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Achilles is fighting again. If he had to take a hot minute to think about it, he’d probably find himself disappointed in his own behavior. Because he’s been trying so fucking hard to behave.
But the adrenaline of the fight, the rush of blood in his veins and the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears - that seems to sing ‘fight, fight, fight’ with each new impulse - muffle all self-conscious thoughts. Thinking resumes in choosing where to hit, to damage and keep the fight going because it feels so fucking good. Fighting, beating, blood and screams are therapeutic.
He’s like a junkie that relapsed, he knows, but he couldn’t help it. In the rush of violence and its morbid familiarity, Achilles fucking shines so bright he has to ask himself why does he try so hard to keep away from fights. The sound of his knuckles against the bones of Paris’s face feels like a gospel to his ears.
He wants to rip the other one apart, and maybe it’s a disproportionate reaction for the offense he said, but it would make the blond man feel so much better. Something to brighten the late afternoon.
Paris whines on the ground, Achilles’s knees pressed on his forearms to immobilize him and get easier access to the bitch’s punchable face. The son of Peleus is not an idiot, he knows he already won, he’s being sadistic. He doesn’t want to stop, he wants to stay in the comfort of the violent trance he put himself into.
“Achilles !” A voice rows, shredding the fog of Achilles’s conscience. A british accent that years on the new continent couldn’t wash off, a quiet and firm voice Achilles would know in the madness of hell.
He lifts his gaze away from Paris’s bloody face, catching sight of Patroclus. The man stands within the crowd of people watching Paris’s martyr, because entertainment is more fulfilling than empathy. In all his tall dark beauty, tired eyes and gentle features, paint on his clothes he looks back at Achilles like he’s a pain in the ass.
“Patroclus !” Achilles practically sings the name, making it roll on his tongue with reverence. There is this bubbly feeling inside him, something sweet and simultaneously overwhelming, that makes him feel giggly. Happy. Patroclus does that to him, he fills Achilles’s heart with love so great his anger is forced to fuck off and give up its place to happiness.
Patroclus is the reason why, why he holds back. No amount of bloodshed and perverted victory can compare to a smile from his Patroclus.
In barely enough time for someone to blink, Achilles is standing, leaving Paris on the floor half-conscious. His hands - bloodied from Paris’s nosebleed and his own opened knuckles - raised before him, Achilles walks to the other half of him and cups his cheeks with adoration. He doesn’t like the sight of blood on Patroclus’s skin but the feeling of his warmth under his fingers is too good to not touch.
“You bloody imbecile.” Patroclus groans, pulling on Achilles’s long blond locks. It’s mean, it almost hurts but Achilles can’t help but smile. “You’re a real psycho, you know that ?”
“He deserved it.” Achilles answers calmly, trying to catch his lover's lips despite the hold on his hair. His efforts are useless, and at that moment he loathes that Patroclus is taller than him.
“What could Paris, fuckin’ pretty boy Paris, do to anger you that much ? ’Thought only Mister Agamemnon could get that kind of reaction out of you.” Agamemnon being their old high school principal who sexually harassed one of Patroclus’s friends and tried to do the same with Achilles’s boyfriend. Let's just say, Mister Agamemnon didn’t break his jaw in prison.
“He called you slurs.” Achilles hisses, just thinking about it makes him want to turn back and break the bastard’s teeth out. Patroclus pulls harder, don’t you fuckin’ dare he seems to wordlessly command. It’s unfair. “He tried to get me to give him Helen’s number and when I nicely told him I’d rather hold the sky on my back and let it crush me rather than talking to him, he turned into an asshole so I punched him.”
He got carried away afterwards.
“Hm.” Patroclus inhales sharply. “You know that’s not going to get you out of trouble right ?”
“I don’t care.” Achilles answers deadpan, he’d kill a man for Patroclus. He’s fucked up like that. “He was being homophobic, called you a slut and a whore, then he…” He brushes his lover’s brown skin with his thumb, trying really hard not to think about what he heard. “Someone had to shut him up.”
“We should call your dad.” Patroclus sighs, seizing Achilles’s wrist and gently pulling his hands away. “And clean you up before Hector shows up.”
Hector is the captain of the uni’s football team and Achilles’s teammate, and an overprotective brother that wouldn’t hesitate to jump at Achilles’s throat before asking questions if he sees his brother covered in his own blood.
Not that the blond thinks Hector'd be able to win, but clearly Patroclus, gentle Patroclus, had his dose of violence for the day.
“Okay.” Achilles says sweetly, intertwining their fingers and following Patroclus away from the dumbfounded crowd who just witnessed a beast get teamed and leashed in record time. Achilles couldn’t care less or understand their surprise, the worst of the devils would repent for their sins if they ever get blessed by the touch of Patroclus gentle, carrying, hands.
