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The first time Patroclus sees him, it's on the football field. Patroclus taps his pen against his book and then pulls it between his lips, trying desperately to read up on Cardiovascular system before his practical that afternoon, and Briseis is sitting with a midwifery text book open, but getting no further ahead in it. She hasn't turned a page in a good half an hour. Empty cartons sit around them, coffee and take out from the cafeteria. Briseis tugs on the leg of his jeans, and Patroclus looks up, squinting through the Washington sunshine.
"And this," She says, "Is why we're here."
The footballers who had been running around shake hands, clap each other on the back and pull their helmets off. Patroclus had been aware that Briseis, who is most definitely his best friend out here, was only out by the field to get an eyeful. He just wasn't planning on getting an eyeful too.
Briseis makes a sound as though she's swooning, and then she laughs, leaning forward. Patroclus doesn't pay any of them too much attention. Until he sees that one.
He's slimmer than all the rest, leaner. He pulls off his helmet to reveal a crop of blonde curls, falling into his eyes as he grins at his team mates. The shoulder padding bulks him out, but once he's shucked all of that, including his shirt, Patroclus can see the line of his abs and his biceps, skin golden in the sun. He's gorgeous.
"Oh my god, shut your mouth." Briseis sounds oddly far away. "I think you're drooling."
Patroclus snaps his mouth shut, but only because the footballer looks his way. Their eyes meet across the space that separates them and the footballer's grin fades away, to nothing but a curious stare. And then he's being tugged away by his team mates, and Briseis is telling Patroclus that he has a class, and they both leave, moving away from each other, no matter how much Patroclus wants to go back.
~*~
He sees him not two days later, at the waffle station.
The waffle station is a little underused. For the majority of his freshman year, Patroclus had been the only one even remotely interested in it. Briseis was allergic to eggs, so she couldn't eat waffles, and apparently, no one else bothered with them. Patroclus didn't really know anyone else. That was probably a bad thing.
But when he goes to get his waffles, he stops dead. No, he wasn't expecting to see someone in his spot, shovelling waffles and whipped cream and strawberries onto his plate. He can’t see who it is, not from this angle, but he can see the thick, cable knit sweater, slightly odd for the still somewhat-high temperatures of September. Never mind. Patroclus is captivated by the way it keeps slipping down over his shoulder, exposing soft, sun-kissed. His curls are lighter, bouncier now that they've not been stuck under a helmet for a while. His skinny jeans are downright sinful.
Patroclus realises he's reached the waffle station faster than he meant to, and now he's stood, awkwardly, staring. God damn it.
"Ah, sorry- am I in your way? Here, here," The kid - he must be a kid, he looks so young - says, shifting, and Patroclus shakes his head, turning his tray in his hand and then setting it down so he can grab a plate.
"No, no," He assures him, offering him a smile. "You're good."
The kid nods, beaming, and Patroclus smiles softly to himself. It takes a moment, a single beat before he looks up, head tilting. Patroclus meets those bright green eyes, more captivating than any he has seen before, and he thinks he might stop breathing for a moment. He notices a hesitation in the other too, the way his lips fall open but he doesn't quite say anything yet. But that doesn't mean anything, of course it doesn't, no way-
"You were in the stands the other day, right?" He asks, blonde curls falling across his forehead as he smiles. "I'm sure I saw you."
"Yeah," Patroclus nods. "Yeah, I was. Yeah. My friend, Briseis, she likes to go out there when we're free. She likes the sunshine."
He nods, and then, over their waffles, his holds a hand out. "Well, I'm Achilles." he says, and he smiles. When Patroclus takes his hand to shake it he notes just how soft it is, how smooth the skin is against his own. He drops his hand to his side, hoping to god his palms aren't actually as clammy as he thinks they are.
"Patroclus." He answers, giving a nod, and Achilles smiles just a little bit wider.
