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Achilles' eyes trailed down. To the sliver of olive skin just above his belt. Between the shirt that was untucked and had ridden up.
He wanted to ask– where were you? He wanted to tell him – I had been waiting. For you.
“Stop staring Achilles,” Patroclus whispered, eyes still closed. Though his voice was as gentle as ever, Achilles heard the undercurrent of warning.
Achilles didn't reply. He didn't stop staring.
Or Achilles and Patroclus broke up. And they are roommates.
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