Bump and Run

It’s the fourth quarter, one minute remaining on the clock, with both teams lined up at the fifty-yard line. Achilles kneels low, body tightly coiled with anticipation as he waits for the quarterback’s call. Cameras flash around the bright stadium, breath held as everyone watches the university’s youngest wide receiver, a star athlete despite his freshman status. They have all come to see him… and his only acknowledged rival on this field.

Fifteen yards in front of him, with cautious, brown eyes powerful as a forge and locked only on him, stands the University of Opus’ freshman cornerback. Achilles grins, teeth sharp behind his face mask.

Despite all odds, Achilles has been a prodigy since childhood, his speed and agility unmatched no matter the physical activity. He’s never once questioned his abilities all these years, and in turn, no one doubted his skill… until recently. It was one of many pre-season practice games, with scouters and their cameras aplenty to observe.

Up to that point, Achilles had easily made fools of the other schools’ defensive backs. Every time, a cocky cornerback would stand arrogantly at that line, convinced that they would be the first to tackle the infamous rookie wide receiver. And every time, he would watch their confidence shatter throughout the course of the game as he deftly avoided contact. Even when the routes were predictable, even when they knew the ball was going to Achilles, they still had not managed to catch him.

And then he met him.

More specifically, he saw him.

Handsome, with short, tightly coiled curls, rich brown skin, and eyes wide yet sharp all then covered by his helmet. But it wasn’t his looks that had distracted Achilles.

This player was… different. Achilles had felt his gaze as he observed from the sidelines. When it was his turn, he took his stance… far away from Achilles. It was odd, for sure, and the first time anyone had avoided a direct challenge, but Achilles had let it roll off- surely it was no cause for alarm. Perhaps the man was a coward. Achaea’s quarterback hiked the ball, and he sprinted forward. In front, the strange man turned away and ran down the field. Stupid, thought Achilles as he turned to let the ball slip into his hands.

In slow motion, Achilles watched in disbelief one gloved hand intercepts the ball, curling it into his own chest and taking off across the field.

No.

Go.

Go!!!

Fury and wounded pride fueled Achilles’ swiftness, and in seconds he slammed into the cornerback, crashing them both into the ground. Scowling, Achilles turned the player over to look him in his eye.

“This will never. Happen. Again.” He hissed, wanting to see the fear in the player’s eyes as he realized who he was fucking with. Instead, the player blinked slowly, undaunted.

“See to it that it doesn’t, then.”

The play ended, the player nudged a stunned Achilles off of him and hustled back to the sideline, his coach and team gleefully greeting him with cheers of his name and claps to his back. It takes a couple irritated commands from his own coach forced Achilles to slowly rise from the turf, myriad of emotions swirling through him.

The player- no, Patroclus- has been on his mind ever since, and Achilles has been fiending for a rematch. The point had been driven home- he couldn’t dare get too comfortable with his own skill. He’d pushed himself at practice, harder and smarter, planning for every possible play. It’s been worth every exhausting session too, the way Patroclus has met him with a constant, invigorating challenge all night. For every clever move he has attempted, Patroclus has countered, and what could have been a blow out of a game has become Achaea struggling to hold on to a lead of 28-24.

Is this what it’s like to face a challenge? Is that what it will be every time? Refreshing? Stimulating? Exciting? Achilles finds that he can’t wait to see Patroclus more often. He might have to get his phone number, schedule a few practices between them. He wants to see how Patroclus looks when he trains, what type of workout tricks they might share.

The quarterback hikes, and Achilles dashes towards the end zone. Adrenaline pounds through him as he throws the last of his energy into this final play, wildly and joyously running. He has just enough time to glimpse Patroclus close behind him, and he leaps into the air. As he catches the ball, arms grip around his torso and for a moment, he forgets where he is.

He’s not playing football, he’s not even on the field. He’s in his ballet studio, full of light and mirrors, and his partner Patroclus is lifting him in a pas de deux. He feels trust, safety, in this person’s arms.

It’s a silly distraction he’ll always regret.

Regaining focus a millisecond too late, he twists in Patroclus’ grasp. For the second time since they’ve met, they go crumbling to the ground, Achilles all elbows as he falls on top of him. Despite the awkward landing, for all intents and purposes it should be a regular tackle.

Instead, a sickening crack, followed by an agonized scream, gives every sign that it is not.

Patroclus curls in on himself, choking on his sobs and grasping blindly for his shin. Achilles thoughtlessly tosses the ball away, horror thick in his throat as he takes in the blood seeping from Patroclus’ shin guard. A sour scent permeates the space around them, his agony so strong that it overpowers the suppressants that some players take before games. An Alpha, then? The realization is now irrelevant.

“Shit, shit,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…Fuck, don’t panic, I’ve got you!” He removes Patroclus’ helmet so that he can breathe easier, revealing shivering eyes now vulnerable and staring at Achilles so pitifully that he might cry himself. Just as he reaches for under Patroclus’ arm to lift him onto his good leg, the coaches finally arrive and surround Patroclus’ prone body. Achaea’s coach pushes him out of the way, demanding that he return to the sidelines.

Patroclus whimpers in protest, reaching for Achilles. “No, no, please-”

“Go back over to the team, Achilles.”

Achilles looks down at Patroclus, whose gaze still holds tight to him. “But- but he-”

“Now, Achilles!”

Distraught, Achilles backs away, looking down at his feet. Patroclus raises his hands over his eyes to hide his tears, skin pallid as they finally lift him onto the stretcher and off of the field.

Achilles bats his lashes at the giggling cheerleaders, enraptured by his tales of last football practice. It’s now the beginning of his junior year at the University of Achaea, and some of the football team is enrolled in a required Seminar course. Naturally, to them this means messy uniforms (Achilles can’t remember the last time he actually wore his tie), barely making it to class on time, and sitting at the back of the deep lecture hall while paying the bare minimum of attention.

Right now, they have some extra time before class lets out, so they’ve been relaxing. Achilles has been entirely too focused on this year’s homecoming game against the Trojans from the University of Ilium to worry about some boring lectures on careers that he’s not interested in. The goal this year is to take their team to victory after two years of losses, and Agamemnon is determined that the news be spread. It’s one of the few times that Achilles can say he’s agreed with the man, so if that means boosting school morale with a story every now and then… who is he to deny everyone the pleasure?

“I just think it’s so cute that you’re an omega, Achilles,” Deidameia, one of the head cheerleaders, simpers. “Everyone expects omegas to be small and slight, but you’re super muscular. You’re like, breaking glass ceilings and all that!”

He grits his teeth to hold back the annoyance at her commentary, attempting a smile. “Sure!”

Both universities are known for allowing equal opportunity to all students despite their secondary presentation, with an environment where it is generally accepted that many of the stereotypes about those presentations were wrong and sometimes actively harmful. This outwardly progressive stance has especially worked out in Achaea’s favor, having placed Achilles on their football roster. He’s the first omega (and the youngest player) in their school history to play a starting position, and while he and his family are very proud of the accomplishment and representation, it’s extremely annoying that many people are rarely normal about it.

Luckily, Deidameia’s friend interjects before Deidameia can dig herself in any deeper.

“So! As cheerleaders we’re obviously always at the games, but I honestly don’t understand what’s going on half the time. Can you give me like, a basic rundown of what the star players like you guys do?”

At this, a suddenly alert Odysseus scoots his chair closer, pointedly cutting off any answer Achilles might have had. With a mop of curly brown hair tied into a ponytail exposing sharp brown eyes, one would hardly know that the senior alpha that spent most of his class time with his feet on his desk half-sleep had the highest grades in his undergraduate program.

“Wonderful question! Allow me to explain. Ajax, please hand me a piece of paper.”

Ajax, squished into his desk and focused on his phone, tears a piece of notebook paper and hands it to Odysseus, who scribbles out a small football field.

“Now. I’ll start with myself. I play Safety; I’m the last line of defense before the end zone. As a co-captain in charge of the defensive backs, I also change the defensive plays if necessary.” Odysseus makes a small oval and marks X’s within it. “One of the other defensive backs is Diomedes. Diomedes is a Cornerback, and it is his job to tackle and/or intercept the ball from the wide receiver. In other words, he’s the person who would defend against Achilles, on the other team. Don’t make that face, ladies- not everyone is Achilles, and Diomedes is a very clever individual! Sometimes, when it comes down to speed versus brains, it’s better to be more instinctively clever.”

A short vision of dark eyes, followed by a gloved hand swiping a ball from him, flashes behind Achilles’ eyes.  

“Then, further up, we have Menelaus- he’s a Linebacker. Despite being a junior, he is also a co-captain placed in charge of the defensive line and the other linebackers. Their job, put very simply, is to stop the other team from progressing down the field with the ball. Are you still with me?”

They nod, trying their best to follow the diagram.

“Antilochus is over here, as a Defensive End-”

“The sophomore?” asks Deidameia, visibly skeptical. “He’s starting?”

“Hey,” lightly checks Achilles. “I started as a freshman. Don’t underestimate my sophomores.”

She quickly clams up in respect, waving for a patient Odysseus to continue.

“And it’s Antilochus’ job to tackle the Quarterback or the Halfback. Which means, you’ll want to know what those are next, right?” Odysseus smiles. “So, next we move onto the offensive line.”

“We’ll start with our great captain himself! Agamemnon, senior, captain, and our excellent Quarterback. Achilles, I’ll thank you not to roll your eyes! All of the offensive line is facilitated through Agamemnon; he calls plays, works as a liaison with our coaches for planning plays, and either hands the ball to the Halfback or throws it to the Wide Receiver.”

Menelaus was a pleasant enough beta, if a bit boorish at times. But his brother Agamemnon took the alpha male schtick to the extreme so often that Achilles felt grateful his position put him a field’s distance away from all the posturing. Shivering in distaste, he tunes back into Odysseus’ explanation.

“Automedon- yes, another sophomore- is our Halfback. He accepts the ball from Agamemnon and his job is to run with the ball. The linemen have to protect poor Automedon as he risks constant annihilation by angry defense. Luckily, he’s a joyous sort of fellow like Antilochus, so he doesn’t take it personally.”

“When we want to throw the ball instead of running, we have our Wide Receiver- your favorite prince, Achilles himself. His job is to catch the ball and run it to the end zone. In order to perform this position, you have to be extremely fast and agile- luckily for us, we’ve got no issues there! Because he’s also studying exercise physiology, he helps design our summer and winter training programs, as well as leading our warmup and cooldown stretches. I’m sure you’ve seen this part outside on the field.”

The girls giggle, Deidameia’s cheeks pinking a little as she looks a proud Achilles up and down.

“Last but not least, the gentle giant himself- Ajax! Ajax here is a Center, a job meant for only the most gigantic of men! His job is to snap the ball back to, and protect, the Quarterback. Agamemnon can rest well at night knowing that he’s the most protected man on this entire team, with 290 pounds of Ajax guarding him.”

Odysseus claps Ajax on the shoulder with pride, and Ajax blushes despite his small smile. Delighted, Deidemeia greedily reaches for the diagram, jumping in shock when Achilles snatches it into the air.

“Nope! Now it’s time for a test- you’ll have to tell me every position before you can have this back.” He dances out of her way as she tries to snatch it back, weaving in between the people now hustling to their next class.

“Achilles!” she cries playfully. “Come on, it’s not like we’d be able to learn this again with studying!”

She tries a couple more times to reach the paper to no avail. Achilles is not stupid- he knows that as future captain of the cheerleading squad, Deidameia knows much more about football than she was trying to let on. He also can’t claim that he doesn’t know why she’s putting on this ignorant façade; from the way her friend looks on in obvious envy, it’s clear that Deidameia is trying to keep within his space. Either way, he’s having a good time thwarting her efforts. He’s finally about to hand her the paper when-

“You’re standing in the way. Please make space.”

The low, velvet voice is clinically polite but assertive, slowing Achilles where he stands and sending his heart rate skyrocketing. Deidameia triumphantly snatches the paper from him, but she might as well not be there as he puts on an unaffected look and faces Patroclus.

Patroclus, who has grown two inches taller than him, whose locs now fall to his shoulders, whose tie is always pristine, and his sleeves rolled up under tight biceps-

“Who, me?” he asks nonchalantly, cutting off his own trail of thought. Patroclus closes his eyes, sighing through his nose, and Achilles’ pride ruffles. Before he can retort, Odysseus holds out his hands to behold their newcomer.

“And who could forget our dearest, gentle Patroclus? Patroclus is one of our team managers, working specifically with making sure all of our gear is properly checked and functional, as well as helping out with any other necessary logistics. Truly an asset to the functioning of our team- who else would volunteer their time to remember all of that?”

People who don’t want others to get hurt, thinks Achilles. Guilt still curdles in his stomach when he allows himself to think about that day… It has always been baffling to him, that after Patroclus healed from his severe injury, he chose to transfer to Achaea and work with the team…with the player that caused his life-changing injury. From what he’s overheard, Patroclus still attends school on multiple academic scholarships, so money is hardly an issue. Perhaps it’s just a way to feel closer to the sport he loved…but that still wouldn’t explain the transfer.

“You’re still standing in the way.”

This was the other thing about Patroclus- the man rarely rose his voice above an inside volume, the voice of reason for everyone else, but he managed to grate at Achilles with subtle passive-aggression that drives him insane. He’d rather just outright fight him than to deal with…whatever this is! Perhaps this was why he transferred, to personally torment Achilles? Well he’s been playing this game back for a year now, and he doesn’t plan on giving up any time soon!

Achilles steps forward, only an inch of space separating them. Looking up from under his lashes, he smiles beatifically despite his clear challenge. Patroclus stands his ground, maintaining eye contact. For a couple moments they stand there, visibly willing the other to stand down.

“Achilles, please-”

“Why don’t you make me move, Patroclus? Hm? Like at practice?”

“Would it kill you to be amenable for once?”

He doesn’t know what it says about him that he wants Patroclus’ hands on him, and he’s not going to figure it out, either. He simply doesn’t move. When Patroclus’ eye finally twitches with impatience, Ajax rises from his seat. He’s just made it into the walkway when Achilles raises a hand. Grinning, he moves to the side.

“See? I’m so amenable.”

With another annoyed sigh, Patroclus fixes his face and moves to the side as well.

“Go ahead,” he gently says.

Two small, nervous freshmen squeak out their thanks as they race past Patroclus, having been too terrified to ask the football and cheerleading stars to move for them. Once they’re out of sight, Patroclus takes a few more steps forward.

“Ajax, Odysseus, I’ll see you both at practice. Achilles, at least try for best behavior until then.”

With that, he sweeps out of the room. The moment he’s out of sight, Achilles’ face contorts into a scowl. The girls try to return to Achilles, but he only raises his hand to wave them away.

“Patroclus one thousand, Achilles zip,” Ajax teases, finally sliding on his bookbag.

Throughout all of this Odysseus has stood back, observing with knowing eyes and a sharp nose.

“Achilles. I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re mildly scenting-”

“I’m well a-fucking-ware, Odysseus!” Achilles hisses. Cheeks pink with indignity, he tosses his hair. “He just-” Infuriates me. Intrigues me. Makes me feel guilty. Makes me feel things I don’t understand. “He just annoys the fuck out of me sometimes and it overpowers my meds. Goody two shoes bastard. Let’s go.”

The locker room is full of excited conversation after Achaea’s afternoon football practice. It’s also full of the lingering, musty smells of old and new sweat, funk, steam, and clashing pheromones. Diomedes scoffs at one of those potential smells as Odysseus pins him up against a locker with a smug grin. Their other teammates laugh in response, some behind their hands and others outright.

“He’s doing the fucking scenting thing again, isn’t he,” Diomedes complains shoving a palm in between Odysseus’ eyes. “I can’t smell that shit and I never do; get some new moves for fucks sake!”

“Look, Diomedes,” teases Odysseus, grinning despite the awkward position. “You don’t have to smell my pheromones to know that a fine man is offering you a place by his side. I don’t even need them to attract someone, it’s just a bonus in addition to my handsome face and endless charm.”

“Endless charm, my ass,” Diomedes scowls. “How does Penelope deal with you?”

“With patience and very good communication. We’re one unit, we both know what we’re into, and what we’re into lately is-”

“So send the message back that she can stop sending her stinky boy toy after me, hm?” With that, Diomedes lightly knees Odysseus in the crotch, then shoves his head away so that he can go strip off his soaked clothes. Odysseus, playfully clutching himself, pouts.

“I am not stinky! Achilles! Tell Diomedes what magnificence he could be experiencing!”

Achilles, already showered and halfway to dressed, rolls his eyes. Odysseus doesn’t smell awful per se, but he’s not Achilles’ cup of tea, let alone magnificent. There’s nothing wrong with the fresh smell of freshly printed books, sure, but… He’ll never measure up to the smell of cool cypress, with hints of frosted vanilla, and…

Achilles lightly slaps himself in the face. Either way, he’s not attracted to Odysseus, so his pheromones and his little flirtation game with their cornerback mean fuck all to him. Automedon, stripping out of his gear, taps the locker next to him.

“I’m curious- since you can smell Odysseus, does that mean you have an unintentional attraction to him?”

Snickers fill the room, and Achilles flicks Automedon’s forehead as punishment for the intrusive question. Antilochus tsks, locking Automedon into a face-to-pit headlock.

“You can’t just ask people if they’re “unintentionally” attracted to the people they smell, Automedon!” he cries. “Smell this! Do you like this?”

“Ugh!” Automedon wails, struggling to pull out of the forced embrace and escape Antilochus’ evil cackle. “I get it, I’m sorry! Fuck, get your smelly ass armpit out of my face! I get it!”

The two sophomores are goofy and a bit tactless, but genuinely goodhearted. They’ve always been Achilles’ favorite proteges, like gangly lion cubs in training. He knows they mean no harm, so he can answer the question with a smile.

“It’s not that simple,” he explains. “When it comes to attraction, if an Alpha is trying to force themselves onto an Omega, it doesn’t ‘smell’ good. In fact, it’s usually disgusting. For me, an unwanted presence always smells like blood.” He’s had many a pompous Alpha try him, ranging from ‘flirtatious’ to downright aggressive when he wasn’t interested in them, and the nauseating smell has become unmistakable.

“So the whole ‘pump me with pheromones and I’ll do whatever you want’ thing isn’t real?” Antilochus asks, completely ignoring his earlier sentiment. Achilles’ eyes narrow, and a half-naked Odysseus raises a hand.

“It’s not ‘unreal’, per se,” he cuts in, “it’s just not the ‘love’ everyone thinks it is. It’s power. The pheromones still hold some of the power, so if they’re determined… well. But it’s not pleasant in any way for the Omega if they don’t want or encourage the attraction. It was always just an excuse for Alphas to force themselves on Omegas and claim it was warranted. So as much as Diomedes acts like he doesn’t like me-”

“Fuck you.”

“-if he were actually an Omega, I would never force my scent upon him. It’s rude at best, sexual harassment at worst.”

“How kind.” Diomedes flips him off from across the room, and Odysseus only waggles his brow before continuing to dress himself.  

Before they can continue, the choking scent of blood wafts into the room. Achilles scowls, subtly covering his nose with his sweaty shirt. Agamemnon has always been the most obnoxious Alpha he has ever had the displeasure to know, never bothering to suppress his pheromones for decency’s sake. It was like the man was constantly trying to prove his masculinity and ‘superiority’ at every living moment, be damned if it made everyone around him uncomfortable. Achilles has no idea what the man actually smells like, he’s always been so insufferable. He strolls in beside Menelaus, loudly discussing the upcoming party that it’s clear they assume everyone should be interested in.

“So this party tonight, the Trojans will unfortunately be there, but St. Helen and all its lovely women will also be in attendance,” Agamemnon teases, nudging his blushing brother. This time it’s not just Achilles; everyone rolls their eyes as they await what’s coming next.

“And I’ll get to see my glorious Helen,” Menelaus simps. “She’s been busy with her exams, so I’ve allowed her space, but she’s finally done!”

“Quite the gentleman,” encourages Agamemnon. As though allowing his girlfriend space to focus on her academics isn’t the bare minimum; Achilles could vomit.

“Oh, here we go,” Automedon mutters, watching some of their less popular teammates fawn over both brothers as Agamemnon expounds on his and Menelaus’ feats.

St. Helen was a smaller, more traditional all-girls school in the same vicinity as Achaea and Ilium. Because of the size and limited resources of their programs, they have been allowed to sign up for the occasional class and extracurriculars at either school, and some have even become cheerleaders for either schools’ football programs. The most desired ‘gem’ amongst the exclusive women attending the school was Helen.

To her credit, Achilles can admit Helen is genuinely beautiful. Her milky skin, golden hair, and sapphire blue eyes are akin to a supermodel, as though she’s never experienced a bad hair day or acne in her life. In addition, she is unfortunately the stereotypical Omega- her slim frame, wide eyes, and floral scent only adds to her hordes of creeping admirers. Even amongst her siblings, all lovely in their own way, she shines as a standard of societal perfection. It didn’t help that she was named after her school’s patron deity, leading to the parody of her school song, Helen from St. Helen, she’s truly heaven sent!

(It’s honestly baffling to Achilles, the unironic way some of these men will actually sing her praises that way.)

Naturally, all of this led to fighting within both Achaea and Ilium to have her, if not as a partner, as a cheerleader and a prize. To avoid conflict, she’d made the intelligent decision to simply not cheer for either side, focusing on her studies instead. It had been widely accepted that she was untouchable- until Agamemnon, on a date with her sister and Achaea’s squad captain, Clytemnestra, talked up the benefits of dating his brother Menelaus.

Long short of it, they’d ended up together, and it has caused rumblings of jealousy and annoyance throughout all three campuses. Achilles has personally never seen how the appeal measured against the risk. Menelaus is jovial enough- surely not the cesspit that is his brother- but to threaten the already tenuously held peace between the schools? Doubtful.

Agamemnon is successful, as the conversation overall ends up shifting into excitement for the party and potential hookups.

“Hey Pat!” Antilochus joyfully calls, cutting right through Achilles’ thoughts. “Are you coming to the party tonight?”

Patroclus, now entering the room with a wrinkled nose, blinks slowly as he thinks about the offer. Ajax, grinning, claps him on the back.

“You should! Maybe hook up with someone from St. Helen’s. I actually heard that Briseis has been eyeing you up lately, Pat. I’ve seen her; she’s definitely a babe. You ought to go for her!”

…………..

Who the fuck is Briseis?!

Not that it matters! Patroclus never shows up to these parties anyway. He’s always studying for some test or working on some project or another. His brain is probably just as in shape as his muscles; no way he’s going to go just because Ajax brought up some chick!

Achilles doesn’t realize he’s been manically eyeballing Patroclus until Patroclus breaks their gaze and chuckles, running a sheepish hand through his locs.

“You know what? Sure. I’m feeling adventurous today, I guess.”

Cheers and hoots go up across the room, but Achilles is too busy staring down into his bag in horror to pay any attention.

Lips glide slick and sloppy across Paris’ dick as he wraps his hand in soft hair, closing his eyes. Her whimpers intensify as he pushes himself inside harder, faster, his clenched lips coming apart in blissful moans. If he tries- and it isn’t very hard to do so- he can imagine it’s the soft, pink lips and pretty cheeks of the loveliest girl in the world, her golden hair mussed in between his long fingers. If just being around her intoxicating scent for a couple minutes was enough to drive him this mad, he knows that imagining will not be enough. He needs to know if her tongue is like velvet, if being inside her is like coming home.

He needs Helen.

“Fuck,” he breathes, coming heavily. “Helen, shit-”

Unfortunately, he cannot enjoy his well-earned orgasm, as Oenone pushes him away, disdainfully spitting his seed on the ground.

“Ew,” he comments, frowning. “Why the fuck would you do that, O? That’s gross.”  

Oenone’s face pales in wrath, her tearful expression searing.

“You want to know what’s gross?” she hisses. Before he can react, her hand is flashing across his cheek like hot fire. “Being with a narcissistic asshole like you! I can’t believe you! Don’t ever speak to me again, you fucking creep!”

Sobbing, Oenone straightens out her clothes, grabs her bookbag, and sweeps out of the bedroom. Paris rubs at his red cheek with a cringe. To be fair, he didn’t mean to let Helen’s name slip out! But he also can’t help his heart, and frankly, he was already becoming bored of his time with Oenone. Perhaps this was for the better, anyway. Helen has consumed him, and it wouldn’t be fair to think about both chicks- right?

After wiping up the mess on his carpet with a stray sock, he zips up his pants and strolls out into the living room. His cringe deepens upon the disappointing look of his older brother.

“Hector, I-” he begins, but Hector holds a hand up.

“I don’t even want to know what you did to break that poor girl’s heart. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Of course, brother.” Paris plops down onto the couch, checking his phone. “What brings the famed captain and Quarterback of the University of Ilium to my humble abode?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Paris waits, scrolling his social media, but Hector doesn’t continue.

“Is that all?”

“Honestly? Yes. You know that we’re supposed to be going to this party tonight, and I don’t want any drama out of you. Aeneas and Sarpedon are going to be there, and you are going to stay with them and behave yourself.”

Ahh, their cousins Aeneas and Sarpedon; Safety and Linebacker, and more trusted to Hector than his own brother. It would make him sick if Paris didn’t know that he was more beloved amongst the ladies. Paris grins, batting his lashes at his stern sibling. “Why are you so worried?”

“I’m not stupid, Paris. It’s my senior year, I have other career and life goals to prioritize, and I don’t have time to spend worrying about you messing with someone else’s girl again. Oenone’s heart is one thing, but U of A is going to be there and who knows how many groupies will follow them. Now, I promised Andromache that we were going to have a nice night tonight, and I refuse to let you fuck it up.”

Paris wants to roll his eyes. His brother: the perfect Alpha gentleman, and the stiff. Their father, Priam, is Ilium’s top donator to their illustrious football program, and everyone knows it- they can have literally anything and anyone they want. Instead, Hector’s been faithful to this one woman since high school. Wants to train horses and own a farm as a side job to professional football. Horses and a farm! It could never be Paris.

“Paris.”

“Fine! I can at least promise you that I won’t be the one to start anything. You know those brutes become insecure the moment I step in the room.”

Hector sighs, though it is not necessarily in disagreement. Different they may be, both of them share a disdain for the other football team and their loud, obnoxious behavior. Being in the room with their captain- Agamemnon?- was extremely aggravating at minimum. He was not nearly so smart or handsome to treat others the way he did, his success purely dependent upon the rest of his team. Plus, with both Hector and Paris being Alphas, his constant need to flex his pheromones has near led to more than one unnecessary clash.

Hector rises, pointing at Paris one last time before walking out.

“Behave. We’ll be here by 7 to pick you up for pre-game.”

Achilles’ cheeks are bright pink as he shotguns his sixth hard cider, Antilochus and Automedon amongst the crowd cheering him on. It’s perhaps the lightest drink he’s had tonight, his stomach swimming with loads of light and dark liquor. Between the loud, vibrating music, low and tight basement ceiling, and constant movement, he feels like he’s one shove from either starting a fight or fainting.

He shouldn’t have mixed liquors, he knows that, but he’d been too distraught. Upon arriving at the house party, he’d done a thorough scan of the place until Ajax pointed out this ‘Briseis’ girl. Unfortunately, she really is gorgeous; long, slim legs with a pert backside, luscious lips surrounding a beautiful smile and pretty brown skin and curls that she clearly spends time taking care of. Patroclus would be blind if he liked girls and didn’t notice her beauty.

After that, he’d started taking shots, and an hour in, his emotions are nicely drowned under all the liquid courage. Fuck it! He’s gorgeous too, and everyone knows it. Hundreds of people have asked for his number over the years, he has loads of options- what should he be worried about? Antilochus punches him in the side, cackling when Achilles burps then scowls at him.

“At this point Achilles, I think we can safely say that you’re showing the most tit here. You’re scaring the babes.”

Achilles shrugs. It’s the truth, and he’s proud of it. His tight black leotard exposes both his shoulders and his pecs, and they sit perk and pretty for everyone’s eyes. His acid wash jeans rise to his slim waist, accentuating his broad shoulders. For a little extra flashiness, he’s wearing his hair in a half-ponytail, with some light black mascara for drama. The babes should be scared. He tosses his hair pompously, squeaking when someone tugs it.

“Don’t hype the Prince’s head too much, all that hot air will make him float away.” Smirking at his own joke, Ajax slides past all three of them holding a gigantic container full of beer. Achilles tosses his hair again, this time out of the giant’s way, while Antilochus and Automedon laugh at his expense. Automedon slyly looks around, before making a wicked expression.

“Maybe Patroclus will think it’s a look, too.”

Before Achilles can roundhouse kick him for the utter audacity, a loud crash breaks into everyone’s night, cutting the music off. Loud screaming, shouting, and heavy footsteps follow the crash, and everyone is crushing together in a panic as they try to either escape the noise or rush to see what it is. Achilles, already dizzy from all the alcohol, is ready to turn and flee when a firm hand grasps his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Patroclus asks, looking between the group as they move closer together to avoid the crowd. Achilles’ mouth is dry as he takes in the simple, tight black t-shirt and dark jeans, so much so that he misses the quick conversation his teammates have. Ajax takes off up the stairs, his large height and size enough to easily barrel through the crowd. As for Achilles, he’s still only focused on the warm hand around his as Patroclus pulls him through in the other direction.

They run a few houses down, underneath the dark trees until Patroclus stops to unlock a black Toyota. All his daze vanishes in a moment of pure enmity when Antilochus goes to open the front door.

“Get in the back,” he hisses, pointing imperiously at the back of the car as he forces his way into the front seat, aggressively putting on his seatbelt. Antilochus pouts as Automedon yanks him away, but that pout quickly turns into a look of realization after a short, whispered talk between the two. Achilles ignores their corny grins as he peers into the distance.

Police cars speed past Patroclus’ car, rushing into the house party. From the distance, they all watch as Menelaus is dragged from the house, fighting and screaming. Behind them, an enraged Agamemnon and stern Odysseus are calling something to him, jumping in a car and speeding close behind. Diomedes and Ajax stay behind, aggressively cursing and pointing at someone inside before running off as well.

“What the fuck is going on,” Automedon whispers. “Did they start a fight?”

“Did you see what happened when you came in?” Antilochus asks Patroclus. Patroclus only shakes his head.

“No. I had just walked in through the garage and saw you all standing near the door when people started running out.”

They all sit in the car in silence for a couple moments, unsure of what to do.

“Go to the park.” Achilles suddenly suggests.

Patroclus frowns. “Why?”

“Let’s go to the park. I have energy to run off now, my heart is racing.”

It’s silly, and Achilles is about to take it back when Patroclus turns on the car. Five minutes later, they end up at the nearby park, the grass well-lit under all of the lanterns and stars. Before he turns the car off, he grabs Achilles’ shoulder in a tight grip and turns to Antilochus and Automedon.

“If he runs off, you two need to catch him. No questions asked.”

The two boys grin with the challenge, though Achilles scoffs.

“As if these fools could catch me at a dead sprint.”

It’s so childishly arrogant that Patroclus laughs low, eyes closing in mirth, and Achilles feels like he could catch the moon. In fact, he’s so happy that-

“Let’s go!”

Somehow managing to hurtle out of the car without tangling in the seat belt, Achilles takes off into the green grass at high speed. Well, the highest speed he can manage while the sky is spinning around him. Behind him, Antilochus and Automedon are whooping and cheering, and one of them has even scrounged a football up from Patroclus’ trunk.

“Pat!” Automedon cries. “Throw the ball!”

Gasping dramatically, Achilles turns around. Patroclus, standing in front of a bench, holds the ball in his hands for a moment. He lifts his unsure gaze just enough for the ground to still under Achilles, the world freezing around him. Subtly, Achilles nods.

Patroclus lifts his arm and throws in a perfect arc, and Achilles is weightless as he runs for the ball. It’s both terrifying and full of ecstasy, the way he can hardly control his body and yet still manages to catch it. Unfortunately, he only has a moment to enjoy their first catch before two giggling grown men hurtle themselves into him. They’re all on the ground shouting until impatient hands pull them apart.

“Okay, okay, I said catch him, not smother him!” Patroclus’ stern voice is enough to make Antilochus and Automedon pull away, and they steal the ball and run off. As for Achilles, half his face covered in smudges of dirt, he’s all smiles for Patroclus.

“Wow! Your face is surrounded by the moon,” he giggles. It’s true- a bright white halo surrounds Patroclus as he grimaces down at him, and he’s so beautiful.

“Achilles, are you okay? You could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

“This is now the best night ever!” Achilles giggles again, lifting a hand to his hair to pull out his now crooked scrunchie. Patroclus smiles, pressing his lips together to stop from laughing.

“Okay. I believe you. Do you need help getting up? I can call them-”

“No. I don’t want their help. I want yours.” Achilles’ gaze becomes subdued, something akin to shame falling over his expression. “I want you to chase after me too… but you can’t… it’s my fault…”

A moment later, Patroclus sighs and holds out a hand.

“We’ll… maybe one day we’ll talk about this, when you’re sober.”

Talk about what? Achilles has already forgotten what they were talking about. Patroclus is too handsome to look so serious, though he obviously looks handsome serious too. So handsome. But Achilles has something else much more important on his mind.

“Achilles, can-”

“There were babes at the party. I’m a babe too.”

“What?”

“Say I’m a babe, and I’ll let you lift me.”

“Achilles-”

“Who?”

It’s a petulant challenge, purposely annoying, and while he’s having fun, Achilles is sure that he won’t-

“Please, baby, let me help you off the ground.”

…

Is Achilles dead?

He can’t be, not from the way he feels the heat rushing to his ears, from the way his thighs tighten, the way he chokes on a small whimper and a small bit of sandalwood scent leaks out.

But he has to be, because Patroclus just called him baby- not babe, but baby- in that low, pleading voice, surrounded by a halo of moonlight. He has to be in Heaven, and this man is a deity. His arm lifts of its own accord, and after what feels like flying, he falls into Patroclus’ embrace.

“Are you o-”

“Food!” Achilles cries, refusing to look any further at Patroclus. He needs to re-center! “Let’s go eat! Thing 1, Thing 2, what do you want?! I’m buying!”

“For real? Nacho bell grandes!” Automedon sounds off, thankfully appearing from somewhere. Antilochus jumps down from a tree, starting up a cheer for ‘Taco Bell’. Patroclus says nothing as he leads Achilles back to the car. He’s still holding his hand, and it’s taking everything within Achilles not to punch both boys in the chest to stop their knowing grins.

Six terrible soft taco supremes with hot sauce (for which he leaned over Patroclus’ body to loudly demand), a giant Mountain Dew, and a wave of incoming queasiness later, Achilles realizes that they’ve pulled up by the side of the dorms. Patroclus looks like he’s ready to scream, but he schools his harried expression into one of calm as he points outside of vehicle.

“Y’all got to get out,” he murmurs to himself, before turning around. “Do you need me to help you both drag Achilles back upstairs, or will you be okay?”

Antilochus has already slipped out of the car, but Automedon comes up to the side window.

“Oh, Achilles doesn’t live in a dorm! He lives in one of those nice apartment complexes off campus. I texted you his address!” With an encouraging thumbs up each, Automedon and Antilochus sprint off, leaving Patroclus in his car horrified. Finally subdued by nausea, a meek, curled up Achilles watches as Patroclus silently screams into the wheel before taking a deep breath.

“Fucking idiots,” he mutters again. He’s been muttering a lot, Achilles notices. Is that something he always does?

“Achilles, I need you to call someone and tell them you’re with me and that you’re safe, please.”

It takes a moment for the directions to click, but Achilles fumbles around for his phone.

“Who?” he asks.

“Anyone that cares.”

Achilles purses his lips, then presses a button. The phone rings for a couple moments, then a feminine voice picks up.

“Hello?”

“Mommy!” Achilles yells, second wind acquired. He smiles at Patroclus- “I did it!” he whispers, ignoring Patroclus’ mortification. “Mommy, I’m out right now, and I’m a little drunk, but I’m okay because I’m with the safest person!”

Achilles’ mother heaves a sigh of agitation. “I was already coming tomorrow- Achilles, do I need to come get you? You don’t sound a ‘little’ drunk. Where are you?”

“No!” he cries. “I’m fine! I said I’m with- I’m with Patroclus, he’s safe, and he’s gonna take me home!”

“Who? Achilles!”

Before he can hang up, Patroclus snatches the phone out of his hand.

“Hello ma’am,” he answers, “I’m Patroclus. I’m on th- I’m one of the managers on Achaea’s football team. I’m driving your son home because he clearly had too much to drink tonight, and I wanted him to let someone know he was safe.”

It’s quiet for a couple moments, and then another sigh.

“Thank you, Patroclus. Please let me know when you get him home. I’ll be up there in the morning.”

After she hangs up, Patroclus drops the phone in Achilles’ lap and peels into the night. Ten minutes later, one of the longest nights he’s ever had is near an end as he pulls into the closest parking spot he can find.

And then Achilles opens his door and vomits onto the ground.

What has Achilles done?

He can only remember small pieces of the night before, and frankly, the outcome isn’t looking good. His brain feels like he’s been cracked in the head with a hammer he’s so hungover, his eyes are swollen, and his stomach and ass feel like hot lava. He was only awake for a minute before racing to the toilet, his intestines clearly hateful for his actions.

Achilles does not have time for this; he has practice tonight. He usually knows better than to get that wasted. Stupid, he berates himself, so fucking stupid! Worst of all, he only has one pleasant memory- Patroclus’ face blurs in the light, but he knows he saw him! What he wouldn’t give to know what they were talking about. Especially because this means he could have said anything.

A cramp twists through his body, distracting him from the lovely memory. He barely manages to reach back far enough to flush.

How could he waste that time?! Patroclus clearly saw him last night- he doesn’t even know if Patroclus liked his outfit! Why was he even on the ground like that?! Fuck! And then his friends, his trash friends, how could they leave him out to dry like this? Surely they were the ones to bring him home, but they clearly didn’t dissuade him from whatever decisions he made that led to this sort of misery.

Achilles can’t even argue that with himself- he knows that the two will do anything he asks, he’s always been their favorite bad influence. But they should have ignored him this time, fucking-

He’s just realized he doesn’t have his phone to jump in their group chat and curse them out when there’s a small knock on the door. Achilles’ hackles rise, his teeth grit and his pheromones threatening. Is this how he’s going to die? Robbed while he’s stuck on the toilet? Maybe it’s Antilochus and Automedon, and it’ll save him the trouble of having to track them down at practice and-

“Um, not to make this awkward, but I have to go to a volunteer event soon and I didn’t want you to not know I was here. I just didn’t want you to choke on your own vomit last night, so I stayed over.”

No.

No this can’t be happening to me.

This can’t be-

A pained, high pitch note of terror bubbles from Achilles’ throat.

“I didn’t pry into anything, I promise! I- god I should have just texted you-” Patroclus continues, voice strained as though he’s the one that making it weird. “Uh… Anyway, I… made you some hangover soup. It’s spicy, which seems like it wouldn’t help, but it will. You had just enough ingredients, so... I also left out some blue Gatorade. Make sure you hydrate throughout the day, and take a couple Tylenol too. I’ll… goodbye, then.”

It’s a good thing Patroclus leaves quickly, because Achilles doesn’t have the wherewithal to thank him for his unending grace. Instead, the moment he hears the front door close, all he can do is shove his head into his hands and scream.

