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But Achilles must go on to battle and Patroclus must too. He trembles at facing such danger for the first time. He twists his tender curls in his own hands; is it fucked, he thinks, how the end may come tomorrow?
But here at the end of the world, as blades clink and clang outside, Achilles lies at his side. Telling an improvised shadow-theater story with his hands (oh, he’s good with his hands), backlit by candlelight, laughing so hard he can’t finish his jokes. Patroclus can’t help but laugh too.
But for a minute he forgets they’re at war.