"It's nice to meet you." He nods, before there's a chorus of "Pelides!" from behind him, a few of the footballers from the other day stood up and waving at him, beckoning him over. Achilles face falls marginally, but he smiles at Patroclus, just as Pat says, "The pleasure's all mine."
Now that gets Achilles to beam, and he takes a step back, tray in both hands. "I'll see you around, Patroclus."
He pronounces it so carefully and so clearly, each syllable ringing out, that it floors the medical student for a second. "See ya." Patroclus murmurs, as Achilles turns and crosses the cafeteria to get to his table of friends.
And really, it all starts right there.
~*~
A month passes, and Patroclus finds himself slowly getting closer and closer to Achilles. It starts as nothing; he sees Achilles at the waffle station every morning, without fail, even when, in the early days, he goes out of his way to avoid him. He learns that Achilles has no genuine style to speak of; one day he comes in wearing that over-sized sweater, the next he's wearing a denim shirt, the day after he's wearing a leather jacket and a white v-neck. He seems to dress as the mood takes him, and Patroclus really doesn't mind that.
From the waffle station, things progress. He sees Achilles in the Starbucks on campus, and on the first occasion he's about to pretend he hasn't seen him when Achilles waves him over, grinning widely.
"Fancy seeing you here, Pat." He says, a grin on his lips as he sips his coffee. It smells nutty, Patroclus notices, but that's a secondary observation when it comes to Achilles little nickname. Weird, how no one has ever shortened his name to that before. Not that he minds. He's glad that Achilles is the first.
"Mm," He hums around his first gulp of his Americano, taking the seat opposite him. "Funny seeing you in the only coffee shop on campus."
Sarcasm rings in his tone, and Achilles grins, head shaking. "This university has 15,000 undergrads alone. Not counting post grads, and professors. And you could have come here any time, and I could have come here any time, and yet- here we are."
Patroclus thinks about that for a moment, chews it over. Achilles' fair eyebrows are raised, and Patroclus sets his coffee down. "Here we are." He echoes, and Achilles grins back at him, smile bright like the Sun.
It's no wonder people gravitate towards him.
~*~
When Patroclus is sat down on one of the cast iron benches on campus, coat thrown down over the metal to stop rain soaking into his jeans, he looks up to see Achilles as he flops down beside him. Warmth radiates off the slender body at his side, and he can hear Achilles' breathing, soft as he rummages through his bag. Their legs brush, and Patroclus suppresses a shiver. From there, it's hard to focus on the Musculoskeletal system.
He can see them hovering at a table, not too far away. Achilles' entourage. The gaggle of boys that seem to be constantly on his tail, for reasons unbeknownst to Patroclus. The man himself, the one they all want, looks down at his Ancient Greek text book and flips through it thoughtfully.
"They're waiting for you." Patroclus says, nodding to them, by way of greeting.
Achilles looks up, observes them, and then looks to Patroclus. If Patroclus were to think he was lucky, he would think that Achilles gaze says more than his words do. There's something in it, deep but soft, like he's looking at Patroclus with a smile in those green irises. "Well I don't want any of them."
And then he goes back to looking at his book, his shoulder pressed to Patroclus', and Patroclus has to hold back a smile as he settles back into his work, the two of them sitting in comfortable silence.
~*~
He knows he's crushing bad when he finds himself daydreaming about Achilles. He thinks about that crop of golden curls that always seem to be made of the real thing when the sun hits them. He thinks of the odd way he dresses when he’s out of football practise, a mismatch of clothes born from a lack of desire to wear the clothes his mother sense him, and more money than sense to be spent in thrift store, and he thinks of what it would be like to pull the soft knit over his hair, watch his curls bounce as he tosses it aside, and then kiss his way down that soft, golden skin, a dream that perhaps will never come true.
