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“... Always the stubbornness, well, fine, have it your way…!”
Zagreus has barely set foot into the chamber, but even from here he can see Achilles’ flinch. His body stiffens as Zagreus trips over a pot, shattering the ceramic into pieces and a few sharper shards he has to tiptoe around. Well, there goes being quiet. Still, he hesitates at the corner, slightly anxious for the newly reunited warriors to already be arguing.
“Stranger,” Patroclus sighs, a monotone voice conveying no surprise at the intrusion. In respect to abandoning all hope of stealth, he dashes over the Lethe, skipping the stairs entirely.
“Sirs,” he greets, receiving a tight nod from Achilles and a tilt of the head from Patroclus. Achilles stares straight ahead as if he were back on the House, on-duty guarding. Zagreus can’t help but gaze an extra few seconds at him, waiting for something . Words. Acknowledgment. A nod.
He only seems to grip his spear tighter.
“What’ll it be this time, Prince?”
Zagreus looks back over at Patroclus. Blinks.
“A kiss– if you don’t mind.” He sees the edges of Pat’s mouth twitch upward. “Of Styx, I mean...” he hurriedly adds.
“Oh, of course,” Pat drawls, pulling out the small, familiar gray vial from the depths of his robes. “Good luck.” His fingers brush against Zagreus as he hands it to him, and Zagreus swears he sees Patroclus glance sharply at Achilles.
“Thank you.”
Achilles finally looks at him, expression softened so barely Zagreus can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s sure it’s blatantly obvious; he doesn’t care.
“Take care, lad.”
It’s obvious they don’t want to chat, and that’s fine with Zagreus. Still, he can’t help but wish to linger; to bask in their protective aura just a little bit longer, maybe get Achilles to do that low, airy chuckle.
“You as well,” he says instead, clutching the vial of Styx so tightly he hopes they don’t notice; he casts them both one more glance and a smile and then he’s gone– swigging the vial back into his mouth while he dashes into the next chamber.
“What– so you’re not even going to say anything? You–” Patroclus’s voice falls silent as the door closes behind him. He exhales. Tightens his grip on Coronacht.
*
Zagreus steps out of the Styx, shaking his limbs similar to that of how a wet Cerberus does. Hypnos is gone and Orpheus’s voice fills the House– his Father’s desk sits desolate.
When he glances over the pillar to the West Hall he’s surprised to see Achilles already back at his post– situated in the familiar stance with one hand on his spear. He tips his head in acknowledgment to Zagreus.
“Sir!” He dashes over to Achilles instead of walking. “Back already?” He asks, thinking back on the snippet of conversation he overheard. “How has the, er, adjustment been, with Elysium?”
With Elysium, he says. The way Achilles huffs at that, Zag knows they’re both aware they’re not talking about eternal paradise.
“Aye, I left shortly after you.” Achilles tilts his head, pausing. Gives a small, melancholic smile. “Rare enough, but I believe I can tell what you’re thinking. Don’t worry about us, lad. You’ve already done more than enough.”
Zagreus looks down at his feet, embarrassed he was caught so easily. Still, something compels him to continue.
“You two deserve happiness,” is what he finally says, meeting Achilles’ eyes. “I know it. I know it just as I know I’m going to find a way to bring Mother home. The two of you– more than anything, I want you to be at peace.”
Achilles says nothing for a moment, some indiscernible look in his eyes that Zagreus would give all the gems in the Underworld to understand.
“Lad,” he says startlingly fiercely. “You–”
Zagreus waits for him to finish, but instead, Achilles simply sighs and lays out a hand on his shoulder. Zagreus leans forward without thinking. His thumb brushes against Zag’s skin, just close enough to his neck that he has to suppress a shiver.
“You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, and it’s something I greatly admire. It doesn’t always come naturally for me, or Patroclus, for that matter. We’re–” he exhales sharply, looking around. “I know I just got back, but seeing as I’m early, would you mind joining me in the lounge? I’d… rather talk there.”
“Sure, yes, that’d be lovely.”
Achilles’ hand drops from his shoulder as he starts to lead Zagreus to the lounge. He misses its weight.