Achilles glares out of the window, two ibuprofen and thick sunglasses protecting his eyes from the bright sunlight beaming over his table. In front of him, Thetis silently sips her mimosa with one hand, freshly done nails on the other tapping the table. Lucky for them, this is a more private restaurant, so very few people witness the glamorously pant-suited matriarch glare at her visibly ruffled- yet still fashionably dressed himself because Achilles might be hungover but he’s not tacky- son.

The worst part is, he knows why she’s here, and he can’t even be self-righteous about it. Normally these types of conversations are Achilles being rakishly adorable while he convinces his mother that he had Reasons to do the thing he did, even if she didn’t agree with those reasons. She’ll sigh, hem and haw with anxiety, and by the end she’s laughing herself.

He’s got nothing for this one.

As for Thetis, well, this is just one of infinite times she’s worried about her world-shaking son and his path in life. The thing is, Thetis knows that Achilles has always been mischievous. Most of the trouble he’d ever been in had been small; food fights, skinny dipping, arguing with arrogant teachers leading to ‘rebellions’ at detention, the occasional dangerous stunt to prove he was ‘the greatest’ amongst his friends.

But then, things had hit a turning point in Achilles’ life when he turned thirteen, hit puberty, and presented as an Omega. Suddenly her happy, confident child was hiding in his room, screaming into pillows, made miserable and paranoid by the idea that he would be treated as less than. It didn’t matter that she explained that he was still good-looking, still smart, and that he would make new, genuine friends. In his mind, he now had something to prove. What was once mischief became a chip on his shoulder, resulting in multiple clashes at school.   

After the last fight, Peleus suggested that they try American football. Thetis had been against it at first, fearing the contact aggression of the sport. Surely anything else would suffice- baseball, regular football, tennis? Achilles had tried other sports before, and quickly become bored with them, but surely they could make him commit? It had caused a major fight even, when Peleus snuck him to a practice and let him run the drills with the older boys.

But… Peleus was right.

Despite his late start, it was clear that Achilles was something special when he started vastly outperforming everyone else on the junior varsity teams. He was moved up almost instantly. Scouters that never game a single damn about high school football started showing up to his games by the middle of his sophomore year. His statistics indicated college level skill, his future trajectory almost unrealistic. Perhaps it was destiny, perhaps it had just been ideal timing, but something about putting on that gear and going to what was essentially war- against society, against expectations, against himself, to claim and behold his own purpose- calmed that insecure fire within Achilles that nothing else seemed to. Nothing compared to the feeling, it seemed, of the glory he brought upon himself and his team. 

As happy as she was for her son’s newfound purpose, Thetis still wasn’t pleased.

To finally ‘make up’ for blatantly lying to his wife, Peleus had offered Thetis an olive branch two seasons in: ballet. Some players took ballet, he explained, to help maintain their form, flexibility, and strength, so in the off-seasons Achilles could participate in something not so violent as Thetis perceived her son’s chosen sport to be. It had been a self-serving, passive-aggressive offer, but Thetis had been caught between a rock and a hard place: either break her son’s heart by continuing to ‘not support’ him or accept the ‘happy medium’ and throw herself into it.

So… throw herself into it she did, and to her endless delight, Achilles seemed to take to ballet just as easily, happily, and seriously as football. He was her baby boy again, smiling, happy, dancing so ethereally that more than once she’d asked if he’d prefer to stick with ballet instead. He always refused. And so, she has continued to worry.  

Achilles has finally formed some type of argument, and opens his mouth to speak when Thetis scoffs.

“I know that look, and I don’t want to hear it. Not this time.”

“What look? I’m wearing sunglasses.”

“To hide the hangover, or the shame?”

He cringes, then closes his mouth and slumps back in his seat. Thetis finally exhales one last time, holding out her hand. “Look at me.”

After a second, Achilles begrudgingly hands her the sunglasses and looks directly at her.

“Thank you. Achilles- please don’t get that dangerously drunk again. I am extremely thankful that the young man with you was a decent person that explained what was going on, because you could have been hurt or worse being so vulnerable. What if someone had tried to take advantage of you? I could be having a horrific conversation with you right now, about your safety and wellbeing. Or even worse, not seeing you at all! Do you know how scared I was when you called me, from a dark car, sounding that way?”

Scowling, Achilles looks away. “First, it wouldn’t be my fault for being drunk if anything worse had-”

“That is not what I’m saying!”

“And I get it! But Patroclus would never do that! If anything, what if someone had called the cops or something. They might have assumed worse of him than they would me, for numerous reasons!”

Thetis pauses, blinking in shock. She watches as Achilles shoves his head into his hands. This is…different. Her son is fairly predictable when he’s trying to weave himself out of trouble, but this is the first time that he’s ever shown defensiveness about his actions affecting someone else. She pulls out her phone, nails clicking against the screen as she researches the name of the man that took care of her son.

“Oh,” she realizes, pursing her lips. “This is… oh dear.”

Achilles looks at her, concerned. “Mom? What is it?”

“This is the young man who fractured his shin at that game your freshman year.”

“No, that is the young man whose shin I fractured,” Achilles counters, once more taking accountability on himself. Thetis must have died and gone to heaven. “God, Mom I’m so embarrassed. He took me home, he made me soup this morning, and he heard me- he heard me in the bathroom-”

Achilles’ head lies flat on the table as he remembers how awful his morning began. Thetis finds this hilarious, sipping her mimosa to try to hide her smile. It doesn’t work, because the moment she puts the glass down, her laughter slips out.

“Mom!”

“You’ll have to introduce me, since you’re so enamored of him. He sounds like quite the gentleman.”

Achilles flushes to his roots. “Enamored? That’s what you’re worried about? I can’t ever look him in the face ever again! And yes, he is a gentleman!”

“Don’t ever get drunk over a man, my son. It’s not worth it.”

“Mother, please! You don’t even know what happened!”

“Sure, sure.” Now that she’s sure her child is safe, Thetis is thrilled. In fact, she’s going to call every single one of her sisters with this tale. She pulls up the group chat in preparation. “Still. Last night was worrisome. Please try to care for your mother’s heart if you don’t care about your own. For me, and especially for… Patroclus?”

She pats his puffed-up cheek, pointing down to the menu. “Now. Do you know what you want to eat? The waiter will be back soon, I see them lingering. I suggest an omelet.”

“I’m getting two of the superfood ones, since I have practice later.”

“Want a mimosa?”

“Just kill me instead.” But Achilles says it with a smile, because he knows he’s been forgiven. The waiter comes to take their order, and as soon as they’re done, Thetis puts her phone back down.

“Moving forward: they contacted the parents of everyone on the football team last night after apparently one of your teammates temporarily put in jail.”

Achilles vaguely remembers something happening at the house party, though he’s muted the group chat since it was pinging nonstop all morning. He wanted to deal with one stressor at a time today, and who knew what those assholes had gotten into.

If practice out in the heat with the lingering effects of a hangover was miserable, the added fifteen minutes of suicides before practice made it excruciating. Achilles has never felt so sick before, his performance visibly affected just as much as his teammates.

Antilochus and Automedon get a half mile run around the track on top of the punishment suicides for ‘abandoning their drunk teammate.’ It was clear who had spoken to the coaches to make that one happen, and as they pass Patroclus sitting high in the bleachers, they plead to him as though he was a cruel god.

“Aw, Pat, c’mon,” Automedon cries. “It’ll never happen again! We trusted you!”

Patroclus only points his hand down the track with a stern look, and they groan but they take off. When Patroclus turns, he locks eyes with Achilles, startles, and turns away. The rest of the team congregates near the benches to drink water and wipe off the sweat, and when the two knuckleheads finally look ready to collapse, Achilles takes the opportunity to knock their heads together.

“Okay, no,” Antilochus hisses, legitimately scowling as he heaves on the ground. “We did the fucking laps; you are not going to be mad too. Besides it was Automedon’s idea.”

“We wouldn’t have left you if it weren’t Patroclus, I promise you,” Automedon wheezes, drinking water. “You were so desperate for his attention all night anyway.”

Achilles crunches his fingers together. “I don’t need your judg- actually, fuck both of you!” he whispers. “This was the most humiliating fucking morning of my life- look, I care about you idiots, and Patroclus is a good person, so I’m letting it go this once! You understand me? And apologize to him officially, after you get up.”

“Oh, boy.” Automedon raises a wry eye. “He stayed over? You puked on him, didn’t you?”

Achilles knees him onto the ground with a huff, then helps both of them get to their feet when the whistles are blown. Out of the side of his eye, he watches Antilochus and Automedon go apologize to Patroclus, and hums in pleasure when Patroclus smiles in forgiveness. By the time they return to his side, there’s at least one thing he doesn’t have to be pissed about.  

By the middle of practice, the constant heat has done nothing to cool anyone’s bodies nor heads. Half of the team has removed everything but their shorts, and even their normally sweat soaked gear seems more unpleasant. Out of everyone, Agamemnon and Menelaus are still powering through, unbothered, as though they aren’t the reason for everyone’s exhaustion.

A thick resentment has been simmering within Achilles. From the breaks between sets, he’d discovered that it was Menelaus who’d been in jail due to tackling and choking out Ilium’s halfback, Paris, for flirting with Helen despite multiple direct threats not to. In response, Hector, Sarpedon, and Aeneas had jumped in to pull Menelaus off, which made Agamemnon jump in and punch the quarterback square in the nose.

If Achilles could hazard a guess, Agamemnon probably didn’t give a singular fuck about Helen when he’d thrown that punch. Odysseus should have left them both in jail. Either way, he’s livid that the entire team is now suffering the consequences of their actions. All he’d done was have a bad night out; why the hell is he paying for the pride of a cucked man and his pathetic older brother?

“Hey Princeling, pay attention to the drill. Not sure how you can ‘carry the team’ if you’re zoned out.” 

Speaking of the devil; Achilles gives Agamemnon a pointedly disdainful look as he breaks into his reverie.

“I don’t know, Agamemnon, but you can’t carry a ball, let alone a team, so I certainly can’t ask you.”

Agamemnon bristles, the smell of blood reaching Achilles instantly. He’s so sick of that smell.

“Watch your goddamn mouth, Achilles. You don’t run this fucking team.”

“At this point, do you?”

Agamemnon sinisterly growls, and Achilles slaps his hands off his chest in challenge, teeth bared. It only gets worse when Menelaus appears from the side, holding Agamemnon ‘back’. Ajax and Automedon appear behind Achilles, lingering just in case.

“Quit being an asshole and just do your drills. You’re not even performing properly today.”

Achilles’ eyes widen in furious humor. “I know you aren’t-! Maybe I would be, maybe we all would be, if you could keep up with your girlfriend!”

It takes the majority of the defensive players and coaches to haul the three to the sidelines before Achilles can make the situation any worse, all three hauling caustic words and threats of violence at one another. Each of them gets a bottle of ice water thrown into their faces, and an ultimatum: play nice and apologize, or face more laps until they do. In addition, Achilles is told that he needs to stop antagonizing the captain and co-captain at once.

Frankly, fuck both of them, he thinks, his pride hot as ever, but he’s also exhausted and just wants to be done. Whatever. He makes the stupid apologies, does his best to ignore their smug faces, and heads back to his drills. By the end of practice, everyone is just as bone tired and agitated as he is. Even Odysseus is silent, wit dried up as he showers.

All the other players have cleared out by the time Achilles half-limps out of the locker rooms and goes to sit at the bottom of the bleachers. The breeze has finally picked up, the sun low in the sky. He leans back on his bag and closes his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if Agamemnon and Menelaus will take advantage of his chosen loneliness, but instead of fear, he delights in the idea. Just one hit, he muses, just one hit in that stupid fucking face and I’d-

“Your ankles hurt.”

Achilles damn near throws his imaginary hook, the way he raises defensively. Maybe he wasn’t as safe as he thought, though Patroclus is respectful enough to signal his approach with his pheromones like Agamemnon. Pouting resentfully, Achilles sits back down.

“Don’t sneak up on me. How can you tell?”

“Sorry. Experience.” Patroclus chuckles, sitting on the row of bleachers beneath him. “Do you want some help?”

Want; Achilles appreciates the crutch for his ego. He kicks off his shoes and places his feet on the bleachers.

“May I?”

Achilles nods, and Patroclus takes one of his legs into his lap before going into familiar ankle stretching exercises. The burn of the stretch feels good, and the warm, large hands on him aren’t losing any points either. It’s odd, really- Patroclus seems unusually confident about his movements. Does he normally help people do this? Is Achilles just one of many?

“You know,” he starts, attempting nonchalance. “I’m the one in exercise physiology. This is technically my job, unless you just have a thing for my feet.”

Achilles bats his lashes with the tease, and without missing a beat Patroclus only raises a wry eyebrow.

“I figured after the night we had together, this wouldn’t be too much to offer.”

It’s both titillating and mortifying, and it shuts Achilles right up. Only with this man! He has no problem facing anything in his path, but for whatever reason, this man is so-!

“So. Do you normally like… cold shoulder tops and such?”

Achilles huffs a laugh. “You mean my outfit last night? Did you find it distasteful?” Maybe it’s because he’s so tired, but it seems easier to admit somehow, in this open, quiet space.

“No, not at all,” Patroclus admits, pursing his lips in amusement. “It was… nice. You look nice in it. I certainly couldn’t pull it off.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Achilles would be damned if he took it back. Fuck. Now he’s imagining it. “But, if there’s other fashion you want to look into, I have plenty of recommendations.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Patroclus is quietly in the middle of stretching his other foot when Achilles finally exhales in defeat. He just wants the elephant out of the room already.

“The soup was good, and it helped. So…thank you for taking care of me. Even if I don’t remember what happened, I know you were there for me. And… I’m sorry about everything that happened. Please forget it. It won’t happen again.”

Something in Patroclus’ expression changes- had Achilles offended him by saying that he didn’t remember what happened? He pauses his gentle massage, holding Achilles’ heel as he thinks. Finally, he gives Achilles a strangely vulnerable look.

“See to it that it doesn’t.”

With that, he places Achilles’ feet back on the bleachers, and rises to leave. Breathing heavily through his nose, Achilles panics- he can’t just leave, he can’t just say that again, he-

“Wait!”

Patroclus is already off the bleachers when he turns.

“We’re in Human Physiology together!” Achilles blurts. Patroclus frowns, looking to the side and back.

“…okay?”

“I-” Fucking- “I’ll see you then, is what I mean.”

Realization brightens Patroclus’ expression, and he gives him a small, sweet smile.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The goal was to show Patroclus that he is smart, that he cares about things other than football. To give them reason to be near each other now that the ice has been cracked in the most awkward of ways possible.

Instead, days into this new seating arrangement, Achilles is realizing that if he doesn’t get his shit together swiftly, he’s going to fail Human Physiology I, taught by the notoriously difficult Professor Chiron. It’s just the beginning of the semester, and usually he sits in the back because his attention span can only last forty of the eighty-minute lecture. 

Being up this close to the front doesn’t help, because now he spends the time looking at Patroclus- and Patroclus’ really neat notes- every five minutes. During one of the lectures where they go to quiet study before a quiz, Patroclus finally pushed his notes close to Achilles, offering to help him organize. Patroclus seems to really like the class, and it shows in his pointed questions and intelligent answers. His discussion posts actually come across like he does the reading. Hell, he makes Achilles step his own discussion post game up.

At the end of this lecture, Professor Chiron reveals the results from the last quiz to the class, resulting in cheers, moans, and laughter. Achilles cringes, knowing he’s fallen into that bell curve chunk of 65-70%, while Patroclus is certainly in that 90-95%. The next slide only results in even more unanimous groans.

“Yes, I know,” Professor Chiron muses, humor in his dry tone. “Group projects. Working together, the bane of individualistic society. Luckily, it’s only a partner assignment, and it will be taking the place of a midterm exam, so you have plenty of time to work on it. This was on the syllabus; I don’t want to hear surprise! Now, the directions-”

He’s not even two sentences into his explanation before Achilles has wholeheartedly grabbed Patroclus’ hand and blatantly held it on top of the table. He can hear the defeated gasps around him, and smiles to himself. Good. Don’t even try. He’s my partner. Once the lecture ends, Achilles simply refuses to move until everyone around them notices and doesn’t bother to ask Patroclus to be their partner.

Professor Chiron raises a brow. “Patroclus? Will you be coming to office hours alone, or will you be bringing Achilles with you?”

Patroclus lifts his tightly held hand, body shaking with laughter, and Achilles realizes that he’s just forcibly held the man’s hand for quite some time.

But- he didn’t tell him to let go, either. Achilles decides to go for it.

“Yeah! I could use office hours! Lead the way.”

Professor Chiron smiles mysteriously. “You sure could use them.”

Achilles is going to let that slide, because the Good Professor just gained him Patroclus’ undivided attention and help for a half semester.

Achilles quickly takes advantage of the group pairing, swearing to Patroclus that he needed help in the class. It wasn’t a lie, and that thought made it easier to bat his lashes and smile until Patroclus, somewhat flustered, accepted his request to be an impromptu tutor.

“I could pay you, of course,” he’d offered, and Patroclus’ expression had momentarily cooled.

“No thank you. It’s fine.”

There’s a special room that they rent in the library, small with a whiteboard on the far end and a desktop for finding videos. It’s a one-hour rental, enough for Achilles to find ways to slip in personal questions amongst the actual tutoring. It helps break the ice, and soon they go from sitting across the table from one another asking awkward surface level questions (“what’s your favorite color?” “Sky blue.” “What’s your go-to comfort meal?” “Go to? Grilled cheese.”) to sitting shoulder to shoulder, discussing the deep lore of their favorite video games, hyping the other as they develop arguments on Reddit (“His third paragraph proves he has no reading comprehension. He’s obviously tasteless, not to mention maidenless.” “Patroclus, you’ve read my mind, and I couldn’t agree more. He’s a bitch. You should also tell him that!”)

They’d gone to practice after one good study session, and Odysseus had raised his brow.

“This is the most pleasant Achilles has ever been when it comes to teamwork. He’s on time? He’s not arguing? Dare I say it, he’s being nice?” Odysseus jokingly bows to Patroclus. “Patroclus, whatever deep magic you are working, you have our infinite thanks.”

Patroclus had only smiled indulgently, especially when Achilles only scoffed and strolled away. He’s capable of being good! Besides, it’s hard to feel angry at whatever bullshit Agamemnon pulls when he’s too busy floating on cloud nine. It’s especially time to show what he can do when their exam approaches. Patroclus is serious the night before, his laptop screen full of video explanations, his note cards and diagrams strewn over the table. He’s been drilling Achilles in everything, to the point where Achilles feels like it’s all going to roll right back out of his head.

“A moment’s break, please!” He begs, head on the table. “I’ll die if you ask me one more question like this.”

Patroclus huffs, placing his colorful cards on the table. “You know, if you’re already tired of my tutoring,” he murmurs, “Professor Chiron has office hours, and there’s supplemental sessions as well. The times are on the syllabus.”

His tone is quietly hurt, and Achilles swiftly lifts his head to see Patroclus avert his gaze.

“No, no, that’s not it!” I could never tire of you! “Besides, I learn better from you. You’re smarter than them, anyway.” Achilles fidgets nervously under the table, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when Patroclus chuckles in forgiveness.

“I am not smarter than Professor Chiron. He’s on another level. Galaxy brained.”

“No, but you’re aiming to be there one day. And,” adds Achilles, grinning flirtatiously, “you’re much sweeter on the eyes.”

Patroclus is very susceptible to compliments and flirtation, at least from people he respects. Under that posh, stern exterior, the man is as soft as a plush teddy bear. This whole time, Achilles had psyched himself out of it, tried to counter sass with sass, but now he knows he just has to be sweet and it’s game.

Maybe Odysseus is right; he really is losing his edge.

But who cares, because here’s his favorite part- whenever he compliments him, Patroclus smiles bashfully, trying not to acknowledge that he’s flattered. There it is! Patroclus’ shoulders hike to his ears, his cheeks so filled with joy that his eyes crease, but he quickly bounces back by tapping Achilles’ forehead with his pen.

“No! Stop trying to flatter me and worry about those test questions. We’re looking for grade A effort.”

“I am giving grade A effort! A is for Achilles!”

“A is for annoying. Now draw out this diagram. Our first exam is tomorrow, and I don’t want you to fail it. That first test is essential for having leeway to mess up later.”

Achilles groans, shoving his palms into his eyes. Despite his whining, his work in the class really is becoming much better. He passes the clicker quizzes; his discussion posts are short but show understanding. Even his homework quality has risen.

“I’m not going to fail! I had your help, so it’s an impossibility.” With a dramatic sigh, Achilles stands and grandly swipes up a dry erase marker. “Now, watch me ace this, Philtatos.”

“What did you just call me?”

Achilles doesn’t answer, only winking and then getting to work.

(He’d practiced it at home for this exact moment, and he was going to draw this fucking diagram perfectly if it killed him.)

“You know,” Achilles muses, deftly ignoring the question. “You’re really good at breaking things down and making them more understandable and interesting. Why aren’t you a TA in his class? Or you could even get paid to tutor people in it.”

Patroclus purses his lips, focused on his phone. “I don’t want your money, and I don’t want to tutor. Besides, I already have a job with the football team. And Professor Chiron only hires grad students. I’m hoping to apply when I come back for grad school, as well as his lab.”

“Hm. Well. He’d be stupid not to pick you. If it were me, I would.”

And with that, he reveals the diagram with a flourish. He’s expecting many expressions- a rolled eye, a bashful smile, a bold, proud nod. Instead, Patroclus’ eyes are wide, unreadable, locked onto Achilles as though that’s tethering him to the Earth’s surface. His phone has dropped to the floor.

“What? What is it…” Achilles asks, unsure of what he missed. “Did...did I mess up?”

“No,” whispers Patroclus. “No, no, it’s great, it’s perfect. You did a wonderful job. I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“By something other than me?” Achilles teases.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s move on.”

Patroclus waits anxiously in the library, wringing his hands in his lap. Professor Chiron is a notoriously fast grader, his exams usually short but making up for that in difficulty. Since he was out for a conference until next lecture, they had to go pick up their exams from the TAs. Achilles had texted him in blunt terms after he’d received his, asking him to meet.

When Achilles walks in the door, his face is pale, his gaze low. He slumps into the chair, unable to look Patroclus in the eye.

“Oh no. Achilles-”

“I’m sorry… I really thought I had it, Patroclus. I did. You worked so hard, and I just-”

Patroclus’ expression crumbles in sympathy, and he reaches out to grab Achilles’ hand. “Achilles, I’m sorry, you worked hard. Can I see it? Maybe we can go over it together. If I find any issues, I can take it back to the professor and argue it, get you whatever points you can.”

Achilles slams a crumpled exam on the table, and Patroclus delicately picks it up.

“If I didn’t explain something well enough to you, then it’s my responsibility to- to-” Patroclus drops the paper on the desk, smacking his lips and swiping at a shameless, cackling Achilles.

“You headass!”

Achilles wipes up his crocodile tears, grinning at the 90.5% and the ‘much improved’.

“Yup,” he sighs, stretching dramatically. “Grade A effort. What can I say, I had the best tutor. Now applaud me.”

Patroclus claps, albeit sarcastically. “They ought to put you in theatre, not football. I can’t believe you, I almost started crying! And this! Why would you crumple up this test, you did such a fantastic job!”

“Because who cares about the paper? The grade’s in the system, I passed it. No one can take that away.”

“I-” Patroclus pauses, trying not to laugh. “I understand your perspective, but that’s not the point. You use it later to study for the final. It is a cumulative exam.”

“Let’s study yours. I know it’s better than mine. Tell me what you got.”

Patroclus turns away. “A 98%.”

Achilles shrugs. “See? I’m right.”

“You and having to be right… Just shut up and let me be proud of you, Achilles.” Patroclus’ voice quietens, still full of pride and happiness. “This is really good. We did it.”

Achilles forces himself to calm down for what he’s going to say next, having planned for this moment.

“Hm… So treat us to a celebratory lunch, then.”

Patroclus stutters for a moment, eyes wide. Achilles keeps his poker face, still smiling, and finally Patroclus laughs. He tries to give the test back, but after Achilles waves it away, he slips it into his own bookbag.

“Okay. There’s a place downtown I really like, a hole in the wall that sells the best grilled cheese.”

Achilles grimaces. “A ‘hole in the wall’? Why would you want to eat there?”

“You’re such a rich kid. It means it’s a small place, nothing fancy, but it almost guarantees that the food is good. I especially love going there when it’s quiet during the breaks. We can order ahead and then sit in.”

Achilles has never eaten anywhere that could be considered a ‘hole in the wall’ and the thought mildly offends him. But Patroclus seems so excited, handing him his phone to look at the adorable little menu on their website. It warms Achilles’ heart, to see how much Patroclus trusts him with his phone as they walk to Patroclus’ car, so he’s going to return the favor.

“I think I’m going to get the deluxe,” Achilles decides, handing it back as he buckles in. Memories from the last time he was in this seat come rushing back, and his ears catch on fire.

“I always just get the same old,” Patroclus explains, unaware of Achilles’ mortification. “But I order it with the bread slightly burnt for the best crisp.”

Now that he’s sober, Achilles has plenty of time to notice how the car smells of Patroclus. A cool cypress pine, the undercurrent of something sweet like vanilla. How could he have got drunk and missed all of this?! Achilles struggles not to press his face flat against the seat, maintaining his dignity as Patroclus babbles. The restaurant is luckily not too far, but it seems like everyone had the same idea of celebratory grilled cheese. The line is packed out the door, with a sign announcing “everyone has to wait”.

“Damn.” Parked, Patroclus blinks at the line, disappointment clear on his face. “I get the feeling you don’t like waiting in lines.”

Achilles despises lines, actually. “It’s fine. I’ll be waiting with you.” He gets out of the car, mentally crossing his fingers that there’s still time before practice by the time they get to the front. It’s a sound investment. The line moves quickly, though the restaurant is still packed with people eating their food. It smells incredible. No grilled cheese from home has ever smelled so mouthwatering. After being told there’s going to be a 40-minute wait for a table both inside and out, Patroclus waves Achilles out of the front door.

“I have an option,” he slowly begins. “I live close by if you want to eat there instead. Only if you’re comfortable, of course!”

Patroclus’ apartment?! A whole place filled with- Achilles would jump for joy if it wouldn’t look stupid.

“No, no, that’s fine! A glimpse into the elusive, perfect Patroclus’ life? There has to be some dirty secrets. Perhaps a secret lair?”

“…It’s just an apartment.”

“Oh, boo. Dirty underwear, then.”

Achilles is unusually quiet as they drive back to the apartment, a small, yet nice complex just off of campus with aesthetic decoration meant to impress a young college student. It’s certainly not Achilles’ place, and that’s fine with him- they need not return to the place of such shame.

“It’s on the top floor, and at the end of the hall,” Patroclus explains as they ride up the elevator to the 11^th floor. “It’s great when it comes to less noise and a nice view! Terrible when the elevator breaks. It’s… it’s hard to get up here, when that happens. Sometimes I’ll just go stay with some friends.”

It goes unspoken as to why it’s difficult to make it up the eleven flights. They finally reach his door, and Achilles takes a deep breath. Here goes. Patroclus opens the door, and Achilles blinks as he steps inside.

“Take off your shoes, please.”

Achilles slides out of his shoes, placing them on the tile floor next to the filled shoe rack near the door. It’s clear that Patroclus puts as much effort into his home as he does his appearance; simple, yet cozy. As expected, the smell is delectable, but subtle enough that it isn’t uncomfortable. There’s a table that serves as an entertainment stand, with a 32-inch tv, PlayStation, and a milk crate full of games underneath. The futon is cheap but functional, sat behind a small wooden table that serves for eating. Under the window is a cube bookshelf stacked with books, comics, and knickknacks. Posters adorn the walls, neatly but randomly, of professional football and basketball teams, video game characters and game maps.

Next to the kitchenette is a large whiteboard calendar. Certain dates are filled in with notes, and the empty space to the side is filled with pictures from a recent Black Student Union event. Patroclus smiles brightly in the middle of the group, his neck heavy with a lanyard full of badges. One of the pictures is of him smiling with Briseis, also wearing a heavy lanyard. He’s tempted to ask about it, about her. But Achilles knows exactly how bad he’s going to sound if he acts that way right after looking at this particular picture. He shoves the thought down.

Patroclus sees Achilles looking at the board as he walks past him into the kitchenette.

“That was from our last event,” he explains. “I’m one of the volunteer coordinators for the BSU, and that meant holding all the access badges, or so I was told. Bri is the other volunteer coordinator; she’s way more extroverted than I am. It was a really successful event.”

Achilles nods, storing this new piece of information. “That’s good, that it went well!”

Patroclus waves him to the table, bringing out plates and putting their drinks on the coasters.

“This is a really nice place,” Achilles continues. “You keep it very clean, very organized.”

Patroclus snickers. “No dirty underwear. How disappointing for you. Anyway, they’re made special for Alpha tenants, with sound proofing for the bedrooms. I had to find something better- not because of me! My last place; an Alpha up the stairs got into a rut. He was already the type that felt like it made him manly to have sex obnoxiously loud, which was wild because I could never hear his partner having as much fun. I’m fine with loud music, even parties didn’t bother me, but that? No. It was like the worst of heterosexual porn. I don’t know what he was trying to prove.”

I like to have sex loudly, and my partners enjoy themselves, Achilles thinks, only blinking as Patroclus happily bites into his sandwich. Then again, he’s never had to live in such close quarters with anyone. Even his own place is very large, and the walls are thick. He can’t get the thought out of his mind.

“Is the grilled cheese not good?” Patroclus asks, eyes dejected.

“Oh! Oh no, it’s really good!” Achilles reassures him, taking a bite out of his grilled cheese. “Wow, it really is good,” he mutters, dipping it into his tomato soup.

“You hadn’t even taken a bite,” Patroclus whines, but he chews with a pleased hum. They quiet down as they finish eating, and it isn’t until Patroclus is cleaning up that Achilles speaks up again.

“You do a lot for the communities you’re in. Especially for someone claiming not to be an extrovert.”

Patroclus shrugs, rinsing off the plates. “I like to keep busy. I spent a long time sitting, missing out on other people and things to do. I try to get out and contribute where I can.”

Once he’s done cleaning, he reaches in the freezer for something. Achilles can’t see what it is until he comes back out, and he pales. It’s a lengthy ice pack and a brace. Patroclus slips the ice pack into the brace and wraps it around his shin. There’s a hiss, followed by a sigh of reprieve before Patroclus leans back into the futon.

Achilles could say anything right now. How’s your leg? How was your healing process? I’m sorry for what happened.

Instead, what comes out is a “How did you always manage to catch me?”

It’s both a foot in the mouth statement and yet it cuts to the elephant in the room. Patroclus wouldn’t be suffering if he hadn’t played with Achilles. And yet, because he had, he’d given Achilles the only challenge he’d ever thirsted for, connecting them for life- and sacrificed it all in the process. Patroclus sighs, staring down at the brace with a grim smile.

“Well it wasn’t because I was faster than you. No one was. Everyone else was so determined to just chase you, to bring you down a notch. They were taking it personally, it left them myopic. That wasn’t necessarily what I wanted. I was challenging myself, more so than you. It’s not all just speed, but I still respected your skill, and I knew that I wanted to stand amongst those like you. At the end of the day, far as I was concerned: the better you got, the better I was getting.”

Achilles thinks back to Patroclus’ soft ‘we did it’. Achilles doesn’t know what else he expected, and it takes everything within him not to hiss with lust at such grace. Everyone else, always wanting to best Achilles, wanting to compare themselves while putting him ‘in his place’. Patroclus, sharply intelligent, wanting to be better for himself. Wanting Achilles to acknowledge his skill, to acknowledge their rivalry- and earning his complete respect in the process.

“I’m assuming you wanted to know about my leg, then? If I explain, I need you to actually listen to me.”

Achilles grimaces but nods, zipping his mouth. Patroclus sighs, leaning his head on the back of the futon.

“Well, you were there for the first part. Compound fracture of the tibia, right through the front of my leg.” Achilles remembers the blood. “I don’t remember the exact pain itself; that’s from the trauma. I do remember how it made me feel, which was like I was going to piss myself. They put me in the back of the ambulance, gave me a cold towel for my eyes and something to bite on to squash my screams. When they pumped me full of pain meds, it felt like I’d ascended to heaven… and then I was unconscious.”

“I woke up two days later, post op, in a really nice hospital room. My Mama was asleep by my bedside, and there were loads of cards and flowers all over the room. There was one I remember in particular, a really large bouquet of white and yellow roses in this gorgeous crystal vase. She once told me- my mama loves to garden- that yellow roses symbolize friendship and joy. It infuriated me. Joy. Fuck joy, and fuck those yellow roses, I thought. I wanted to know who sent me those roses and I wanted to crack that vase across their face. Guess whose name was on the card?”

Patroclus gives him a wry look, and Achilles cringes.

“The Phthian Estate. It didn’t even have the decency to have your name on it. You had nothing to do with it, I’m sure. I recognize it was meant to bring light and happy colors to my room, but at the time it just felt like I was being laughed at. I chose a black cast a week later, specifically to spite those flowers. With time also came lowered pain meds and coherent thoughts, and that’s when I realized that there was no way we could pay for that gigantic room, as well as all the treatment. I asked Mama who was going to pay for it, but she always refused to tell me. She told me that we were allowed to stay in the room indefinitely; told me to rest and focus on healing.”

“It was so embarrassing. The required help to bathe, to pee... Once I was allowed to get out of bed, I couldn’t sit still. They gave me a wheelchair, and between my Mama and the nurses I was a nuisance always escaping the room. It wasn’t as easy once they gave me the walker, but I was determined. I think they were entertaining me, like a toddler playing hide and seek. As long as I was safe, and not ‘pushing too hard’, they didn’t try too hard to chastise me. It wasn’t until it was time for me to go home that my will flickered out like a candle.”

Patroclus rubs under his arms, groaning. “They tried with the regular crutches first. Those hurt. I was over six foot tall and heavy, so I ended up with all these bumps and friction burns under my arms. It also kicked in just how weak I felt. I remember limping to the bathroom one day and looking in the full length mirror. It wasn’t even the first time I’d seen myself, but it felt like it was the first time I was seeing. I was visibly atrophying from not working out. But I convinced myself, it was temporary. I lied and said that if I kept pushing myself, I would heal faster and everything would fall back in place.”

“I remember the end of the first day of physical therapy, sweaty and exhausted. Still, I was so excited when I asked the physical therapist what could I do about the pain in my arms, and when would I be back out on the field? They dismissed me with two things I’ll never forget: one, that I should consider forearm crutches, as it would be less ‘difficult’ for me than the regular ones. Two, that I would likely never play college football again, so I shouldn’t bother dwelling on that and try something new.”

Patroclus quiets, biting his lip and closing his eyes. Misery seeps into his expression, before he laughs sardonically. Achilles wishes he could go back and punch that cruel doctor in the face.

“It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but I froze up. Catatonic. I said nothing as my Mama drove us home, helped me limp into the house on those same painful crutches. I sat on the couch… and I started to bawl. Screaming, sobbing, like a baby. My whole life, held together by fragile hope and denial up to that point, fell apart. They might as well have stabbed me in the chest with how much my heart and chest burned. I remember my Mama holding me, crying, rocking me back and forth. I cried so hard I thought I’d shrivel up. After I was done, I vaguely remember her calling the office, cursing someone out. She doesn’t usually use those kinds of words.”

“We went somewhere new the next time, but the damage was done. The life was drained out of me. I unenrolled from Opus altogether. I stopped eating as much. I went to the physical therapy sessions in a dissociated state. Eventually they suggested I would also benefit from some ‘emotional support’ as well. Mama was trying to convince me, but I wasn’t trying to hear it. It came to a head one day when I challenged her. I told her, ‘Tell me where the money is coming from, and I’ll go’. Guess.”

Achilles blanches. “The Phthian estate.”

“The fucking Phthian estate. I told her to push me out of a window. I already couldn’t play anymore, I’d lost my will to live, and now I find out I’ve been healing using pity/hush money from an estate that sent me ‘joy’ flowers after I lost everything. I thought I was so smart, checking her. She told me off. ‘I don’t care if the devil himself gave us that money, you are being offered the chance of free, accessible, quality healthcare, something so many would kill for, and you are not going to throw it away! Your life is not over, and you have not lost any value. Your job is to heal and do your best every day, so you let me worry about stupid things like pride and dignity!’” Patroclus looks sheepish, in awe of his mother’s concerned fury. “I apologized and took my depressed self to therapy that next week. Over the next year, we talked about a lot. How my healing was going, how I felt about everything, what my plans were.”

“Anyway, my therapist and my Mama reminded me that life goes on with a healing leg. My brain and body still worked. The rest of me hadn’t become useless just because I couldn’t play anymore; going to school for what I wanted wasn’t just off the table. So, I researched Opus’ website to see if it would be possible to catch back up. Then, on a whim… I checked Achaea’s. Achaea had everything I’d need to get back on track. Online and summer classes. So I officially enrolled in classes. I don’t know how healthy it was, and Mama worried I was pushing myself too hard, but I was so excited to be doing something again. Caught up to everyone by the beginning of our sophomore year. Best of all, by that winter- about a year and a half in- I was working out properly again. Fingers crossed, I went to the coaches of the football team and applied for the equipment manager position. They recognized me, and quickly accepted. Now we’re here.”

It’s the longest Achilles has ever heard Patroclus speak in one, uninterrupted session. The story felt so vivid, and it pains him to know that he’d gone through so much just from one ill-positioned tackle.

“Why would you want to do that?” he whispers, ashamed. “You knew you’d see me on that team. Me, who put you through all that. Why don’t you hate me? Why didn’t you sabotage my equipment or something?”

“First, I’d never sabotage someone’s equipment. And I did hate you, for some time. It took a good amount of therapy to realize that what I felt wasn’t hatred but hurt. You never came to see me, you know. I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I said it out loud. Your family- your family lawyers- sent those thoughtless roses, paid for all of those services, but not once did you ever show up, not even to apologize or to check on me. I guess I thought that we had something special, that you felt what I felt when we were out there. But after they took me off that field, I didn’t see you again. In a weird way, it felt like a rejection that I existed, that anything had happened. There was a lot that hurt me during that time, but when it came to you… I ‘hated’ you for taking away the chance to be seen by your side, for treating me as though what we ‘had’ and everything I could have been afterwards wasn’t worth anything. Your life went on, as though mine hadn’t completely changed.”

“That’s not true!” Achilles rushes, hands out to placate Patroclus, but Patroclus only shakes his head.

“I wanted to show you that I wasn’t going anywhere, that I wasn’t going to vanish, be intimidated, nor kiss the feet of Phthia just because you tossed money at me. I might not be able to play, but I still love the sport. I still could contribute. And also, it was my way of taking back some of what I had. I didn’t have to give it all up just because I wasn’t in the helmet. Even when it was hard when you showed up; huffy, insufferable, and unfortunately attractive.”

It says something about Achilles that his mind completely rolls over being called ‘huffy’, ‘insufferable’, and ‘unfortunately’ to latch onto ‘attractive’. That Patroclus was being this kind about the whole thing means that he still has a chance and he’s going to take it.  

“I’m sorry,” he finally admits, voice pleading. “Patroclus, I should have come to see you. I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I was too ashamed, too cowardly. By the time you got to campus, you seemed very aloof towards me, and I figured that you had to dislike me. Who wouldn’t, right? And unlike everyone else that doesn’t like me, I cared about how you felt. I didn’t like that I cared, but I did. It hurt me too. I did feel what you felt that night. I was scared that I’d ruined it all, I did ruin it all, and I didn’t want to acknowledge the hurt of that, so I simply didn’t think about it. It was… selfish.”