He has other thoughts, too. He sees Achilles playing with a pen, flexing longer fingers, and he wonders what those fingers would feel like wrapped around him, and--
And he stops there with those thoughts. He feels wrong, thinking like that, when Achilles looks up at him and grins, bright green eyes alight and sparkling.
Briseis acknowledges it one day. His crush. They’re on their way to their respective lectures. She's giving a presentation today; she's got a memory stick with her power point on it, and four different models of babies in wombs with vaginas attached in her arms. They don't bother Patroclus, but the two of them get some fucking weird looks off everyone else.
Briseis might be acknowledging it, but Patroclus won’t. Not out loud, anyway. In his head he’s well aware of the fact that he’s in far too deep, but he won’t say it out loud, not yet. Not to anyone, not even her.
"You're pulling my leg." He declares, walking up the steps and into the large, white stone building, as she attempts to convince him that Achilles has a crush on him too; “definitely, totally”.
"Am not." Briseis retorts, sounding rather like a child. She does always get giddy when it comes to stuff like this. When she speaks, it's in a rush. "He looks at you like you hung the moon and he's always smiling and toeing the ground and-"
"This my lecture room, Brie." Patroclus says, glad for the distraction. Other students are filing in, and Patroclus wants to get a good seat. He also wants to get out of this god damn conversation. "See you for lunch."
Briseis gives an exasperated sigh, and continues on into the building. Patroclus goes and takes a seat in the theatre, one with a good view of the projection on the wall and the lecturer as he speaks. But then he start thinking about Achilles, and that look he sometimes gives him, soft and secretive, he manages to get just a little bit distracted.
~*~
The first time he kisses Achilles it’s late evening, and he’s studying.
Or rather, he’s attempting to study. He’s way behind on their latest unit, affectionately nicknamed “Bedside Manner 101”, which is less to do with medicine and more to do with handling patients. And yes, he appreciates that it’s vital, but no, it’s not as interesting as the cardiac cycle or the skeletal system. And honestly? Patroclus isn’t particularly good at studying thing he doesn’t think are interesting. He hits a wall. But what really doesn’t help is the cacophony of pots and pans clanking together from the communal kitchen in the corner.
Patroclus would be mad. Well and truly livid. But then he sees that crop of wild blonde curls, pronounced cheek bones and golden skin, and he deflates in an instant. He carries on anyway, going into the kitchen to lean against the counter with decidedly less energy than before.
"What are you doing?" He asks, and Achilles gives him a wide grin. It should be illegal for someone to be this cheery when there were tests to do, studying to get to. Misery seemed pretty commonplace around finals.
"Making brownies." Achilles answers with ease, and when Patroclus raises his eyebrows, he simply holds out the wooden spoon he was using. "Here. Cheer up, Pat."
Patroclus pauses, and takes the spoon. He can get some sleep later, he'll just skip breakfast.
Achilles pours the batter into the pan, and then shoves said pan in the oven, setting a timer on his phone. Patroclus finishes licking the front of the spoon, and he holds it out to Achilles, offering him the back. He gets that same blinding smile (the smile, he has noticed, Achilles doesn't seem to use with other people), and then Achilles takes the spoon.
He licks for a little while, Patroclus averting his gaze because he's not sure he can handle the view of Achilles' tongue lapping at it over and over, and when he pulls it away from his mouth, Patroclus notices the smudge of chocolate just above his lip. "Ah, here," He murmurs, pushing off the counter and cupping Achilles' cheek with his hand, and wiping the smudge away with the pad of his thumb. It's only once he's done it, his hand pressed to Achilles' cheek still, that he realises what he's done. It's the closest they've gotten to anything more than friendship; yeah, they spend a lot of time leaning on each other, and yeah, they shared a bed once, but it was always platonic. But this...
Well this doesn't feel platonic at all. Achilles is looking at him with wide green eyes and nope, definitely not platonic. The blush that warms the pal of his hand where it connects with Achilles' cheek doesn't feel platonic. None of it does.