The place is as close to barren as it gets with just the head chef and broker to accompany them. Even Dusa’s gone, having fluttered up to the rafters soon after Zagreus’ arrival.
“Patroclus and I– we’ve changed, in death. I used to be far... well– wild, I guess. Confident. Arrogant. Horribly rude, at times. It’s how most men were. Every one of them but Patroclus. And yet, he still loved me.”
“He was– Gods, I can’t believe I’m–” he sighs. Raises his eyes to meet Zagreus’.
“Lad. I need you to know: this is not your issue. It is in no way your fault, and you have no obligation to fix any sort of problem you find here. Do you understand this?” His voice is clear and patient, and Zagreus almost feels like he’s back in training. Nonetheless, he nods.
“Yes. I know that, Sir,” Zagreus reassures. He thinks their eye contact must start feeling awkward by now, but it’s not. He can feel Achilles’ robes brush against his legs under the table.
“Good,” Achilles sighs. “Alright. Well… In life, Patroclus was the gentlest person I knew. Even when he was forced to battle–” his voice cracks. “Even then. He was a healer. He knew where to hit.”
Zagreus thinks of Patroclus. He can’t imagine him fighting, he’s never seen Pat do anything more than shift in place or put a hand on Achilles’ shoulder. Though, Patroclus being gentle… he thinks of his slightly translucent fingers would brush Zagreus’ palm when handing over the gifted item, how soft his hands seemed to be; and how Zagreus wished to feel it further.
“He was quiet. Not like now, I think. Now he has this sharp tone– an edge to him almost. You caught part of our conversation earlier, didn’t you? It was never like that before,” Achilles says, sounding a bit helpless. “And the sarcasm! I don’t– that’s also very new. I’m not quite sure how to deal with it.”
“I could be more sarcastic if you’d like practice?” Zagreus offers, thinking of Skelly. He could pick up a few of his quirks, surely? Achilles stares at him for a second, and laughs. All thoughts of Skelly fall far away as Achilles’ previous rough and raw voice turns melodic and airy.
“I appreciate the thought, lad, but no. I– Gods,” he drains the last of his drink, “I don’t mean to talk terribly of him, Zagreus, please know that. I love him. With all my soul. And I’ve changed as well, it’s not just him. I know he expected me to be still– I don’t know. Confident. Loud. I don’t know.”
Zagreus wants nothing more than to comfort him, to reach out with a reassuring hand and soothe him. Instead, he says, “Well, maybe you’d know if you talked to him about it?”
Achilles looks away, staring at the wall. He snorts. “I suppose that’d be the smart choice, hmm?”
“That’s exactly what you told me to do about Thanatos and Meg,” he points out. “I don’t know… a mentor who can’t follow his own advice? Sounds suspicious to me, Sir–”
Achilles is laughing before Zagreus can even finish, eyes crinkled shut as he leans back on the stool.
“You’re good at that,” Achilles notes, laughter echoing down to a simple grin. He’s looking Zagreus in the eyes again.
Zagreus blinks. Had he missed something? “At what?”
“Making me laugh. Even in times of despair.”
He can feel his face heating up. He hadn’t realized how close he and Achilles are sitting together, knees routinely bumping under the table. Achilles’ foot knocks against his.
“Oh– thanks, Sir. I’d say it runs in the family, but well, you know…”
“Yes, I know,” Achilles says, and Zagreus swears he winks. And Patroclus complains of him being too timid? Surely there was a misunderstanding.
Achilles stands, spinning his spear that he’d set against the table. Brushes one hand down his robes as if to dust himself off. “Well, lad, I do believe it’s time I return to my post. Don’t worry over us, promise?”
“Would you be angry if I talked to Patroclus about this?” Zagreus asks instead.
“No,” he says honestly, “but it’s not necessary. Now, you get going as well before your Father finds you with this contraband. I’ll speak with you later.”
*
Patroclus is sitting down this time, one leg bent at the knee and the other straight out. Zagreus can see his eyes open when the chamber door closes behind him, and his heart skips a beat as he dashes over.