Patroclus hums in agreement, but says nothing else.

“I can hardly tell that you were hurt,” Achilles awkwardly offers.

“I know. If you look closely, you can see that my right calf is slightly smaller than my other. I modify for it when I work out, more reps with lighter weights, so that I don’t mess my leg up. I keep my folding cane in my bag just in case everything gets too hard.”

“I didn’t realize that you were- technically-”

“Disabled? I am. Just because all of you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me or any of my identities,” Patroclus muses, gently placing something on the table and pointing to it. “You don’t need to be sorry anymore. Just be respectful.”

Achilles realizes that it’s the picture from the whiteboard, of Patroclus and Briseis at the BSU event.

“You, earlier you saw me trying to ask-” When Patroclus giggles at him with a raised brow, Achilles only runs a sheepish hand through his hair. “Okay. I’m sor- I understand.”

The luxurious townhouse fills with a savory smell. Hector places the warmed-up tomato soup into a bowl, the grilled turkey and cheese onto a nice plate, and takes it all to the kitchen table. Andromache has been under the weather, though his fiancée acts blasé about the entire thing. He’s got plenty of worries: his team, his senior year, his stupid ass brother, but Andromache tops the list every time.

“You got my favorite for me?” she squeals, sitting down in the chair. “How long did you wait in line?”

“Don’t worry about it. Sweetheart… maybe you should take a day off? I know you think the world will fall apart without you, but you can take some time if you’re sick. It’s been days.”

He sits on a pillow at her feet, taking one in his hand to press in the middle. Andromache sighs happily at the relief of pressure.

“I say the same thing about you, but you want to be the captain and the famous quarterback so much that you run yourself ragged.”

“Excuse me, I’m a natural. And I don’t get sick.”

“They say that about idiots. Makes sense.”

Hector knocks a fist against his head, making a hollow sound, and she giggles before digging into her food. It’s not until she’s finished, and he’s moved to her next foot, that he gives her a look of concern.

“Hey, your feet are a bit more swollen than they should be. Maybe you ought to go to the doctor?”

“I did.”

Hector frowns; if she’d gone to the doctor on her own, maybe she’s feeling worse pain than he thought?

“And what did they say?”

Wordless, Andromache holds her phone out to him, and Hector’s jaw drops.

“No way.”

Andromache smiles, tearing up, and nods.

“Us? You? Me?”

“Yeah!”

Overjoyed, Hector jumps to his feet, pulling her into a deep kiss. Andromache is still swooning when he kneels and thumbs at her belly, kissing it softly. They had mated early on; the day before their first year began. He swore that he’d always take care of her, that she was the one for him, and he’s felt no different every day since then.

“I’m so happy. I’m going to be a dad. Me. I can’t believe it.”

He’s determined to show Andromache just how in love with her he is (being more careful now, obviously) there’s a demanding knock on the door. Hector is going to ignore it, but as the knocks increase in urgency, Andromache stiffens.

“I’ll be right back,” he soothes her, hustling to the door. Squaring his shoulders and emitting the most threatening smell he can muster, he opens the door.

Paris heaves a sigh of relief, and charges forward.

“No. Absolutely the fuck not. Leave. Right now.”

Hector’s tone brooks no argument, and yet Paris desperately clings to his arm.

“It’s too late, Hector. They’re following me. I don’t know what to do, I didn’t know where else to go, so I-”

“Keep running?” Why would you bring them here?! Hector wants to cry. Why now?! He reaches for Paris, and Paris yelps.

“Wait! Hector, you were always my favorite sibling- wait, please! Think about Mom and Dad! You know they’d hate if we fought like this, right?”

Before Hector can grab Paris by his scruff and toss him out- and how dare he invoke their parents, that shit stopped being cute when he was eight- the sharp clatter of rocks on glass snaps him to attention. Hector’s hackles rise, his pheromones sharp with aggression. His fiancée and now his baby are inside this house, and that means no one else will be getting in.

“Ugh! Cass always said you were a danger magnet,” he accuses, rushing to the door.

“Oh come on! Cassandra thinks everything is dangerous! Everything ‘triggers her anxiety’!”

After making sure the front door is locked and deadbolted, with a chair pushed in front for good measure, Hector strides out to the balcony, Paris small behind him. Prowling back and forth, Menelaus and some other unfamiliar Achaean football players wait beneath them in the parking lot. When Menelaus sees Hector, he stops, offering an uncomfortable smile.

“Hector. I’ll be direct. Send the bastard down, and we won’t have any problems. If you’re worried about your lady, don’t be! I don’t hurt women. But I’m sure you don’t want to trouble your fiancée with this mess.”

Andromache scowls with challenge, but Hector holds up his hand to keep her out of sight. They knew Andromache was inside. How long have they been out there waiting? Hector releases a guttural growl, and some of the players flinch.

“You’re trespassing. Get away from my property before the police are called, and this time you won’t be let off.”

“Hector.” Menelaus repeats again, chuckling tightly. “This isn’t between you and me. This is between me and that pretty boy bitch you call a brother. So I’ll say it again. Send him down, or we come up.”

Hector glares at Paris. He doesn’t believe for a second that they’ll respect Andromache if they come up those stairs, and he will not have violence in his home. Who knew what these men were capable of doing? While Hector dwells, Menelaus turns a nasty scowl to Paris.

“Where’s Helen, Paris? I know you’ve been dicking around her lately. Where is my girlfriend?”

Hector doubts it’s just been dicking around. Paris turns his nose up, folding his arms.

“She doesn’t love you anymore! She’s with me now. Why can’t you just accept that?”

“Kiss my ass! Following her around and constantly pressuring her; I’m willing to bet you pulled that stupid pheromone shit!”

Paris scoffs. “I’m not Agamemnon. I don’t need to flex my pheromones to impress a woman!”

“I know you pulled something,” growls Menelaus, “now get the fuck down here and fight me like a man!”

“Yeah, because three on one is so manly! You can’t even beat my football team, let alone me in a fight one on one!”

Paris’ bravado has clearly gone too far, and Menelaus grabs a larger stone, hurling it at him. Paris dodges, and the rock slams into the glass with a loud crack. Andromache screams, and Hector has had enough. He’s ready to jump down and fight Menelaus himself, and Menelaus only eggs him on with a laugh.

“Ha! I see. You and your whole team are complicit, then! Watch your backs!”

Sirens blare in the background, moving closer. Andromache had already called for help during the confrontation. Good. With one last menacing glare, Menelaus and his team scatter. Hector yanks Paris and throws him onto the floor inside, closing the now heavily cracked balcony door before gripping his shirt.

“Where is Helen? Where- no, don't look at Andromache- where the fuck is she?”

“She was at my apartment!” Paris cries, holding his hands up. “I ran here to distract them so she could go back to her campus safely.”

Hector lets him go, and he slumps onto the floor.

“Why?! Why would you mess with her, of all people?”

“Because we love each other! I've been wooing her for so long, and after one night we- we finally slept together. It was fated.”

“Fated?! You of all people know that doesn’t mean love! Did she even want to-'' He pushes his palms into his eyes. “I would fight you myself, but my fiancée and my baby are wat-”

Hector clams up, as he hadn’t wanted to share that information with anyone yet. Paris awkwardly looks between them. “Congratulations?”

“Fuck you.”

Okay. Hector has to go. He has to get this troublemaker out of his home before more happens, he has to quickly warn the team of the doom his stupid brother has just brought upon them once again. He grabs his football bag from behind the couch and pulls Andromache into a rough kiss goodbye.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call someone to fix the glass, okay?” He soothes, rubbing away her tears. “I’ll talk to the police, and then I’m headed to practice. I’ll even call Mom to come sit with you, or she can take you back to St. Helen’s if you want.”

“Hector, I don’t know if you can fix all of this,” she retorts. He doesn’t know if he can fix all of it either, but unfortunately it’s his job to try. He only holds her close for a little longer, until she relaxes in his arms. Once she’s calm, he pulls away, grabs Paris by his shirt and hauls him out of the townhouse.

“You wanted to mess with this man’s girlfriend,” he hisses. “Now you’re going to fucking deal with it. Move!”

Achilles watches Patroclus slip the ice pack back into the freezer, packing the brace into a nearby cabinet. His heart is a lighter now, knowing that they’re past the worst of it. He’s been put in his place, which hurts his pride a little, but he’ll survive. He at least owes this much to Patroclus. On his way back, Patroclus blinks for a moment, pulling out his phone.

“Hello? Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m good. I’m actually off today, but I have company over. Okay. Talk to you later.”

Achilles raises a brow. “That’s it?”

Patroclus laughs, slumping back on the couch. “Yeah. We don’t talk much, but we say what needs to be said. He’s remarried and he lives across the country with my stepmom. My parents went through a really bad divorce when I was two; Mama doesn’t like to talk about it. Anyway, his new wife is a professional dog breeder and trainer, so when I would go visit for holidays, I would play with all the dogs. I would literally frolic with them in the grass, like the Sound of Music or something. It was a dream. Unfortunately, Mama hates dogs.”

He pauses, quietly musing. “My Dad is not the most… affectionate man, but... I didn’t go without. I was always encouraged to have a relationship with him. If your family hadn’t paid for everything when that incident happened, I’m sure he would have stepped in.”

It’s clear that Patroclus doesn’t want to say much more, and Achilles scoots closer, bumping knees as he tries to change the topic.

“So... Why are you interested in Pathology? I’d think you would be in Exercise Phys too, given everything that happened.”

Patroclus shrugs. “Pretty simple. My Grandma was ill, so I always wanted to learn how to proactively treat and prevent illnesses like hers."

Life, give the man a break! Achilles cries internally.

"It was a goal long before football. She taught me how to cook!” Patroclus continues, snickering at a memory. “My Mama has the greenest of green thumbs, but she’d have us eat veggies every day if someone didn’t do something. I ate like a rabbit. I got so tired of vegetables!”

Achilles giggles at Patroclus’ exasperation, and Patroclus fondly sighs.

“What about you, Achilles? Since you’ve asked me so much today. Why did you pick physiology, especially when you look so miserable in class?”

Groaning, Achilles grimaces. “Well, I like Exercise Physiology, and my minor is Kinesiology. I love to train, to stretch and move. I love learning about how the body itself moves and functions, and I want to use that knowledge to access that kind of ideal, efficient movement and strength!” Patroclus’ heart throbs, his eyes widening at how happy Achilles sounds, the way he glows with excitement.

“You’re very enthusiastic.”

“I just feel so passionate about it! Oh! Not to say that you can’t have movement too, despite your leg! Even if it’s to modify your exercises, that should still be as painless as possible for you. You shouldn’t feel like you have to suffer more than you need, just to gain back a little bit of motion. There are so many compound injuries caused not by a freak accident, but from wear and tear of sports players being pushed so hard and not properly taking care of their bodies. There’s got to be better ways to do it, you know? And I want to help hone that process, for myself and maybe even for others! I don’t know, I’m ranting.”

“No, no! It’s fine.” Patroclus softly placates, leaning in on his arm. “I’m just listening.”

“And I do care about learning, at least for what I’m interested in! It just sucks because the whole ‘sit still in the lecture hall for two hours’ doesn’t mesh with what I need, and it’s almost every class.”

“You’re absolutely right,” murmurs Patroclus, fascinated. “I’ve never thought about it like that for you. I might modify our lessons.”

Achilles sighs dramatically, leaning his head back. “Alas, if I want the degrees and the certifications, I don’t know how else I’ll do it.” He grins. “That’s fine though. It just means you’ll have to stay by my side and help me study forever.”

When he playfully tilts his head back in, he realizes he’s a lot closer to Patroclus than he thought. They both startle at the closeness, but neither moves away. Achilles’ heart jolts. He’s just interested in your conversation, he tells himself, he’s just listening, like he said!

“There’s always something very genuine about your happiness,” Patroclus whispers. “It’s really wonderful; I love to see it.”

Unfortunately, Achilles’ stupid body is not trying to hear his mind anymore, not after something like that. He flushes bright red, the smell of sandalwood misting off of his skin- do you want to? Patroclus looks up from under his lashes. His response is tentative at first, a small but poignant scent of sweet cypress- is it okay? Achilles swallows, subtly nodding.

“I don’t mind forever,” Patroclus breathes, a verbal confirmation, and Achilles closes the final few inches between them. Patroclus’ lips are plush and soft, everything Achilles dreamed of as he inhales then slips his tongue inside. Patroclus squeaks, and Achilles takes advantage of his surprise by pressing his full hand to his pec, squeezing, and then pushing him down onto the couch.

“Achilles,” Patroclus exclaims, delighted as Achilles crawls up his body, bracing his legs on either side of him. Electricity sparks through him when Patroclus firmly palms the small of his back and presses down, forcing Achilles’ hips into his own. Achilles’ dick tightens, and he stutters a moan at the delicious burn. 

“Fuck,” Patroclus hisses, running a hand up Achilles’ shirt. They both manage to wriggle the shirt off, and Patroclus leans up on one elbow to suckle at an exposed, pink nipple. The flat of his tongue, followed by the drizzling at the tip drives Achilles wild, and he speeds up his rhythmic grind, panting heavily. In the back of his mind, he can finally feel both of their dicks under their shorts and he’s comparing. To his immense pleasure, Patroclus is quite sizeable, a little bit larger than he is, and slick pools at Achilles’ opening. He cannot wait to get that inside of him. In fact, he fumbles at Patroclus’ buttons, ready to see just how much of it he can fit in his mouth before-

Achilles’ phone vibrates, cutting into the middle of his ecstasy, and he growls in agitation. Patroclus seizes his chance to tightly suck on Achilles’ neck, nipping down right in between the collarbone, and Achilles nearly comes right then. Ignoring the vibration, he takes Patroclus’ lips and returns to fumbling at his belt.

Instead of going to voicemail, the phone continues to buzz. Annoyed, he pulls away from Patroclus, leaving a trail between their lips, and clumsily clicks it silent. Satisfied, he throws it on the carpet and pounces back in. This time, Patroclus’ phone vibrates, and unlike Achilles, Patroclus is too responsible to let it pass.

“They’re trying to call you,” he whispers in between breathy kisses, eyes still half closed.

“So what?” Achilles murmurs, thighs still clenched around his waist. “Don’t you like this a little more, Philtatos?”

“I looked that up by the way, I know what you’re sa- mmm- I do, but- ahhh-”

“I know I’d much rather stay here and taste- oh- for fuck’s sake-”

When Patroclus’ phone endlessly buzzes, Achilles finally snatches it, takes one look at the caller ID, and answers.

“What the fuck do you want, Odysseus?”

“Excuse you, but that’s my phone-”

Without missing a beat, Odysseus answers. “Emergency meeting. Be on your way to the field, now, please. Unless you’d have me call Patroclus in on his day off to bring you in, and surely you wouldn’t be so cruel?”

“Fucking- fine!”

He hangs up the phone, hair mussed and pout in full effect. It’s sexy and adorable, and Patroclus can’t help laughing. “You need to go to practice,” he soothes, caressing his fingers through blonde hair. Achilles purrs, gripping the warm hand to his cheek.

“But-”

“I’m not going anywhere, Achilles. But the team clearly needs you right now.”

“The team doesn’t 'need' shit."

“Besides," Patroclus cajoles, "while I am having a great time, maybe we ought to slow down a little bit. I had decided I should woo you properly, and I keep getting ahead of myself. Sorry.”

Achilles doesn’t give a damn about that team when weighed against Patroclus. And while he'd love to go hyper speed in their relationship, if that's how Patroclus felt then...

“You and that teddy bear look of yours. Fine!”

He jumps up, tossing on his shirt and grabbing his bag. His face is still red when he gets to the door, and he swivels back.

“Just so we’re clear, though: we’re more than friends now, and I’m going to treat you better! This? Is going to happen again someday, so get used to me being around!”

He flees, slamming the door behind him. A baffled Patroclus chuckles, touching his lips.

“Okay.”

Patroclus’ soft, breathy moans and large, powerful hands are all Achilles can be bothered to think about as he walks into the locker room, so it isn’t until Automedon nudges him from his thoughts that he notices the palpable, furious aura.

“What’s going on?” he mutters, but Automedon only shakes his head. His arrival signifies the start of the meeting, naturally not unnoticed by Agamemnon.

“Now that we’ve all deigned to arrive,” he starts sarcastically, “Menelaus, tell what’s going on.”

Achilles is tempted to walk right the fuck back out, but Antilochus is already behind him, in the way with a pointed look.

“The Trojans have decided to shield Paris, and protect him from the consequences of his actions,” Menelaus begins. “He’s hiding her. He’s been stalking around St Helen’s somehow, despite no non-students or faculty being allowed on the private campus, and I think he finally got to her because she’s stopped speaking to me altogether. I even heard rumors that they’ve slept together. He claims that they’re in love, but I sincerely doubt it.”

Many of the second-string players nod seriously and express their disgust, clamoring to show their support for the vice-captain, but a couple faces stick out. Odysseus’ expression is unusually blank, Diomedes looks mildly disturbed, and Ajax seems irritated. As for Achilles-

“Is he fucking serious?” Achilles whispers, baffled as he looks at Automedon for clarity. “Is he really-”

“Worst of all,” Agamemnon continues, taking over. “When he showed up to Hector’s apartment to demand a cowardly Paris come out and lead him to Helen, Paris challenged him to a fight! And not only that, but then had the nerve to then flee under the protection of Hector! It is clear that Hector supports his brother’s foul actions, as well as his disrespect of our brotherhood!”

Indignant cries rise from the players, once again clamoring to hype him. Achilles is livid. Brotherhood? What kind of shit? He was finally in Patroclus’ arms, finally getting a taste of the man he’d spent years pining after, and it got interrupted… for this? If there was something genuinely wrong- which Achilles could believe, given what he’s heard about Paris- Menelaus should go to the authorities! Or, if Helen sincerely just didn’t like him anymore, to Tinder! Why are they making it everyone else’s problem?! He’s about to tell Agamemnon, Menelaus, and everyone involved that he’s not interested in their communal dick measuring contest when there’s a harried tap on his shoulder. At some point, Odysseus has moved closer to him, and he points to the name on his phone screen. Patroclus.

“What are you trying to say?” Achilles threatens, voice low.

“Just leave it alone for now,” Odysseus warns, just as quietly. “I don’t like it either, but we both just want to go home after this and be with our significant others, right? I’m hoping it’ll blow over soon.”

“It’s so stupid.”

“I can see that.”

It’s a plea for diplomacy; a break from having to talk down more than two notorious hot heads on the team. Achilles sighs in aggravation but concedes, receiving a grateful clap. He still makes his displeasure known by slamming his bag into the lockers and tosses off his shirt. Antilochus glances over, his eyes popping.

“Oh? Is that a hickey?” he teases, poking Achilles right in the red mark. Achilles slaps his hand away, caressing his neck possessively.

“Yeah, and there’d be multiple if it weren’t for your asshat of a captain and vice-captain.”

“Progress with Pat, then?”

“Shut up.”

It doesn’t blow over.

In fact, the situation steadily becomes worse. At first, the beef was mainly contained between Menelaus, Agamemnon, and the easily manipulated second-string Achaean players dying to prove themselves to the captain and future captain. The hate is simple, stupid, but effectively driven home by a power-hungry Agamemnon every chance he can: by disrespecting Menelaus, they’re disrespecting the entire team. To steal the girlfriend of your sworn enemy, right from under his nose? Encouraged by your captain? And then face no consequences from your own peers? Surely, everyone should be so insulted!

The starting players hadn’t been so easily convinced. An exhausted Odysseus continues to play liaison between the hard-headed captain and the rest of his star players. Ajax was the most convincible, because despite his gigantic size, he held a fairly simplified view of loyalty to his sport, and therefore to his team. Diomedes felt it a waste of time and emotion; if Paris were truly a threat, he wouldn’t have to have his entire team set between him and Menelaus. Automedon and Antilochus are more vulnerable as sophomores on the starting line- there were plenty of envious, thirsty players determined to take their positions.

Achilles remained unconvinced.

The winds shifted in Agamemnon’s favor when Menelaus, Ajax, and Diomedes get into a brawl with some of the Ilium players outside of a theater one night. Enough blood had been spilled to put Ajax and Diomedes on their guard, spite and anger building up against the other team for attacking them and formally ‘laying claim to turf’.

“They claimed that by being on the other half of Mediterranean Ave, we were ‘in Trojan territory’, be damned if I was there to see a fucking movie and mind my damn business,” Diomedes had seethed, black eye covered with an ice pack. “Fuck those pompous assholes!”

Worst of all, the university was vacillating on actually doing anything about the situation. The football team brought in millions of dollars of investments during the fall, especially around homecoming, and their star players were some of the most profitable Achaea had ever seen. Rather than formally investigate what was going on, the administration simply hounded the coaching team to ‘discipline its players more thoroughly’. Therefore, the coaches have started implementing a grueling training regimen, dubbed ‘The Plague’ by an exhausted, resentful Antilochus.

The Plague somehow only served as hateful, reverse psychological motivation. Now, instead of blaming the assholes that were leading them to destruction by being unwilling to let go of this beef, the team was beginning to hate Ilium for its suffering.

Why can’t they just give the girl back!

Agamemnon will never let the disrespect go.

Do you think I’ll be starting Defensive End next season?

We’ll just have to kick their asses at homecoming. That’ll end this.

I bet the Wide Receiver has to be exhausted, swift-footed as he is. Maybe they’ll sub me in.

They tried to jump me and him the other day, so we dropped in on them at the bakery. Left the safety’s entire face swollen.

Ilium’s Halfback talks a lot of shit for someone who can barely fight his own battles.

However, when their glorious victories start becoming barely held leads, usually brought on by a quick-witted Odysseus or a battle-fatigued Achilles, things begin to fall apart. The Plague has become so harsh that some of the players are struggling to even move by the end of practices. Many of them are falling behind in classes, not doing homework or falling asleep in class due to their exhaustion. The hatred is hot, but the demotivation is simmering close behind.

Despite his proclamation at the apartment, Achilles hasn’t been able to properly date Patroclus since then. Studying has been put to the wayside so that Achilles can get some rest, laying his head in Patroclus’ lap for about an hour or so before practice. The best dates he can manage are getting fast food and relaxing in the car after practice, or even trying Tupperware dishes full of Patroclus’ homemade healthy meals. They’re wonderful; he’s wonderful, but Achilles can’t even enjoy it.

As an insult to injury, Patroclus’ foot massages don’t belong to him, anymore. Patroclus has been helping everyone on the team with massages and stretching, alongside the other managers as they bandage and ice and mend where they can.

“Their bodies, all of your bodies, are suffering,” Patroclus laments one night over Facetime. “Are you in the ice bath?”

“Y-yes, I’m in the i-ice b-bath,” Achilles grumbles, adjusting to the painful water.

“I’m sorry to put you through that. I can come over and help, if you need it.”

“Mm. No, no, don’t worry about it. You get some rest, you’re tired too.”

Patroclus scoffs, eyes narrow with upset. “I’m not nearly as tired as the rest of you. I’m worried, Achilles. Deeply worried. I know you can see how bad it’s going to get. There’s been multiple sprains in wrists, elbows, and ankles. If you all keep pushing yourselves like this, someone is going to get hurt.” 

“I know. I don’t like it. I’ve never liked it. It’s not even just Helen, either. It’s Agamemnon. He thinks he caught onto the one thing that unites his team: hatred. He couldn’t lead them with his own presence, but this has been a godsend for him.”

Patroclus hums into the mic, slowly blinking at Achilles. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You sure you don’t need any help?”

Achilles chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, there are certain things only you could do for me.”

“How are you still so hot blooded in a pool of ice?”

“It’s what you do to me, Philtatos!” Achilles laughs to hide a flinch. “Besides. Next time you come over here, it will be on a walkway filled with rose petals. No more helping me inside this place, I beg you.”

Patroclus laughs, a warm sound that will never stop being wonderful to Achilles, and he changes to a lighter subject.

The day Patroclus worried about most finally comes when Achilles drags a limping, half-conscious Automedon to the medical bench, where the sports doctor quickly sits him down and starts checking his eyes and awareness. Patroclus wavers to the side, checking his helmet for cracks, a fiery anger barely masked in his eyes. The play was not something that Automedon wouldn’t be able to handle- at his best. However, the recent hazing scourge has left him befuddled more often than not, the constant tackling from players trying to outlet their own aggression or steal his position leaving him shaken.

Automedon visibly whimpers when the doctor places the ice pack on his head, and Patroclus is quick to kneel nearby to offer gentle words and a hand to squeeze. The sadness in both of their expressions drives Achilles mad with anger, and he turns to the coaches.

“End practice today.”

“Young man, it is not your place to-”

“End it, or I quit.”

The coach isn’t just seeing Achilles threatening to leave his team. The coach is seeing millions of dollars, and his own job, walking away. He blows the whistle signal for ‘end’, gesturing the other coaches away with a resentful grumble. Agamemnon storms over, furious at the interruption.

“We need to talk,” Achilles growls, and Agamemnon seethes.

“You have no right to end this practice. Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m the person that’s finally going to call out this madness!”

Odysseus quickly jogs over, concerned. “Achilles-”

“No, Odysseus! I tried! I really did! I dug deep for some patience! But it’s not working!” The rest of the team circles around, curious about the drama boiling over between the captain and the wide receiver, and Achilles makes his stand.

“I’m not doing this anymore. The Plague has to stop. No more extra wall sits, suicides, bear crawls, duckwalks, sprints, those terrible drills that just left one of your starting players with a concussion from his own teammates! Not only is it to no benefit to the team’s morale, but it’s having a negative effect on our bodies and our stamina. We are barely managing to win the games as it is! Everyone is weaker for it! Let them have Helen, or you and Menelaus fight until you’re dead, but I’m going to tell the coaches this is bullshit.” He turns to the rest of the team “But we? Are not doing this anymore. So end it, Agamemnon.”

Agamemnon flushes with fury, and Achilles snarls when that godawful scent of blood washes over his body. Once again, Agamemnon is trying to force Achilles into submission, and it simply is not working.

“You know what?” he growls. “I have had it with you, Achilles. Your audacity and your insubordination have gone too far. What ‘we’? Everyone here is in it together. Everyone here is willing to work together, to suffer and struggle together, except you! You are the only one being prissy about this, the only one who has ever thought he was too good to get in line! The only one done here is you. You’re benched until further notice.”

Achilles starts at the announcement, pain, horror, and indignity roaring inside him. “Benched? Me?! Are you fucking serious?”

Agamemnon sneers, folding his arms. “Despite how highly you may think of yourself, no one fucking needs you! You’re just a pretty boy breeder at the end of the day!”

Grumbles of faceless agreement come from the back of the crowd, too cowardly to reveal themselves. Achilles heaves an arrogant laugh, flipping his hair.

“Wow. Right. Because your alpha traits are so impressive! Okay, since we’re being ‘honest’ here, let’s speak the truth! This whole thing isn’t because anyone cares about Helen! She’s not even that fucking important, otherwise you and Menelaus could have handled this like grown men!”

Menelaus charges forward, held back when Diomedes and Odysseus grab his arms. “Take that back, she’s the most beautiful woman and omega, and you could never compare!”

“She’s the most beautiful omega-” Achilles mimics. “Well I don’t fucking want to compare, do I? Fuck her, and fuck both of you!” He steps forward to Agamemnon, who swallows but squares his shoulders, and points in his face. “This is all because you’re insecure as a captain. It’s because you’re upset that you can’t outthink Hector on the field, that he’s a superior leader of men and that’s why he’s going to beat you again! You are pathetic, you have always been pathetic, and it has always been thanks to me and the better men around you that your team succeeds!”

“Though, I’m starting to realize there aren’t ‘better’ men.” Achilles turns to the rest of the team, holding his hands out. “Is no one else going to fight this? You feel your bodies falling apart, you’re watching your lives crumbles over this. Are you that desperate?”

Perhaps from exhaustion, fear of social isolation, or maybe they really just didn’t fucking like him, who knew- but Achilles accepts their silence as confirmation. Only one man speaks up, and even he speaks to Agamemnon.

“Agamemnon,” Odysseus pleads. “This is not a good idea. I can guarantee we won’t see a singular Bowl game this year if we continue this pattern, especially if we bench-”

Agamemnon twists to Odysseus, his pheromones so horrifically powerful that even Odysseus has to stand down in their wake.

“Shut. Up! You are not the captain of this team no matter how smart you think you are, you never have been, and you never will be! So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth or you’ll be benched too!”

Achilles cackles, interrupting the public humiliation. “No, Odysseus, be correct. Let Agamemnon find out where his foolish anger will lead him. Fine. I’m benched. In fact, I’ll do you one better- I won’t be attending practices nor games from this point forward. We’ll all see how well you do without me.”

With that, Achilles bows mockingly, turns his back, and strides off the field.

Achilles hears the titters as he enters the gym, the aghast whispers as loud as any cheering stadium. He’s been filling his free time with anything he wants, but no matter where he goes, it’s those same reactions. When he attended a Barre class, shocking all the other attendees with his skill, they gossiped. When he treated himself to an extra-large Blizzard, the workers and customers at the Dairy Queen gazed upon him like he had a third head. Even when he went for a jog in the park near campus, he could see their expressions change upon recognition.

It’s annoying, really. It’s not that he wasn’t used to being watched- people found themselves drawn to his presence his entire life. Carrying the expectations of the entire university on his shoulders had become yet another weight he’d handled with regal finesse. But now he’s got all this time to devote to what he wants, and everyone is acting like he’s committing cardinal sin by not going to football practice. Yes, he wants to sarcastically reply, it’s me, Achilles. The football player who quit. The wide receiver who walked off. What are you going to do about it? No one had enough nerve to approach him, so they satisfied themselves with cowardly glares that they seemed to think was going to do something.

The only one brave enough to approach him was Patroclus, and that’s who he’s on his way to meet. Meet me at the gym- studio 121, the text had read. Wear workout stuff.

Returning to their study pattern had been… interesting, to say the least. Excited to actually have the energy for their study dates again, Achilles had strut into their regular library room with a large smile that was quickly wiped away when Patroclus greeted him with a frown.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he’d asked, point blank. It was obvious what it was, given that Achilles had ignored every text message from the team since he’d walked off the field.

“No.” Achilles had replied, just as direct. When the cowards were brave enough to approach him and beg his forgiveness, then he’d be willing to talk. Until then? There was nothing to be said. Patroclus heaved a sigh, and they’d moved on. Every time they met to study Patroclus would ask him again- are we going to talk about it? And every time, Achilles would answer- no. The looming situation was coming in between them, every kiss goodbye amorous yet tense with the stress tainting their new love. If Achilles noticed the way Patroclus’ honey brown eyes widened with that deep empathy of his every time he left for practice, Achilles wasn’t going to let himself succumb to it. Agamemnon had done wrong by him, and the rest of the team had pathetically stood by to watch. Why should he care what happened without him?

Shaking off his thoughts, Achilles curiously looks around the studio. It’s clearly set up for circuit training, with dumbbells, weighted balls, and bands placed at strategic sections. Patroclus waits in one corner, waving him over. Achilles sprints, and Patroclus just barely braces for impact as Achilles slams into him for a kiss.

“If you want- to tackle- someone so badly,” Patroclus retorts, breathy between each peck, “I know- the perfect place- for that.”

“Mm, nice try,” laughs Achilles, giving him one more lingering kiss before pulling away. “We’ve never worked out together like this! I wore my special leggings, just for you.” He lifts his foot out of his shoe and brings his leg out to point at a 90-degree angle in front of him. Patroclus’ gaze follows the length of the tight black leggings down Achilles’ legs, jumping at the stirrup wrapped around his foot. His ears heat up as he scoffs, turning away, and Achilles’ brow twitches. Wait… Did he just… at my feet? He doesn’t get to ask as Patroclus reaches into his bookbag, pulling out a thick binder and a stack of notecards.

“Studying?” groans Achilles. “We’re here to study?”

Patroclus snickers at Achilles’ huffy expression. “Of course. I’ve been thinking about how to better help you retain information the way you need, as well as to make sure you’re still keeping your body in shape since… well. I came up with two circuit training sessions, and combined them with a lesson plan, thinking that it might be…” Patroclus cringes when Achilles silently gapes at him. “I thought it would be nice…”

Suddenly, Achilles has wrapped Patroclus in a hug so tight he’s sure hearts are coming out. “Oh my goodness. I couldn’t ask for such a thoughtful partner. Truly, you’re so sweet, Philtatos.”

“Sweet enough to talk to?”

Achilles’ warm delight instantly shatters, and he pulls back with a scowl. “Patroclus-”

“Hold on,” Patroclus pleads, gripping Achilles’ arms before he can pull away. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, but we need to talk about what happened. You can’t just wave it away forever.”

Achilles still pulls away, defensive. “What need? I don’t need to talk about anything!”

“Well I do!”

Achilles startles at Patroclus’ raised voice, and Patroclus pauses.

“Look. I’m sorry for yelling. I just… I want you to trust me, Achilles. It hurts me to think that you can’t talk to me when we’re supposed to be dating now. It doesn’t have to be right now,” he repeats, “but I do think we need to talk about it. It means something to me, to know you will. Just think about it, please?”

Patroclus blinks doleful eyes and Achilles crumbles, rushing to soothe him.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, please don’t cry,” he whispers, scenting for good measure as he thumbs at Patroclus’ cheeks. “God, you’re so gentle. I’m sorry. I- we’ll talk about it tonight then, I promise. Now, what did you have planned for us? We should at least not waste your efforts here.”

Patroclus softly smiles, the scent of cypress calming Achilles’ swift beating heart.

“I’ll hold you to it. Okay. The circuit! Here’s how we’re going to do this-”

It’s a simple enough concept: combining muscle memory with brain power. Ten reps of the dumbbells: one fact. Five power squats: another fact. With some overlap, there’s about ten facts to remember per circuit. Each wrong answer is two laps around the studio. To Achilles’ delight, it’s working faster than even Patroclus’ regular tutoring! Two rounds in, he’s already remembering what specific facts come with a bicep curl or a squat. It’s even more encouraging when he can steal a kiss in between laps, something he occasionally ‘messes up’ a question to do. It’s just tiring enough to work, and it’s the most effective workout Achilles has had all week.

“Why aren’t you doing any?” he wheezes after his latest set of sit ups, realizing that they’re running out of time and Patroclus hasn’t studied at all. “I know you’re smart but come on! You didn’t even bring workout clothes.”

“I need all my energy to deal with the game tonight. I know you don’t care about our schedule, but I have to be there for that. Don’t worry, we’re done anyway. Just a cool down left.”

Achilles sighs in relief, gratefully flopping his sweaty arm on the ground. “Why don’t you just call out tonight? You can’t enjoy being there. Fuck that game.”

“No, not ‘fuck that game’. Work is not for enjoyment, work is so I can eat and keep my lights on.”

“And you can’t take a day off?”

Patroclus snorts in amusement. “How much do you think I make?”

“I know that our skills won this university’s sports program enough millions of dollars in funding that you should be making enough to take a day off.”

“Unfortunately, administrations and bills aren’t that logical.” Patroclus walks away to put his things away, and Achilles lasciviously watches the way his uniform pants cling to his ass. He should get in trouble for how tight that lame uniform manages to fit him in all the right spots. Memories of their heated make out on the couch come rushing back, the way he’d felt how long Patroclus was.

“Hey Philtatos, I have a super important question for you,” he nonchalantly calls, waiting until Patroclus returns.

“What?”

Achilles bats his lashes wickedly. “How big is that dick?”

“Small. Give me four laps and then we’ll go into cooldown.”

“You’re a tyrant! A lying tyrant!” Achilles playfully wails, hopping to his feet and dancing around Patroclus. Barely hiding a smile, Patroclus spins him around and pushes him by the butt into his laps.

Achilles sprinkles the last of the red rose petals along the floor and checks his clothes one last time as there’s a knock at the door. Their after-game Friday conversation had become a plan to meet and talk in person on Saturday, Patroclus unusually serious as he requested it. I’m just… I’m really tired, and I’m not feeling too good, he’d murmured. Achilles, trying to brighten the mood, had suggested it be a dinner date at his place.

“I’ll make sure everything is nice, and we will talk,” Achilles promises, perturbed at how distraught Patroclus looked. “You won’t have to worry about a thing!”

He’s even had some marvelous news to boost his spirits, so he’s extremely chipper when he opens the door. Patroclus waits in a crimson blazer, white shirt, and jeans.

“Welcome!” Achilles cheers. “Dinner is this way, feel free to walk along the red rose petals, which certainly do not mean anything bad this time!”

Some of the tension melts from Patroclus’ shoulders, and he laughs as Achilles takes his hand and gently pulls him toward the small dining room table. Achilles pulls out the chair for him, then hustles to grab the bottle of champagne from the fridge.

“I always laughed at my mom when she said I’d need nice plates in a single apartment, but look!” he explains, filling the glass flutes. “Now I can treat you. She’ll be happy to hear she was right. It’ll make two of you that’s ever heard me say that.”

“A record,” Patroclus muses, looking at the basket of toasted ciabatta and whipped butter.

“Precisely! Now, I’ve made something special,” he brags, placing two beautifully plated meals in front of Patroclus with a flourish. “I bought so much of everything to make sure I didn’t fuck this up. This is a ‘pomegranate-glazed salmon with oranges, olives, and herbs’.”

Patroclus nods, impressed. “This looks amazing. Excellent job, Achilles.”

The encouragement, plus the small, pleased kiss to his cheek, leaves Achilles grinning so hard he thinks his face will crack. Once Patroclus is set, Achilles hustles over to his seat and raises his glass. “To us.”

Patroclus raises his glass. “To us.”

They clink glasses and sip, and Achilles can’t believe this is finally happening. He has to stop himself from asking Patroclus to move in altogether, but it’s hard to resist when he watches Patroclus roll up his sleeves and tie his locs back into a ponytail so he can eat. Picturing this fine image in his home, every day? He could scream his loins are so hot. It’s even more difficult when Patroclus cuts into the fish and takes a bite, releasing a soft moan.

“This is really good! The texture is perfectly crisp on the outside and soft inside, and-”

Achilles might need to rub one out more often, because he cannot be down so bad that watching the man talk has him this tense. He’s just lucky he’s not leaking anything.

“Achilles?”

“Hm?” Achilles blinks, tossed out of his reverie.

“You’re not eating. Are you okay?”

“I-” Fuck it! “I’m honestly just enraptured with you. You’re so good looking, it’s distracting.”

Patroclus’ shoulders rise to his ears, and he smiles bashfully. “Thank you. But you should eat, you worked hard on this.”

It’s enough to make Achilles lift his fork, and- wow, it is good. He’d had his doubts that it would all come together so well, reading the recipe. They quietly finish the meal, discussing random topics, drinking freely until they’re at the last of the champagne. The moment Achilles finishes, Patroclus stands, reaching for their plates.

“What are you doing?” Achilles demands, staying his hand.

“Doing dishes. You cooked, I clean.”

“Absolutely not!” As much as Achilles would love to satisfy the domestic fantasy of Patroclus in a wet shirt- “You’re my guest! Go sit down on the couch. I’ll get another bottle.”

Bemused, Patroclus makes his way to the couch. “So you do have manners.”

Achilles shrugs. “Mom didn’t have a debutante to raise, but it didn’t stop her from making sure I was a perfect gentleman and host.”

“Perfect gentleman,” Patroclus snorts, amused. “Does she know you refuse to wear your uniform properly?”