So what else can Patroclus do but lean down and kiss him?
There's a horrible, gut wrenching bout of unresponsiveness from Achilles, and Patroclus is almost about to pull away when Achilles surges forward, arms wrapping around his neck and lips moving under his. Patroclus' lips part in a soft moan, and Achilles takes that as an opportunity to tangle their tongues, to tug his lower lip in between his teeth. Patroclus lifts his free hand to Achilles' neck and draws him in close, closer and closer until they have to pull back, gasping for air.
Achilles presses his forehead to Patroclus', and it feels nice. They're sharing the same space, the same air. Achilles' nose nudges his, and Patroclus smiles.
"I've wanted to do that for a while now." Achilles murmurs.
Patroclus exhales in a gust. "Yeah. Yeah, me too."
Achilles' eyes are still closed, arms around his neck as he says, "Perhaps we should do it more often?"
And that's all it takes for Patroclus to kiss him, again and again and again.
~*~
And that's sort of the story of how they become boyfriends.
It's not quite as simple as that, but it's close enough. They spend a few days holed up in Achilles' room, because he has a single whilst Patroclus is sharing and it's a hell of a lot better for cuddling and kissing and casual petting. They don't tell anyone, they don't act on it in public any more than they already do (which turns out to be a lot, funnily enough), and then after a week, Achilles grabs Patroclus' hand as they leave their dorm building in the morning, and that's pretty much the end of it.
Patroclus watches from the bleachers with Briseis as Achilles runs around the football pitch. He's still all lean and lithe and agile, but it's hard to match this guy to the guy in the cable knit sweaters or Aztec print t-shirts that Patroclus sees so often. Achilles has a dumb sense of style, he realises.
He pretends not to be watching, pretends to be colour coding his notes, but Briseis punches his leg.
"You're staring again." She says, and Patroclus shrugs his shoulders.
"Does it matter?" He asks, though there's a blush rising to his cheeks. "I'm allowed to, now."
Briseis raises her eyebrows, and goes back to flicking through her text book.
But it's at the end of practice where Achilles totally proves Patroclus right. If a little more publicly than he would like. Achilles tugs his helmet off and leaves it down by the bottom bleachers, and then jogs up the stairs towards him. Patroclus can see the thin sheen of sweat on his face from the game, and he can see just how bright his eyes are as they meet his, his smile growing wider and wider. Patroclus has no idea what's about to happen until Achilles grabs his face with two broad hands and kisses him.
Patroclus is stunned for a moment, unable to move or respond for a beat, and then he's pushing back against Achilles lips and humming softly. He could lose himself here, in the feel of Achilles' lips on his own, the taste of them, the smell of him. They break away to yells and cheers and all sorts of noises from the football field, and Patroclus can feel Briseis' eyes boring holes in the side of his skull, but god, he doesn't care. Not in the slightest.
Achilles pulls away grinning, and murmurs an, "I'll see you later." as he hops down the stairs, running back to the changing rooms with everyone else. Patroclus stares after him, dumbfounded and grinning like an idiot, until Briseis punches him in the leg.
"I need to get me a one of those." She mutters, over a rather graphic image of complete cervical dilation. Patroclus just shakes his head, getting back to his work and trying not to think about Achilles too much.
~*~
He's heard people on the football team talk about it; the wrath of Achilles. A few of them went to high school with him, and thus they know him better than Patroclus does, and he's heard them talk about how moody he can be, how angry and annoying he can become.
Patroclus doesn't believe them. Achilles is the very definition of soft and sweet, and though there's power beneath his golden skin he's all lean muscle, soft curls and gentle eyes. Patroclus just doesn't believe that anyone who wears thrift store clothes and has the general appearance of a fawn could have their very own, and very infamous, wrath.
But then he sees it, just after Christmas. According to Menelaus, one of the Freshmen in high school with Achilles, it was unavoidable. That still doesn't stop Patroclus from almost developing a stress ulcer on the spot.