“Mm, how fares this attempt, stranger?”
“It’s alright. Flamewheels got me in the last room, though, so I think
I’ll be taking that Hydralite.”
Patroclus starts rustling around the fabric of his clothes, searching for the item as if he hasn’t given it to Zagreus at least one hundred times before. He hasn’t consumed it yet, but just the excuse to look at Patroclus’ thighs already has Zagreus feeling better.
“You look like you need it,” Patroclus says, finally lifting an arm to hand the tankard over.
Their fingers touch as he takes the item. He thinks of–
“Achilles told me you used to be a healer?”
Patroclus blinks, looking taken-back. His hand falls back to his side.
“Of sorts. Nothing too serious. I learned some from my time with Chiron and well– you don’t fight a war for ten years without knowing how to put a man back together. Why do you ask?”
The soft grass is burning under his feet from standing still too long. Even though it regrows in mere seconds, he sits down anyway to avoid further damage. Patroclus looks at him expectantly.
“Oh, we just had a conversation lately– Achilles and I, I mean. He told me, albeit briefly, how… the two of you have changed.”
Patroclus scoffs, looking to the side. “I told him not to bother you with that. You have enough on your plate as it is, he shouldn’t be using you for–”
“He’s not using me for anything, sir, he was talking to me as a friend,” Zagreus says. Patroclus tsks.
“Yes, but I guarantee you wouldn’t have left even if you wanted to. He doesn’t understand this.” He sighs. “Don’t listen to him. We’re doing fine, stranger. Other than being eternally in your debt, of course.”
Zagreus can tell Patroclus is done talking. He rises to his feet and swallows the liquid of the Hydralite easily.
Pat remains sitting, and Zagreus leans forward to put a hand on his bare shoulder.
“I know that you both were different in life. I think it’s normal to miss who he used to be, but don’t you think he’s pretty great now, too?”
Patroclus places his hand on top of his. He’s silent, looking forward at the ground, and Zagreus is glad he can’t see the blush surely spreading across his face. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks.
“I don’t want him to change, I– He can just be hard to recognize, sometimes. Who he’s become. I… miss him. How he could command a room. His presence. How he would treat me compared to everyone else,” Patroclus says, sighing. “Though, maybe this is me simply romanticizing something I can no longer have. I’m not sure.”
“You know, well, he said you’ve changed too,” Zagreus offers. He doesn’t mean to offend, and Patroclus doesn’t seem to interpret that way either.
“Yes, I know. I’m not as stupid as before,” he says, shaking his head. His hand finally falls from atop Zagreus’.
“What?” Zagreus says, astounded. He wants to laugh. “No– he said you were… gentle. Very kind. Not as sarcastic, I think. That’s not stupidity.”
Patroclus simply nods along to his list, seemingly having heard it before. “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve always been a bit of a fool. I chose Achilles, for one,” he says with a smile.
“See– that right there. He’s probably not used to you being like that!”
Patroclus scoffs. “If he were himself, he’d be fine with it.”
“That’s not fair, Sir, and you know it.”
He says nothing, only glancing to the side. He knows Zagreus is right, then. He lets his hand fall from Patroclus’ shoulder, and he picks up Stygius again.
“You can always talk to me, Sir. I hope you know that.”
He’s almost to the chamber door when he hears Patroclus’, “–Zagreus, wait–”
It’s still rare enough for Patroclus to call him by his name, he freezes. Patroclus doesn’t continue.
(“He used to get called ‘Skops’ by my Father,” Achilles explains. “Always had these big, round eyes, like he was watching everyone, hesitating. It was cute.”
“Mm, do you think I should try it on him? I never really noticed his eyes being big, though.”
Achilles laughs. “Yes, it doesn’t happen as often now. But sometimes, when he’s very shocked or serious, he’ll do it. It’s one of my favorite sights. He has no idea he still does it, mind you, so don’t share this with him, lad.”
He can’t stop giggling at the image of young Patroclus looking like an owl, which also was just explained to him. “Of course, Sir.”)
When he turns, he finally understands what Achilles meant.