“She knows it’s a choice and not from her lack of trying.”

Achilles knows he’s won when Patroclus lets out a full belly laugh, loose from the champagne and the good food. However, it’s too good to last when Patroclus sighs.

“Automedon got to rest this week, after his concussion. He’s doing better.”

The if you care goes unspoken. Achilles opens the dishwasher, nodding. “I saw his message. I did answer it, so yes, I do care that he’s okay. There’s only three of you I can be bothered with.”

“So are you ready to talk about everything now? I know you’ve heard the news.”

Achilles turns on the water to rinse the dishes. “I have. It was some of the best writing this school paper has ever produced.”

“What did you get from it?” Patroclus gently presses.

A lot. Achaea had lost its first game of the season, and it hadn’t just been a loss- it had been a blowout. Social media and the news were joyously mocking Achaea’s defeat, many people signifying that there would not be a ‘glorious end to Agamemnon’s reign’. It tickled Achilles to no end.

“My favorite part was about Agamemnon,” he mutters, refusing to be ashamed of his schadenfreude despite Patroclus’ pointed look. Patroclus has already thought ahead, opening his phone with the article already pulled up.

“You mean, to quote,” he begins. “‘How does one have a team of some of the greatest players in Achaea’s history- defensive masterminds in Odysseus and Diomedes; a titan in Ajax, and a demigod in motion, Achilles- and still fail? The clear answer: poor leadership. Agamemnon’s history as a quarterback was glorious, or so we thought. It is clear that there’s turmoil in the sudden departure of the swift footed wide receiver, and from the visible confusion on the field at the lack of his presence, the captain cannot seem to hold his team together. Meanwhile, Hector of the University of Ilium continues a record-breaking winning streak…” Patroclus pauses to scroll down through the article to the end. “At this rate, even homecoming will not matter, and the team and Agamemnon’s reign will end with a whimper- and likely no calls from professional teams either.’”

Patroclus clicks his phone off and places it down, folding his arms. Achilles ignores his look and closes the dishwasher.

“You know there were some caustic comments about you in that article as well. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Caustic comments,” Achilles shrugs, blasé. “And yet they recognize who they need in order to achieve success. It’s hilarious, really. In fact, I’m going to laugh again. Ha ha! He’s already losing.”

“Achilles.”

It’s a quiet demand to look directly into his disappointed gaze, and Achilles sighs angrily, twisting away.

“Oh- fine! I won’t laugh. Sure I don’t want Antilochus and Automedon to suffer, and maybe it isn’t right to laugh at the rest of their suffering. But I’m still not going to go back until he apologizes and admits to his faults in front of everyone. See how his leadership leads them into ruin, yet they chose to agree with him instead of the one trying to protect them!” He plops down onto the couch. “It still doesn’t make sense to me! Do they hate me so much?”

“I don’t think it’s about hating you, Achilles. At least not all of them. They just aren’t you. Look. While I don’t agree with your joy at this, I agree with you that what Agamemnon did is wrong, and I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But what about the other seniors? Do they not deserve to have a winning final year, to help them be scouted by the professional league? The other players don’t deserve another chance? Don’t you think if you went back after this defeat, Agamemnon might change his mind?”

Achilles stubbornly shakes his head. “No. If their careers mattered so much to them, they should have spoken up, shouldn’t they? Instead they chose to be cowards. Their bodies are at risk of permanent injury with how extreme that training regimen is- I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already risking their longevity in the sport already. They chose the acceptance of an idiot and his idiotic war instead of choosing my side, and by proxy, themselves.”

Patroclus bites his lip and timidly tries another approach. “And you don’t think they’ve learned their lesson from this weekend?”

“Absolutely not! Is that what you saw? Tell me the truth- what did Agamemnon say, as he led them into that game?”

Patroclus flinches, grimacing. “He… told them that they didn’t need you, that he’d charted their path to victory now that everyone was on one accord.”

“And after the game?”

“… He raged that his calls weren’t being respected, causing the loss.”

“And did anyone call him out? Did anyone argue? Walk away, even?” 

“…No.”

Achilles blinks flatly, gesturing at the evidence, and Patroclus concedes defeat.

“I admit that it didn’t seem to be a lesson. But-”

“Besides,” Achilles interrupts, “I’m realizing that I have so much more freedom outside of football. I feel healthier. I can focus on my education. I could even finally make a homecooked meal for the man I love. How is this life not preferable?”

Startled, Patroclus’ breath hitches. He turns away, hiding his warming cheeks.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that,” he mutters.

“Said what?”

“That you l- love me.”

Achilles flushes- he hadn’t meant to say it in such an offhand way! However, the bashful way Patroclus smiles behind his hands is so adorable, so he can’t be too disappointed. He scoots closer, nudging Patroclus in the side.

“Say it back.” When Patroclus quietly grumbles, Achilles leans close to his ear. “I love you,” He breathes. “I love you, I love you, I-”

“I love you, too!” Patroclus laughs, finally pushing a giggling Achilles back. Undaunted, Achilles only nuzzles closer. “You’re so needy!”

“Don’t ask me about just how needy I am,” Achilles mutters, closing his eyes as Patroclus pulls him close, gently running his fingers through his hair. “I mean it, though. That I love you, and that this life is preferable. I might actually get back into ballet full time.”

“Mm,” Patroclus hums. “Why so?” He reclines on the couch more comfortably, and Achilles lays over top of him.

“Well, I’ve always done both. Dad put me in football to help me ‘apply myself’ after I presented. I was going ballistic in middle school, so I’m glad he tossed me in when he did. It’s a long story. But Mom wanted me to have some balance, so she took me to a ballet class one day. I really enjoyed it, and Dad agreed that it was good way to keep my body in form during the off season, so I kept it up.”

“Do you like both?”

“I… I’m good at both. And I enjoy the attention and the satisfaction that football brings me. I like knowing that I’m proving to Alpha assholes like Agamemnon that I’m breaking barriers they can’t even imagine. I like surpassing my own limits, proving to myself what I can do. It’s fun, and I’m capable of succeeding in it. Easy money, easy future, all the applause I could ever want.” He pauses to kiss Patroclus’ chest, purring with happiness. “Whereas ballet, it’s more… personal. I enjoy it because it’s both more and less self-centered if that makes sense.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Well,” muses Achilles. “It’s more self-centered because I can focus on the technical movements of my own body- it’s a very honed skill set. I can get lost in the music, and tell a story. The way people perceive the story is dependent upon my performance, and I can spend endless time finding new ways to tell it. It’s less self-centered in that I’m not the only one telling that story. You have to have a connection with the other performers on stage. It doesn’t matter how good I am, if everyone else is not keeping up…”

“Sounds a lot more similar to football than you think, doesn’t it,” Patroclus interjects.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Being a team player is essential.”

“But the thing is, if I choose ballet, it comes with a… more controlled environment. It’s neat and precise. Football might be obnoxious, but I can channel all that energy I have. All that thunderous applause and the excitement, all the glory- it’s all gone. I won’t lie, I think I’ll miss that.”

“I can empathize with that,” Patroclus murmurs. “Incredibly so.”

His voice is heavy, and Achilles lifts his head. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s just the truth. I’m not upset.” Patroclus meets his gaze. “Do you want to hear something interesting? The first time I ever saw you was actually at a ballet recital, not that football game freshman year.”

Achilles blinks, trying to filter through his memories to see if he could remember Patroclus’ face in the crowds. “When?”

“Senior year of high school. Carmen.” Patroclus smiles, lost in his memories.

“Oh!” Achilles remembers the ballet, and then cringes when he remembers his role.

“Mama really likes ballet, and she’d finally dragged me with her to go see a performance at a local theatre. I couldn’t have cared less, but it made her happy and she was always doing what I wanted to do, so I went. I walked in expecting to be bored out of my mind. Instead, I spent the entire time enraptured with the beautiful boy portraying the villainous Don Jose, the way he yearned and coveted and killed all through a medium I’d never considered before. I could see your ballet skills in your movement later on, during that game. It only made me watch you even more. If that sounds weird, I’m sorry.” He chuckles fondly. “Mama asked me later if I thought Carmen was beautiful. I said ‘who?’”

Achilles snorts a laugh. “No way! Was I so wondrous that I caused you to question your sexuality?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t walk into that ballet aware that I liked boys, I know that much! I missed the entire message of the story; I was so caught up.” Patroclus sits up, gripping Achilles’ face in his hands. “If ballet truly makes you happy, I’ll support you. I’ll be here. If you don’t want to go back, that’s that, and I’ll still be here. All I’m asking is that you have a little more empathy for the guys on the team as you make your choice. Don’t count them all out, and don’t count out your own enjoyment and goals, just because Agamemnon is a shit. You’re better than that.”

Achilles grumbles- he’s not sure he is better than that- but he’s willing to at least hear this.

“They ought to be lucky that you love them, and I love you.”

Achilles waits impatiently at the door. There’s a house party tonight, and Achilles has been bored out of his mind waiting for another one. There’s something he absolutely needs to do, checking his message thread with Patroclus for the nth time to make sure he’d asked.  

Wear the same outfit so I can see you while I’m not shit-faced.

Are you going to wear the same thing?

No. You’re getting brand new memories. Last time didn’t happen.

What last time?

I love you so much.

There’s no boob window this time, but the emerald top is still skintight, falling to his elbows and accentuating his muscles. It particularly clings around Achilles’ pecs just the way he’d planned. His hair falls down in natural waves to each side in a lion’s mane, both emphasizing and softening the sensual look. His phone buzzes- I’m outside. Excited, he rushes outside where Patroclus stands at the passenger door. When he sees him, Patroclus holds the door open, kissing Achilles’ hand when it rises to stroke his cheek.

“It’s so nice to see you with clear eyes. You’re so handsome.”

“As are you.”

“You think so? How do I look, really?” Confidence drips from Achilles’ voice, hiding his genuine desire for Patroclus’ opinion. Naturally, Patroclus sees right through it.

“Stunning. The heavens can’t compare.”

Achilles beams, feathers happily ruffled. Once Patroclus is inside, he pulls up his GPS and they’re on their way. It isn’t until they’re around the corner from the party that Patroclus parks to the side, turning on his hazards. Confused, Achilles turns to him.  

“There’s got to be more spaces up-”

“Are you sure about this?”

Achilles blinks. “About going to the party?”

Patroclus tersely nods, gripping the wheel. “I’m worried. There was another run in with Ilium the other day.”

“You told me about it.”

“I don’t want you to be caught in between the conflict.”

“Oh.” Achilles shrugs, unbothered. “Well if that’s your concern, I’ve already run into one of them. Definitely crossing the boundary. I had no problems.”

“Who?”

“Hector.”

Patroclus chokes, turning to Achilles in horror. “What?”

“Yeah. I went to that grilled cheese place this week, and he was there buying a bunch of grilled turkey and cheese sandwiches, holding up the line. He looked so tense too, especially when he turned and saw me looking at him.”

“Why didn’t you-” Patroclus mutters, running a stressed hand through his locs. “Tell me next time, please. Nothing else happened?”

“No. I tipped my box to him in acknowledgment and walked out.”

“You weren’t worried he would attack you?”

“No. Not only was he the one on the wrong side, but I have no qualms with him. What has Hector ever done to me?”

Patroclus closes his eyes, inhaling slowly. It seems like he has more to say, but he exhales, letting it go.

“What about Achaea, then? Are you sure you feel safe going out tonight? I know I entertained this idea up to now, but you don’t have to do this.”

Achilles reaches for Patroclus’ hand on the wheel, and slowly squeezes until Patroclus’ fingers release and grip his hand instead.

“Listen. I’m okay. The only person worried here is you, Philtatos. I want us to have a good time, so no worries tonight, okay? You finally have a break tonight from all of that, don’t dwell on it. You’ve never seen me fight before, but trust me- I can hold my own if I have to.”

“That’s the last of my concerns.” Still, unable to refuse Achilles anything, Patroclus finds a closer spot to the house and parks.

The sun is low in the sky, the haze of smoke thick in the windows as they approach the door. The person standing guard at the door takes one look at Achilles and swiftly welcomes him inside. Achilles confidently strolls by, Patroclus in awe as people scramble to get out of his way. It’s deeply satisfying to Achilles, knowing that even in his prodigal state, everyone knows when to show deference. They stop by the makeshift bar to down some poorly made drinks, then make their way to the thickest of the crowds dancing and grinding to the bass-boosted music.

Achilles holds his hands out to Patroclus. Dance with me, he mouths, unable to be heard over the music.

Patroclus slides forward, allowing Achilles to wrap his hands around his neck, and they start a rhythmic sway back and forth. It’s the best they can do, given the space, but they might as well be dancing alone for all that they care for whoever is around them. The songs cycle through genres- upbeat pop, rhythmic afro-beats, lingering R&B- and still, they stay in their embrace. The crowd shifts throughout the night, bumping into them, jumping up and down, and yet nothing can break the spell.

Achilles is convinced they’ll stay like this forever when Patroclus shifts, turning Achilles around in his embrace, gripping his hips and modifying their sway to the new beat. Achilles adds a roll to his hips, showing off his own moves. The song is slow, tantric, with a soulful saxophone that Patroclus seems enthralled with, the way Achilles can feel him mouthing the words while nuzzling into his shoulder.

Then I wake up

Gotta get back to the paper

Bands a make her dance

Dollar and a dream

Money on my mind

I’m a dancer

Cha Cha smooth, pay the ransom

Learn the money dance

Must learn the money dance

How it go again?

There’s even a small dance, and Achilles laughs as he allows Patroclus to lead him in it, their bodies in sync as they grind to the beat. Look, he wants to tell him. We’re dancing together, the way you always wanted. Our own pas de deux. Achilles’ heart is so overwhelmed with love for this man- gentle, caring, this constant passion simmering under the surface. He’s never felt the need to be this vulnerable with someone, and yet when he’s in his arms, he feels like he can let go. Achilles lifts his hand to Patroclus’ chin, tilting it down into a drawn out kiss hidden in the dark.

After what feels like an eternity, Patroclus pulls away, eyes glowing. He lets Achilles go, and gestures. Thirsty? Achilles bats his lashes, and Patroclus rolls his eyes. They move out of the crowd, and Patroclus goes to find the bar. Still warm with contentment, Achilles leans against the wall and daydreams. They’re going to have to go dancing more often, because he’s never felt more intoxicated than right now, and it’s not from the alcohol.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face here.”

Achilles growls at Agamemnon’s interruption, folding his arms at the burly Alpha and his brother.

“I never lacked in audacity, so they say.” He quickly scans to his left and right- noticeably, it’s just these two. Perhaps the rest of the team were catching up on rest or classwork. Hissing, Agamemnon steps forward, but before Achilles can throw a right hook, Patroclus is suddenly standing in between the two of them. It’s only then that Achilles realizes that it doesn’t smell like blood the way he’s grown to expect.

It smells like cypress, and it is strong.

It forms a wall in front of Achilles as the two Alphas have a silent conversation. Patroclus’ fists are closed, his stance widened in challenge. Even for those who can’t sense pheromones, the crackling energy is enough to silence everyone in the vicinity, onlookers backing away and waiting for things to pop off. Achilles is about to step in when Agamemnon’s eye twitches, but he walks away wordlessly. Behind him, Menelaus only scowls.

“He doesn’t deserve this or you,” is all he says to Patroclus, before following Agamemnon. Patroclus waits until they’re out of sight before turning to a stunned Achilles.

“Are you all right?” he whispers, unconcerned of the people now gossiping around them. Achilles says nothing, grabbing Patroclus’ hand and pulling him through the crowds and out of the house. Patroclus stumbles behind him, barely unlocking the car door with his fob before Achilles has tossed him into the back of the car.

“What is-”

His surprised words are cut off by Achilles’ fervent lips, his body pressed down into the seats as Achilles awkwardly straddles him. It’s not comfortable, but Achilles couldn’t care less as he fumbles at Patroclus’ belt.

“I thought you didn’t want me fighting,” he hisses, finally managing to get the belt undone and the zipper down.

“I don’t,” Patroclus huffs, “but I wasn’t going to let him approach you like that. Achilles, you don’t have to-”

“Were you really going to fight him for me?”

“I wasn’t going to do nothing-”

Achilles could cry he’s so happy, and a couple tears do drop when Patroclus’ dick bounces free from his pants. It’s as wonderful as he imagined; long, thick, as beautiful as the rest of him. Dark, coarse hair curls at the base, and Achilles wants to feel it in his nose. Licking his lips and pressing Patroclus’ hips down, he sucks on the tip, laving his tongue in the slit. Patroclus releases a light cry, gripping Achilles’ head, and Achilles opens his throat and falls down low. It’s harder than he thought, and he hasn’t done this in a long time, so he gags the first few times as he adjusts. Soon he’s in his groove, using his hands for an extra tight stroke, and Patroclus squirms with pleasure.

“Fuck, tighter, right there, that’s so good-”

Achilles looks a mess, lips red, cheeks stained with tears and spit, but he speeds up, the sloppy noises echoing in the car. He unbuttons to grip himself, stroking messily. Patroclus’ delicious, quiet moans fuel him, better than any fantasy he’s ever had. He can tell Patroclus is close when the tip starts to jump in his mouth from Patroclus’ hips bucking.

“I’m about to come, Achilles if you don’t want me to, I need you to move-”

It’s a kind warning, one that Achilles ignores as he sucks him to completion. Patroclus comes with a cry, and Achilles swallows every bit of it down. He’s not far behind, still moaning onto Patroclus’ dick as he spills over into his own hand and onto the carpet triumphantly. Once he’s done, he collapses onto a heavily breathing Patroclus. The car is completely fogged, the smell of sex and pheromones thick within.

“Oh shit. We’re still messy,” Achilles murmurs. “Fuck, though. No partner has ever stood up for me like that. It was so fucking hot of you. You needed to be rewarded.”

Patroclus laughs quietly, still mind blown. “There’s a jacket in the front. ‘Rewarded’. You refuse to let me treat you like a gentleman, huh.”

“You are treating me like a gentleman, and it’s making you irresistible. But don’t worry. You’re definitely someone to bring home to Mom.”

Patroclus jumps, blinking with wide eyes.

“Was… was that your way of asking if I wanted to meet her?”

If people only knew how much time Achilles’ golden feet spent inside his mouth… With a sigh, Achilles tosses his overnight bag into his convertible and jumps inside, pressing the button to pull the roof down. Inviting Patroclus to meet his parents after going down on him in the back of a car, and then continuing to shove his foot into it… Truly, grade A work. It’s too late to do anything about it now, so now he’s skipping his Friday afternoon classes to make the emergency four-hour ride home to his parents’ mansion in the hills of Phthia.

It’s going to be a long night.

The moment he hits the blessedly bare highway, Achilles whips into the fast line and floors the gas. If there’s one great thing about this, it’s that he missed riding in his ostentatious, blood-red convertible- a fast car fit for the fastest player. Revving the engine feels as natural as it did the day his father first taught him how to drive. There’s no need for it on campus, so he usually keeps it parked in the parking garage unless he’s going home or on a vacation.

He’s about halfway through the drive when a phone call interrupts his private concert of Realer, and he scowls when he accepts it.

“Yes?”

“Hello to you too, Achilles.”

Achilles’ entire mood lifts, and he beams behind his sunglasses. Meg can wait! “Patroclus! Hold on, I need to put the hood down.” The moment the car is enclosed, Achilles is all ears. “What’s up, my love?”

“You said you wouldn’t make our study session, but you didn’t say you were skipping class outright.”

“Well,” Achilles explains, “I’m going home to tell my parents about you, since I want to do it face to face before you meet them tomorrow.”

There’s a small pause over the phone as Patroclus processes, and his voice is strained when he speaks. “Putting aside the logic that you could have just called them- you haven’t told them about me yet?”

The hurt is loud in his small voice. “It’s not what you think!” Achilles hastily explains. “I haven’t been hiding you. I would never do that. I’ve just not been talking to them at all lately, with everything that’s been happening. But this is important, and I don’t want it to be just a phone call. You’re more important than that to me, I swear.” 

Patroclus slowly exhales, and Achilles can picture him nodding his head. “Okay. What time are we meeting? I’m getting my hair retwisted tomorrow morning, so I’d appreciate it if you asked for a lunch date, or maybe even Sunday. I want to grab a gift for them, too.”

“Not that they need any gifts,” muses Achilles, “but it might be better to grab a gift tonight, then. It’ll save you time in the morning.”

“…Why would I need to save time in the morning?”

“It’s a four-hour drive.” Achilles cringes as Patroclus groans in agitation. “Now, now, wait! Have some faith in me, Philtatos, please! That’s why I’m traveling tonight, to make sure everything is prepared! It’ll be like a small, surprise vacation. There’ll be a good dinner, I’m even planning a brunch. Just pack a bag, and I’ll drive us home Sunday afternoon. I got us!”

“There’s a game Saturday night,” Patroclus tersely replies.

Fuck! Achilles internally hisses. I thought that was next weekend! “I… we can plan it for another day, then,” he accepts, voice low with sadness. “I really meant for it to be a surprise event of thing … Sorry.”

Another quiet moment. “Were you going to drive sixteen hours this weekend? Four there, four back? And then again? For me?”

“I mean, yeah!” Achilles replies, awkward. “It’s fine. I was stupid anyway, I got too excited and impatient, I should have-”

“I’ll take the time off.”

Achilles warms with effervescence. “Really?”

“This time. From now on, please plan to surprise me in advance. It definitely sounds really tempting, and if I’m being honest, I’d like to get away from everything for a little while. I have a bad feeling about tomorrow.”

“I won’t let you stress at all this weekend,” Achilles pledges, more determined than ever. “I won’t let you down!”

Patroclus’ soft, indulgent laughter rumbles over the speakers. “So what do your parents like? Or should I bring a dish?”

“Don’t worry about it! Don’t bring anything! Definitely don’t make anything!”

“I cannot enter someone’s home for the first time and not bring something. I’ll figure it out. I have to go, Achilles. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Achilles blows him kisses as he hangs up, then lowers the top back down. By now, he’s weaving through the scenic hills, his favorite part of the journey. The sun sits low in the sky, hovering a magnificent orange over the wine-colored ocean in the distance. He imagines gifting Patroclus this view, imagines how beautiful he’ll be as the light at any time of day will glow on his skin, the wind blowing through his hair. It takes everything within him not to push the pedal past the 89mph he’s already going, to not get distracted by how ecstatic he is.

The sun is completely gone, and he’s ten minutes away from home when he receives another call. He’s on a regular road now, so he can actually look at the caller ID to see who it is.

“Automedon, what’s going on?”

Automedon barks a laugh. “Well, something magical happened- we got released from practice early.”

Achilles’ brow raises. “I guess even tyrants get tired.”

“So it seems. I heard that you’re doing something nice for Pat this weekend. Great job on finally doing something about that crush of yours.”

“Fuck you. How do you know? Did he tell you?”

“Listen to you. ‘Did he tell you?’ Like a giggling schoolgirl. Anyway, it was more of a public incident than anything else. Your Captain was whining about it. When he heard that Pat requested time off, he tried to stop him. Said he needed to be there for the team. You know Agamemnon, always going for the loyalty angle. Pat didn’t argue it, he didn’t raise his voice or anything; he just straight up told him who’d be standing in for him, to have a good weekend, and then walked out.”

Achilles’ jaw drops with delight. “No way.”

“Aggie couldn’t even stay mad at first; he was so shocked. We all just kind of awkwardly turned around. It’s hilarious how icy Pat is when he wants to be.”

“I know. Oh, I love him so much,” Achilles gushes. “That’s why I’m taking him to meet my parents this weekend. You should have seen him at the party last night.”

“Menelaus was talking about it. They cannot fucking stand you anymore; you’d think you were the one who stood up to him. Called you a ‘bad influence’, amongst the nicer things. You’ve become the team ghoul.” Automedon scoffs when Achilles full belly laughs. “I’m glad you both are finally together. You can finally stop acting like you didn’t like him while making the world’s most obvious doe eyes. Oh, hold on-”

There’s a pause, then a faint echo as another voice joins.

“Antilochus, Achilles is on the call.”

“No shit,” Antilochus yawns, amusement barely covering his exhaustion. “Guess who decided to answer the fucking phone! The prince himself graces us with his presence.”

“I’ve been texting you both this whole time; shut up. Apparently, there’s a game tomorrow.”

“Listen to this wise guy! ‘Apparently’. I think Automedon has quietly joined your protest. He hasn’t played at full power since that concussion.”

“Aht!” Automedon challenges. “Medical said I had to take it easier on myself so that I didn’t permanently injure myself or my brain!”

Achilles grins. Of course Automedon had his back, especially after Agamemnon had shown how disposable he seemed to believe his own starting Halfback was.

“Anyway, I’m just congratulating him on finally asking out Patroclus.”

“…Dude, maybe you do have a bad concussion. They’ve been hanging out since before Achilles quit.”

“Yeah, but he’s officially taking him to meet the parents. That’s why Pat’s not going to be at the game.”

Antilochus sharply inhales. “Oh. That’s… awesome. For you at least.” His voice quiets with distress. “I am terrified to think of how this game is about to go without him there, though. He’s maybe the one person on the team left that’s managed to maintain any positive human emotion when we’re out there. I get why Agamemnon was so stressed.”

Antilochus silences, and even Achilles is somber as Automedon explains.  

“It’s abysmal, Achilles. Not just with the losing. The team is struggling to even stand upright between these practices and these games. Odysseus and Diomedes are doing their best to hold up defense, but they’re barely managing anymore with how long they’re out there on the field getting beat down. Menelaus always ends up with final say for them, regardless of how illogical his calls might be. They know he’s the future captain, and everyone is trying to route around him. It’s insanity.”

“What we need is a functional offense,” interjects Antilochus, “but between our truant Wide Receiver, our half concussed Halfback, and our incompetent Quarterback, we can’t make anything happen. Agamemnon could at least be training the next one, if he needs a mental break or something.”

Achilles snorts, and Automedon rolls his eyes so hard he swears he can hear it.

“Psht, which is who? Aegisthus? Agamemnon doesn’t even know his name, let alone let him play. Fuck the future of Achaea, I guess! Besides, he’s got plenty of time to think from the bench since he can barely move the ball!”

Automedon and Antilochus fall into a long tirade about their captain, something they’ve grown fonder of in the past few weeks. Achilles usually feeds off of the worsening commentary, but he’s made it to his destination- the iron-wrought gate grumbles opens after he enters the security code.

“I have to go,” he interrupts. “Remember- you can always walk out!” He laughs as their shit-talk turns to him and hangs up. Phthia gleams white in the rising moonlight, its sandstone walls cleaned and painted cream, and its terracotta tiles power washed bi-yearly to maintain its upkeep. He parks next to the small, bubbling fountain in the middle of the horseshoe driveway, grabbing his bag and locking the car. Pausing just in front of the elegant door, the warm light glowing from inside, Achilles takes a deep breath.

Here goes.

Achilles is barely five feet into the home before Thetis storms towards him, her royal blue robe flowing behind her as though the finest of peacock feathers.  

“Achilles,” she demands. “What are you doing here on such short notice? And since you’re here-”

Achilles uses her momentum to quickly kiss her on the cheek and swivel her around by her shoulders to walk with him. “Mom, I’m delighted to see you too! Yes, we should definitely talk!”

Thetis scowls, hustled into the sitting room where he’d rightly predicted Peleus would be reclining in wait.

“Your son is here,” she growls, falling onto her couch with a huff. Peleus doesn’t look any more pleased, his anger sitting calmly in his deep brown eyes. “He’s clearly not here to talk about the obvious.”

Achilles awkwardly moves forward to hug Peleus. “Dad! I’m happy to see you too!”

“He’s ‘happy’, don’t you hear him,” Thetis spits, crossing her legs. “Surely he’s not happy about having the entire football program and half the school alumni call this house, is he?”

“Nope,” Achilles interjects before Peleus can answer. “It’s over something even better.”

Thetis tosses up her hands in agitation. Peleus, with his long history of dealing with both his high-strung wife and child, pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s already played this game of chess in his mind, and it’s clear Achilles won’t discuss his decisions without a fight.

“Then why are you even here, son?” he painfully exhales. “Why do you have your parents stressed like this?”

Achilles plops down by Thetis, claps his hands together, and dives right into his explanation. Ten minutes later, Peleus and Thetis blink in united confusion. They take one long look at one another, then look back at their child in bemusement. Peleus is the first to speak.

“So… you drove four hours through the countryside… not to discuss the expensive football program we help pay for… but… to discuss-”

“A man,” Thetis finishes.

“A man that I really, really like, yes.”

Peleus stands up and walks over to the cart where numerous bottles of his favorite liquors sit. “Thetis, would like something to drink?”

“A double, please.” They both say nothing until their glasses are empty, then continue to stare at Achilles. The pressure of their combined gazes is unusually high, and finally Achilles huffs.

“Fine. We’ll talk about the football program while I’m here, I swear it. But I want to handle this first, because I already promised Patroclus that everything would be perfect this weekend. So can we please help me with this, and then I’ll tell you what’s been going on?” He turns to Thetis with wide, watery eyes. “Come on Mom, you’ll both love him! Remember when he called you after I got drunk that night? You said you wanted me to introduce him! Here I am doing just that!”

Thetis closes her eyes. “That is not- you know that-” Generations of rules regarding being a good host lock her into this sudden commitment. If her son has already invited this man to her home, it would be rude not to prepare for him. Achilles knows her well; knows she won’t refuse something like this. “Fine. I suppose we should officially meet this young man.”

Achilles, exuberant, pulls her into a hug, swaying back and forth. Peleus looks deep in thought in his chair. Suddenly, his eyes widen with recognition.  

“Right! I was trying to figure out how that name was familiar. Patroclus! That’s the boy whose surgery we paid for, right?”

Achilles freezes in horror. “Dad, please do not call him ‘boy’ when he gets here; there are numerous things wrong with that! Next, none of us are going to bring that up this weekend, okay? He overcame a lot, and I don’t want him to feel indebted.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, son.” Peleus raises his hands, bewildered. “Shoot, we should be indebted to him for not trying to sue our pants off after that. It wouldn’t have held, but still-”

Still stressed, Achilles pouts furiously. His ears are turning a deep red, and Thetis tugs at them.

“We’re not going to embarrass Patroclus, or you in front of Patroclus- even though you might deserve it.” With one last tug, Thetis pulls out her phone. “My baby is bringing home his first boyfriend!” Her mind flies a mile a minute with plans. “Is he allergic to anything? I suppose I can just have someone find his medical files-”

“Mom, that’s illegal. You can’t just look up someone’s files. I can just ask him.”

Thetis slowly lowers her phone. “Right, right.” She immediately lifts it back up. “Well, he has to have a favorite wine! No, I’ll do even better- I’ll make my famous sangria, only for special guests! How are we dressing? Did you buy him a nice outfit?”

“No, Mom. His clothes are fine. We’re dressing normal for this.”

“Hm. Get me his measurements and his favorite colors; I’ll get him something nice for the next time as a gift.”

Achilles rolls his eyes, but he’s over the moon at the idea of Patroclus being around for the ‘next time’. “He likes subtle things, nothing too fancy. Also, don’t use the gold plates for this weekend, they’re gaudy.” 

“Sweetheart, I don’t need you to tell me that. Those plates have been gone since you were fifteen. We’ll use the fine China. Also, you mentioned a brunch? So then the sangria for that, then the wine for dinner, so we’re back at square one, oh no…”

Peleus watches as Achilles and Thetis swiftly debate decorations, meals, and wines, Thetis taking furious notes on her phone. “So am I just going to go hide in the attic, then?” he jokes.

Achilles slides onto the floor and scoots over to Peleus’ feet. “Nope- you’re going to make dinner. He likes steaks, cooked medium. Do you still have that butcher’s number? Are they still in town?”

“Of course they are. New York strips it is, then. I’ll show him his father-in-law has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Thetis gasps in horror. “Is it that serious already?”

“Thetis, I was only jo-”

“Are you planning for a wedding? Am I going to be a grandmother?”

Ignored, Peleus rolls his eyes. “All right. Achilles, we’re going to talk about the program once this is done. I’m serious.”

He leaves Thetis behind to spiral. Her own unintended pregnancy whips through her mind, the way she’d been bonded for life over a casual night. If that’s why her son is here- “Is that why this is so sudden? Did you run out of your meds and not tell me?”

Achilles flushes a dangerous red. They haven’t even slept together yet, and now he’s imagining Patroclus in his bed, pressed close, working hard into him for a- “Mom! No, I didn’t run out of my suppressants, I take them daily. And no one is planning a wedding and certainly not a baby any time soon! You’re making me nervous, what if he doesn’t even want- just be normal! I need both of you to be on your best behavior this weekend, okay? No questions like this!”

The searing look Thetis gives him would burn many, but Achilles stands tall- red, but tall. Her son might be chronically inconsiderate, but he’s rarely a liar. Relieved, she grabs his arm and leads him to the kitchen for further discussion. After some time, they sit across from each other with a drawn-out menu for dinner and brunch, as well as snacks for the trip back. Achilles beams proudly at the lists. Now that she’s sure her son isn’t having a shotgun wedding, Thetis is genuinely intrigued.

“Tell me more about Patroclus,” she asks softly. “You were right- I can’t help but respect a man that handled that night the way he did, especially for an Alpha. But he must be something else to make you this vulnerable.”

Achilles nervously looks at her from under his lashes, before grabbing her hands in excitement. There he is- her sweet baby boy, handing her flowers, singing her songs, and playing in her jewelry and picking her pieces as she prepared for the day. Holding her hand, shivering with emotion just the way he is now.

“He’s so wonderful, Mom. Sweet, thoughtful, the gentlest man I have ever met. Outwardly he’s so placid, but when you get to know him, you realize how passionate he is. Just listening to him speak about the things that matter to him moves me. His laugh; it’s low and warm, like an embrace. He genuinely thinks I’m funny, Mom! He’s brilliant. Studious, disciplined, he’s helped my scores come up.”

Thetis snorts. “Well it’s good to hear that school is going well, if not sports. We have hope, then. Does he agree with you not going to practice?” The pointed question is effective and Achilles cringes, but he petulantly shrugs.

“Not exactly. He thinks I’m right about the point I’m making, but not the way I’m going about it. But that’s okay.”

The way I’m going about it. That’s an update that she can’t wait to hear more about. “You hate it when people disagree with you.”

“Not always! But even that’s another reason I like him. He’s no pushover. I’ve met so many people who either want to fight me, or who feel like they have to ride my wave for popularity. I don’t have a lot of real friends; let alone anyone I’d want to let this close because of that. But he’s different. He challenges me without making me feel defensive.”

“Sounds like he’s just right for dealing with you,” she teases, poking him in the cheek. Achilles smiles, sighing.

“And he’s so handsome, Mom. His smile makes me feel like I’m on top of the world when he indulges me. He should be on the cover of magazines. And he doesn’t even care about it! He’s got these beautiful eyes, so deep, so strong. Observant. And his muscles, he- never mind.” Achilles lets go of Thetis’ hands to cover his face. “I… I don’t know, Mom. This the first time I’ve ever felt like… like it would matter to me if he didn’t think well of me. I love that he actually loves me. Are you okay? Mom?”

Thetis didn’t realize that she’d stopped breathing, her heart pounding deep in her chest, until she shakily sobs. “I’m just- it all seems so fast, and yet I believe you …” she weeps, reaching into her robe for a silk handkerchief. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to hear you take someone else so seriously…”

Once she pats her face down, Thetis takes a deep breath.

“Well. That’s been handled. Now I have questions about what’s going on with school. Oh no, we’re not going to skip it,” she chastises when Achilles grimaces. “Go get your father, I just heard the garage.”

Patroclus waits anxiously by the apartment building door, his small cooler, grocery bag, bookbag, and his duffle bag sat by him on the sidewalk. He’d made all that noise about Achilles not telling his parents about him, but frankly, maybe he wasn’t ready for this. Sometimes he wishes he could scream out loud the way he does in his head. Hopefully Achilles had good things to say- at least one of them had to be successful at the talk. He’d tried bringing up his new relationship to Philomela, and he could hear her brow furrow in disappointment when he explained his new lover.

You mean the rich white boy? The one from the football team? That one?

You don’t have to sound so upset about it, Mama. I mean, we saw him before that- he was a lead role in that ballet you took me to! So it’s not just football.

I don’t understand. Patroclus, baby, he broke your leg.

It was an accident. Why does everyone bring that up? He would never just ‘choose’ to break my leg! Come on, give him a chance.

*Long sigh* Look- if you like him, I love him.

That was translation for ‘I think you’re stupid actually, but okay’. Patroclus is sure that she’ll change her mind with time. Philomela has always trusted his judgment if nothing else. Briseis had also been apprehensive when he threw in extra money for a beard shape-up on top of the retwist.

The infamous Achaean Wide Receiver? Pat, if you were into other football players, I could have found you someone less controversial with much more notice. Preferably not on this campus. The Trojans are too cute! Turn your head.

I’m not listening to you and your sacrilege. Just take my money. I need to look good since I’m meeting his parents.

You know his family’s loaded, right? Like, eat-the-rich level?

I’m aware.

Hey. Okay. Get your bag, then!

I’m not dating him for his money, you know me better than that.

Hey. You’re better than me.

Also meaning ‘I think you’re stupid actually, but okay’. Patroclus scratches his still tight scalp, tugging at the half bun he’d messily tied together for a style. He’s not usually one to fall for peer pressure, but maybe he was pushing for too much this time. Maybe he should have waited. Nerves and guilt stew thick in his stomach when a short beep pulls him from his thoughts. A gorgeous red convertible turns into the parking lot, and windblown head of blond wavy hair waves from behind the wheel. Achilles beams, parking and jumping out. He’s wearing sunglasses, nice jeans, and a grey hoodie with the sleeves torn off, revealing strong arms to complete his ever-present ‘devil may care’ look. Patroclus swallows.

Yeah. He’s stupid in love.

“You look stunning,” Achilles purrs, gently thumbing at his beard before pulling him into a kiss. “The half-bun is to die for, and your beard, you got it trimmed! I just want to-” He plies kisses all over Patroclus’ face, feeling it warm under his affection.

“Thank Briseis. She threw it in at a discount when I told her I was meeting your family. She said I had to look good for eating the rich.”

Achilles holds his hands up in a sign of prayer, before grabbing both of Patroclus’ bags. “What’s her phone number?” he asks, tossing them into the trunk. When Patroclus tells him, he swiftly pulls out his phone. Moments later, Patroclus gets a message from Briseis; a screenshot with a bunch of eyes, thumbs up, and cash emojis over a cash app containing thirty dollars and a message: ‘Eaten and happy- great work <3 Achilles’

“Achilles!”

Achilles grins, unashamed, as he hauls the cooler into the back seat. “A reward for a job well done! What’s in here?”

“Ridiculous. Chocolate dipped strawberries. I decided to go simple, so I brought dessert and some flowers.”

Achilles blinks at the flowers. “So they’re not for me?” He pouts prettily for extra effect, and Patroclus takes one of the flowers out and presses it behind his ear. “You’re so sweet.” Achilles pats the side of the car. “I’m ready when you are.”

Patroclus frowns. “Don’t you want to rest? Are you not tired?”

Achilles scoffs. “What? No. I’m fine. I live for driving.”

He can’t maintain his bravado when Patroclus walks over and gently lifts up the glasses, revealing subtle bruising under his eyes. “If you pull up the directions, I can get us there.” His hands slide down to Achilles’ side. “You look tired, and I’d like us to survive this journey. Please.”

