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“Achilles,” Patroclus leaned against the trunk of the ginkgo tree, but his head turned sharply towards Achilles; they sat a hand's breadth apart, far enough that Achilles couldn't feel Patroclus's breathing, but close enough for the scent of wild grass and ripe vegetables freshly dug from the ground to faintly wafted around Achilles’s nose.
“I am here, Patroclus.” So then Achilles replied; to him, any distance between himself and Patroclus was too far, so Achilles moved closer, pushing his back forward until their thighs touched under the thin tunics that King Peleus had recently sent up to Pelion for them. After all, it was only the early summer.
“Let me ask you a question,” Patroclus shifted slightly, and Achilles regretted the brief moment when their bodies no longer touched, before Patroclus hesitantly continued, “...Can I?”
Achilles didn’t exactly hear what he said. Patroclus could have asked, “Can I shave your head?” or “Would you pluck the moon and gave them to me?”, and Achilles would always reply, “Of course, whatever you want, I will do it.”
Achilles wasn’t a schemer, but he would use any plan, as long as it meant Patroclus would stay with him forever.
“Why would you need to ask me that?” Achilles propped one hand on the soft, cotton-like grass, leaning down to stare into Patroclus’s eyes, trying, with all his might, not to fall into them. “Ask away, I am starving.”
And indeed he was; Achilles’s stomach churned because he had eaten less than usual for lunch, and it was too early to start cooking dinner. Perhaps he would go find and pick some ripe guavas or the first fragrant figs of the season if he were lucky. Patroclus liked figs a lot; sometimes Achilles felt as if they ruled Patroclus’s heart instead of him.
“It is not fair at all,” Achilles pouted, “Those soft figs don’t know how to hold you tight to keep you warm at night, or keep you from falling because your feet are so flat that you often lose balance.” Though of course, Achilles never said these things out loud.
“I have always thought...” Patroclus hesitated, finding it hard to focus when Achilles, with his eyes as green as oak leaves and emeralds, stared at him like he wanted to devour him whole. ‘I feel like I could swallow the world,’ Achilles had once said, “If one day, all of your mother’s prophecies come true, and you leave me, what would I do? What if you go to the highest peak of Olympus, how could I ever follow you?”
Of course, Patroclus didn’t say that to Achilles, it would be too cruel, he thought to himself.
“If you could become any animal,” instead, Patroclus asked, “like, any creature, or object, all those non-mortal things, what would you choose to be?”
Achilles blinked a few times before looking at Patroclus, “You asked a strange question,” Achilles thought, before stroking his chin and an invisible light bulb lit up beside his ear, “I think I would choose to be a bird.”
“Why is that?” Patroclus asked with wide eyes.
“Well, I know how to fight, so being a bear or a lion would be boring,” Achilles leaned against the ginkgo tree, non-chalantly answering, “I do not want to be a fish either; fish are easy to be caught by my mother, my mother, she always wants me to go down to those caves at the bottom of the sea to live with her.”
The caves at the bottom of the sea, of course, because Achilles wasn’t a mere mortal like Patroclus.
“So, you want to be a bird?” Patroclus asked, “Because you do not want your mother to catch you?”
“More because I want to fly,” Achilles replied, “Birds can fly high, far away, their only limit is the sky, I want to live like that.”
Thinking about this, Achilles suddenly jumped up, grabbing one side of Patroclus’s tunic. “And you could be a sparrow flying beside me, I will even catch worms and crickets for you to eat.” Achilles laughed gleefully before Patroclus gently nudged his elbow into his chest.
“I will not choose to be a bird,” Patroclus smiled, facing Achilles’s somewhat confused face, Patroclus answered, “I think, if I could, I would want to be a tree.”
“But then you would not be able to fly with me,” Achilles tilted his head, why would that be? “And I would not be able to fly beside you, and under your leaves, there would always be foolish children sitting around talking.”
Patroclus covered his mouth and chuckled, aren’t we the foolish children? But Achilles wasn’t satisfied and continued.
“I think you should still be a bird, beside me.” Achilles held Patroclus’s hand, persuading him as if they were about to turn into birds in a few moments, “I would hunt for you, I would show you the beauties of places that only the bravest birds reach, but if you became a tree, it would be difficult for me.”
But Patroclus just smiled at him.
“If I did that, wouldn’t you have no place to return to?” Patroclus gently removed Achilles’s hand, then placed his palm on Achilles’s cheek, “But if I became a tree, wouldn’t you always have a place to come back to?”
I’ll always wait for you, Patroclus wanted to say, but the ginkgo leaves and the heart waiting in his throat stopped him, it was too early to say such things. Achilles hadn’t gone far yet.
“But you would not be able to eat the things I have hunted for you,” Achilles asked, wonderingly, “or see the sights I have seen.”
“Then tell me about them,” Patroclus replied, “every night when you return, chirp and tell me your stories, I will listen to all of them, I promise.”
I want you to come back to me, Patroclus yearns, I do not want legendary myths, I do not need riches or glory, I just want you.
The sun gradually dipped behind the rugged mountain ridge, the gong rang three times, Chiron was calling them back to prepare dinner. Achilles stood up first, then extended his hand to pull Patroclus up.
“Your tunic is all dirty,” Achilles said, “Let me dust it off for you.”
Patroclus was lost in a tangle of thoughts, not noticing that under the glowing sunset, the emerald green eyes and all that was most precious in the world were staring at him, hands still gripping Patroclus’s tunic, determined to speak.
“I will not leave you,” Achilles declared, as if he had read Patroclus’s thoughts, “As long as you wait for me, I will come back to you.”
I can do that, Patroclus nodded in place of an answer, I can wait for you, my Aristos Achaion, because trees cannot move like birds, and no birds can live without trees.
“I will not live a day without you,” Achilles whispered in Patroclus’s ear, as they walked along the path back to the rose quartz cave, “I promise, I promise.”
They didn’t talk about the warbler perched on the branch of the ginkgo tree.
Because birds can die, but trees will stand forever.
Achilles just didn’t expect that one day, the tree he loved, the tree that waited for him to return every day, would lie bare on the cold ground, with sap oozing out instead of blood.
Maybe it was just a dream, Achilles thought, as he wrapped his arm around Patroclus beside him, they were still here, still Patroclus and Achilles, the strongest wild bird and its home in the ancient forest of Pelion.
“Patroclus, you are so cold,” Achilles said, “Let me warm you up.”
And then the little bird spread its wings, embracing everything it held dear, and fell into a deep sleep.