Achilles has Hector up against the wall, when Patroclus sees them. Hector, of course, being a Sophomore, and at least three times bigger than Achilles. But to be fair, Achilles is holding his own, even as Hector thrashes and punches and kicks. There are two people trying to hold Achilles back, and another trying to get in his way, and Patroclus pushes through the crowd just in time for Achilles to be pulled away by Odysseus.
"Get him out of here," Odysseus spits, and Patroclus nods. He's a little worried to see Achilles smiling as he drags him away, but he's looking right at Hector, lips pulled up at the edges and bloody teeth bared.
They walk back to their dorm in silence. It's technically just Achilles', still, because room changes can't be made until the beginning of next semester, but Patroclus practically lives there anyways. He sits Achilles down, and he gets to work.
He's in the second year of his medical degree, which means, at that point in time, he's not qualified enough to be a doctor, but enough to do this. He swabs all of Achilles cuts down, the one above his eyebrow being the only one, in fairness, save for the cuts that litter his knuckles. They continue their silence, until eventually, Patroclus asks, "Why?"
Achilles looks up at him, green eyes meeting brown, and he shrugs his shoulders. "Hector's been bullying some of the juniors. Agamemnon, Ajax- I stepped in."
"Hector's a senior. You shouldn't have." Patroclus murmurs. He wants to sound scolding, but he knows that he really doesn't.
Achilles just arches an eyebrow, looking down as Patroclus swabs his knuckles clean. He doesn't even flinch, and Patroclus wonders whether it just doesn't hurt him or if he's just not reacting to it. He hands Achilles hands in his when he's done.
"Someone had to." Achilles answers. "At the start of the semester, everyone thought I would fight him. But what had Hector ever done to me? I wasn't going to fight him over nothing. And then he picked on Agamemnon, and I stepped in. Are you telling me you wouldn't have done the same?"
"I wouldn't have." Patroclus said, head shaking.
Achilles' lips pursed. "I think that you would." He argues. "For the right person."
"You mean for you." Patroclus assumes, and Achilles lips turn up in a smile. "I do."
Patroclus nods. "For you," he answers, "I'd give it a fair shot."
And no, it's not a nice thought, but Achilles smiles at him with those shining green eyes and pink lips stretched up in a smile and Patroclus stops caring, at least for a little while.
~*~
They lie on Achilles bed, entwined. It's a nice feeling, tangled lambs and Achilles' head on his chest, the steady thump thump thump of Achilles' heart against his body. Patroclus runs his fingers through thick blonde curls, and he hears the boy they belong to hum in contentment. Achilles looks up, resting his chin on Patroclus' chest. It's a funny angle, but he doesn't seem to mind. He meets Patroclus' honey brown gaze, and he smiles.
"There's a word for you, you know."
Patroclus arches his eyebrows. His hands settle on Achilles' back, palms pressed to the thin Aztec print t-shirt that Pat has come to adore.
"What do you mean?"
"In class." Achilles says. He's studying Greek Classics, has been reading the Odyssey for weeks, studying the language. Patroclus doesn't know much about it, being a medical student, but he's interested because Achilles' is. There's always a certain light to his eyes when he talks about it. "There's a word for you. Found it in one of our books. Philtatos. It means beloved. That's you."
Patroclus lips twitch into a small smile. They haven't said that yet - they haven't said I love you, three words that are easy on paper but so hard to say out loud. This is as close as they have come to them.
"Stay with me." Achilles murmurs, his eyes soft, looking at Patroclus as if he hung the moon himself. He would have, for Achilles, if the universe hadn't beaten him to it. "Swear you will."
Patroclus nods, his hands sliding across Achilles back as he pulls him closer. He pulls him up, so that their lips can hover over one another. When he speaks, he feels his lips brush Achilles. "I swear. I'll stay with you, always."
It feels like a better promise than I love you.