’t come to that, but the Fates are neither predictable nor unpredictable. Patroclus wishes not to anger them as he stares contently at his companion’s resting face, lax with the accompaniment of sleep.
I shouldn’t dawdle , he thinks, even as he brings a hand to brush a stray curl from Achilles’ temple. Normally he’d shake him or speak disgustingly sweet words until he peeks and reacts accordingly with an unintentionally strong swat to his hand, and then they’d leave the cave with laughter and eagerness for a new day of learning.
But if Chiron isn’t yet here for them, then that means they still have a little more time. But Patroclus falters in a moment of uncertainty. Should he act on integrity, or selfishness?
Well, the answer was obvious if the reason for his banishment wasn’t enough. Slowly he settled back besides Achilles, the slightest hitch in his breath before gently dragging his nails against the skin of his nape to his scalp. A sort of sigh he eventually learns to be a satisfied one escaped his lips before Patroclus feels his friend nestled closer to his hand. He continues with more certainty, occasionally brushing out his hair and watching them curl back in a pool of bright gold. He feels a sort of accomplishment in being able to reach Achilles in a way none of the other boys wished to in his castle of sanctuary. He would’ve never gotten to have this had Achilles not summoned him. He would’ve never gotten this had he not sought out the Prince of the Myrmidons.
He’s glad at least one impulsive decision he chose was a good one.
He finally decided to lay down again, eyes drooping dangerously low as he thought back to that night.
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Patroclus shook, nails digging into his palms once more as he stumbled forward. He knows he might never catch up to them. With Achilles’ athletic ability and Chiron’s supposed stamina, it was probably all just a foolish dream he took in the midst of his adrenaline and childish pining. Gods did he want, but maybe it really wasn’t worth the climb.
No . He grit his teeth and smacked his face. Even if he did choose to stay in that sanctuary, he would’ve never fulfilled a worthy life.
That he was sure of.
He marched on as best as he could, fighting to ignore the ache in his legs. Looking back, it truly was a miracle he survived in the wild like that. Even with the reputation as a young murderer, he wouldn’t know how to hurt a fly on purpose when it came down to it, and the fear was tripled outside of the kingdom with stories of wild, vicious animals thrice their size hunting children like them for fun.
He was tired. He hadn’t stopped in what felt like hours, the moon’s light already high, but every time he paused to catch his breath, his eyelids would droop with his knees following soon after.
Patroclus knew he wouldn’t find the two in time. He was ready to face that truth when it came to it, but he was exhausted.
Exhausted of these feelings around the only friend he has, exhausted of the thirst and hunger he shouldn’t be feeling had he come prepared, and the irritating pain in his body, a constant reminder of how unfit he was of everything.
The conscious effort of stepping over branches laced as his limbs grew heavier, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He heard his body hit the floor hard, but he couldn’t process the pain. There was a sort of relief to it as a soft sigh escaped his lips. Maybe he could stop now, take advantage of his comfortable position on the ground and finally take up Hypnos’ tempting offer. Maybe even Thanatos if it was his time. There was no prophecy telling how long he’d live. He only remembered Achilles’ after all.
Yes. That’d be that, then. He felt the beginnings of a smile as he closed his eyes. He would certainly keep them that way until—
Snap .
Now, at this point even after coming to terms with his position, the sound still made him stir, more prominent than the ones he heard before.
Almost purposeful.
His heart lurched once more, and before he could blink he was up on his feet, albeit a bit unsteady. The caution he usually reserved was faint, but enough to recognize the direction from which the sound came from.
He was no fighter compared to the boys at the sanctuary, but he had paid particular attention to the ways Achilles handled his body during practice. The position he held himself in was foreign, but offered a small sense of comfort as though Achilles himself was there whispering his guidance.
He forced his eyes closed and waited to hear that motion again. Maybe, he humored, if I’m not quick enough, it’ll eat me alive. Maybe then my death would come quicker. He considered this before finding himself internally bashing his mind.
Oh come now, imagine the disapproval of Achilles when he finds out how cowardly you went out. You can do much better, Patroclus.
He grunts, fists clenched. When the crunch of leaves resumes, he’s ready. His eyes narrow in the direction of the sound, his fist swinging crisply through the air with a resounding crack against the figure that he actually falters. His other hand reaches closer to the pathetic knife he’d brought, its dulled blade glinting in the moonlight. He intends to swiftly replace his outstretched arm with this, but is thrown off balance when he feels his axis tilt.
With a sharp gasp, he readies the blade close to his chest, scrambling to find purchase on the floor to heave himself up again, when—
“Patroclus!” And then the silence of the forest is broken with the brightest melody spilling, one that he recognizes to be from none other than the prophesized prince himself. His bright laughter takes Patroclus off guard, his head still spinning from the impact of the ground.
Arms that have taught him, that have wrapped him, that have brought him up time and time again moved in that familiar fluid motion. The weight settled comfortably around his figure, and he couldn’t help but gasp softly as they squeezed or at the soft, wavering sigh ghosting his ear.
It felt like home.
A polite, though strained, cough snapped the two out of their reverie. He hadn’t recognized another figure in the midst of his panicked state, but he soon came to recognize it to be significantly larger than their own.
“And who is this?” Though his eyes were strained, they quickly adjusted to find the figure to be a man.
Achilles’ body shifted, and Patroclus caught sight of his slightly embarrassed face as he stood. He followed soon after and nearly stumbled again at the sight of hooves.
Ah. This man is a centaur. Chiron.
“Is he hurt?”
And just like that, all the adrenaline keeping him on his feet slipped out. He felt himself shift once more, fully intending to feel the impact until an arm jerked around him.
“It seems he is rather shaken. Come, Pelion is a long way from your home. We shouldn’t dawdle any longer than we already have. Achilles, I gather you will tell me why we waited for this Patroclus Menoitiades while we travel.” He lowered his body, and it was all Patroclus could do to arrange himself behind Achilles, bunching the fabric as tightly as he could with his trembling hands.
As Chiron began to move, Achilles turned to face Patroclus with another blinding smile. His callused hands brushed his own as though to reposition them before placing them lightly atop Chiron once more.
The last thing he recalled as the winds clipped through them was the lingering warmth Achilles left.
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He sighed wistfully at the passing memory and moved to stretch his back from his scrunched position. His eyes wandered once more to the sleeping prince, and he should perhaps wake him now, what with the sun higher since he last checked, but he was always weak for him. After all, who would dare take what a beauty like him wants away from him? Certainly not Patroclus.
He brought a hand closer to the other’s face, lightly blowing the golden wisps away. To his amusement, the stubborn curl stayed, brushing just enough to have the prince’s lashes fluttering. He shifts so that his body is covering the peeking rays, but ultimately fails when he realizes how Achilles appears to be glowing. His hair frames his face just right even asleep and... well, with a little maturity added to his features he could be...
A god.
He inhales sharply at the thought, at the echo of Thetis' words of warning to him. He brings his hand to his chest as though burned. What is he doing? He can't have Achilles. Not the way he wants to. Aches to.
He struggles to wear the dopey smile he usually does when he finally prods Achilles' still figure at the sound of hooves nearing. It's probably evident by the way Achilles' brows are furrowed slightly and oh how he wishes to smooth it with his lips, but he can't bring himself to tell the truth. Not yet, anyway.
And why should he want more? He's been selfish his whole life. Perhaps this is enough, being the best friend of a prince destined for more than an exiled one could offer.