Achilles relents, squeezing his hands. “Okay. We’ll need to stop for gas first, and then tell me when we’re about two hours into the drive so we can switch.”

Two hours in, Patroclus pulls over to a gas station and nudges Achilles awake.

“Are you good? I can keep driving, it’s not that far.”

“No, no,” yawns Achilles, stretching. “It’s okay. I got about four hours of sleep before driving back to your place, so I’m fine. Besides, this is where it gets good. Switch me.”

Patroclus doesn’t really understand what ‘gets good’ means, and Achilles apparently has no intention of telling him as he gets out. Probably another ‘surprise’. He’s in the middle of his kindly-bought gas station hot dog when Achilles speaks again.    

“So, I told my parents about the situation with the team. Mom thinks that, if I’m not interested in football anymore, I should attend this ballet seminar coming up. It’s about an hour away from school, and it would be a good way to start networking if I want to try getting back into any professional companies.”

“Are you allowed to just show up to those?”

“No- I’d have to pay for the lectures, as well as for any extra lessons at the conference. You are allowed to pay for the company’s hosted training sessions in their home studio, and you can audition to be a part of the company in different seasons. I’ll start getting back into shape, and if I decide to go for the winter season, I’m sure I’ll get a spot.”

It’s one thing about Achilles that’s always baffled and yet attracted Patroclus to him: he’s completely serious. His confidence is unwavering that he’ll be able to just walk in and snag a spot that’s probably coveted by many. And Patroclus is confident that he’ll succeed, too.

“How does your Dad feel about it?”

Achilles shrugs. “He’s not all that pleased- he really liked that I played football and was looking forward to me going pro. However, he said that as long as I stuck to something, and I kept my grades up and graduated on time, he can’t stop me.”

Patroclus can’t help his grimace. It’s not that he’s unhappy for Achilles. It’s his life, and at the end of the day, he’ll support his choice. Still, he’s already feeling guilty for not being there for the team this weekend. He can’t imagine coming home and confirming with them that their star player is permanently not coming back this season without a long inward sigh.

“Well, worst case scenario, we lose Homecoming,” he mutters, “and the season is over. At least that will be one less thing to worry about.”

“Hm?”

“Just wondering how I’m going to break that news to everyone else.”

“Hm. That’s not good!” Achilles frowns dismissively. “This is your break, remember? We’re not worried about work! Put it out of your mind! Now, I want you to enjoy this last stretch of the ride- there’s something I want to show you.”

With that, he peels out of the gas station parking lot, and back onto the highway. Patroclus is bemused, looking to his left and right.

“I don’t see anything. What am I supposed to be looking for?”

Achilles smiles mysteriously. “You’ll know when you see it.”

The music blasts around them as they speed through the hills, and Patroclus’ heart races. Partially from anxiety at his lover’s reckless curling through the winding roads, just toeing the edge of too dangerous, and partially because he looks so sexy and unbothered while he does it. He watches, enthralled, as Achilles sings along to the concert version of Starboy at the top of his lungs.

“Coming for the king, that’s a far cry I- I come alive in the fall time, I- No competition, I don’t really listen-”

It’s clear that he relates to the fated arrogance of the lyrics, the way he hits his chest and holds tight to his fist as he dramatically sings into an imaginary mic.

“You talkin’ money, need a hearing aid- you talking bout me I don’t see the shade-”

His melodic voice isn’t powerful enough to hit the length of the vocalization at the end, but it’s completely backed up by his passion. He’s no longer driving, no, he’s singing in front of thousands.

“Look what you’ve done, ooh baby- cause I’m a motherfucking star-boy!”

The song eventually cuts out, and Achilles turns to a gaping Patroclus. “What? It’s a great song. I vibe with it!”

“Clearly. Was that the surprise? My own concert? Can you watch the road now?”

Achilles tosses his head back in laughter. “No, obviously. I can sing for you any time you want, but I doubt you want that. No, the surprise should be coming up right… about… now!”

Right on cue, the afternoon sun that had been blocked by the hills beams down over the car, and Patroclus has to shield his eyes. Once they adjust, they widen in awe, sparkling in the light. He subtly rises from his seat, the sun warm against his brown skin. The sky is completely clear, allowing an uninhibited view of the cerulean ocean, the sharp grey cliffs falling down in a crescent as they cup the bay at the bottom. The white sand glows bright as the water crashes into the beach, and if he looks closely, he’s pretty sure he can see fish and dolphins leaping. The ocean spans the vast horizon, and birds fly into its endless distance.

“Wow,” he breathes. “This is amazing. Achilles, look-” He looks down to see Achilles, now slowed to a safe speed, visibly pleased. “What?”  

“You just look as wondrous as I thought you would, is all.”

Ears burning at the compliment, Patroclus sinks back into his seat. “Don’t tease. You really thought I hadn’t seen the ocean before,” he asks, playfully nudging him.  

“Who’s teasing? And I’m sure you’ve seen it before. I just didn’t think you’d seen this view, and I wanted to share it with you. It’s my favorite part of the trip to and from home, and I wanted to see you enjoy it. Too corny?”

Wanted to share his favorite view with him. If Patroclus could melt into his seat from how cute it is, he’d be a puddle. “No. I really liked it. Thank you.”

Achilles grins so hard that his cheeks look like they might burst. “And that’s just the beginning! I told you- this weekend is going to be amazing. I’ll have to bring you when it’s sunrise or sunset, it’s really beautiful then.”

“You think we’ll have that kind of time this weekend?”

Achilles shakes his head, and even he now has a subtle blush on his cheeks.

“No. You’ll just have to keep coming back with me.”

Briseis was right. Patroclus’ jaw was already loose when Achilles pulled the car up to this massive gate off the side of a private road, but the moment the estate entered his sight, it dropped to the floor.

It had occurred to him in theory; nobody who could afford all of Patroclus’ treatments without showing hide nor hair of themselves could be poor, but actually witnessing it live was an entirely different situation. Achilles pulls around to the front of a fountain- a fountain!- until the car faces back the way they came and parks.

“Are you ready?” he asks, giddy, and Patroclus blanches. Instead of answering, he turns to open the door to flee- and falls to the ground.

“Fuck!” A four-hour car ride hadn’t been good for his leg, leaving it stiff and numb. In an instant Achilles is around the side of the car, helping him sit back down and kneeling onto the driveway.

“Shit,” he mutters, insistently pressing his fingers into Patroclus’ stiff calf in a light massage. “I’m sorry. Was it hurting the whole time? Did we need to stop?”

“No, I just… it’s fine.”

“It’s-” Achilles pauses, showing uncharacteristic restraint. “I’ll stop next time. We can pull over and get good pictures of the ocean.”

It’s a declaration, direct enough that Patroclus cannot refuse, and yet gracious enough to not bring up the why. If it had been any other moment, Patroclus would have drawn him into a grateful kiss. Right now, his anxiety bubbles hot in his throat, and all his fears spill forth.

“Are you sure about this, Achilles?” He knows it’s a silly question as soon as it comes out; Achilles is always sure of everything he does. As expected, Achilles is visibly insulted and hurt.

“Of course, I’m sure. What do you mean?”

“It’s just-” Patroclus bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, barring the pain from escaping. He knows, he knows it’s the internalized ableism speaking, but he does not want to meet these people while using his cane. He’s sure that Achilles’ parents always pictured him bringing home someone different, someone who fit into this exorbitant image. Someone who could literally stand on their own two feet one hundred percent of the time.

His thoughts must show on his face, because warm hands cup his face and lift it up, thumbing the chin high in pride. Achilles does not break his gaze as he speaks. “You are wonderful, just the way you are. There is nothing shameful or misplaced about you. I’m honored that you trust me to help when you need it. I’m proud that you want to be with me. Do you want me to grab your bag?”

Sniffling, Patroclus nods. It’s strangely flattering how Achilles can dismiss the entire world, yet make Patroclus feel like he’s the most precious being in it. Achilles squeezes his arm in encouragement, then grabs his bag, handing it to him. Patroclus pulls out the adjustable cane, using it to push himself to his feet. Achilles softly nuzzles him when he’s up.  

“They’re going to love you, and you’re going to be just fine. I’m sure of it. I demanded they be on their best behavior.” Achilles looks like a proud puppy dog, and Patroclus finally giggles, calming down. “There we go. Feeling better?” 

“Yeah. And if their best behavior is anything like yours, I’m fucked.”

Achilles fondly rolls his eyes. “Language, Philtatos. Besides, if you’re ever uncomfortable at any point, just tell me and we’ll leave.”

“And you won’t get mad at me?”

“I won’t. Your safety and comfort are paramount. We can leave right now, if you want. They’ll live.”

Patroclus grimaces. “That would be extremely rude. And you really are sure? They’re not going to like… I don’t know, have a problem with this-” he lifts his cane- “or this?” He gestures wildly around his face. “What if they suddenly threaten to disown you?”

Achilles’ brow furrows. “That’s unusually dramatic of you. Why would they even-” Patroclus points at the back of his hand, and Achilles flushes. “Okay, first, I’d like to think they wouldn’t be that way! And if they were, I’d cut them off without a second thought!”

Patroclus presses his lips to stop laughing, but it doesn’t work, and he crumbles into giggles at Achilles’ genuinely mortified yet honest expression. He’s still chortling when Achilles tugs him close.

“I love you,” he whispers, gripping Patroclus’ shirt. “I do. They’ll probably say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I agree. Okay?”

Patroclus smiles, nudging their foreheads together. “I believe you. Let’s do this.”

Patroclus’ soothed anxiety quickly ramps back up when Peleus and Thetis crowd him at the door.

Welcome to Phthia, son! I’m Peleus! Are you tired? Let me take your bags!

I’m Thetis! Do you need help getting up the stairs? (Mom, I got him.) I’m just asking! Oh, you brought chocolate covered strawberries! I can’t wait to eat them! I’ll put them in the fridge!

When you’ve rested, let me take you on a tour of the estate- we’ll walk slow! (Dad-)

Do you want something to drink? I’ll just go prepare a small lunch!

In a whirlwind, Patroclus’ bags are taken upstairs, and he’s being pulled into the gorgeous dining room with gigantic arcing windows overlooking the cerulean pool and lush grounds that are in- as Peleus modestly puts it- the ‘back yard’. He eats a ‘simple lunch’ of braised salmon and buttered veggies, hardly tasting what should be a wonderful meal as he answers the curious parents’ high-speed interrogation. 

What do your parents do? Do I know any of your family?

Where do you work? Oh, the school! What’s your salary? (Mom-)

Do you have a car?

You’re from Opus, right? Where you’d go to high school?

What’s your major? Your minor?

What made you pick those? (Dad, that’s private- you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want, Patroclus.)

What do you want to do when you graduate?

Oh, you want to continue your education? That’s what I like to hear! Do you know what program?

I like the way your hair is braided! (They’re locs, not braids, Mom.) How long has it been that way?

What’s your favorite football team? What’s their record?

Patroclus can see where Achilles gets all of his energy, the way Peleus and Thetis are instantly loaded with the next question and comment. His heart constricts with each one, quickly becoming overwhelmed as he fields their commentary. This shouldn’t be getting to him like this, it’s fine, he’s the one who wanted to be here, to be in this relationship, he shouldn’t-

“We’re actually going to chill upstairs for a bit.” Achilles gives his hand an encouraging squeeze under the table and stands. “It’s been a long drive and I’m pretty tired.”

Peleus frowns, clearly wanting more time to delve into Patroclus’ football interests, but Thetis picks up on the hint. “Fine. Make sure you’re down before dinner.”

Achilles salutes, barely letting Patroclus grab his cane before tugging him down the hall. They’re at the bottom of the staircase when he turns, apologetic.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pull you around like that. I was just trying to help you escape. You looked like you were panicking, and I know together they can be a bit…much.”

Patroclus grimaces. “First, I’m fine, my leg isn’t sore anymore. Next, that’s saying a lot, coming from you. Was it that obvious?”

“Not to them, probably, but I could tell.” Achilles holds out his hand, and Patroclus blinks.

“I just said I don’t need your help.”

“It’s not to help you. Maybe I just want to lead you up the stairs like a gentleman.”

Patroclus sighs bashfully, offering his hand. Achilles kisses it with a rakish grin, then leads him up the brightly lit stairs. They walk through what Patroclus considers more hallway than any house should need, Achilles explaining many of the family pictures and art on the walls.

“That’s one of my favorite memories,” he explains, voice soft as he points at one large frame where an ecstatic blond ten-year-old holds a sparkler to the sky like it’s a fated sword. Achilles glows in the light of the night, legs covered in sand. “Grandfather Nereus’ beach home. He always claimed I was his ‘most special’ grandchild. Mom has loads of sisters, so I’ve got loads of aunts and cousins on that side, and we’d have these huge family bonfires. Did you know Ajax is a distant cousin of mine?”

“No, actually,” Patroclus answers, gently thumbing over the heroic young boy in the image. “This is so precious.”

Achilles smiles, wistful. “So I’ve been told. It was one of the few times I remember feeling… free back then, I guess. When I could steal time for myself, I would pretend to be an adventurer in a distant land, sprinting up and down the coastline, jumping over logs and into the sea water. Every other time, my cousins and their friends always wanted to race and wrestle with me. It was fine, I won, but… it was never as fun as my secret adventures. Well, anyway-”

He continues his tour until they come to a bright blue door and Achilles pushes it open with a flourish. “Welcome to my domain! Let me show you around.”

Patroclus’ eyes are caramel orbs as he takes it all in. The room is a forest green with cream carpet, looming windows allowing the light of the day to shine on them. In one corner of the room sits a king-sized bed, four posts allowing for dark shades to be drawn around its thick deep blue comforter. Another wall holds bookshelves and a desk, and another an entertainment system with a TV and speaker system.

The walk-in closet holds all of Achilles’ clothes and shoes that he’d left at home, with a small ottoman for him to sit on while he decided on what to wear for the day. Patroclus notes his own small bags sit in one corner as they continue through to the bathroom on the other side. The bathroom has pristine white tile flooring, with bright blue mosaic tiles embedded in the walls, and one large marble sink with glamorous bulb lights surrounding it. The shower is glass, and the tub is huge, easily able to fit a grown man, let alone the child that grew up in this room.

“So,” Achilles finishes, walking Patroclus back into the main room. “What do you think?”

“This room is the size of my whole apartment,” Patroclus mutters to himself, scuttling past to plop on the bed. He tosses his cane to the wall, too caught up in his thoughts to notice that it slides down onto the carpet. “Y’all don’t even have curtains. It’s so exposed. Rich people don’t need curtains?”

Achilles snickers. “There are blinds, if you want me to pull them down.”

“A little.”

Obliging, Achilles pulls down the wooden blinds, covering half the room in a welcome shadow, and Patroclus shivers. He’s almost so nervous that he misses Achilles calling him.

“What did you say?”

“Open your arms up.”

Patroclus frowns, tentatively holding them open. “Why?” He blanches when Achilles shifts down into a sprinting position, hurtling all six foot of himself towards him. “Wait, wait-”

He barely braces, opening his arms wider as Achilles pounces on him, pushing him into the bed with a tight hug. Patroclus spits, trying to clear all the wavy hair out of his mouth.

“Why?” is all he asks, frowning. Achilles giggles, tossing all that hair to the side before pushing their noses together.

“Because you looked worried, and I don’t like that. Though, if you want something to focus on-” Achilles shifts into a straddling position, firmly planting his ass on top of Patroclus’ groin and squeezing. “I can distract you.”

Patroclus swallows, at half mast despite himself. “You said we were going to chill.”

“In that way. It’s no lie. We can relax though,” Achilles breathes, “if that’s what you want to do.”

Patroclus sighs. He’s tempted, but- “In your parents’ house? You don’t think that’s a little disrespectful after they just welcomed me?”

Achilles scoffs. “If you’d seen some of the ways I’ve caught both of them red-handed, sometimes not even with each other, maybe you’d reconsider that idea.” Before Patroclus can delve into that, Achilles leans down, kissing him until he can hardly think. “If you’re worried about them catching us, the door is locked, and they’re not going to come looking for us any time soon.”

By now, he’s moved down to Patroclus’ stomach, pushing up his shirt to kiss at the sensitive hairs above his belly button, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to push down his lust.

"Do you at least have any condoms with you?"

Achilles freezes in his ministrations, before mentally slapping his head and rising back up. "Fuck. No, I don't. And I don't keep any here."

Patroclus huffs in disappointment. With a deft motion, he flips their positions, bracing his arms on either side of Achilles.

"Then not today," he whispers, voice hot as he nuzzles into Achilles' neck. It's fair, and Achilles knows this, but it's hard not to be disappointed. He curls his legs around Patroclus' back, grinding their hips together with an exaggerated hitched breath. 

"I mean, if you were willing to risk it all, I am on my meds," he teases, and Patroclus groans.

"Absolutely not." Achilles feels him harden at the thought, yearning for the impressive length with a playful keen.

"I could kick myself, though," he continues, pausing only to moan when Patroclus sucks on one of his nipples. "What a perfect chance for me to show you just how much I want to devote to you. Just how much you do to me."

When Patroclus pauses to shakily remove both their shirts, Achilles runs electrifying hands up Patroclus' soft muscles.

"I dream of this, you know," he purrs, moving one hand to the nape of Patroclus' neck, pushing him even further down his body. "I dream every night of what you might feel like inside me." Patroclus visibly twitches, and Achilles laughs. "Your entire body is shivering. Am I doing that to you? Imagine how it would feel when-"

In a motion even Achilles would consider lightning fast, Patroclus grips the sides of Achilles' throat with one large, well placed hand.

“Enough, or should I give your lips something else to do?”

He presses his fingers just tightly enough, only using one large knuckle to gently nudge Achilles' chin up, closing his mouth with a click.

Multiple emotions surge through Achilles at one time, his blood pounding in his ears and at his throat. He's never enjoyed being manhandled in bed, often fighting against partners who wanted to dominate him in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable. Usually they just wanted to say they fucked Achilles, to flex the power of their one-time "conquest".

But this? This is different. Patroclus isn't even holding him that tightly; it would be very easy to break his grip. And yet, Achilles feels pressed down and secured.

With a plaintively mewled "Oh,", his arms slacken to his sides, leaving his chest bare. He's going to have to change pants, as they're completely soaked with slick and he's sure he just came a little. He might be scenting more than he ever has in his life, the medication not nearly strong enough to overcome whatever he's feeling right now.

Patroclus releases him, hand unsure. "Too much?"

Achilles immediately snaps to, almost smashing their faces together in his haste.

“More.”

Patroclus happily obliges him, lifting himself onto his knees. After tugging off Achilles' ruined pants, he pulls one leg around his waist, and presses the other towards the bed. This widens Achilles perfectly, and Patroclus has to pause when he sees the way Achilles is twitching for him.

"You smell so good, my god, fuck me," Achilles moans. Patroclus could say the same. His lover makes a mesmerizing sight; his tanned skin flushed with red, his hair splayed around him, his dick pink and leaking. Is this what Achilles looks like for every lover? He finds himself possessive at the thought. The combined smell of sandalwood and cypress thickens, near intoxicating. 

Focus, Patroclus steels himself, pressing two fingers inside Achilles. Achilles whines, grasping at Patroclus' hand. He pants with every stroke, and Patroclus shushes him.

"Just breathe, okay?"

Achilles only mewls again, shoving a finger over his mouth. How is he supposed to breathe through this?! No one has ever been this gentle with him, this focused on his pleasure. Worst of all, Patroclus has his leg in a tight grip, so he can only twitch uncontrollably. Does the man relish in his torment?

He's just come to terms with actually begging to be fucked when a thrill runs through him, his body quickening with oncoming pleasure. His eyes roll back in his head, and that's when Patroclus brings both his legs together. After using Achilles' own slick as lubricant, he squeezes himself through the plush thighs.

"I'm not going to last very long," Patroclus whispers, voice tight. No fucking kidding, Achilles would say, if he could speak.

You would think he was actually tearing Achilles apart; the way Achilles cries out with every stroke and impact. Each salacious cry only pushes Patroclus closer and closer to the edge, and he bites Achilles' lower calf as he comes with a muffled groan, leaving a mess on the flushed chest. His lover is not far behind, his back arching as he messes himself more.

Breathless (and his leg burns a little), Patroclus collapses on his side. They both lay in silence, shocked by the vehemence of their own pleasure. Achilles turns to Patroclus, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“I know we're a little gross, but… can we just stay like this forever?”

The late evening sun glows through the blinds, dancing over their entangled bodies when Achilles’ alarm rings. Patroclus barely feels Achilles move to turn it off, enamored with the soft sheets and deep mattress. Warm hands cup his cheeks, trying to wake him.

“Philtatos,” Achilles softly whispers. “Time to wake up for dinner.”

Patroclus groans, shifting away. “Don’ wanna.” Another laugh and a couple more kisses force him to turn back around, playfully wrapping an arm around Achilles. “Don’t do all that and then ask me to get up.”

“Do what?” teases Achilles. “I’m being responsible, here.”

Patroclus snorts, fully awake now. “Sure. Help me up.”

After more than a few games of grab ass, they finally get dressed and meet Thetis in the sitting room, who pointedly looks at their held hands.

“Achilles, go help your father with dinner. He asked to speak to you, once you were downstairs.”

Uh oh. Starting already. Achilles looks at Patroclus, searching his eyes. Do you want me to stay? It’s clear that the tiger mom has every intention of giving the shovel talk. Patroclus subtly shakes his head. I’m fine. Go ahead. Achilles pulls Patroclus’ cheek into a lingering kiss, returning Thetis’ pointed look before leaving. Thetis scoffs when Patroclus sits down in the chair across from her.

“Where does he think he got that look from? His little nerve! I can’t wait to watch him suffer such a look one day.” Thetis neatly crosses her legs, and her stormy gray eyes flash, her graying brown hair still voluminous as she pushes it away from her face. Thetis is beautiful, her striking, classical looks reminiscent of perhaps a mermaid or a nymph from olden tales. It is suddenly clear where Achilles inherited his strange power of presence, in the way she’s simply sat and yet Patroclus feels like he’s come to receive final judgment. He sits, subdued, when she holds out a water bottle.

“In case you’re thirsty. I know I need to keep hydrated; it’s staying hot later in the year these days.”

“Mm. Thank you, ma’am. I agree.”

Patroclus has hardly taken a sip when Thetis speaks. “He’s been glowing. I thought he was pregnant.” He chokes on the water, sputtering it up. Thetis only watches, eagle eyed, as he massages his throat.

“Absolutely not, ma’am!”

He was not clueless about sex or pregnancy. Aware as he was of his burning feelings for Achilles, they’d both been single and free agents. As long as consent was had and boundaries were respected, Patroclus knew he had every right to enjoy all of his satisfied, noncommittal flings. But he’d also been raised that when he planned to be serious with someone that he needed to be more careful, more purposeful and direct in his actions and courtship. Regardless, condomless sex was a no-no all around! He’s aware now that Thetis knows what happened. ‘She won't notice I changed my jeans’; goddamn it, Achilles!

Thetis, assured of their understanding, offers a coy smile. “I mean, I know kids these days; you all have much better resources than we did. You can still mess up though. I would know.” Patroclus says nothing, properly chastised, as she continues.

“Peleus was a… nice enough guy, I suppose. Nobody notable on the football team on his own, just a defensive player, but before your generation, there was Heracles, Theseus, Jason, and their ilk. He stood amongst them.” Patroclus’ eyes widen; you couldn’t claim to be a fan of the sport without knowing about the famed Achaean football alumni. “He wasn’t nearly as arrogant or brash in comparison. An alpha, sure, but not a very powerful one. A safe enough choice to flirt with without having to commit to while I reached my goals and found better, or… so I thought.”

She pauses, pressing her lips together. “We got drunk one night after a party and slept together. I wasn’t as… careful as I usually was, and… well. Three weeks later, I was horrifically nauseous in the morning.”

Patroclus grimaces, squeezing his hands uncomfortably tight. He cannot tell if Thetis is telling the truth, or implying something worse, that Peleus was that kind of ‘nice guy’. He doesn’t feel that he has the right to pry.

“To be honest, I didn’t want a child. I especially didn’t want to settle for Peleus. But my father, as much as I am his favorite, and his peers were more… conservative in their beliefs. When a daughter got pregnant, a daughter got married… and that marriage was for life. So, I became a wife, and then I became a mother. At least they didn’t force me to be marked. And it worked out in the end. Thanks to my own inheritance and his investments, we ended up more comfortably than I thought.” She considers all this just ‘comfortable’? “Peleus and I have a cordial relationship at best now, but…there were affairs Achilles has seen that I wish he hadn’t.”

In the middle of wondering why Thetis is telling him any of this, Patroclus remembers- If you’d seen some of the ways I’ve caught both of them red-handed, sometimes not even with each other, maybe you’d reconsider that idea. He had been too distracted at the time, but now he realizes that Achilles hadn’t spoken with his usual blasé tone. It had been accepting but displeased; disdainful even. Thetis takes a sip of her water and smiles sadly.

“Despite it all, Achilles brings me such joy. I love him with my whole heart and soul. He finds endless ways to stress me out, always pushing his boundaries,” she laughs, “but he’s the light of my life. I was afraid for him. I never wanted him to be like me; the omega that messed up, that settled too soon, unable to reach his full potential. I wanted him to accomplish all he could, to not be held down by something like his presentation. I warned him to stand tall, to be wary of others and their intentions. I spoiled him, competing to keep his love, and his stubborn ear. I still do. Perhaps I hold him too close.” She stares vacantly into the past, sighing. “Achilles has never fully allowed others in. Perhaps it was to protect himself. Until now, with you.”

She finally looks at a bewildered Patroclus directly, her endgame message now clear. You will not hurt him, and you will not hold him back. Patroclus’ pride stings with a mild indignity, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. That entire story, and she feels like he would be the one to hold Achilles back?! He sighs internally. Despite her imperfections, it’s clear Thetis loves her son, and her intentions are protective. There’s some unaddressed shit going on in this house, he surmises, deciding to wait for Achilles to tell him how he feels. Swallowing that he has to be the bigger person, that this is his mother, Patroclus leans in. 

“Achilles is safe with me. I swear to you that I’m not going to take advantage of him. I hope that he feels he can be vulnerable with me, can be that genuinely happy person in his portrait. I hope he lets me in, as I want to watch him be the best he can be, too.”

Thetis’ eyes mist over with the memory, and she nods, satisfied. “Well, he’s far past letting you in. I can tell from the way he looks at you, that should you choose to stay with him, he’s yours forever.”

“You think so?”

Thetis giggles, rising to her feet. “He’s never gone out of his way like this for someone. It’s why you make me nervous, holding his heart the way you seem to.”

She says nothing else as she leaves, and Patroclus quietly follows her out onto the back patio where Peleus and Achilles are laying out everything to eat. Achilles immediately drops his plates and rushes to Patroclus’ side, pulling out the chair for him.

“Was it terrible?” he whispers. Patroclus shakes his head.

“I think she’s choosing to trust me, if nothing else.”

Achilles beams. “That’s good!”

The dinner is delicious, steaks with creamy mashed potatoes and sauteed peppers. They tease Achilles, only twenty, with one cup of light wine while Patroclus’ glass is constantly refilled. Peleus regales a tipsy Patroclus with stories of Professor Chiron back when they’d gone to school together.

“You knew Professor Chiron?” Achilles asks, stunned. “He’s never said anything! He never even mentioned he played football!”

“He probably wouldn’t. He always knew things the rest of us didn’t, and would laugh once you figured it out. Out of everyone, he was the only one that could wrangle that whole team together. A great man. Making Heracles listen was a gargantuan task, and yet the only thing Chiron had to do was glare with a sharp ‘sit down’, and Heracles would sit his behind right down and seethe. It was a shame he went into teaching and research; he’d have made one hell of a personal coach.”

Patroclus pouts, taking offense to that. “Professor Chiron is superior in his research! I want to be in his lab and include him in my thesis when I’m a grad student. And he’s a great teacher!”

Thetis snorts into her cup, while Achilles laughs. “Professor Chiron is his idol.”

Peleus only smiles, jovially clapping Patroclus on the back. “I understand! I respect your strong opinions! Actually, let me show you some more memories; I have them in my sitting room.”

“Oh?” Achilles teases, tugging Patroclus’ arm. “He might actually like you more than he likes me at this point, Philtatos. I wasn’t given the honor of the football memories’ tour for years!”

Peleus huffs, ruffling Achilles’ hair. “He says this like he’s not on half of the awards and pictures in the room.”

Peleus is serious- half of the room really is a shrine to Achilles’ athletic prowess, beginning when he was trying different sports as a child, and then picking up again when he’s in middle school. There are numerous pictures of him in uniform, growing from a lanky teenager to a broadly built young collegiate bearing shoulder pads and beaming in the camera. Some are action shots, professionally and beautifully taken.

Peleus stands quietly as Patroclus walks through the small museum, answering the occasional question. The other side of the room is full of Peleus’ own memories, including a photo of the greatest football team itself. He can make out Professor Chiron in his gear, clearly delighted to be amongst his friends despite his barely-there smile. Heracles stands a full head over everyone on the team, his arms large enough to embrace four men beside him. Theseus, Jason, and another man he doesn’t recognize smirk arrogantly.

“Why are you interested in my son?”

Still facing the wall, Patroclus cringes. He supposes Peleus would want to give him a talk too, if not with the wife that felt so coldly about him. He hopes it won’t be as strange.

“Let me clarify,” Peleus modifies, moving to sit in his chair. “That seems harsh- do you love him?”

Patroclus relaxes. An easy question, then! “Yes, sir.”

“No need for the sir; I’m not that old! Why? You can bypass telling me how beautiful he is. I’ve spent his entire life hearing people fawn over Achilles’ looks. What else do you love about him?”

A smile slowly spreads across Patroclus’ face. It’s such an honest, sugar-spun expression, charming Peleus. It’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s another point in Patroclus’ favor- Peleus likes a man that thinks before he speaks!  

“He makes me feel alive when I’m with him.”

Peleus’ brow raises with respect as Patroclus turns to him, gaze unwavering.

“There’s truly never a dull moment with him, and I love that. Achilles has a vivacity to him, an almost naïve genuineness that I love about him. He cares, even when he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t. I know he does. He makes me laugh; he’s so silly, especially when he’s not trying. I wish everyone knew how silly he was when you get to know him, how talking to him about the things he liked and the way he feels makes him light up.”

“He’s smarter than I believe everyone gives him credit for. They’re all so busy looking at how he looks, or how he spoke. They’re not always listening to what he’s actually saying. Not everyone has the nerve to say what needs to be said. He can be pigheaded, but when he believes in something, he holds true to it.”

Peleus shakes his head. “Pigheaded is right. He’s always been that way; head hard as stone when he thinks he’s right.”

“But- on the flip side of that stubbornness, I know he means it when he says he loves me. The way he looks at me, it’s like he trusts me completely. He’s so romantic sometimes; he treats me like I’m precious to him, like he wants to make up for everything that’s ever happened and more. I just… I want to love him so much, I want him to love me, and I know he wants to love me.” Patroclus burps, clapping his hands over his mouth with a giggle. “That sounds corny, doesn’t it?”

Peleus disagrees. “It was quite moving, actually. Far beyond what I might have expected. If I can be honest- I’m surprised to hear how genuine you are. I wouldn’t think you’d be interested in him after what happened. He doesn’t want me to bring that up, though.”

“Well, it’s a long story. I’d almost given up on him when I realized that I had to be a little bit bolder to get his attention.”

“What finally did it?”

“I got invited to this party with the rest of the team. I wasn’t going to go at first, but then I turned around and Achilles was giving me the most hurt look, like he was going to cry. Was he upset that I was going? Was he upset that I wasn’t? Why was he acting like this, after spending a year treating me the way he did. I figured I’d go, and if nothing changed, I’d let him go. Instead… well, I’m sure you heard.”

“Indeed. Well, it makes me happy to know he’s got someone with a good head on his shoulders in his corner, because Achilles… every day I worry about our child. And this situation with the Achaeans, I just…” Peleus rubs his forehead. “I’m glad he has you.”

Before Peleus can get into it, there’s a swift knock at the door, followed by Achilles who boldly strolls in and hugs Patroclus around the waist. 

“Sorry to interrupt Father’s Football Hits, but Mom wants you to come see these baby albums she dug out. She’s bursting at the seams to tell you what I was like.”

Patroclus grins. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“No. I was a cherub of a child, and everyone loved me.”

Peleus snorts in amusement, remembering his precious son’s infancy. “A cherub? For the first four months of your life, I thought your mother birthed a banshee. You didn’t believe in sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead!” Achilles teases, gleefully pulling Patroclus back into the living room.

Achilles lingers in the closet, listening to Patroclus’ oldies playlist blast the end of Bobby Caldwell’s What You Won’t Do for Love. He quietly paces in a circle, full of happy energy despite the late hour. Patroclus was a trooper, listening to his mother’s stories of his childhood until he could take no more. Now that the water is off, he can hear Patroclus singing along to another heartbreaking oldie he doesn’t quite recognize.

This is our fork in the road,

love’s last episode,

There’s nowhere to go, oh no-

Achilles knocks, pulling the bathroom door open to thick humidity. Patroclus stands in his shorts, his body still glistening from the heat. Achilles greedily makes his way over.

“Are you listening to this to tell me something?”

“Ha-ha. This is a classic, actually. Yes, it’s a breakup song, but it’s one sided. He tells her that he’ll be around, whenever she needs him, if she ever changes her mind. I listen to oldies when I’m feeling content.”

Patroclus starts the chorus, pulling Achilles into a slow two-step with him.

Whenever you call me, I’ll be there,

Whenever you want me, I’ll be there,

Whenever you need me, I’ll be there,

I’ll be around...

As they slow-dance, foreheads pressed together, Achilles could cry tears of joy. He is completely and utterly at peace. There’s nothing else in the world right now- no school, no team, no jobs, no stress- just them. He imagines that rather than the sad melody, they’re having their first dance at their wedding. The song eventually fades out, and Patroclus gently squeezes his waist before letting him go.

“I’m going to be knocked out once I hit that bed,” he explains, pushing his hair into his loc bonnet. “So if there’s anything you want to talk about beforehand, you better tell me now.”

Achilles scoffs. “You only had a few glasses of wine.” He turns off the lights and crawls into bed next to Patroclus, cuddling under his warm arm. “Patroclus. Pa- really?”

As promised, Patroclus fell asleep within seconds. In the faint moonlight, Achilles can make out his slow breathing, his subtle snore, his happy face squished into the pillow. Laughing, Achilles reaches out to touch his face.

He makes me feel alive when I’m with him.

I know he means it when he says he loves me.

The way he looks at me, it’s like he trusts me completely.

He’s so romantic sometimes; he treats me like I’m precious to him-

I want to love him so much, I want him to love me, and I know he wants to love me.

“Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you because of me again,” murmurs Achilles. “I swear it. I love you so much, and I’ll go to hell and back if I have to, to keep you safe and happy by my side.”

Agamemnon slams his head into the locker, the heavy bang reverberating around the now empty locker room. He was so close, so close this time. Nausea overtakes him, the pressing anxiety heavier than it’s ever been. Homecoming is the last chance for them to remain in the bowl bracket, for him to have one meaningful success against Ilium in his career as captain.

He’s wasted his opportunities for any wiggle room. There’s no more games left, and now there’s only two weeks left until the day. Agamemnon is tempted to cry, but he clenches his eyes tight when he hears footsteps approach. Scenting furiously, he swivels around to curse whoever has encroached upon him, but he’s shocked when an equivalently furious scent crashes into him. Odysseus stands before him, still soaked in his underclothes, Diomedes standing to his right. Both of them are visibly angry. Diomedes speaks first.

“We need to talk.”

Diomedes and Odysseus are the only reason the team has managed to stay afloat, as much as it might kill Agamemnon to admit it. Their defense has truly become their only offense since their actual offense has been utterly lacking. However, they can only modify so much for a struggling, exhausted defense. The remaining routes they’re capable of running have quickly become predictable, an easy in for the opposing team.

Agamemnon waves his hand, unable to keep eye contact with the two leaders. “If you’re here to complain, it’s unnecessary.”

Odysseus takes a shuddering breath, shoulders shaking, and Diomedes grips him in support. “Go ahead,” he whispers.

Odysseus gathers himself, then stares at Agamemnon, his eyes watery.

"You know, I haven't been able to really sit with Penelope in a couple weeks. She's got a new job working nights, part of her nursing program, and by the time I come back home, we're usually just passing each other by. I bathe, I eat, I wish her well, and then I fall asleep. She's been wonderful about it, and I love her dearly for it. I miss her, so so much." He pauses, throat thick. "I couldn't play today. Couldn't focus. You want to know why? I didn't sleep last night. I was awake, waiting for her."

Agamemnon had noticed that the Safety had been distracted and is relieved to have someone else to blame for tonight’s failure. He can’t even lift his head before Diomedes hisses, cutting him off.

"I was showering last night,” continues Odysseus. “I went to throw a band-aid away, and I saw this box. Couldn't believe my eyes, so I lifted it out of the trash. Dropped it twice; I was shaking so hard. Pregnancy test. Used. Two stripes." His voice quakes with heartbreak. "I learned that my Penelope was pregnant from a discarded pregnancy test. She burst into tears when she got home this morning and I was sitting there crying, holding it like a lifeline. She felt like she couldn't find the right time to tell me, that she was feeling alone but didn't want to stress me out any worse. She needed me to tell her that I’d respect her choice either way, to be there for her. And I haven’t been.”

Even Agamemnon isn’t shameless enough to be unaffected, and he shrinks with pity. Odysseus’ fists are tight as he struggles to stay calm.

"Dare I say it: Achilles was right, walking out. I envy him the time he reclaimed. Because fuck just quitting the team; I could strangle you right now. But I'm not going to do that yet. We were all understanding with you after what happened with Clytemnestra."

Odysseus is gracious enough not to mention the cheerleading captain’s illicit affair with the other quarterback that he’d discovered, not that Agamemnon knows anything about that. No, the captain already flinches at the mention of his long-term girlfriend. Clytemnestra had been so happy, planning for a new apartment and pretty baby clothes.

If it’s a girl, her name has to be Iphigenia. It’s perfect!

She’d told him that she wasn’t feeling well, but he’d taken her to that last game anyway. He’d swore that he had to be there to mark the official transfer of captainship to him, and then he’d take her to a clinic for her stomach bug.

It hadn’t just been a stomach bug, and they haven’t been the same since.

The team had responded largely with support and love, though there was an undercurrent of dissent. Achilles in particular had lost a large amount of respect for his leadership. But Agamemnon had carried on, raising his chin high, focusing all his energy on his team. And now, when the necessary words to save said team are right there on Agamemnon’s tongue, scalding his throat with hatred, he doesn’t want to make the decision. Worst of all, everyone knows what the command is. He has truly lost.  

“Do the right thing,” Diomedes grits, and Agamemnon squeezes his eyes shut.  

“Go get Achilles,” he finally bites. “I don’t care what you have to tell him. Go get that man and bring him back.”

Odysseus’ shoulders relax slightly. “I’m glad to hear you’ve come to your senses.”

Overcome with wrath at his inability to clap back, Agamemnon hurtles his helmet across the room, and it crashes into the lockers. Neither Odysseus nor Diomedes flinch, exhausted and long jaded by this behavior.

“Do I have your word that you will apologize to him? And also, before I do, tell the coaches to cancel all practices for next week. We need time to rest. Otherwise, you can go get Achilles yourself.”