He smiles, savoring his luck.
*
Patroclus’s shoulders are relaxing, they’ve been tense all evening. That’s something Achilles feels truly guilty about, the stress his impulsivities cause to his half. His darling lover has the bad habit to take care of the consequences of Achilles’s actions and stress over it till he gets his blond out of trouble. It’s not something Achilles likes, that’s one of the reasons he tries so hard to be good for Patroclus.
He knows it’s weird, they’re weird and so is their relationship. It’s strange in many ways. They’ve been in love for a long time, in love in a lot of ways, and they never really put a label on it but they’ve talked about their wedding plans every summer since they’re thirteen. They’re twenty now, one’s an art student and the other is a marketing major and is technically supposed to become CEO of his father’ company. They want to get married this summer.
But that’s not the weirdest part, Achilles knows. The weird part is how unconditionally they love each other. And he’s not saying ‘unconditional’ as in ‘I love him so much I’d forgive him if he cheated’. No, it’s more of ‘I could become a demon, a monster, for him, and he’d still hold me as if I was glass’ kind of unconditional. Achilles could set the world on fire for no reason but an offended pride, Patroclus would forgive him without needing an apology. Achilles would give one anyway.
“I’m sorry.” He words, crawling in his bed when Patroclus finally hangs up the phone for the first time tonight and sits on the mattress. Achilles wraps delicate, muscular, deadly, arms around the brunette’ broad shoulders, snuggling his cheek in between his shoulder-blades.
“There is nothing to forgive, my love.” Patroclus assures, sounding exhausted. He squeezes the forearm resting on his collarbone, a comforting gesture. “Peleus is handling this, his lawyer already got witnesses' statements and all. This shouldn't get to court, the Priamide have too much to lose in the scandal.”
Patroclus is technically broke, he was sent to America with barely any money for the flight, his father completely giving him up after the death of his mother and a bad accident between Patroclus and an unnamed boy. But he is so used to deal with Achilles’s money, the world of the wealthy has no secret for him.
“I’m still sorry I worried you.” Achilles exhales, he’s far too lucky. Patroclus is so efficient, so good, so perfect. “I love you. So much.”
“Oh Achilles.” Patroclus chuckles, turning around with mild-difficulty because of Achilles’ arms. He pushes the blond down on the mattress, spreading him over the sheets. Achilles sighs with content when his lover indulges him with a kiss. Slow, overly loving, just like he likes them. “What’s a little trouble for your pretty eyes ?”
Achilles wants to answer, even if the question is rhetorical, but he is shut down by a mouthed kiss. “Nothing.” Patroclus answers for him. “It’s nothing because I love you and all the trouble you bring with you.”
“I don’t deserve you.” The shorter man whispers, caressing his half’s cheekbones. His hands are clean, bloodless, and bandaged thanks to Patroclus.
This one chuckles again, rubbing their noses together and running hand under Achilles’s shirt. “Maybe.” He admits, because they both know Achilles is a lot. “But I still feel blessed to have you.”
“You have me.” Achilles promises, trusting his truth. Another pleased sigh escapes him as Patroclus mouths at his neck and caresses his thighs. “You’ll always have me.”
“I know.” He whispers against the blond’s jaw. “And you’ll have me.”
There are so many ways to say love, Achilles learned them all. There is love in the way Patroclus rolls them over, holding Achilles against him into a warm hug. And there is love in the way Achilles breaths him in like he’s a drug and a medicine. And there is love in the quiet of the dorm, with their respirations for only sounds.
“Marry me.” Achilles asks after a while, breaking the silence. He feels a smile in his neck.
“I think I already asked you a month ago.” Patroclus comments against his skin, sucking a hickey there.
“Yes, but I’m the one that answered.” He counters, moving his neck over, so slightly, to give Patroclus more places to mark. “It’s your turn.”
Patroclus bites at his jaw playfully, humming as he fakes thinking about it. “I don’t know, marriage is a big thing and at twenty we might not be ready.” He starts, repeating the exact same words Achilles’ s mother told them a month ago. The blond kicks him in the ribs, not liking the jab. “Yes ! Fine, I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you a thousand time and more.”
Achilles catches the back of his hair and brings his face back to his. He steals a kiss, then another and he’s gifted the rest. He keens as Patroclus’s tongue meets his, and he’s already melting when they pull apart.
“Good, fantastic.” Achilles approves, his hands sliding to the edge of his fiancé’s shirt. “Now, take off my pants, would you beloved ?”
“Yes, of course.” Patroclus answers, his hands already at work. “But stay quiet, we’re already in enough trouble, I don’t need to deal with angry sleep deprived college students.”
Achilles will have to apologize again for the stress he causes, but the trouble is just too good there is not point in fighting it.