Chapter Text
The crisp autumn air hits Patroclus’ face as he exits his dorm building, making him shiver as the breeze easily seeps through the light, red cardigan he dons. The campus is quiet this evening, only a few people walking past him, the red, orange, and yellow leaves crunching with every careful step. He has a destination in mind.
The small study café he has come to know and love appears before him. It is truly the only place he can ever get work done, and with the ten-page analysis he has to write on The Iliad, he needs the atmosphere immediately.
He’s not sure how more people at his small liberal arts college haven’t discovered it, but he’s not complaining. Patroclus dreads the day he walks in and sees every single table taken—gods forbid his favorite by the back windows—and being outrageously loud while he’s trying to study.
Patroclus makes his way to the back, ordering a large black coffee, and connects his computer to the outlet right next to the seat, one of the main reasons he loves this table the most. He’s not one to wear headphones while he works, instead settling to listen to the ambience of the space and allowing it to wash over him. The clinks of the mugs, the small murmur of the employees, the light wind hitting the glass panes.
All of it makes Patroclus glad to be alive, as ridiculous as it sounds.
He takes out his copy of The Iliad and opens up to his bookmarked page. He sighs as his unfinished document appears on his screen. Time to actually stop procrastinating.
One of the qualities Patroclus appreciates most about himself is his ability to zero in on a task. He finishes the paper after what feels like an hour at most, when in reality it’s been four. Four? Achilles is going to kill him.
He looks up from his laptop to find that the café is empty besides an elderly woman sitting at the opposite end of the room. The night shift workers are here now. He blows out a breath at his own obliviousness.
Patroclus holds down his phone’s power button to turn it back on (he needs zero distractions to lock in as much as he does) and finds several messages from his boyfriend on the lockscreen, which is a photo of Achilles huddled under the blankets on his bed.
Achilles doesn’t hate any photos of himself, but this one, with his sleepy smile and messy curls, is apparently one of his favorites. Patroclus vehemently agrees.
5:42 p.m.
hi
5:43 p.m.
where r u?
6:02 p.m.
patttt im bored
6:05 p.m.
ugh u mentioned that one essay u had to write
thats what ur doing isn’t it
Patroclus knows he has a stupid smile on his face as he hears every single message in Achilles’ grumbling voice. He’s about to type out a response when he feels someone plop down on the chair to his right, making him jump.
“Hi, beautiful,” Achilles drawls, throwing both his arms around Patroclus’ shoulders, his head maneuvering to the crook of his neck like he belongs there.
“You’re mean,” Patroclus says, looking at the top of Achilles’ head, blond curls resplendent with the light of the café reflecting off of it. He can feel him laughing at his own successful scare, breaths hitting Patroclus’ throat. He wraps his arm around Achilles’ broad torso, unable to help himself.
Achilles tends to surprise him like this often. Patroclus is worried it’ll become a pastime.
“It’s seven already, let’s go back,” Achilles complains, tightening his arms around when he feels Patroclus on the verge of arguing. “You finished your paper, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Patroclus confirms. “But I was going to-”
“Nope,” Achilles interrupts. “You probably, no definitely haven’t eaten since you left, and you can do the rest later.” He ends his argument by planting a kiss on Patroclus’ lips. “Let’s go.”
Patroclus is at least smart enough to know when he’s been defeated. “Fine.”
Achilles' smile is radiant. Patroclus can’t help but lean in to kiss him again.
After he’s put his stuff away and Achilles has ordered and bought him a pastry to-go, Patroclus realizes something. They’re walking back to campus hand in hand, and Patroclus pauses to look at him. “I can’t believe you held off for an hour before going to get me.”
Achilles’ responding groan makes him laugh. “It was torture.”