Agamemnon strangles with distress, and Diomedes scowls in disgust.

“We’re not going to buy into this stupid shit anymore! You brought us all down with your stubbornness and this stupid beef of you and your brother’s. I’ll be damned if we suffer any further and call it honor. Bite your tongue off or apologize. Otherwise, you’ll be out a Cornerback too.”

Head hung low in capitulation, small in his loss, Agamemnon nods. Odysseus twists around, strolling out, Diomedes in line. He only pauses to glance at the helmet on the floor, the face mask cracked.

“Patroclus is not going to be pleased that he has to replace your helmet,” he comments spitefully. “I hope that doesn’t upset Achilles when he finds out.”

They breeze out, sneering, leaving their captain to his renewed temper tantrum.

Instagram likes pour in for the glowing selfie of Achilles kissing Patroclus on his cheek; nearing a thousand despite being posted less than five minutes ago. It’s crazy, Achilles thinks, that everyone on campus supposedly hates him for ruining their precious football season, yet all arrived in seconds to leave hearts and comments for his official relationship post. They just lurk in wait to see what he’ll do, anticipating drama and failure like the fucking voyeurs they all are. One comment in particular makes him snort, and Patroclus slightly turns his head from the wheel.

“What’s so funny?”

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Achilles teases, clicking the phone off and dropping it into his lap. “These curves can be dangerous.”

Patroclus smirks at the double entendre, reaching over to playfully squeeze Achilles’ thigh. Achilles had tossed him the keys on the way out of his family home, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to drive the smooth, expensive convertible. So far it’s been a dream, riding in the afternoon sun with the top down, the love of his life by his side- even if said love is a smartass.

“We can’t all be Gran Turismo like you out here. Now quit being cute and tell me what’s so funny.”

Achilles runs a seductive thumb down Patroclus’ arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Well, outside of the bolder haters leaving comments like-” Achilles straightens up dramatically. “‘Play football you fuck the school needs you’, ‘it’s not about you it’s about my kid who loves seeing you play’, ‘no one pays you for sjw opinions you get paid to play’, and ‘if you don’t play ball you might as well breed with an alpha you useless bitch’, most everyone else is supportive. Anyway, I’m laughing at Automedon. He said, and I quote: ‘you really do have that ‘Omega glow’ people talk about’.”

He's blasé in his delivery, using his other hand to thoughtfully thumb at his jaw. “My skin has been unusually balmy these days. Not that I’ve had acne since I was fourteen.”

Patroclus is not distracted by his nonchalance, scowling at the previous comments. “That’s fucked up. As though all you’re for is their entertainment and nothing else. Fuck them. That just annoyed me.”

“Aw, Philtatos,” coos Achilles, raising the warm, brown hand and kissing it. “You know I don’t care what those pissants have to say about me.”

Well I do is clear in the furrow in Patroclus’ brow, but he says nothing, focusing on the road. Achilles smiles, a small bashful thing, delighted to have such a protective partner.  

“What,” he teases. “Would you fight them for me?”

Patroclus snorts, flipping a stray loc out of his face. “You think I can’t?” His hand, still on Achilles’ thigh, squeezes tighter, just enough to reveal the roll of muscle in his thick upper arm. Achilles swallows at the literal flex, lips dry.

“I think there are some other things I’d rather you do with that arm,” he mutters, and Patroclus cackles before letting go. “No, wait, that didn’t mean move it!”

He dramatically flops against the seat and folds his arms in a tantrum, barely holding his ugly expression when Patroclus bursts into even more laughter. He’s only half joking; he wants his man to pull over the car and-

“You’re getting a call,” Patroclus notes, the low music cutting off for Achilles’ ringtone. I can’t have anything I want, Achilles sobs to himself as he petulantly lifts up the phone. He rolls his eyes when he sees the caller ID.

“I’m starting to think Odysseus just has a ‘cockblock Achilles’ radar or something,” he growls, staring as it rings.

“Answer the phone,” Patroclus encourages, and Achilles finally clicks the symbol.

“Yes?”

“Should I start by wishing you a happy romance?” Odysseus asks, smugness in his voice only mildly strained by exhaustion.

“You could end with that, too.”

“It’s wonderful to hear from you again, Achilles. Really, always a charm. Anyway, yes, I am here for something, and I’d appreciate if you heard me out.”

Achilles presses his lips, sneaking a glance at Patroclus. Patroclus watches the road with a hopeful expression, desperate to hear happy news, and Achilles swallows his pride.

“What’s up, then?”

“Well, I’m sure you heard how bad yesterday was.”

Achilles sure had. He would have enjoyed the schadenfreude too, if Patroclus hadn’t looked so crestfallen, his shoulders heavy with loss. His expression had only truly lightened when Achilles blithely tossed him the keys to the convertible, praying it would distract him from such misery.

“Okay?”

“Good news, then: Agamemnon wants to talk terms, and he’s sent me on his behalf to do so.”

“Imagine a man- a captain, even- that doesn’t fight his own battles and is considered a trustworthy leader. That’s why you’re all in this mess to begin with.”

To his endless credit, Odysseus doesn’t allow a sliver of his annoyance to slip through. Patroclus offers him some grace by interjecting.

“We’re open to hearing what you have to say.”

We? Achilles gapes at Patroclus, who brushes off his annoyance.

“I’m relieved to hear that, Patroclus. Congratulations to you as well, by the way. It was about time Achilles admitted to his feelings.”

“This certainly isn’t why you called!” Achilles interrupts, indignant.

“Let’s talk tonight when you’re back and unpacked. The Clubhouse. 6pm?”

“Sounds good,” Patroclus replies.

“Fantastic, see you then.” Odysseus seals his victory by hanging up. The music starts back up, settling awkwardly as Achilles narrows his eyes at Patroclus.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“I did.”

“I’m not you.”

“You’d let me go alone?”

Achilles scoffs. “Don’t pull that with me. You know I wouldn’t do that, and you know that’s not the problem. That’s also why he called; he knew you were with me, and I’d be more likely to listen.”

Patroclus can concede that, and that he was presumptuous in accepting the offer, but- “I just want you to hear them out. Please? Agamemnon broke- he admits he’s not capable without you, and neither is the team. You don’t have to accept anything they say, but… you could at least listen?”

There’s that look again- the puppy dog expression that Patroclus gets whenever he’s trying to convince Achilles to care about something. Achilles huffs, falling back into his seat.

“The bastard. You know Odysseus is ruthless when he needs to be.” There was a reason he was one of the co-captains and the literal last line of defense. “I’ll admit, hearing that even he hasn’t managed to hold was surprising.”

Patroclus’ jaw pops open with joy. “You cared!”

“Eh.” There’s something else bothering Achilles as well. “Look. Even if I go to this thing, I still want nothing to do with that stupid feud Menelaus and Agamemnon have with Paris. And more importantly, I don’t want you to be a part of it. No, no, I know how you get, Patroclus. Someone comes to you with a sob story, and you crumble.”

“…I do not crumble.”

“Yes, you do.” Achilles waves his hands when Patroclus pouts, prepared to argue. “Look. I know you still have to go to work and hear all of it. All I’m saying is that if they ever try to pull you into that bullshit, don’t do it. Stay out of it, the way you have. They respect you, and they also know that doing anything to you will directly piss me off. If they need me that much, they’ll watch their step.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as Patroclus ruminates on Achilles’ genuine concern.

“You’re really that worried about it?” he finally whispers.

“Yes.”

Patroclus. “Okay. Okay. I won’t get involved. I didn’t really care that much anyway.” A tightness in his chest that Achilles didn’t know was there loosens with relief. “

“You really think I can’t fight, though! Wow! I played football too, you know. Intercepted the fastest man on the field, even.”

Achilles giggles, reaching over to grip his biceps. “I have no doubt that you could be my knight in shining armor, Philtatos. I just don’t want you getting into any academic or police trouble just because those mindless followers decided you needed to ‘prove yourself’ or something.”

When they arrive at the Clubhouse, they find that Odysseus isn’t the only one waiting. Diomedes and Ajax have shown up to parlay as well, rising from the indoor bleachers when they approach. All three men look worse for wear.

Nonetheless, Odysseus greets them heartily, grasping both of them in a handshake and tight hug. “Welcome, welcome. Glad to see you both made your trip safely.”

Achilles only nods, while Patroclus grips Odysseus’ elbows. “How are you all holding up?”

“I slept all day today,” Ajax replies, laid back down on the bleachers. “So that was fucking amazing.”

Patroclus inhales, hopeful. “No practice?”

Diomedes shakes his head, a smile just for him. “No. The Plague is officially over. We’re resting for the week, and people are having their injuries attending to as we speak.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. You needed it.”

“Mm.” Odysseus turns to Achilles. “You look healthier than ever. Have you been conditioning? Your body of course, not your hair, though that looks nice too.”

“I would never just stop working out.” Achilles answers, smiling impatiently. “Now, we wouldn’t want to keep my dearest cousin, you, nor Diomedes from your rest, so. What is it you wanted to discuss?”

Diomedes heaves an annoyed sigh, Ajax barks a laugh, and Odysseus closes his eyes, pushing forward.

“To the point, then! Agamemnon is willing to apologize to you, publicly, as well as to admit that it was his poor leadership that led to your fallout. He also won’t hold it against you or anyone else for not siding with him and Menelaus. He will put you back in your starting position, and after some consideration, is even offering you the position of co-captain with the potential to become captain next year.”

Patroclus’ brow furrows in shock. It had always been a given that Menelaus was the unspoken heir to that throne; to hear that Agamemnon was willing to trade it for Achilles? It was unfathomable. He looks between Diomedes and Ajax to glean any sign of a lie, but neither man shows any signs of deception or disbelief.

As for Achilles, he only chuckles.

“If I may be honest here,” he begins. “Half of those things are not rewards. Agamemnon has to start me because he needs me there to win. He would never convince me to care about his little beef, and I wouldn’t care if he held it against me or not. That being said-” he adds when Patroclus pointedly glares at him. “I’m not interested in being a captain, but I do see how earnest Agamemnon must be in order to offer the position.”

Odysseus visibly remains unfazed. “Indeed.”

“I don’t know, to continue being honest.” Achilles laughs again, turning his back on the men. “I’ve found that I enjoy my newfound freedom. My body and mind feel stronger, my grades have risen, my relationship is flourishing. Dare I say it, I think all of you ought to quit and take better care of yourselves. With this season alone, Agamemnon has threatened your personal stats and your future chances at going pro. How can you have a career if you’re injured before you even begin?”

Odysseus shrugs. “You and Patroclus would know, wouldn’t you? Being honest.”

Achilles almost turns around at light speed to bitch slap Odysseus when Patroclus swiftly wraps an arm around his chest, subtly shaking his head. Achilles seethes, centering under Patroclus’ sturdy eyes. Focus, they say. It’s not that deep. I’m fine. Finally- to Diomedes and Ajax’ astonishment- Achilles exhales angrily, and instead turns to lock eyes with Odysseus.

“We would,” he growls instead.

Odysseus blinks, brow raised in surprise, then raises his hands. “Look. I won’t force you to do this, Achilles. Personally, I even understand your desire to opt out. More than anything, I want to go home and take care of my Penelope. She’s expecting, and I want to be there for her. Coherent and capable, rather than the empty shell I’ve been.”

“Oh!” Patroclus replies, slowly releasing Achilles. “Congratulations!”

You chose football over your pregnant lady? Achilles internally scoffs. It couldn’t be me. Any respect he may have had for Agamemnon was lost the day he found out about the circumstances of Clytemnestra’s miscarriage. He’ll never forget glimpsing her look of pure horror as they secretly rushed her away from the stadium, thousands of cheering fans unaware of the unwitting choice their future football captain had made.  

Odysseus flushes with happiness, his hand held to his heart. “Mm. Anyway, I’m just offering you the terms. I think the entirety of the team would happily admit that we’d do better if you returned for at least the rest of the season. But-” Achilles’ phone buzzes. “There is one favor I’d like to ask, as sort of a sign of goodwill, should you decide you want to accept Agamemnon’s offer. It’s a volunteer event at this shelter this upcoming Saturday; sorting and moving boxes. They were very excited to have people from both Ilium and Achaea there, but well… Since we’re recuperating, we don’t have many volunteers. You and Patroclus could both go. Make it a couple’s thing.”

Diomedes and Ajax poorly hide their snickers, and Achilles’ nostrils flare. It’s essentially asking Achilles to walk right into the discomfort he’s spent all this time avoiding on principle, to risk conflict. It’s a subtle challenge, a veiled barb. The audacity, especially after they’re the ones who need him! He’s about to tell Odysseus and the Achaeans to go fuck themselves, because who do they think they are to ‘humble’ him, when Patroclus speaks up.

“Send me the location.”

For the second time today Achilles glares at Patroclus in defiance, and Patroclus gives him a meaningful look. For a few noticeable seconds they have another silent conversation under Odysseus’ astute gaze. Finally Achilles scowls.

“I’ll think about it.”

 Odysseus claps his hands in success, knowing just how to seal this deal.

“Wonderful! Last thing,” he adds. “We ordered Lettermans! Just as another declaration of apology, as well as to show our gratitude, we got one made special for you. And obviously there’s one for you, Patroclus. You’ve always been one of us, and we appreciate all the work you do.”

“You were always a part of the team! It’s kind of bullshit that they acted like you were being honored.”

“Oh, let me have this, Achilles.” Patroclus glows as they walk in the evening twilight, effervescent with the news. “Usually only players get Letterman jackets. I’ve always wanted one! I can’t believe this!”

“Whatever makes you happy, I guess.” They arrived at the clubhouse in separate cars, so Patroclus is practically skipping to his car when without warning, Achilles spins him around for a kiss, possessively gripping his chest and running fingers through his beard. The kiss lingers for so long that it leaves Patroclus’ heart throbbing in his ears by the time Achilles pulls away. “As long as you don’t forget to love me more than the jackets, since you’re selling our pride for them.”

“I… I won’t… and I didn’t, wait a minute, now-”

“I’ll go pick them up from Odysseus; prevent you offering them anything else,” Achilles purrs, kissing him one more time on the nose. “I’ll drop it off for you on my way home, okay?”

Blinking the rest of the hearts out of his eyes, Patroclus nods dumbly. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Achilles blows him a couple more kisses, then peels off into the night. Patroclus gets the feeling he’ll have to text Odysseus to make sure Achilles hasn’t choked him out in front of his pregnant girlfriend. Still cheesing, he hops into his car. A Letterman! He’d given up on having an official college one after his accident. It’s so silly, it’s just a jacket, and yet he’ll have it forever! He can frame it, show his future kid that he was on one of the greatest teams-

Patroclus blushes furiously, ears hot when his thoughts catch up with him. Future kid? Where did that thought even come from? Shaking his head so hard his locs smack him in the face, he checks his phone- it’s buzzing with messages.

Is Achilles really coming back?

We’re saved

I agreed with him but I didn’t want to say anything

You weren’t there last game Pat- Antilochus cried it was terrible

I wont lie I hated him there its been that fucking bad

I’ll forgive him if he plays again

Im so relieved we might actually save homecoming

“Odysseus and his big fucking mouth,” Patroclus mutters. Still, he’s so relieved to see that everyone is so generally positive about Achilles returning. He’d been especially worried that there would be bitterness beyond the spiteful request to work with Ilium. He responds to all the messages with thumbs up and prayer hands, then pulls out of the parking lot. He’s halfway home when he gets a call.

“Are you sure?” Automedon whispers. “Are you sure he’ll do it?”

“Have some faith in him. You’re his best friend,” replies Patroclus.

“I know. And that’s why I’m not that sure, Pat. You love him, and you see the best in him. I love him, but I want to wring his neck every other day. You know how fickle he can be.”

Patroclus cringes. “That’s fair. But I’m going to be there with him! I’m determined that I can get him to go to the volunteer event, and then we can work from there. Small steps, yeah?”

Automedon sighs. “Well, you at least convinced him to hear Odysseus out. That’s more than the rest of us could do. Thank you, Patroclus.”

Yet another surge of warmth runs through Patroclus. It’s such a good day! He’s so happy! Everything has just been-

A wave of nausea overcomes him, so strong that he nearly swerves into the next lane. Cars honk furiously at him, and he barely clicks on the hazards as he brakes in the middle of the road.

“Shit, Pat? Are you okay?”

Is he? Dread slams heavy into Patroclus once he realizes that this building, uncomfortable warmth hasn’t just been from how joyous he’s been feeling.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Auto- I’m gonna go.”

Traffic continues to honk impatiently behind him as Patroclus dry heaves in the front seat, death gripping the steering wheel. He just has to get home. He can do it. He can make it home.

Achilles feels strangely anxious. Had he gone too far, teasing Patroclus about the jackets? He’d offered to pick them up from Odysseus’ place; he almost wishes Patroclus had been there to witness how 1) he maturely didn’t curse that jerk out for bringing up Patroclus’ injury, and 2) how genuinely happy he was to see Penelope. It was always a joy to witness her meet her smart aleck boyfriend’s barbs with equally clever remarks. Anyway, he’d sent a text to Patroclus about how nice the jackets were- and they were admittedly very nice. The insides are lined with lime green satin, the outside a royal navy blue; the letters of their names, and Achilles’ jersey number a matching green. In what must have been another move to ingratiate him, Achilles’ cuffs and hem are strewn with a stunning gold as well, running along the edges like kintsugi to distinguish it from the rest. He hates to admit it, but he sees why Patroclus was so excited- the jacket is pretty fucking awesome.

When that didn’t catch his boyfriend’s attention, he’d sent a picture of the XL Magnums he bought at the convenience store with a thumbs up, teasing ‘next time’. Nothing. Normally Patroclus would at least send the eye roll emoji at his shenanigans. He hadn’t even told him he made it home, a safety rule that Patroclus always demanded they keep. Did he get into an accident? Worried, Achilles drives back to the clubhouse and trails his way to Patroclus’ apartment from there, scanning the road for any cars on the side. Still, nothing. It’s dark out, the parking lot brightly lit as he pulls in.

Grabbing the jackets and the bag, he sneaks in behind a group of people walking inside, hustling up all those flights of stairs. He’s breathing hard, not from the exertion, but from stress as he lingers in front of the door. He impatiently knocks, testing the handle when he doesn’t get an immediate answer. It’s unlocked, and Achilles reels from fear. He rushes inside and slams the door, locking it for good measure. Illogical thoughts race through his mind; if someone has made their way inside, he’s going to crush them. They’d regret not locking that door when he got his hands around their-

His pupils widen, his nostrils flaring, and he freezes in his hasty wrath.

First, there’s music playing from the open bedroom, full of smooth, tantric rhythms, deep bass, and suggestive lyrics. Second, the air in the room is thick with the smell of cypress and vanilla.

Patroclus is not being robbed like he’d foolishly convinced himself.

The bathroom door opens, and Patroclus walks out, startling when he sees Achilles. A sharp scent of fear spikes, followed by confusion as he blinks faintly gold rimmed irises.

“Achilles… what? How did you- Did I- No. Fuck, the jackets. You shouldn’t be here right now,” he whispers. “It’s… not a good time.”

He’s only wearing hip hugging gray sweats and a towel, breathing like he’s just run a marathon. Not a good time? It was the best time. Wild horses couldn’t drag Achilles away from this intoxicating sight.

“I was… worried…” Achilles breathes.

“I’m fine.”

The blatant lie cuts through Achilles’ haze, and he frowns.

“You aren’t fine- you look sick, Philtatos. Do you have any suppressants?”

“Do I look like I got-” Patroclus pauses, containing his anger to mutter something under his breath. Visibly embarrassed, he tugs the towel over his face.

“What?”

“I didn’t buy my meds yet!” shouts Patroclus, mortified. “I bought the flowers and the fruit instead; I was going to wait until I got paid again. It didn’t happen this weekend when we were- so I don’t know why it’s happening right now-”

His rut cycle had come early. Achilles tries and fails to crush his rising excitement at the implication.

“While I’m touched you wanted to impress my parents, that was dangerous, Patroclus,” Achilles quietly chastises. “Did it hit when you were driving? You could have crashed, or worse.”

Rut suppressants essentially served as a way to shorten and mellow out the harrowing experience, but to have one without them? In public? It was considered traumatizing under any circumstance.

“Well I didn’t. So if you could ex-”

“Did it come early because of me?” Unconsciously Achilles floats forward, and Patroclus stiffens.

“I’ll probably just call someone and-”

“Let me help you.”

The offer is tempting, but Patroclus wavers. “I- I don’t know, Achilles. It’s hard enough as it is controlling myself with you here right now. I don’t- I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

“I could never regret you.”

Patroclus groans, leaning his head back as his eyes pinch closed. The way this man only seemed to have such a way with words when it came to him. Achilles is on his medication- one that must cost far more than Patroclus’- but he purposely scents as much as it will allow. Patroclus’ nostrils flare, and he moves a breath away from Achilles as he inhales the soft sandalwood.

“Are you sure?” He will lift Achilles and toss him out the front door if he shows any sign of uncertainty.

Achilles flings the jackets to the side, pulling out the condom box and tossing the bag. He seals the space between them, pressing his groin into the length outlined by the sweats. A breath later, they move simultaneously; Achilles jumping into his arms as Patroclus sweeps him up from the ground and into the bedroom. Kissing furiously, Patroclus hardly notices when he trips into the bed, collapsing on top of Achilles.

“Sorry,” he breathes, clenching his eyes shut as another wave of lust overcomes him. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Achilles laughs, tugging off his shirt. “I’m fine. You can let go.”

Patroclus knows he doesn’t mean to let go of his body, but his hands only squeeze tighter. “I don’t- I’ve never been with someone- someone I loved during this. That’s no problem, I just- I don’t know-”

“Me either. I trust you. It’s okay.”

Patroclus nods one last time, lifting Achilles’ hips off the bed so that he can kick off his pants.

“If I go too far, or if I don’t seem like I’m listening to you… kick me, or something, okay?”

Achilles giggles. “Okay, Philtatos. Now,” he teases, reaching inside the sweatpants and gripping the hardness. “Give me everything. I want all of you.”

Patroclus visibly jolts, and Achilles has no time to react when he surges back in for a kiss, using one hand to press his chest into the bed, the other to tightly grip his wrist above his head. Once Patroclus feels Achilles is sufficiently stilled, he moves his hand down to his hole, thumbing at the wetness before moving it back up to his dick to stroke. Achilles curls with pleasure, moaning into another deep kiss. When he tries to move his hand down to reciprocate, Patroclus bites his lip, enough to make him cry with the sting.

“Do not move.”

Melting at the deep, commanding tone, Achilles obediently moves his other wrist up above his head, ensnared by nothing but desire. Pleased, Patroclus smirks, an unusually arrogant expression that sends Achilles’ insides reeling. He has no time to dwell when Patroclus picks up his stroke, his toes curling with pleasure and his back arching as he comes.

“Don’t,” he whispers, eyes rolling back in his head when Patroclus playfully licks the spend. “Oh my god, why is that so-”

Patroclus flips them over, manhandling Achilles on top of him. His dick stands at full length, and Achilles leans over to push the sweatpants off when Patroclus grips his thighs, shoving a hot tongue inside of him.

“Keep your legs up here,” he murmurs, hardly audible beneath Achilles’ cheeks.

“Well I can’t- oh, shit that’s so good-” Achilles is going to lose his mind if he doesn’t do something, so he leans over and slides his entire mouth down Patroclus’ shaft. It jumps inside his throat, already salty with pre-come. His hair is messy, sticking every which way as he bobs up and down. He doesn’t have a hair tie, so he pulls it all to one side with one hand and strokes with the other. In response, Patroclus only tongues faster and deeper, even adding his fingers, and soon Achilles’ head is resting on large thighs as he gasps and writhes on his attentive lover’s face. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Achilles wails his pleasure, then collapses.  

Patroclus gently moves Achilles onto his back, using his bathroom towel to wipe his face as though he’d just finished a meal. Who is this man and what has he done with my sweet boyfriend, Achilles wonders, chest rising and falling. Patroclus’ eyes narrow as he gropes around the bed, searching in the moonlight. The condoms, Achilles realizes. He’s not sure what it says about him that he’d imagined Patroclus would just take him as is.

“Do you really need them?” he purrs, and Patroclus nearly snaps out of his rut-induced haze.

“Yes,” is all he says, before finally finding the box and tearing it open. Achilles whines, seductively spreading his knees while he waits. Achilles has never been with an Alpha while they were in rut, but he’d heard the horror stories. Some were inclined to act any way they wanted with their partner and put it down to the loss of mindfulness. The fact that Patroclus was trying this hard to stay lucid, to treat him well and more- well, this deserves a treat.

Once Patroclus has finally slid on the condom, Achilles takes the opportunity to pounce on top of him, this time the one to press Patroclus into the comforter.

“I want to ride you,” he whispers, straddling him. “I know you like to take control, but let me please you for a little while. Let me show you just how much I want you.”

Patroclus’ pupils dilate at the idea, the golden glow a corona around them. He allows Achilles to slowly raise him from the bed, moving him until his back rests on the headboard. Achilles takes a deep breath, lines up, and tries to sit. Despite the intense foreplay and river’s worth of slick, it’s still a tight fit.

“You okay?” Patroclus bites, breath hitching as Achilles squeezes around him.

“Yeah, you’re just… larger than the rest-”

Achilles cries out when Patroclus suddenly pulls him all the way down, their thighs clapping with impact.

“Don’t bring up anyone else.”

He’s possessive, Achilles realizes with a shiver. “I didn’t know you had this side to you,” he teases, rolling his hips, and drinking in the pleasured sighs. “Well, forgive me, Patroclus. I’m all yours. Let me prove it for you.”

Patroclus wraps one arm around Achilles’ thigh and grips the other to the bed as Achilles rides, picking up the pulsing, smooth rhythm of the song behind him.

mangseorijima deoneun ttokbaro bwa nae nuneul (Don’t hesitate, look straight into my eyes)

Just let me love you, let me love you

myohan ginjanggami maemdol ttae (When a strange feeling lingers)

urin seoro pyeonghaengeul majchune (We’re parallel to each other)

Limit eopshi kkeutkkaji galge (limitless, I’ll go to the end)

Do it again do it again baby-

“Do I feel good?” Achilles plaintively murmurs, wrapping his arms around Patroclus’ neck and leaning in closer. Patroclus’ eyes close, possessively bringing his hand to Achilles’ nape.

“Yes. So good.”

“You like fucking me like this?”

“I do,” whimpers Patroclus, wrapping his arm around him tight. “Mmm… Fuck, I really do.”

You and me jigeumman saenggakhae (You and me, just think about now)

neoege temporeul majchul ge (I’ll match the tempo to you)

shimjange bakdongeul nege majchweoga (My heartbeat matches yours)

mweol hadeun I don’t care (Whatever you do, I don’t care)

neoramyeon It’s okay (If it’s you, it’s okay)

It doesn’t take long for Achilles to lose his smooth, dancing rhythm, leaning back as he thrusts down. He weeps, chasing after the pleasure, dizzy every time it hits just so. Patroclus grits his teeth and pushes his feet into the comforter to better meet each impact, death-gripping Achilles’ sweat-soaked waist as they reach closer and closer to orgasm.

“Sit up,” he demands, pulling Achilles up until they are staring into each other’s eyes, refusing to let him look away as he fucks into him. The song fades into its final lyrics as they come together, Achilles’ keening matched by Patroclus’ low groans and heavy breaths.

Now focus on me

Keep your eyes on me

Only you and me

jigeum i sungan neowa namani… (Right now, it’s just you and me…)

…

mangseorijima deoneun ttokbaro bwa nae nuneul (Don’t hesitate, look straight into my eyes)

Just let me love you, let me love you…

The darkness of the night blends with hints of morning, glowing between the blinds and into the room. The comforter has been discarded from the bed, soaked with sweat, tears, and come; the room thick with the smell of pheromones. Used, tied condoms fill half of the trash bag near the bed, the box nearly empty.

Achilles ragdolls in Patroclus’ ravenous arms, fucked so long that his muscles have near given out- and he still wants more. His chest, pinched red and covered with marks, shivers from the cool air as he rides backwards in Patroclus’ lap. Patroclus lightly holds a hand around his throat, tilting it backwards so Achilles can sob his ecstasy to the ceiling.

Achilles has never made love like this, let alone slept with someone this long. Most of his hookups were for one so-so orgasm and then he showered and left. He didn’t care that people saw his ‘walk of shame’, he was never going to invite any of those people to his home!

But this?

He’s not going to be able to walk for some time after this, and if he could, there would be no shame involved.

The original playlist Patroclus turned on has long passed on to others, not that they’d been listening to it after that first time, so Achilles is confused when Patroclus slows his fervent pace to soulfully hum along. Achilles recognizes the artist as the one from that night at the party, when he’d sucked him off in the car. He knows Patroclus likes this artist, he’s really good, but-

“Are you serious?” he whines, slapping at Patroclus’ thighs and making his lover laugh. “Don’t tease me, don’t slow down, not now-”

Patroclus only hums, adjusting his rhythm to the tantric, love-making afro-beat. It leaves Achilles searing for more as he quietly sings it into his ear, ‘dancing’ with him once more.

Let me get lost in the night (oh, yeah)

Two years I been suffering

But I fought for you right (oh, yeah)

I never wanna see the day that I'm not in ya light

In case, I'm on my way

S.O.S., I'm on my way

It's alright, I'm on my way, I'm on my way like

Like, like, like-

Just when Achilles thinks he’s going to come from the slower pace, Patroclus reaches a point in the song and speeds up. He thrusts deep and right into his prostate, purring promises in his ear and kissing down his neck, dangerously close to his nape.

Hold up

Let me break it down for you

Start to the bed then on the ground with you

Then I pick you back up, spin around with you

To the air, to the bed, four round or two

Your turn is like

One dose, and I’m bested-

Achilles is out of his mind. They both must be, making this kind of love. All the times he’s come tonight, and this orgasm rising in his chest is just as powerful as the first. The lyrics and Patroclus beg him to finish it, finish it, call my name, say you want me, and Achilles is ready to give him that and more. He doesn’t want anything or anyone else in life the way he needs this wonderful man that holds him, that indulges him, that sings love in his ears while taking his body with such passion.

“Mark me.”

Patroclus’ confident pace stutters, heart pounding with a palpable mix of fear and desire. His lips press into Achilles’ shoulder. Achilles is near hyperventilating, the only goal in his mind a pressing need, and he pushes his hips down desperately.

“We fit together Philtatos, don’t you see?”

It’s impulsive. Patroclus knows it’s impulsive. And yet-

“We’re soulmates, we’re fated, you’re mine, I want you, I only want you-”

Soulmates. He feels it too.

No, it’s too soon; they’re still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. And yet-

“I don’t want anyone else inside me like this-”

He doesn’t want anyone else inside Achilles like this, either. He belongs to Patroclus.

No, he’s supposed to be a gentleman. He just told Thetis he was going to treat her son with respect and dignity. And yet-

“It’s yours-”

Achilles proclaimed this for hours, never once wavering. But he’s supposed to-

“I’m yours-”

He’s supposed to-

“Patroclus!”

Patroclus wraps his hand in Achilles’ hair, tugging it just painfully enough, and bites down on his nape, coming as he seals their connection forever. Achilles screams, half limp as he comes for the final time.

“Oh my god. Achilles, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Achilles glows with happiness; the hearts floating in his eyes and around his face are practically visible, he’s so content.

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“Patroclus, please. I asked you to.”

“Yeah, but you were in the throes of passion! At least you weren’t in heat, but I still should have-”

“Hey!”

Achilles pauses in the middle of his newly marked high to clap his hands on both sides of Patroclus’ worried face. Ever the gentleman (and quite embarrassed, once he snapped out of his rut), Patroclus had scrubbed Achilles down, bandaged his neck, offered him some clothes, and changed the entire bedspread. He hadn’t looked Achilles in the eyes once, too busy anxiously muttering to himself about ‘responsibility’ and ‘I’m so stupid’.

“Listen. Do you regret me?”

Horror crosses Patroclus’ expression. “No-”

“Because you’re going to hurt me worse if you regret me.”

“Of course not. Achilles, I could never. But it’s not about me. I shouldn’t have-”

Achilles shrugs. “You did what I asked.”

“You don’t always make the bes-”

“Look, Patroclus.” Achilles shakes his head, still glowing from their night and their new attachment. “I love you. I love you so much. I mean sure, it might have been impulsive, but I have never felt anything like what we have.”

His gaze is unwavering, full of fire and love, and Patroclus moves closer for comfort. “Neither have I. I love you too, but… you’re sure you’re okay? That you’re not worried about how people might feel?”

“I’m fine. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And if you’re worried about how ‘fast’ it might seem or whatever, it’s no one’s business. We can take our time telling people. We don’t have to say anything ever if we want. Besides, you know I don’t care about how people feel.”

Patroclus laughs, covering his eyes in disbelief. “Well… okay. I’m happy, too. Thank you for trusting me with you like this. I’m honored.”

“Of course.”

“Even though I feel like a villain after I promised your mom I’d be good to you.”

“You are not bad. You were very good to me. And please don’t bring her up again. You cannot fuck me and think about my mom.”

“…that makes it sound weirder than it is.”

“It is.”

Patroclus sighs, relaxing into Achilles’ cuddle. Exhaustion has finally kicked in after their long night, so he’s nearly asleep when-

“So can you hear my thoughts?” Achilles muses. Patroclus snorts, not opening his eyes.

“Yep. Super quiet. Definition of ‘head empty’.”

“Smartass. You can’t hear anything.”

“Then why ask?” Patroclus yawns. “It’s not like those romance books. It’s a safety thing.”

One actual benefit of the mark is that they’ll have shorter and less extreme cycles, without the need for suppressants- so long as their partner is available. Also, if one of them is under extreme stress or is extremely ill, or if they’re apart for too long, it’ll give the other partner an unshakeable anxiety. It’s terribly difficult and painful to take back the choice, and Achilles prays that they never have to experience such a thing. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but larger than the nerves is his overwhelming happiness. He is jubilant, curling around Patroclus and closing his eyes. He wishes Patroclus could feel that, if nothing else.

Saturday

Afternoon light filters through the gauzy curtains, the quiet day serving as a peaceful backdrop to the consistent rock of a bedframe and Andromache’s light, breathless sighs. Careful not to hold her too tightly, Hector’s eyes squeeze shut, quietly moaning when she quickens around him. His grip only tightens minutely when they both come together for the last time. Lightheaded, he collapses to her side, avoiding her tiny baby bump. Andromache grins, thumbing at his cheek.

“You’ve been much quieter lately,” she teases. The lovely Saturday morning was theirs for the first time since the football season began, and they’d spent it making the kind of love she’d yearned for, the kind that led to their little bean. There was only one exception- Hector was usually more vocal about his desire. Hector huffs a laugh, caressing her belly.  

“I don’t want my child to hear anything like that.”

“Oh really? So what if I tell you not to touch me until they’re born?”

“You don’t mean that.” When Andromache’s brow raises, Hector’s expression crumbles. “I mean- if- if that’s what you want, I’ll respect it-”

Andromache collapses into giggles. She knows he’s burned for her just as much as she had for him, but her fiancé, ever the responsible leader, has not had enough time. She sighs happily, leaning back into his embrace.

“By the way, I’ve chosen a name, if it’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

“Astyanax.” She glows at him. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” Hector coos, kissing the mark on her nape. “Sounds strong, yet wise. Unique. And he’ll be blessed because you gave it to him.”

“Mm. You’ve always been such a sweet talker. Ah, stop it!” she chastises when he gets a little too comfortable nuzzling. “We just finished! I need some rest.”

Hector whines unhappily, shoving his head into his pillow. He’s about to fall asleep when Andromache tugs his forearm. 

“I have a bad feeling, Hector.”

“About what, love?”

 “I just… I’ve been dwelling on some things and now I’m really anxious. I’d feel better if you stayed home with me today.”

Hector’s heart sinks into his stomach, and he lifts his head. “Of course. Why?” Andromache fidgets, chewing at her lip, and he gently tugs at it. “Is it the baby? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“No, no, it’s just…” After a few moments, she sighs. “I finally confronted Helen. We- the girls and I wanted answers, you know? All this stupid fighting over her, and for what? Why does she have Ilium behind her; why are our Trojans out there endangering their lives and careers? So I finally caught her on campus, told her to get in the car, and I took her to a quiet café where I demanded answers. I told her that some of us have something to fight for too, that I have a child on the way, and I want their father to be safe and not caught up in some stupid infidelity squabble.”

Hector grimaces. Andromache could be quite cutting when she wanted to be. He was aware of the resentment amongst the women at Ilium, St. Helen’s, and even Achaea over Helen’s role in Paris’ entanglement. The part that incensed them the most was that Helen was unwilling to speak about any of it, choosing isolation and silence in the midst of the violence.

“And what did she say?” he asks, genuinely curious. Andromache’s expression mars with guilt.

“It’s shame. Shame and coercion, I think. She didn’t want to say anything at all at first, and then she cried so miserably because everyone was so angry at her. I felt terrible, honestly.”

Hector presses his lips. “What happened?”

“Well, you know how your family is close to Aphrodite? And how she loves Paris?”

He does. Aphrodite was one of the University of Achaea’s most successful and famed alumna, owning an internationally famous house of fashion and hundreds of boutiques under it. His cousin Aeneas was her favorite ‘nephew’, as the family called the child that ‘coincidentally’ shared so many of her features. Whenever Aphrodite graced a family affair, it was to bring her ‘nephew’ gifts and take him anywhere he wanted, to the envy of all his cousins. However, one other child managed to charm his way into her heart. Aphrodite adored the cherubic-featured Paris, often taking him alongside Aeneas and even placing them in modeling ads for some of her most popular child clothing lines. Suffice it to say, her presence always struck a powerful chord- discord, even- within the family.

“Okay?”

“Well, Helen is a fashion design major, near the top of her program. She wants to do her senior year internship at one of Aphrodite’s boutiques and has been networking tirelessly since her freshman year to make it happen. It starts in the spring. A start to her dream career was just within reach. She said… she said that it felt ‘heavily implied’ to her that Aphrodite would love Helen if she was close with Paris, but if she didn’t give Paris the time of day... She was afraid she’d lose it all, and… so she slept with him. Now she regrets it, but she’s-”

“Too afraid to go back and tell Menelaus what happened,” Hector finishes, covering his eyes. Andromache nods, and he groans in frustration. “This is fucking-” he stutters, hardly able to breathe. “And he had the nerve to say they were in love. If she’s telling the truth, that means we’ve been harboring a- I-”

Andromache sits up, trying to comfort him. “I didn’t want to tell you at first, I didn’t want to stress you out. But it’s been on my mind, and I wanted to know how we were going to handle this.”

Hector shakes his head. “No, not ‘we’. I don’t want you involved any further with this. I’m going to confront him today.”

Andromache smarts, brow scrunched with annoyance. “Excuse me? You wouldn’t have even known about this if I hadn’t told you. You don’t get to blow me off like that.”

“I’m not blowing you off. But you can’t just expect me to sit here after hearing that. Shit, this might be the last straw, even for my parents, and you know how much they coddle him!” Priam and Hecuba loved all five of their children, but only Paris seemed to finesse his way out of all kinds of trouble as they grew. Furious, Hector slides out of bed and storms into the bathroom.

Andromache rises, pulling the sheets in front of her breasts and folding her arms. On the one hand, she’d always loved this about him, the way he was always there to take charge and do what needs to be done. She’s never questioned her security. But it’s always frustrated her that Hector always felt the need to take charge all on his own, as though no one else was capable, as though it always had to be him- doesn’t she ‘get it’?  

“And what about what I said earlier?” she demands, queasy from her nerves. “I read that pregnant Omegas often need their partners to prevent anxiety.”

Once he’s clean, Hector comes out of the bathroom and heads for the closet. “Is that what this is, Andromache? Or do you just not trust that I’ll handle this the right way.”

“That’s not- No, I- Hector, you are not listening to me right now!”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Andromache-”

Their rising tones are interrupted when Hector’s phone vibrates. Hector inhales, fixing his face before swiping. “Hey Cass, what’s going on?”

Cassandra’s face tilts in the camera as she walks. “I had a bad feeling, so I thought I should call. Your brother’s on his bullshit again, I can feel it.”

Hector stops himself from rolling his eyes as Andromache points at the phone in triumph.

“Language, Cass. You’re still in high school.”

“Hector, please. Everyone knows what’s going on and I’m not even in your city.”

“When is Paris not doing something stupid, though?” He knows he’s deflecting, but it’s with good reason. His bubbly sister can’t hold water; if he tells her anything about what he just learned, she will talk before he can do anything. Besides, she’s still a kid and this is not something she should be involved in.

“This time it feels different, Hector. Maybe you should just… I don’t know, stay home?” Hector refuses to look at Andromache’s dramatic posturing, throwing on a t-shirt. “Okay, fine. So I had a bad dream. But you know when I have bad dreams it means something’s going to happen! I’ve never been wrong!”

“That’s heavily debatable, considering you having a nightmare and your hamster dying in the morning was a coincidence. I appreciate that you and Andromache have been…emotional about me today, but I’m fine.”

“It was not a coincidence!” Cassandra shouts, flustered. “And emotional?! Be serious!”

“I am!” Despite his light, teasing tone, Hector quietly swallows his nerves. He’s always been the de facto parent, holding his siblings down when something worried them. He doesn’t know how not to. “Look. I’m keeping my eye on Paris today. I can’t stop him from making more trouble if I’m not there.” He finally gives a pointed look to Andromache over the phone, and she tosses up her hands. “Worry about your exams or high school drama. Keep your eye on Polyxena and Troilus, rather than on me. I’m your older brother. And you’re getting paranoid; log off the TikTok.”

“Fine!” Cassandra furiously sobs over the phone. “Smart people listen to me, but you’re stupid, so don’t listen, then!”

Hector runs a tired hand through his hair, watching her spitefully swipe away. “She’s always been so dramatic.”

Andromache rises to put on her robe, stomping past him. “I guess it’s because we’re emotional.”

Her voice is thick with hurt, and Hector quails. “I was only teasing her. I didn’t want her to know what was going on. And what am I supposed to do? I can’t… I can’t not try. I’m tired of all this fighting too. I can’t rest knowing I didn’t try to stop it when I could.”

Andromache’s lips quiver, deeply disappointed, but she knows she can’t stop him. She pauses at the dresser, thumbing through the mess. “Since my feelings don’t mean anything-”

“Andromache-”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she quietly sniffles. She returns to him, holding a silver chain out with their engagement ring on it. “Don’t forget this. Go handle your business, then.”

She drops the ring and flees into the bathroom, locking it and leaving a distraught Hector behind her.

Patroclus wakes before his alarm, stretching his sore limbs until they pop. Momentarily confused, he smiles when he sees who’s next to him. Achilles is still sleeping, his head pushed deep into his pillow. No one would ever believe him if he revealed that even the model gorgeous Achilles has a wild bedhead, but he would never tell them anyway. This view of his mate is for him.

His mate.

His mate.

His mate!

Grinning, he reaches under his loc bonnet to thumb at the healing mark on his own neck. After Achilles’ initial heated request, they’d made time to return the favor- even talking about it like mature adults this time! Patroclus never realized he could yearn for someone’s touch as much as he has with the intoxication of knowing they were bonded. Since his rut the floodgates have opened wide, and every day they’ve been going at it like rabbits. Luckily the fall season is here, allowing their uniforms and hoodies to hide all of the marks- not that Achilles ever intended to. Patroclus is not usually so finicky (he’s never had a long-term partner to really care that much) but it’s a little embarrassing, how much of his passion shows on Achilles’ tanned white skin.

The pattern is simple- go to class, study, eat, make love, talk and laugh deep into the night until they fall asleep, then do it again. They’ve made love at his place- on his couch, his floor, in his bed. They’ve made love more often at Achilles’ place, due to Achilles’ teasing challenge that ‘there were more surfaces to try’. Try they had. His couch, his bed, his floor, his kitchen island, his kitchen table, in his large tub, and if Achilles had his way, they’d have tried the balcony too.

With communication, trial, and error, Patroclus has dutifully learned what his lover likes. He wants to have his long, blonde hair gripped- not pulled, but tightly gripped. He likes to have his throat pressed ever slightly yet possessively; loves to have evidence of Patroclus’ love all over his body with hickeys and light bruises from tight holds. Sometimes, he wants to be fucked with his legs bent all the way back on the bed, something that drove Patroclus wild the first time he did it.

Achilles is a gracious, indulgent lover as well. He knows how Patroclus loves it when he teases him, being bratty to get what he wants. Achilles knows he loves it when he grips his nails into Patroclus’ back just so. He knows that his leg will cramp up if he’s in certain positions too long, and that means Achilles will shove him onto the bed and ride him into the literal sunset. Achilles knows that Patroclus likes to watch himself sink inside of him, loves to watch his fine body work, and he’s always excited to try a new position.

The night Achilles marked him, the clever bastard found out something else as well. Close your eyes, he’d teased. When he opened them, Achilles was laid back on the bed, fully naked except for thigh high green socks with stirrups that exposed the soft curves of his feet and toes now pressed against Patroclus’ chest.

Buying socks, garters, and stockings is so easy, he’d purred. I’ll cater to everything you like, Philtatos. Don’t be ashamed- men who aren’t fucking me obsess over my feet, and yet they belong to you.  

They’d been exhausted in class the next day, but Patroclus had zero regrets. It had got to the point that his friends started pointing out his giddiness, teasing and laughing that he was far gone over Achilles.

“As long as you both stay focused on your studies,” was all Professor Chiron commented, something that left Patroclus’ ears on fire. Even his mentor had noticed how absent minded he was! But he couldn’t help it!

Everything was just… so right. He’s never felt so whole. And now, he’s so excited- today’s the day of the volunteer event. He plans on treating Achilles to coffee and a light, late breakfast to start the day well, so Patroclus hustles to the bathroom to wash up. By the time he’s cleaned and lotioned up, Achilles’ annoying alarm blares from the bed. Groping around, Achilles finally finds his phone and shuts it off, growling.

“Normally you’re the earlier riser,” Patroclus comments, sitting down by his side and rubbing his back.

“Hard to do that when a man fucks the soul out of you,” Achilles whispers, sleepy eyes hidden by his hair. “Luckily, I’m very flexible.”

“Mm, flexible is right. And someone asked that man to keep going when he offered to stop.”

“And that someone was a genius.”

Patroclus laughs. “Are you excited as I am for today?”

Achilles rises, stretching and pulling his hair out of his face in one smooth move- sleepyhead to supermodel in seconds flat. “A little. I’ve heard that the seminars can be interesting enough. I’m excited to see what I’ll pick up.”

…What? Patroclus pauses, blinking, then frowning. “I’m talking about the volunteer event at the shelter. The event that you said you would go to, as a goodwill showing before coming back to the team.”

Achilles frowns in confusion, before his eyes widen. “That’s today? The ballet seminar is today too. Shit! I didn’t think about it. It’s fine, I can-”

Patroclus hurtles from the bed, gripping his locs. He won’t even look at Achilles, which worries Achilles as he slowly moves to placate him.

“Philtatos, I can- it’s going to be fine, I-”

His pleading cuts off when Patroclus spins around, tears of mortification pouring from his eyes.

“Fine?” he croaks. “What is wrong with you? Why do you do things like this?”

“Patroclus-”

“No!” Patroclus cries. “I- I stood up for you! Do you know how many texts I’ve received; how many people have pulled me to the side or tagged me this week to doubt you? I defended your honor all week! Everyone was depending on you to be there for them, to show them you cared and that they had something to believe in with this one simple thing, and then with no warning you’re just… not going to be there? Are you made of stone?!”

Everyone was depending on him to get Achilles to care. He swore to everyone that Achilles was going to do the right thing, or at least that he would be the bigger person. He’s failed. How is he supposed to look everyone in the face now? What is he going to do?

Hurt by the sudden outburst, Achilles boils with pride and anger. “First of all, if I recall correctly, I never even said yes to the damn thing! You did! So if everyone has been asking you about how I feel instead of me, that’s on them and on you!”

He’s not necessarily wrong, but why did he have to be that way about it? How selfish could someone be? Patroclus had thought- no, what was he thinking? That love would somehow fix this? That he’d be able to change Achilles’ mind so easily with happiness or something? Unable to speak reason, Patroclus seethes, pointing silently at him before biting his tongue and walking away.  

“You wore the jacket all fucking week too,” he hisses, shoving on his clothes. “Shameless! I thought you were- I can’t believe-” Patroclus grabs his bag and storms away. Tossing on a robe, Achilles rushes after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To volunteer. Someone has to do it, and it’s apparently not going to be you!”

“Patroclus, wait a minute-”

Patroclus is trying to flee, to take his shattered emotions and confusion and hide, but when Achilles grabs his arm, he unravels once again.

“No! I don’t want to talk anymore! You call your teammates, and you tell them what choice you’ve made.”

“Are you serious right now? You know that this seminar was important to me! You told me that you would support me when I chose my future!”

Remembering his own words makes Patroclus pause, desperate. “I know I did Achilles, and I meant it, but just this once-”

“Are you going to break your word already?”

“Don’t- the way you’re breaking yours?! Since commitment means nothing to you?”

“How am I breaking a word I never made?!” Achilles retorts. “And don’t say that! Not after I’ve made the ultimate commitment to you!”

“Should I worry about that too, then?” Patroclus spits. His heart pangs when Achilles chokes on a sob; he’s gone too far. Abject misery flashes across Achilles’ features before he inhales and cools, only his eyes showing his fury.

“How dare you. Fine! Simpering like a crying girl! Choose them, then! Go!”

“That’s not- fuck it, fine! I’m already leaving!” Patroclus snatches his jacket off of the couch and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Guilt and anger are a terrible mix to sit on when one has to pretend to be happy, and from the way Patroclus feels like he could throw up at any given moment, he’s not sure he can do it much longer. No one at the event was any wiser when he pasted on his nicest customer service smile and kindly indicated he would be helping. Apparently, Odysseus had never clarified who was going to represent Achaea. For the past few hours he’s been organizing and moving boxes, smiling at tiny old ladies that think he’s ‘just the gentlest, sweetest young man they’ve ever met’.

He doesn’t feel like a gentleman. In fact, he feels like he’s going to explode at any moment. The instant he found a place on the street to park, he screamed until his throat was raw, then texted Achilles a peace offering. It was immediately left on read, and if he checks three hours later- still on read.

He’s the one who bailed on something important! His self-righteous mind shouts. Why should you be sorry?

He never technically agreed, and you didn’t ask him, his logical mind rationalizes. You just felt guilty and thought you could fix something that wasn’t your choice to fix.

He should have spoken up! How do you forget something the entire team talked about? How fucking inconsiderate!

True, but he already doesn’t interact with the team as a whole anymore. Outside of you and Automedon, he doesn’t consider them at all.

But he said he’d think about it!

He did think about it, and he made the choice- however selfishly- to pick himself and his career.

But… he’s still an asshole! He wore the jacket! Why would you wear something for a team you didn’t intend to be on!

…That was an asshole move. But he still earned it for what he’s contributed.

…

Besides, you can have this back and forth all day, and you’ll still feel bad for shouting at him.

Over and over his heart conflicts with his head, knowing full well in the end he still loves his infuriating soulmate. Patroclus is willing to admit that he may have allowed his emotions to run away with him the past week over the entire situation. Achilles turned off his social media comments after a certain point, and he does not entertain haters in person either. It’s something Patroclus both loves and hates about him; that he could stand so tall against the fire, but also refuse to act when it’s right in his face.

However, Patroclus is not like that.

The comments did bother him. Achilles no longer saw the things that people said about himself, nor did he see the things about Patroclus. Aside from the various, expected racist epithets, there were hordes of accusations that it was his fault that Achilles would not return to the team. That he was making Achilles useless because he was useless. He never told Achilles about the cruelties, partially because of his own pride, and partially because he knew it would only cement Achilles’ stubbornness and maybe even make things worse.

What is actually making things worse is that no one on the team knows he’s in enemy country by himself. The vindictive side of him wants to instigate a fight, to text the entire football group chat and let them know that Achilles rejected them. The softer side of him that wants to sit down and talk this out with his lover, that wishes he had found a happy medium this morning instead of blowing up, makes him log out of the chat app altogether.

There’s only three Trojans present. Two of them mind their business outside of nasty looks, putting on kind faces when the old ladies ask for help. The only real threat had been Sarpedon, Ilium’s famed Linebacker. For a while, things were okay. Patroclus stayed on his side of the room, Sarpedon had stayed on his. But tensions flare when Patroclus accidentally bumps into him, so deep in thought that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking.

“What the fuck?” Sarpedon hisses. “You made me drop my box!”

Patroclus slowly puts down his own boxes, folding his arms. “My fault. It was an accident. Chill out.”

“Don’t tell me to ‘chill out’ after you Achaean pricks have been antagonizing us this whole time! ‘Accident’, my ass.”

Patroclus rolls his eyes. “Okay. Then don’t chill. I don’t care.” He lifts up his boxes, with every intention of walking away, when they are disrespectfully slapped out of his hands. His hands move faster than his mind, gripping Sarpedon by his collar and wrathfully shoving him into the nearby shelves. There’s no time to throw a punch when the volunteer coordinator races towards them, shouting both of their names.

“He started it!” Sarpedon accuses, rubbing his neck resentfully after Patroclus releases him. Patroclus is about to argue when one of the women, wizened with her brown skin and white hair yet sturdy in posture, steps forward.

“No, you rudely slapped those boxes out of his hand. I saw it.”

The old woman must hold sway, because the volunteer coordinator brusquely leads Sarpedon away from the main floor.

“Young man,” the old woman commands, forcing Patroclus to look down at her. Her disappointed expression makes him feel so small that when she grips his hand and squeezes, he almost starts to cry. “I don’t know you, but I know you’re better than this.”

Patroclus is not better than this, though he graciously thanks her for her support anyway. If she or the coordinator hadn’t been there, he would have throttled Sarpedon right where he stood. His entire life he’s been expected to stay calm, to be the voice of reason for his own safety, and he tries his best. But right now, there’s a raw coil of energy within him demanding to be let out, and Sarpedon was almost a target. Recognizing that he’s getting wound up again, Patroclus hustles back to the break room- now missing Sarpedon’s jacket- and grabs the Letterman hanging on the wall.

He shoves the jacket into his face, inhaling its sandalwood scent, the lingering pheromones calming him. In his furious haste this morning he’d accidentally grabbed Achilles’ jacket. They’re similar in size so he can still wear it to keep warm, but more than anything it has served as a way to ground him through this frustrating experience. He’s still angry at Achilles, but he misses him. He hates this new silence between them, hates that they could have found another way to make it work- he could have found another way. It was only their first real fight; it wasn’t the end of everything.

The moment the volunteer coordinator dismisses them with a hearty smile, Patroclus weaves through the crowds and hustles back through to the back lot. Unfortunately, he’s barely made it out the door and towards the dumpster when a scornful whistle catches his attention. Scowling, Patroclus turns around to see Paris, and his lackey Euphorbus, arrogantly strolling up to him.

“Wow,” Paris sneers, snidely looking Patroclus up and down. “First you get into it with Sarpedon so he has to leave, embarrassing us and messing up our image. And then I see you’re wearing Achilles’ jacket on our turf? Truly, Achaeans have no respect.”

Patroclus stiffens in defense- of course they would recognize the jacket, with Achilles’ number and its gilded edges. Paris, delighted that his barb has worked, walks within a couple feet of Patroclus and scents. The thick, perfume-like smell is distasteful, and Patroclus immediately retorts with his own presence. Euphorbus, Beta that he is, can tell that there’s a silent fight for dominance going on between the two men, and from Paris’ annoyed grimace, it is clear that he’s losing it.

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the famed Achilles, to see what he was about, but instead I’m talking to his wannabe. I mean, seriously,” Paris scoffs. “Why are you even here? You’re not actually a player for Achaea and you never were. I even heard they gave you a pity jacket- are you too ashamed to wear it? Because wearing Achilles’ is honestly pathetic. His ‘glory’ won’t rub off on you, no matter how many times you bed him.”

As Paris preens under Euphorbus’ obnoxious laughter, Patroclus’ mind flatlines into silence. For a moment, he feels absolutely nothing. This day has been nothing but cruel to him, and now this. Then, an explosion. His expression darkens with unadulterated, white-hot fury.

“You know what,” he replies, cutting over Euphorbus’ hideous laughter as he pushes up his sleeves. “You chose the right fucking one today.”

Paris snorts. “What does that even-”

“What you need to understand is that other than this dork,” he says, pointing at Euphorbus, “no one cares about what you have to say. So what you’re going to do first is keep my partner’s name out of your mouth unless you want me to remove it for you.”

“Excuse-”

“Next, you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve talking about ‘who’s a real player’. At least my team needs and values me. You, on the other hand, are just a piss-poor legacy pick in a starting position because of Daddy’s money, and you’re not even the better sibling. You’re an embarrassment to your team, most of whom are your own cousins that don’t fuck with you. Yet, ‘I heard’ you’ve got them all out here fighting a useless battle over someone else’s woman, that I also heard you’ve been mistreating. So why don’t you go deal with all of that before speaking sideways to me about my value.”

Paris blanches, blown away by the visceral rage of a man he’d heard was nothing but soft, an emotional pushover. When Euphorbus noticeably cringes, he wracks his brain to find an insult.

“I don’t need this!” he finally cries, turning his nose up. “What do I look like, standing here arguing with an ugly cripple?” To compound the slur, Paris disdainfully kicks at Patroclus’ shin.

He’s unprepared when Patroclus punches him square in the nose at top speed, sending him reeling backward as blood sprays onto the air. Euphorbus jumps in, throwing a punch, but he misses, punished for the whiff by an elbow to the jaw that stuns him cold. He stumbles forward, and Patroclus grips him by his face, squeezing so hard that he screams for fear that Patroclus will claw out his eyes.

“Let me go, fuck, let me go!” he screams, and Patroclus obliges, but not before kneeing him in the crotch and sending Euphorbus to his knees. Still on the side, Paris growls in pain, his eyes watering at the sting of his nose as he snorts blood. Roaring, he lunges towards Patroclus, aiming for his neck. The two dance around the cracked concrete, Patroclus dodging each of Paris’ wild throws and avoiding his grasp. Finally, Paris grabs a handful of Patroclus’ locs and yanks them, bending Patroclus’ neck painfully.

“Maybe I’ll cut these off!” Paris screams, pulling out a knife. Terrified, Patroclus tosses his head back into Paris’ face, and Paris wails in agony as he scrambles away, dropping the knife somewhere on the ground.

“Don’t ever touch my fucking hair,” Patroclus hisses. He massages his scalp, tender and screaming from the aggressive handling. His neck doesn’t feel much better, the muscles pulled taut. Heart racing, he glances towards the street. If he books it, he can make it to his car while Paris and Euphorbus are still keeling over in pain. He gets ready to sprint when a car pulls up in front of the street, cutting his escape off.

Hector jumps out of his car, quickly scanning the scene. Paris kneels to the ground, blood spilling between his fingers, and Euphorbus is trying to get to his feet, glaring at the Achaean crouched defensively.

“What the fuck is going on, here?” he shouts, pheromones aggressive as he approaches Patroclus. Far from the weak Alpha that Paris was, Hector’s scent and body language scream of a threat to Patroclus who takes a step back to size him up.

“He attacked me, brother!” Paris cries, revealing the purpling, fist shaped bruise over his now crooked nose. “Do something!”

Hector glares at Patroclus, whose eyes widen with indignity before they narrow once again. He just wants to go home already. His freedom was right behind the Trojan Quarterback, and if it meant tackling his way through the jerk, so be it. Mentally crossing his fingers, Patroclus charges forward. Hector almost instinctively jukes him, then remembers that he’s supposed to be stopping his brother’s attacker. He reaches out to grab Patroclus, but he only manages to grab the collar, tugging Patroclus into slowing down and tearing the jacket.

Tearing Achilles’ jacket.

Tearing his mate’s clothes.

This final insult drives Patroclus into a protective rage, and he lunges at Hector. This time, he is the one who misses, and Hector jabs him in the eye. The impact is swift and severe, and Patroclus stumbles backward. Less than a second passes before he’s back on the offense. Hector dodges again, but suddenly his chain goes flying. Patroclus hadn’t managed to connect, but his hand had swiped his neck.

Now Hector’s Alpha instincts kick in, blinded by the disrespect to his own partner. The once defensive fight quickly spirals into a brutal brawl, with both men clashing into one another, fists and blood flying as each lands painful, direct punches to the other’s face and body. Inside, neither man wants to be having this fight. However, there are things that both of them are afraid of, that both of them love and must protect, and so the strange catharsis of this vicious collision drives them with each horrific hit.

Enraptured and terrified, Paris gapes from the sidelines. Hector and Patroclus are Alphas on an entirely different level from him, the pheromones so domineering that he almost feels the need to cower. Still, he refuses to be left out of this fight, refuses to be so humiliated in front of his older brother once again. When Patroclus seems to gain the upper hand over Hector, he seizes his chance. He glances over at Euphorbus, then looks down at the knife, its handle glinting in the sunlight.

Three things happen simultaneously.

Paris, taking advantage of the chaos, sprints over to the dumpster where he finds a discarded cookie sheet pan. He runs back to the fight, putting all his weight into slamming it into the back of Patroclus’ head, stunning the player out of his vengeful tunnel vision.

Euphorbus scrambles for the knife, blindly slashing into Patroclus’ lower back. Patroclus cries out in pain, reflexively turning towards his new attacker, already frazzled from the blow to his head.

Hector, still in motion, uses his full body weight to hurl his elbow around to force Patroclus away from him. However, the moment Patroclus turns, Hector’s elbow crashes straight into his sternum, landing with a sickening thud.

All three men jump away as Patroclus stumbles from the three-pronged attack. For a moment he lingers, his knees bending to support his weight. He coughs, gasping for air, and suddenly his eyes roll back in his head as he collapses to the ground. Silence follows the damning crash, and Hector’s hands slowly rise to his hair in panic.  

“Wait, wait, is he- Is that blood coming out of his back? How-”

Paris scoots up to Patroclus’ unconscious body, tugging the jacket off to see the injury. He haphazardly tosses the ruined jacket to Hector, who nearly chucks it like a hot potato.

“Shit, I didn’t think it would be this bad. That was one hell of a blow, Hector. And Euphorbus, what the fuck?”

“Me?” Euphorbus cries defensively. “You told me to! And-” He leans over Patroclus, shaking with fear. “Guys, I don’t think he’s breathing…”

Before they can do anything, a familiar head of red hair comes into sight. Menelaus- who had been looking for Paris to start another fight- comes into view, Ajax right behind him. Terrified, Hector grabs Paris and Euphorbus and sprints to his car, peeling away.

It takes Menelaus a moment to process what he’s witnessing- Hector holding Achilles’ torn jacket, Euphorbus holding a bloody knife, Paris leaned over Patroclus’ deathly still body- and it costs him a moment too many. He sprints forward, but the cowardly Trojans escape, leaving their comrade bleeding on the ground. He hits the street just as the car pulls away.

“Fuck,” he hisses, rushing back to Ajax, who struggles to find Patroclus’ vitals after flipping him onto his back. Menelaus thanks all heavens that Helen made him take that stupid CPR class with her, because Patroclus’ lips are turning gray- he’s not breathing, and his pulse is deathly faint. He pushes Ajax out of the way.

“Call an ambulance!”

Six minutes of compressions and breaths feels like a lifetime, many things flying through Menelaus’ mind as he tries to keep calm. Where is that fucking ambulance already? He might be a well-trained athlete, but his arms are on fire! He prays that Patroclus doesn’t die on his watch. Where the fuck was Achilles? He knew that asshole was not going to follow through, despite all of Patroclus’ soothing and promises, but to leave Patroclus on his own? What was he thinking? Finally, he can’t call Achilles and demand answers; he’s certain the man has him blocked. He doesn’t know a single piece of Patroclus’ health info; what if the paramedics ask him about it?

“Come on, dude, you cannot die here,” he whispers. “You don’t deserve this, man, and Achilles might actually kill me if you die here; come on Pat.”

At least some of his prayers are answered when the ambulance pulls into the backlot, the paramedics hustling Menelaus out of the way and racing to revive Patroclus with a defibrillator. Menelaus only sighs in mild relief when they sound positive, before lifting him in the back of the truck. Ajax asks what hospital they’ll be going to, quickly relaying the news to the group chat. Agamemnon, ever quick to an opportunity, orders the entire team to the hospital in seconds. Menelaus still reels over who he knows that could contact Achilles and drop this heartbreaking news without warranting a death wish. Automedon is the next closest to Achilles, but he rarely speaks to Automedon since he’s an offensive player and Menelaus leads defense…

“Antilochus!” He suddenly cries in harried triumph, pulling up the Defensive End’s number.

Achilles gasps as he pulls up to his townhouse, a chronic, searing pain in his chest constricting his ribs and leaving him breathless.

Something is wrong.

He’s been angry at Patroclus all day, hurt by his cruel words, and hurt even worse by the fact that they were true. Even when he saw his messages, he locked his phone with a huff, forcing himself to pay attention to the lectures and demonstrations instead of dwelling on words that filled him with regret. Nonetheless, by the end of the day he was full of worry and guilt. He’d planned on stopping by Patroclus’ apartment once he got home, to sit, discuss, and… apologize… for his behavior and choices. He still would have chosen the seminar, but… perhaps he could have been less childish and told the team outright that he did not care to go. He hates that he’s disappointed Patroclus, whose love and faith in him has been shaken by his selfish actions.

But even forcibly suppressing all of that could not have caused him this level of dread, like he’s going to pass out. Is he having an anxiety attack? What’s happening? He’s barely limped out of the car when he sees Antilochus anxiously pacing in front of his door, eyes glued to his phone. Antilochus immediately rushes to him, eyes filled with tears that cover his blotched red face.

“Antilochus,” Achilles heaves. “What is-”

“Siri, call Patroclus.”

Voicemail.

“Siri, call Patroclus!”

Voicemail.

“Siri-”

“Siri!”

Achilles tries over and over, hardly able to see as he speeds through traffic to the hospital on the other side of town.  

Achilles, I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Let’s talk this out later, please. I love you.

Achilles hadn’t responded to the text. His head had been so far up his own ass that he had refused to respond to the text! This couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be the last thing Patroclus said to him, their fight and Achilles’ cruelty couldn’t be the last thing he remembered, he never told him he loved him back, that he’s sorry, this can’t be it-

He parks in the lot and sprints up the sidewalk, barreling into the automatic doors where the rest of the team rises upon his entrance. Automedon’s face is the first he registers, and he rushes to him, devastation rolling down his cheeks.

“Where is he?” he begs. Automedon pulls him into a hug, and Achilles only sinks into the affection momentarily before pulling away. “Where is he? What happened?”

“Achilles, listen to me, okay?” Automedon soothes, trying not to touch his wounds. The livid claw marks on Achilles’ upper arms are proof of Antilochus’ earlier texts; that he’d had to grab Achilles’ wrists because he’d started manically clawing at himself when he told him the news. “Pat is unconscious right now. Commotio cordis.”

“Commotio cor- his heart stopped?!” Achilles sobs. How could this have happened?! All he’d done was go volunteer!

“He’s pretty bruised up, and he’s got a knife injury on his back-”

Achilles chokes. “A knife?!”

“Menelaus and Ajax got there in time, and Menelaus gave him CPR until the paramedics showed up.”

Achilles momentarily pauses in his hysterics, his shocked gaze turning to Menelaus. Menelaus, having heard his name, grimaces when Achilles looks his way. Menelaus, whom Achilles had mocked concerning his lack of control in his own relationship, had saved his partner’s life.

“They brought Pat here,” Automedon finishes, “and he’s in a coma, but he’s alive.”

“I need to see him,” Achilles heaves, pushing away from the group. “I need to see him.” He tries to barrel through the emergency room doors, dragged kicking and screaming when hospital security holds him back. After his third try, Odysseus finally comes up and grips his face, more serious than he’d ever seen it.

“Achilles! Achilles, stop it!” he cries, his voice pained. He struggles not to grimace at the strong, terrified scent Achilles emits with each panicked heartbeat. “We’re all scared too, but we have to wait for his family! They will kick you and the rest of us out of here if you keep this up, and then you really won’t be able to see him!”

“But he’s my mate,” Achilles sobs, causing the entire team to hiss with sympathy. “I can’t be apart from him, he’s in pain, I can’t-”

The last thing he told him was to go, to leave, and now Patroclus might not ever be able to speak to him again. All he can picture is Patroclus, afraid as his heart stopped beating, as the air left his body. All he can see is Patroclus trapped in another hospital bed, thin and lifeless, once again endangered by Achilles’ actions. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” he hysterically sobs, his legs limp as Automedon and Odysseus drag him to a chair.

It takes a few minutes for Achilles to hyperventilate through his misery, Automedon talking him through it while the rest of the team watches. Though everyone on the team worries for gentle Patroclus’ wellbeing- the man was a beacon of kindness and quiet source of hope- only a few of them empathize with Achilles’ heartbreak. The rest murmur about his choices and their consequences. The accusations fall like an executioner’s axe, direct and sharp.

That he didn’t go to the event, of course he didn’t care.

That if he had gone, Patroclus wouldn’t have been hurt.

That he must not actually love his mate.

That he might have got Patroclus killed.

Achilles’ usual infallible nature is shattered by shock, and each of the blows only adds to the damage that he now realizes he deserves. Patroclus had been right. Patroclus was always right. Shaking, Achilles stands, and the room quiets.

“Menelaus,” he whispers. Everyone turns to Menelaus, who slowly approaches Achilles; Agamemnon protective behind him. Menelaus is prepared for a fight, maybe even an attempt to claw his eyes out… so he’s stunned when Achilles nods his head low in deference.

“Thank you for saving him,” he whispers, low voice overcome with sadness. His pride stings, and he still hates Menelaus for getting them involved in the entire scenario. But his pride and fury mean nothing in comparison to how grateful he is that someone was there, that someone had known what to do to keep Patroclus alive.

The show of gratitude is loud, sending shockwaves throughout the team. In any other context, Menelaus would have been delighted; might have even milked the situation to prove that Achilles was no longer so invincible. Instead, it just freaks him out to see the arrogant athlete suddenly bowing his head in humility. Besides, if he’d left Patroclus there to die, he’s more than certain that there would be two dead bodies in the morgue.

“It’s all good, man,” he awkwardly replies, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… glad we made it in time.”

“Mm.” Achilles nods, already finished with the interaction. He’s ready to sit back down when Agamemnon clears his throat. When Achilles only sighs, he takes his chance.

“In this… heart-wrenching time, I would like to think that we would all unite as one in our worry for Patroclus.”

Diomedes, silent on the other side of the room, tenses with a scowl. “Agamemnon, really? Right now?”

Odysseus waves his hand. “Let him apologize. Let all of this fighting end when we have something much more important to deal with.” Still, he keeps an eye on Achilles- it wouldn’t do if the man got up and started a fight. Agamemnon nods, continuing with his apology.

Achilles doesn’t hear a single word of it, his old anger rekindling deep in his frozen stomach. He hadn’t wanted to be a part of that stupid feud, had even warned Patroclus against it. And now, because of his own self-absorption and inconsideration, he’d sent Patroclus into a situation that probably would not have occurred if Achilles had been there to have his back. You told me you wouldn’t get involved! What made you fight by yourself, he internally cries. Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you call for help, or tell anyone you were alone?

It was for you.

The sudden realization is yet another stab to the heart. Of course Patroclus hadn’t called for help. That would have exposed Achilles to the team’s ire. Even in his annoyance and disappointment, Patroclus had still considered Achilles’ safety and feelings. You don’t deserve him; he bitterly berates himself. How could you dismiss him and his feelings the way you did? So stupid. He shivers, teeth clacking obnoxiously in his ears. He wishes that he’d brought Patroclus’ jacket, left at home after he’d grabbed the wrong one in his haste. He could be covering himself in the icy sweet smell of his mate, since the damnable hospital would not let him see him.

“Are you cold, Achilles?” Automedon whispers. Achilles lifts his catatonic gaze, frowning. “You’re shivering, and you keep saying ‘jacket’.”

“It’s probably shock,” Odysseus comments, squeezing Achilles’ shoulder. “They should have blankets here for that.”

“Patroclus had his jacket, before-” Menelaus replies. Then he hisses, as though he’s said something wrong. It is too late- Achilles already heard him.

“What do you mean, ‘had’?”

“Achilles-”

“What do you mean, ‘had’? Who has the jacket now?”

Who was it that hurt him?

“I mean, it might still be where we were, I don’t know if-”

He hadn’t wanted to leave Patroclus’ presence, afraid to be gone for even one moment and too in shock to think of doing anything else. However, his mind now fixates on the strange mystery of the jacket, and more importantly, Patroclus’ attackers. The idea that whoever attacked Patroclus would then spitefully steal the clothes off his back after hurting him so badly that it warranted life support… His wrath is sickening, scalding his throat, and filling his veins with fire. He wants to confront these attempted murderers. He wants them to suffer all they put Patroclus through, wants them to feel the level of hate Achilles currently feels for himself.

He wants them dead.

Achilles’ body stops shaking, a strange calm coming over him. This time, when he rises to his feet, even Automedon steps back to avoid the potent energy around him.

“Menelaus,” he asks, voice menacingly low. “I’ll ask one more time. Who has the jacket?”

Who tried to kill Patroclus?

“Uh,” Menelaus swallows nervously, filtering back through the unreal moment. “Hector.”

Achilles storms out of the hospital, his eyes glazed over with rage. His tunnel vision is so severe that he doesn’t notice someone in front of him until they grab his arms.

“Achilles!” Antilochus cries, the first to reach him. “Dude, wait a minute!”

“Let go of me.”

“I know you’re pissed, but-”

Without a word, Achilles headbutts Antilochus, sending him reeling to the side, and sprints back to his car. Antilochus falls into Diomedes’ side, helping him regain his balance. Automedon tosses his hands up in the air as Achilles’ red convertible screeches off in the distance.

“Damn, he’s an asshole sometimes,” he hisses, and Diomedes snorts. Odysseus, who’d followed close behind, smacks his lips.

“He’s an asshole all the time,” he curses. He inhales, and then shrugs, letting his own righteous anger overcome him. “Fuck it. Fuck it! Fine! He’s headed to Ilium and so are we! Let’s move!”

Hector races to the stadium, panicked out of his mind. Paris and Euphorbus had jumped out of his car and fled the moment they realized he was headed to the police station, so now he has no idea where they are. And when he’d raced home instead, Andromache was not there either. He’d called her numerous times, terrified when he realized she’d accidentally left her phone on the counter to charge. Given the time, he prayed that she’d assumed he went to practice. After tossing some of her clothes into a bag, he raced to her. He’s lucky; she’s sitting on a bench on the side of the field. She rises when he sprints over, expressing concern.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize- Hector what happened to your face-”

He grabs her by her arms, gripping them so tightly that she winces.

“You need to go home.”

“What? What happened, why are you-”

“I packed you a bag. Here, take my keys; go straight to my parents’ house. I need you safe, and that means you need to go, now.”

“Hector, what is it? What is going on, you’re scaring me!”

He’s scared, too. He should have listened to her and Cassandra and stayed home- thanks to his brother’s malice, he’s just done something he can’t take back, and he doesn’t want her caught in the crossfire when the cops inevitably come arrest him for murder. Hector pulls Andromache close, holding her, thumbing at her belly.

“I love you, so much,” he whispers. “Please believe that.”

Unfortunately, he’s too late. They flinch in each other’s embrace when the entire field is shaken by an inhuman roar.

Ilium’s famous football stadium is known for its famous, gorgeously made, massively high walls. Fans come from worldwide to behold the beautifully designed structure, to know that within those great colosseum walls glory will be had, likely by their home team. It is covered with murals of the school’s great history, as well as free spaces for fans to honor the players with their own art. It is a shining beacon of the University of Ilium’s pride, and every Trojan reveres its visage.

Unfortunately for the team, they are not currently protected by those impenetrable, unscalable walls.

If Ilium’s stadium looms untouchable, its practice field is a sitting duck. Located in a space jokingly called ‘The Pit’, its small, brick walls and small rooms are surrounded on all sides by hills. People can sit on the manicured grass and watch the players practice from above, occasionally waving when the players run up the hills for practice. The visual allows Achilles one crucial piece of information.

There is no escape.

He stands on the top of the hill, his throat raw. Dark, ominous clouds form behind him, blowing his messy golden hair in the wind. A flash of lightning strikes, illuminating the wrath on his red, tearstained face. He is far in the distance, and yet his tense, leonine posture speaks volumes of violence. His head twitches as he scans the field, searching. When his eyes lock on Hector, holding his mate tight to him, a thick wave of jealousy and fury snaps through him.

The wind picks up in speed, creating an eerie wail over the hills-

No- it’s not the wind.

Behind Achilles, a horde of roaring, furious Greeks crest over the hill. The pressure is two-fold; their bodies are rejuvenated, and for the first time since the entire debacle began their motivation has become one: to avenge their fallen teammate. Achilles waits until the entire team is near the walls, specifically for when gigantic Ajax barrels past him. He slowly takes off, a couple tentative steps to gain his momentum, and then he sprints down the hill like a flash.  

There is a terrifying boom as Ajax hurls his body into the front gate, destroying the door as though it were paper thin. Achilles sprints past the rest of the team, past the broken doors, and is the first out onto the field. The Trojans are unsure of what to do, unsure of what’s brought on this sudden, organized attack when-

“Hector!”

The imperative is visceral, bleeding with malice, and every Trojan instinctively kicks into gear. Protect the Quarterback. Protect the Captain! They rush at Achilles and are quickly met with the barrage of Greeks. Onlookers who came to watch the practice are stunned when they realize that there’s not a scrimmage happening, but a full-on, violent brawl.

From the middle of the field, Aeneas ducks and dodges under the crashing men, trying to find Hector. When he finally sees an opening, he breaks, but his hopes are dashed when he is clocked in the middle of his back. He falls to the ground. Over him, Diomedes grins wickedly. He knew that Aeneas, one of the closest to Hector, would be within his sights.

“Yeah, we thought you’d try that,” he sneers. “You won’t be going anywhere.”

Aeneas barely has time to comprehend who ‘we’ is when another player, Deiphobos, crashes down next to him, Odysseus cackling evilly.

“Didn’t I tell you? Loyal and stupid,” he teases. They fall upon Aeneas and Deiphobos, violently grappling with the two on the turf.

On another side of the field, Menelaus and Agamemnon joyfully spar with Helenos and a bitter Sarpedon. Helenos had once landed a sharp blow on Menelaus during one of their fights, and he’d bragged about it often alongside Paris.

“The pretty boy has run and hide,” Menelaus leers, grabbing Helenos by his face and slamming him down onto the ground. “So I guess I’ll be returning his and your favors tenfold!” Helenos tries to avoid the blows, reaching up and clawing at Menelaus’ face, but Menelaus is unperturbed, continuing to fight through the searing pain with a manic grin.

Agamemnon gleefully takes on Sarpedon, who he is delighted to realize is already on a hair trigger today. Sarpedon, for his part, had almost not come to practice, he was so furious about what happened at the volunteer event. Now this? He’s messier than normal, and Agamemnon is all too excited to take advantage.

“It’s your job to tackle me, right?” he antagonizes, dodging each swing. “Why are you so slow? Hit me!”

They go back and forth until Agamemnon stops, allowing Sarpedon to land a clumsy hit that he quickly regrets once Agamemnon returns the offensive.

Even Antilochus has shed his silly, easygoing temperament for childish cruelty, holding poor Thoon in a painful headlock.

“Say ‘Uncle’!” he screams, laughing when Thoon tries punching him in the side. “Say it! I’ll let you go when you say it!”

Neck searing from the awkward position, Thoon finally screams, and Antilochus lets him go before sending him to the ground with a well-placed knee to the stomach. As Thoon falls, Antilochus lets out a terrifying battle cry, unnerving every Trojan fighting around him.

Every Greek knows to leave the space around Achilles clear; if they aren’t careful, he’s just as likely to hit them out of the way as he is a Trojan. Unseeing, Achilles cruelly punches and elbows any man that falls in his path, tossing them to the side to be fell upon by another. He only has one goal, and that goal is currently fleeing around the field.

Hector knows that his team is fighting to keep him safe the way they always have, and he silently gives thanks. The moment he made eye contact with Achilles, he lifted Andromache off of the ground and ran, making his way to one of the few doors the Greeks didn’t seem to know about. He shoved her inside, slamming it behind him and blocking it with a crash dummy. It brings him a tiny amount of peace to know that she won’t be a direct target as long as she stays away. Once he’s done, he sprints away.

Something is wrong in Achilles’ eyes.

It is a gaze that reveals his intentions; he does not want to fight Hector, he wants to kill him. Lungs fire-hot from exertion, Hector knows he doesn’t have much time left. He’s only made it this far because he habitually changed into his cleats before coming onto the turf, allowing him to constantly juke Achilles as he slips on the field. Still, the fact that the madman is managing to move this fast despite that… he’d become arrogant. He’d forgotten what it was to face the University of Achaea with their strongest player.

Distantly, he can hear Andromache screaming, pleading for mercy, but he keeps running. Finally, when he can go no further, he turns back. They stand twenty yards from the end zone, having practically run multiple field lengths of suicides. Chest heaving, a bruised, agitated Achilles slows a few feet in front of him. In the small pause they glare at one another, Hector finally takes in Achilles’ malicious scent, spiked through with misery. Not once in his desperate chase had he stopped crying. He’d forgotten that the man was an Omega. Suddenly, everything about the situation becomes clear. 

“Look. I know why you’re here. I did not mean for this to happen, and I am going to go to the police station and turn myself in. But please do not do this. I am bonded, and my mate is pregnant, can you please-”

Achilles laughs, a clawing, painful sound. “Your audacity astounds me. You really think I’m about to entertain your plea. You, who weren’t worried about mates or bonds when you tried to kill mine?”

Hector freezes- he did not know about the entire situation. This would explain Achilles’ shocking wrath. “Achilles, I did not know Patroclus-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Achilles growls, crouching. “Don’t you dare speak his name! You tried to kill him and then you ran, leaving him behind to die as though he were nothing but trash- then you want me to care about you? There are no pacts between lions and men! ‘Going to the police station’, ha! Fuck that and fuck them! No. I’m going to kill you.”

And there will be nothing left because I am going to eat you raw.

Hector is already exhausted and injured, but raw fear drives him as he fends away Achilles’ powerful blows. Achilles’ fists are as fast as his feet, aiming for every vital spot he can. One blow to the head is instantly followed by another, and though he is able to land a few serious hits, it doesn’t matter when he can barely see from the frenzied barrage. Achilles seems unfazed by each hit, but still, he fights. If he doesn’t, his whole family will be destroyed.

As for Achilles, his mind is a whirlwind of emotion, and in the eye of the storm is his vengeance. However, the more he brutalizes Hector, the more he realizes just whom the vengeance is really for. He lingers in the pain of each hit he lands, each hit he receives. He languishes in the pain of his bruised jaw and eyes, in the sting of his bleeding knuckles. The vengeance does not shrink because though he hates Hector, it is not Hector he is punishing for his crimes.

He hates the smell of blood- is it coming from Hector’s pheromones, or from his face?

Finally, Hector’s strong defense slips, and Achilles punches him in the throat. A harrowing scream whistles in the distance as Hector chokes, falling to the ground. He is lucky; if the hit had been a little to the left, it would have crushed his windpipe. Achilles looms over his suffocating figure, fingers twitching.

“Stop it! Stop it, it hurts, my chest, my heart, stop it, please!”

Achilles does not register Andromache’s cries, reaching down and grabbing Hector by his ankle. To everyone’s abject horror, he slowly starts to drag Hector towards the end zone, eyes wide with odd conviction. He wins. He can take him back to Patroclus. Look, I’ve avenged you. He hurt you, and I didn’t let him get away with it. I will end him in front of you. Will this be enough? Can I fix anything else? Hector’s weak, horrified hands reach for his grip, trying to yank away from Achilles, and with inhuman annoyance, Achilles turns around and jabs him once in the nose. Hector falls back to the turf, gurgling, and Achilles continues his animalistic drag.

The fighting only comes to a pause when Odysseus raises his head, the faint sound of alarms in the distance. “Shit! It’s the cops! Scatter!”

Unfortunately, there is still no escape- police officers descend upon the field, and no one looks worse than the man dragging a bleeding, nearly unconscious body for a touchdown.

NEWS: Brutality at its Finest: Achaea’s Star Wide Receiver Arrested After Brutally Assaulting Trojan Star Quarterback and Captain

-Another crazed omega, this is why they shouldn’t be allowed to be in sports or anything really

-don’t use this as a chance to be discriminatory, this is a singular event

-There was always something wrong with that guy in the head

-this title is such bait

-He’s such an asshole and now he’s an attempted killer go figure

-everyone always let him get away with being uppity because he was rich, white, and could play ball

-I heard a rumor he beat up Achilles’ boyfriend first, maybe we should wait and see

-it’s probably fake news

-Hector is entirely too sweet and such a good leader; I sincerely doubt he would ever hurt someone without reason

-I agree! Maybe that Achaean deserved it. I’ve seen his picture, he looks like a hoodlum

-listen to the video! He was going to kill him in front of his pregnant fiancée! She’s begging him to stop! Nothing warrants this!

-this was always going to be the outcome

-what a fucking animal, dragging his body??

-the schools have actively encouraged this beef and now look, someone’s actually in the hospital

NEWS: A Beat Down in a Back Alley! Trojan Quarterback and Captain Attacked in Retaliation for Prior Deadly Assault, Investigation Revealing New Details

-wait, it was PATROCLUS? They jumped Pat???? Nah I’m with Achilles.

-an Alpha dick measuring contest then

-so about that one comment about him being a ‘hoodlum who deserved it’; HMMMMMM the dogwhistles how intriguing! Why’d she delete the retweet, NAH YOU HAD SOMETHING TO SAY BRING IT BACK-

-he swung first. Who cares what Paris said or called him, a slur is just words. he shouldn’t have been violent.

-he grabbed his locs? To cut them?? I- he probably doesn’t even KNOW the LAYERS of violence hes committing

-I heard Achilles was supposed to be there with him. Why’d he go apeshit when he left his mate to die in the first place

-that part! Why do you care now when you knew the schools were feuding and you didn’t stand by him!

-I just want to know if they knew the optics of jumping a Black, disabled student. Because we will be outside.

-they found Hector’s engagement ring and a torn, bloody UA jacket at the scene? That’s crazy!

-Thank god there were cameras at the shelter- how else would anyone have known what happened? what if he’d died? He could have been back there alone for hours!

-My cousin goes to UI; I’m pretty sure it’s all Hector’s brother’s fault- he’s the one always causing drama and you see he antagonized him. Then hit him in the head? A coward!

Armed guards stand outside of the small break room containing the entirety of the Achaean football team. This serves two purposes.

First, the University of Achaea has lawyered the entire team up, and that means keeping quiet, keeping isolated, and keeping everyone in sight. All of their phones have been confiscated, their clothes exchanged for scrubs, and bodies checked for weaponry before being treated for wounds. Despite visible injuries, both teams have been unusually tight-lipped with the authorities.  

Achilles got lucky, as both his family’s lawyer and a representative from the hospital got to the jail as soon as he was booked and fingerprinted. They managed to negotiate an ankle monitor for him, and to be placed with the rest of the team, for important reason:

Patroclus had shown signs of deterioration.

His barely present heart rate had begun to fluctuate dangerously, pain visible in his expression despite a lack of external stimuli. When they confirmed that Achilles was his mate, it was determined that the cause was extreme stress. Despite his lawyer’s reservations, Achilles submitted to the excessive number of sedatives they gave him, feeling his heartbeat forcibly slow and his thoughts dim to a crawl.

Achilles was the second reason. There were plenty of people outside of the hospital that wanted to hurt him amongst the rest of the team, and there were plenty of people that would find out why that was a bad idea if they tried. As such, there are also armed guards in a perimeter outside the doors outside the hospital, all facing flashing camera lights and curious journalists.

Achilles’ mind might be under the influence but he’s not stupid; he knows it’s all a publicity stunt to show that both universities are ‘cracking down’ and ‘being tough’ on something they’ve known and not bothered to do anything about up to this point.

Not that any of that matters to him. He is catatonic, curled up in a blanket on a chair in the corner of the room. Patroclus needs him to be cautious, needs him to be still. He cannot risk any more emotions, any more upsets. He just has to be calm. It’s easier with Patroclus’ jacket; his lawyer, citing Patroclus’ pheromones as a calming method outside of the medication, was allowed to go to his home and bring it. It keeps Achilles grounded, the brisk smell.

Outside of Achilles, the rest of the team has started up a silly set of games to keep distracted. Hopscotch, stacking cups, pointing out things in magazines; childish things that bring them light and laughter. It must be nice, Achilles thinks to himself, that they can feel such emotions while Patroclus suffers. He bitterly wishes they would shut up, before suppressing it. Occasionally Automedon gently offers him some water, but that’s the extent of anyone’s contact with him. Achilles only breathes.

The energy in the room falls with a hush when a woman bursts through the door, barreling past the officers that move to violently restrain her. She’s short, maybe about 5’4, with toffee-brown skin and thick, dark waves hastily wrapped up with a yellow satin scarf. No one recognizes her until she lifts her gaze- her light brown eyes are unmistakable, the sclera red from tears still spilling.  

Achilles’ body moves before his mind does, stumbling to its feet.

“Stop!” he commands the guards, who jump at his sudden volume. “Unhand her!”

The woman yanks her arms away from the officers, rubbing them resentfully as everyone defensively gathers around. Realizing that it would reflect very badly on them to fire at an entire room full of famous collegiate athletes, the guards revert back to ‘firmly requesting’ that the woman leave. She stands firm as Achilles slowly moves towards her, entranced. Despite the near foot difference in their height, Achilles shrinks under Philomela’s hellfire gaze, her floral scent as soaked with misery as his own. The team gasps in shock when he bows his head low in shame, crumbling to his knees as he holds Patroclus’ Letterman jacket up. No number of sedatives can coat the shame wavering in his voice.

“I’m so sorry… it’s my fault… it’s all my fault…”

Seeing the arrogant Achilles brought so low is truly bizarre.

Many wondered how truly deep shame would look on a man that held himself so above all others. They thought they’d glimpsed what that looked like when he deferred to Menelaus in gratitude.

But this… Witnessing his shoulders tremble as Philomela rains judgment upon him is so searing that they want to avert their eyes- but they can’t look away. Philomela’s hands, already shaking with wrath, clench around the jacket. Large tears pool in her eyes as she pulls it close, quietly murmuring my baby over and over. A nurse finally makes her way into the room, sympathetic as she places a hand on Philomela’s shoulder. The touch refocuses her, and she glares at Achilles.

“Of course, it had something to do with you. I barely forgave you for his dreams. I don’t know if I will ever forgive you for this.”

Everyone flinches at her vehemence, Achilles hardest of all. His eyes pinch shut, trying to stop the burn of his tears.

“I agree.”

“He didn’t tell me, you know,” Philomela continues, unrelenting. “When he went to impress your family, he didn’t tell me. If he were in any kind of danger, I couldn’t have found him. But he didn’t care, too determined in love. I bet he was quite the gentleman, polite and charming. I bet he thoughtfully answered every question they asked, no matter how inconsiderate or thoughtless they were, yes? Because that’s the kind of man he is, because he is good.”

Achilles’ throat scalds as he swallows. “He was wonderful.”

“You want to know what he told me afterwards?” Philomela sobs, choking on emotion. “‘His mother said that he was the light of her life. I want her to know I’m worthy of their son. That he’s safe with me.’” Her nostrils flare with fury. “What about his mother, huh? What about my heart? What about my son’s worth? What about my son’s safety? What about the light of my life, Achilles?!”

Achilles crumbles under her heartbreak, splaying his hands out in front of him to stop him from collapsing. Empathetic, Automedon tries to step forward to help, but one brutal look from Philomela sends him shrinking back into the crowd.

This wasn’t what Philomela had planned. She had so much more venom she wanted to unleash, perhaps even to put a third child in a hospital bed after reading all of those comments accusing him of being the reason her baby was at the edge of death. It should have been you, she wanted to scream. But the moment Achilles handed her the Letterman jacket, her walls had crumbled into something she wasn’t sure she could emotionally handle without completely falling apart. Unsure how to continue- unsure if she even can- she scoffs, then turns away. Her son needs her more than she needs this.

“Take me to my child.”

The nurse nods, and Philomela’s eyes narrow at the guards, who now stand aside in her fearsome wake. She only makes it one step away when-

“Please take me with you.”

Philomela’s eyes narrow. “The audacity-”

Achilles barrels on, desperate. “Please, please take me with you. I know I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t, but ma’am I am begging you. He was hurt when I didn’t come to see him, before. Please, I know I’ve messed up everything else, but please, let me do this for him. Let him know that I didn’t leave him behind, that I was there. I don’t know if I’ll be able to see him after this, I don’t want to risk it…”

Philomela wants to refuse him. Let him be overcome with his guilt, let it drive him mad, even! But his words pierce her heart the same way Achilles offering the jacket had, throwing her off-kilter. He’s right. She knows in her spirit that Patroclus will search for him. She knows that it will break him when he doesn’t find Achilles, and she’s not sure that he’ll come back the way he did the first time.

Achilles waits, red and tearful and so pathetically heartbroken that she finally tchs, looking at the concerned nurse still gripping her arm. The nurse gives the guard a pleading look, and after a moment he lifts his walkie talkie. After a few barked commands back and forth, he sighs.

“Fifteen minutes. You’ll be escorted up and back down. Try anything, and you will be going to prison.”

Achilles’ eyes light up, leaping to his feet. Philomela releases a low growl when he gets too close, and he cringes back a step. They are led through the busy waiting room, where morbidly curious eyes fall on them as they wait for the elevator. When they step out, the entire floor is eerie, the discordant sound of heart monitors beeping and the off-putting smell of sanitizer overwhelming.

Philomela stops right in front of Patroclus’ door, a guttural sound instinctively rising from deep inside her. She scents defensively, on edge down to the hairs rising on her arms. Every part of her chafes against letting Achilles enter this room. She wants to leave this source of evil outside of this peaceful space where her son needs his rest, where she can guarantee his safety. A small, plaintive whimper sounds from behind her, a tentative yet determined scent pushing back against her wrath. Forcing her emotions back down, Philomela stands straight.  

“The cops stay in the hall,” is all she says, before walking forward. Achilles brightens once again, glaring at the officers who roll their eyes before standing at the door. He hustles to pull a seat for Philomela, who snatches it away from him and sits it by Patroclus’ bedside. Nervous, he steps away to stand, watching from afar.

“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

Achilles gratefully pulls up another seat by her side. They watch over Patroclus together, his expression somehow placid despite the tubes in his arms and in his throat. Philomela fawns over her precious son, whispering that he was safe, that Mama is here, you’ll be okay, tucking him in tighter before grabbing his hand and squeezing. Achilles would give anything to do the same, itching to move forward, but he knows he’s on borrowed time and space. It is enough to gaze upon him, to know that he’s safe, that his heart is beating. For a few minutes they sit in this shared silence, joined in protecting Patroclus from the world.

“He cried a lot.”

Achilles blinks at the sudden statement, turning to Philomela. She won’t look at him, still thumbing at Patroclus’ hand.

“It didn’t take much of anything. He had this mournful cry as a baby that would just break your heart. The weight of the world on his little shoulders all because he wanted his milk, or because he farted and it scared him out of his sleep. It wasn’t even a loud cry, but it was constant. Kept me and his father awake night after night. Couldn’t walk away to pee or anything. He still has it. Six foot two, full of muscle and grit… and yet, I’d fight the world for him every time I see him cry.”

Achilles knows the way his light brown eyes grow wide with tears he’ll try to hide. He leans in, desperate to know anything Philomela is willing to share.

“Once, when he was seven, on the way home from the store we watched as these firemen got this cat down from a tree. I thought he’d be excited, watching the firemen do their job! Everyone else cheered for the happy moment, but he looked so miserable. I finally pulled over and asked him what was wrong, and you know what he said? ‘Mama, but what if it was trying to fly on an adventure? Now it can’t do that because no one asked what it was trying to do!’” Philomela giggles sadly. “It made no sense. None. No amount of me telling him that ‘cats can’t fly and don’t want to’ convinced him. He was just heartbroken over this idea he’d formed in his own head. I had to get him ice cream and promise that the firemen were going to apologize, and the cat was just going to try again.”

Achilles can’t help but laugh softly.

“He’s always had this deep empathy for things,” Philomela continues. “No matter who or what it is, he sees the potential in them. I wish he would direct that towards himself more often.”

As the cat that couldn’t fly, Achilles wholeheartedly agrees. Philomela finally sighs, holding out Patroclus’ hand. Achilles gently takes it from her, emotion welling in his chest as he squeezes it. He’s warm. Alive.

“Every time I see you with my son, he’s in pain. And yet, he loves you. I know he loves you, because when he talks about you, he’s more open and vulnerable than I’ve ever heard from him. I’m… conflicted. I’m conflicted, because I watched this sweet, idealistic boy that cried over adventuring cats close up over the years, quiet down and harden himself to face the world that didn’t care about his gentleness. I watched him fall apart, then push himself too hard to put himself back together. He never really healed from the mental of it all, all to ‘go back to normal’, whatever society thinks that means. All of that, and in the end he knew that he would stand tall, and just maybe get to stand by you.” 

Philomela scoffs again, shaking her head in disbelief. “I never really believed in the concept of soulmates or fated mates, but the way he feels about you… There might be a case. I don’t quite understand what he sees in you.” Achilles flinches at the softly spoken, cruel words. “But it doesn’t matter how I feel. I was happy to see him excited, to feel happy, to feel so alive. I don’t want to take that from him because he deserves to feel joy.”

“But I’m going to tell you this. If you don’t value my child, if you think that this is the way he should show you love: walk away. Don’t waste his time, and don’t waste his life. I recognize that you care. I too would have choked those Trojans to death myself if I’d been there. But sacrifice is not the only kind of love he can give, and it’s not the only love he deserves.”

Achilles can barely see Patroclus’ hand through his tears when Philomela finally looks at him.

“Is it true?”

He doesn’t have to ask what she means. Using his other hand, he reveals the edge of the mark on his neck. Philomela hisses.

“That goddamn boy! Hardheaded, always leading with- I always told him to be careful with- and he just, it hasn’t even been three months- That means he felt how upset you were. You know that.”

“I do know that,” Achilles finally whimpers. “I know, okay? It’s another in a long line of things I’ve fucked up! I told him I would protect him and his heart too. I meant it when I said it, and I failed!” Once he starts, Achilles finds the words rushing like a river. “And it’s crazy because all day I was so upset over nothing and it wasn’t until I was driving home and I felt this sudden, deep pit of anxiety in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe. I almost swerved off the road, barely made it home, I was so scared. And when Antilochus got to me, I…”

He stops, pinching his lips together to stop from screaming the way he did when Antilochus told him that Patroclus was dying.

“I know he felt how unstable I was. I should have controlled myself, but I was just… I was angry at myself. I hated myself. I hated myself for hurting him, that I broke my promises, that he’d put so much faith in me and I squandered it. I questioned his love over a fight I caused, just for him to- for me to almost lose him forever.”

He raises his eyes to Philomela, unwavering. “But I love him. It’s selfish of me, but I do. I want that second chance to prove it to him, but more than anything, I just want him to live. I don’t want him to sacrifice anymore. I hate the idea that he feels like he has to, and I don’t want that kind of love from him either. So if he told me that he never wanted to see me again, that our bond meant nothing to him after this and he wanted it gone… it hurts, it hurts so much, but I would respect him. I want him to be happy, and I hate that this is what it took for me to truly realize what that means. And I want to stop crying so that he doesn’t feel it but I can’t, I can’t-”

Philomela almost starts crying herself, with how torn apart Achilles looks as he curls over Patroclus’ hand, head hung low. He’s young and dumb, but it is clear the trauma has aged him. She can’t get herself to hold him, her anger still simmers too hot for that, but she grabs his other hand and holds tight.

“You make sure he knows that, then. Make sure he knows that, and that you never forget it.”

News: HOMECOMING CANCELLED? Sponsors and Investors Waver in the Wake of Violence

After recent events put two collegiate athletes in the hospital with near fatal injuries, both the University of Achaea and the University of Ilium’s investigations have revealed that there has been a miniature war between the two football teams, instigated by romance! Things were made worse by a scourge of hazing within UA’s team, leading to a toxic concoction of solidarity between the players who blamed their suffering on that of an arrogant Ilium player.

However, larger than romance and violence, looms something much more important to every business:

Money.

Fears of loss of corporate sponsorships from both teams lead to further fears that Homecoming will be cancelled altogether until both schools hold their administration and players accountable. However, given the mind-blowing profit generated from the players (and their free labor) for the schools and businesses alike, it has been universally deemed a last resort. The University of Achaea has taken the first step of firing its entire coaching staff, as well as…

“Where is Achilles?” are Patroclus’ first words, rasped as he tries to blink away his blurry vision. He can hear the sounds of panic around him, followed by his mother’s familiar, comforting scent.

“Pat, sweetheart, you’re awake!”

“Where is he? He’s in pain, I felt it, Mama, I-”

Philomela shakes her head, cheeks wet with tears. “You don’t worry about anyone other than yourself, right now.”

It’s hard to focus, and Patroclus quickly falls back asleep after that. The next couple days pass in a worrisome blur as Patroclus readjusts. At first no one is willing to answer any of his questions, but once all of the tubes are off and he’s able to sit on his own, he is determined to get what he wants. One morning he’s stumbled halfway across the room when Philomela rushes to sit him back down. Large as he is, she clucks as she easily maneuvers him back to the bed.

“I’m sorry, I had to go to a meeting with the school. The program will be paying all of your fees this time; I wanted nothing to do with those damn Phthian lawyers or their money-”

“Where is he?” Patroclus demands. His voice is low, ripped with heartbreak. “Where is he, Mama? Why haven’t I seen him yet? We- we’re mated this time, I thought-”

“Of course you’re still-” She pauses, inhaling. “Right now, he’s in jail, awaiting an indictment.”

Patroclus stops, his heart pounding dangerously. For a moment he thinks it’s going to happen again, that his heart is going to stop, and he’s terrified.

“Awaiting- what do you mean?”

Philomela fidgets, nervous. “Patroclus, maybe not right-”

“Mama.”

“After you got hurt,” she starts, “he went to find the guy that hurt you. Beat the dog shit out of him, too. It was bad enough that that they’re contemplating charging him with attempted murder.”

Patroclus’ jaw pops open, his eyes wide with panic. He grips at his heart, chest heaving. It was all too much at once, and yet he might already be too late. Philomela rubs his arm, trying to soothe him.

“Calm down, breathe for me, okay? Breathe, that’s it. As for the men that attacked you, they are most definitely facing charges. Two of them were recently captured, and all three got charged with attempted murder and aggravated assault. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Call the Phthian lawyers.”

Philomela startles, blinking. “What?”

“Call them, Mama.”

“No,” she growls. “What do you want to talk to them for?”

“I have to do something.”

“No, you don’t! You really don’t! You are barely up and functioning, and you want to-”

“Mama, either you are going to call them, or I am going to drag myself out of this room and find them myself!”

Philomela’s heart speeds up with her nerves. In all twenty-one of his years, she can count on both hands the number of times Patroclus has genuinely raised his voice in forceful opposition of her. When she narrows her eyes at him, trying to reassert her authority, he only glares back. She can tell his body hurts; he’s still healing from the cut in his back, and the pain meds still have him slightly off-kilter. She can also tell he means every word. Battle lost, she walks out of the room, reluctantly calling the number on the sharp business card left behind with roses she’d thrown in the trash. Once she’s done, she comes back in and falls into her chair with a huff.

“He did come to see you, by the way. That boy. Once they confirmed you were going to be safe, they took him.”

Patroclus sighs in relief. “Thank you for letting him see me.”

Philomela rolls her eyes, frowning. “Well. You wouldn’t have forgiven me if I didn’t. So what do you want to talk to these lawyers about, son?”

“A deal.”

“Of?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

He’s lying. He doesn’t want her to know, and she can tell. “Patroclus.”

“Yes?”

“Why him? Why not someone who doesn’t put you through things like this?”

“I keep telling you the accident was an accident. And he couldn’t have seen this coming, Mama. It’s not his fault.”

“I disagree, and even if he couldn’t, he knew you’d be going into an unsafe place by yourself, and he still didn’t choose your side!” Philomela exclaims. “So why?!” Why do you want to be with someone like that?

“Because I’m not going to let one stupid choice cancel out the sum of his love, Mama!” Patroclus cries. “I refuse to believe that if he genuinely thought I was going to be in danger that he would have let me go alone. Yes, he should have come with me. I shouldn’t have gone alone. I should have told someone- I don’t know! I don’t have an answer! But I still love him!”

“You both and your love- you both are so dumb, I just-” Philomela groans in aggravation, tossing her hands up in the air. She has no time to lay out her argument when there’s a knock at the door. Men in business suits enter, and Patroclus stiffens as Philomela rises.

“Y’all waste no time, do you?” she comments, sighing as she turns back to him. “I assume you want to speak to them alone, then.”

“Yes, please.”

An hour later, Philomela regrets that she’s been so softhearted over her child. After a quick summary and fervent thanks from the lawyers, she storms back into the room, frantic.

“You told them you would do what?”

The deal is simple and unprecedented as it is benevolent, stunning everyone from the onlookers to the judge himself.

Patroclus will drop all charges against Hector in exchange for them dropping all charges against Achilles.

Achilles collapsed into his chair in disbelief the first time his lawyers told him, Hector reacted much the same. Hector still has to testify at Paris and Euphorbus’ trials, who are charged with a list of crimes including fleeing a scene, aggravated assault, and attempted murder. Hector’s family lawyers are quick to take the deal, a blessing in comparison to the uphill battle they were preparing to fight due to the video footage.

The judge still felt the need to impose some sort of sentence upon the two men. As such, both are removed from their respective football teams, their names removed from all honors and awards, and are sentenced to 300 hours of community service within the next two years. They will still be allowed to attend classes, something both a blessing and a curse.

Hector was truly lucky, as his parents had hired a PR team to control as much damage as they could to his image. Between Andromache’s pregnancy and the way her stress had left her in the hospital, and the harrowing video of her screaming for mercy, it was easy to spin him as a sympathetic figure amongst the media, one that showed up to protect his brother. There were still mutters that this was negligible, that he still landed the killing blow on a man and was going to leave him to die. These were counteracted by a vicious tactic- the family officially turned its back on Paris, casting him as the lone instigator. It does not help when Helen, the central figure to the entire feud, finally speaks up on social media as to why she stayed by his side.

Euphorbus never stood a chance.

Achilles casts more of a controversial figure. Generally the football team still supports him, more from solidarity than empathy. Many people think that he should have been kicked out of school, still bitter over his departure from the team, claiming that it led to the entire incident. Others claim that he is protected by his privilege, that he is only there because of money and the mercy of a good man- and they are right.

Most people, while holding no respect for Achilles himself, respect the man that obtained his freedom. While a select few still hold resentment over Patroclus’ role in Achilles’ departure, no one can deny that he made a choice that almost no one else would. They nod their heads in respect at his name, but mutter amongst themselves when he’s gone about one particular detail.

The spot next to him is still empty.

Achilles cannot bring himself to look him in the eye, cannot bring himself to face the world under the weight of the guilt he feels. He is not sure how he used to do it, how he used to confidently walk under the gaze of hundreds that hated him and feel nothing. His self-belief and worth are shattered, the wounds raw and exposed, and so he hides.

The day of homecoming begins with Achilles wrapped up in a blanket, miserable. Peleus and Thetis are staying in a hotel in town after he demanded them to leave, promising that they’re only a phone call away. He knows how they must secretly feel. All the decisions he could have made in life, and he’s like this. He should be grateful he’s not in prison, he should be grateful he is allowed to keep going to school, and yet all he can feel is a constant, churning guilt that refuses to let him leave his townhouse or even his room.

It doesn’t help when the doorbell rings, and Achilles groans.

“Fuck off,” he mutters quietly, sniffling. “God, just go away.”

Even so, when he hears movement downstairs, he groans. His parents must be back, pushy as ever. Wrapping the blanket over himself, Achilles storms down the steps.

“I told you both not to come back, I don’t want help, I just want to d-” He freezes in his tracks, quailing when Patroclus squares his shoulders. Despite his proud stature, it is clear his body is still tired from the way he relies more heavily on his cane.

“Achilles-”

Achilles spins away, hiding his face. “Go home.”

“Is that really all you have to say to me?”

“Of course it’s not all I have to say!” he cries, shame hot in his ears. “But- I just- you don’t want to be around me right now.”

“I came over, why else would I be here?”

Because you’re a good man. No- the best of men. Because you think I deserve you when I don’t.

“Call me when you get home safely. Please. I’ll answer! Just… You shouldn’t be here.”

Patroclus’ face contorts, and he takes a couple steps back. Achilles flees to the stairs, hiding before Patroclus can see his devastation. He waits for the sound of the door to slam shut, for Patroclus to finally realize that he saved the life of a coward for nothing-

And instead he hears running water and the movement of plates. He makes his way back to the kitchen, scowling. Patroclus pointedly looks at the dishes, petulantly scowling as well.

“What are you doing?”

“The dishes.”

“I can see- why are you still here? I told you to leave!”

“Because I don’t have to do what you tell me to do.”

“You’re being childish.”

“No, you’re being an asshole.”

Achilles growls. “So I am, then! Why are you doing the dishes of an asshole?”

“Because I know he’s hurting even when he’s somehow still too proud to admit it. Now if you could go take a shower, I can include that blanket in some laundry because I have never seen you look so rough.”

Offended, Achilles marches over to where Patroclus washes the dishes and tries to take the dish towel from him without aggravating his injuries. Patroclus holds a palm to Achilles’ face, awkwardly keeping him away as he grimaces to hide the sting from his back. They do this strange dance for a few moments before Achilles finally breaks into tears with a pained shout.

“No! Enough! Why, Patroclus? You should be angry! I almost got you killed! You sacrificed justice for me, and I can’t even look you in the face! Why are you trying to take care of me when you should hate me?” It’s overwhelming, and Achilles crumbles to the ground, covering his eyes. “Fuck, this is so embarrassing, but I can’t-”

Patroclus turns the water off and looks underneath him, clearly gauging the least painful way to get down on the floor. Horrified, Achilles hastily rushes to the dining room to pull over a chair for him to sit more comfortably, and Patroclus’ lip sadly quirks to the side.

“Please look at me. If you don’t do anything else, look at me while you hear me out.”

He waits until Achilles wipes his face enough to raise his eyes.

“I was angry at you. But… right before I fell to the ground, I was scared. And even when I was unconscious, I felt this visceral sadness, this crushing heartbreak. You could have only felt that way if you loved me. True, a smarter man would think you deserved to suffer. But I don’t want you to feel that way.”

Patroclus sniffles, but he doesn’t waver.

“I was angry at you, but I love you so much more. I spent that whole day wishing I hadn’t yelled at you, that even though I was right, I had solved my upset a different way. Because if I’d died, that’s how it all would have ended. With us, yelling at each other. With you, broken. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if it had been the reverse. I know we’re going to get angry with each other in the future, we’re not always going to do things that make each other happy, but… I’m alive. I’m alive, and I want to spend the time I have loving you, rather than being resentful. Maybe we could… start over? Take it slow? But I don’t want to just give it all up.”

His voice is soft, and Achilles laughs miserably. “I want that. I want that so much, but… I don’t even know how I’m going to start making up for everything. I don’t know how I’m going to be worthy of your love, not after all of this.”

“I don’t think either of us needs to be ‘worthy’ of anything anymore… I think we just need to try… But if you want to start,” Patroclus offers, “you can go take a shower.”

Achilles scoffs, some of his old humor returning to him. “Love me in all my stink?”

“I can, but I’d rather not. Leave the blanket.”

It isn’t until Achilles is under the shower that he realizes he hasn’t bathed in three days. The water is refreshing, cleaning the grime, sweat, and tears from his skin. By the time he comes back down the stairs, he’s fresh and clean- and wrapped in another blanket. Patroclus huffs a laugh as Achilles wraps him in a gentle yet tight hug, all pretenses of toughness vanished.

“Your mother said that if I think this is how you show me love, by sacrifice, then I should let you go.”

Patroclus sighs. “Yeah. She’s… intense in her opinions, sometimes. I know.”

I see where your steadfastness comes from. “She’s absolutely right. I… I don’t want this to ever happen again. I’d rather die than see you hurt again. I don’t want you to have to do this for me.”

“Then respect the sacrifices I’ve already made.”

Achilles looks up to his unwavering eyes.  

“You know how much I’ve done to be here by your side. You know how much we mean to me. I can’t make you stay, Achilles, and we can even discuss having the mark reversed if you really want, but… it would break my heart if none of this was worth anything.”

The thought of rejecting the mark makes Achilles sick to his stomach, and he shakes his head. “No, I would never.”

“Okay. Then… Okay.” Patroclus pauses, unsure how to continue. “So… um… do you want to get something to eat?”

Achilles thinks it is concerning how quickly Patroclus wants to move on, especially since he feels like he could choke on his feelings at any moment. Philomela’s words from the night in the hospital return to him. He never really healed from the mental of it all, all to ‘go back to normal’, whatever society thinks that means.

“Do you think… maybe we should… go to counseling?” he gently posits.

“Counseling?” Patroclus startles. “Are you sure? Do you really want to?”

“I think it would help. Mom suggested a therapist to me, and while I kind of balled the card up and threw it away in front of her… it might not be a bad idea.” Sorry, Mom. I’ll make up for this.

“Well… okay. I can do that.”

Achilles smiles softly. “Okay,” he agrees. He moves closer to Patroclus, rubbing their noses together. “I can order some of your favorite grilled cheese. Though, they might not answer it if it’s my name on the order. I’ll pay, though.”

Patroclus snorts, grinning. “That sounds nice.”

After dinner, they cuddle under a comforter on the couch, an unfunny TV comedy playing in the background. They are half naked, pressed close for intimacy that it’s too soon for them to have more of. He presses his ear close to his chest, listening to his heart thrum inside. Patroclus’ back is still covered with bandages, but he has been told that it should be healed within a couple weeks.

Patroclus is only half paying attention, watching the football game from his phone. The decision was made to go forward with homecoming, as there had been too much invested from companies and fans that would be a devastating loss to everyone so close to the game. The tension was palpable, not that it mattered. Both teams have been disqualified from any playoff or bowl games for the rest of the season, so the victory will simply be symbolic. Patroclus had heard that Odysseus slipped a few new ideas into Agamemnon’s ear, and at this point it was clear the disgraced captain was willing to try anything.

Achilles is almost asleep when Patroclus starts to laugh.

“They won. They won! We won!”

Achilles rushes down the staircase, determined to find Patroclus in the crowd. His gown gleams black, his newly donned Masters hood glowing bright blue. Hordes of graduate students pass by him, none of them wearing the red Masters hood of Patroclus’ program.

It’s been three years since they nearly lost it all, and Achilles couldn’t be more grateful.

Things are different, now.

Patroclus had moved into his townhouse once everything calmed down, supporting and holding tight to one another as they tried to face the world. It was hard at first, dealing with the judgmental stares and the constant badgering for their business. However, they focused on themselves and their relationship, and soon the masses lost interest, more content to spread rumors and magnify the story into legend.

Achilles never managed to get back on the football field, not that he ever wanted to. Once he found stable footing in his classes again, he began attending a community ballet center, participating in programs that caught the eye of larger, bolder companies across the country with his skill. His newly found devotion to his schoolwork- first as a way to distract himself, but soon became a rekindled passion- was what led to the pursuit of the secondary degree. When he told his parents that he was interested in becoming a professional sports therapist, Thetis and Peleus could have cried, they were so relieved. Ajax, Automedon and Antilochus have already said that they’d call him if he started a small business; his training and healing regimens were always the most effective they’d had, even as they broke their way into the professional football world.

As for Patroclus, they are both excited to say that their future depends on hearing back from the numerous doctorate programs he’d applied for. Wherever it is he chooses to go, Achilles will follow. It is that simple. Over time, Philomela grew more tolerant of their relationship, and has even offered to help them look for homes. Menoetius was initially even less supportive than his ex-wife. However, once Patroclus had made it clear that it was accepting his love or never hearing from him again, his father had cracked, joining their small circle of support.

Odysseus welcomed a bouncing baby boy with Penelope, Telemachus, now grown into a rambunctious, intelligent toddler. He’d given up football altogether that year, choosing instead to focus on his education and family as well. Based off of social media and the constant baby pictures in their group chat, he’s amazingly happy.

They’d also learned from Odysseus- who learned through the grapevine- that Hector had moved back home to focus on his own family after Andromache’s difficult birth. Cassandra’s popular Tiktok was filled with snippets of ‘the most darling child to ever exist’, Astyanax, at their small horse farm in the country. By all accounts, they are also very happy. Achilles hopes he never sees any of them ever again.

“Achilles!”

Achilles turns, beaming when he sees Patroclus waving at him. The evening sunlight pours over him, his skin and locs gleaming burnished gold.

No, things aren’t perfect. They still struggle sometimes, with what happened, with each other. But they’re so much better than they were, and for that, Achilles is blessed. He rushes into Patroclus’ arms, pulling him down into a dramatic kiss accented by the oohs and cackles around them. When he lets Patroclus back up, he giggles. Philomela, who came to attend both graduations alongside a proud Thetis and Peleus, rolls her eyes as she secretly slips something into Achilles’ hand.

“Are you that happy to see me?”

“I am,” Achilles teases. “I figured I’d be greedy, sweep you off your feet twice in one day.”

Patroclus raises his brow. “Twice? Are you going to start doing it more often?”

Patroclus’ heart jolts in surprise, and he grips it as Achilles falls to one knee with a grin.

“I’d be happy to do it every day, if you’d let me.”