“I’ll try to be more kind,” is what he says. It’s painfully earnest. His widened eyes stare at Zagreus, and the promise feels heavy. Something in his chest aches.
*
“Are you sure you’re qualified to teach this, lad?”
“I told you, no more ‘lad’! I’m your instructor for this day or night. But also– could I still call you Sir?”
Achilles laughs. “Of course, la– Sir.”
Oh .
Zagreus can feel his leggings tightening.
“You know what, I’ve changed my mind, you can go back to the ‘lad’ name!” Zagreus says, laughing despite not having said a joke. Achilles shrugs.
Zagreus starts to pace in front of Achilles, one hand stroking his chin as if deep in thought. He’d been thinking of a way to help Achilles gain some of that renowned bravo, anything that might remind Patroclus of the man he knew before. This… well. Was an idea.
“What’s your name?” Zagreus asks. He walks around Achilles.
“Achilles,” he says simply, raising an eyebrow.
Zagreus can’t help but grin. “Is that what you would have answered in life?”
Achilles rolls his eyes, though Zag can tell there’s no real irritation. “Sometimes.”
“Humor me, Sir, if you don’t mind. In these other times– What’s your name?”
“Lad.” He looks pained. Zagreus says nothing, something he’s quite proud of.
Achilles sighs, but eventually relents. “Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, Aristos Achaion.” He speaks it as normally as any other sentence. Zagreus tsks playfully.
“Now I don’t know about anyone else,” he gestures to the empty courtyard, as if it were the packed Elysium stadium, “but that wasn’t impressive at all! You were basically whispering, Sir. Come on, shout it!”
“I don’t want to be too loud, lad. I believe the rest of the House has no need to hear this.”
“We’re in the courtyard, Sir, there’s no way Father can hear us all the way out here,” Zagreus says, fully knowing his Father could hear them perfectly, “and he’s the only one who would care.”
Achilles clears his throat. Zagreus circles him again. “I am Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, Aristos Achaion!” It’s a hoarse shout, fairly louder than Zagreus has ever heard him speak before, but he knows they’re not finished.
“Better, but not quite there. Come on, Sir! Maybe pretend we’re fighting, or something. Who did you battle on the surface? The… Krojans? Pretend I’m one of them!”
“Trojans, lad,” Achilles notes with a grin. “But that’s beside the point, I guess. Here: I am, Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, Aristos Achaion! ” Zagreus can see his throat moving as he speaks, and he swears he catches spit flying from Achilles’ mouth. Hades definitely heard that one.
“Yes, there you go!” Zagreus cheers. “One more!”
“I am, Achilles,” he roars , “son of Peleus and Thetis, Aristos Achaion!”
They’re both smiling now, Zagreus enthusiastically clapping as Achilles gives a little bow. “See, doesn’t that feel good?”
“I guess,” Achilles says, “though I doubt he’ll be impressed if I simply appear and start shouting my name.”
Zagreus laughs further at the thought. “No, no, I wouldn’t try that. Though, I think… he misses how you could take up a room with merely your presence. Even if it’s just him and a few wandering shades, I bet he’ll still appreciate it.”
“Mm... we’ll see, lad. I’m grateful for your help nonetheless,” Achilles says.
He can’t help but grin. “Of course, Sir. Any chance I have to slack off and help a friend, I do it.”
“Friend,” Achilles echoes, smiling softer now. “Yes.”
Then he does something strange.
He hugs Zagreus. Suddenly there’s blonde hair in his face and his lips and mouth are smushed against Achilles’ pec.
His arms freeze in the air. When Achilles doesn’t let go, he gingerly brings them up to grab onto his back. He moves his head so that his ear rests against Achilles’ chest rather than his face, and he almost jumps when he hears the heartbeat.
“Thank you,” he hears Achilles say. His hair smells like sea salt and something else Zagreus can’t discern, though fully ready to stay here as long as it takes to figure out. Instead, Achilles only stays for a few more seconds before pulling away.
Zagreus swears he felt Achilles’ lips brush against the top of his head.
*
If one more Greatshield spawns, Zagreus is sure he’ll lose all composure. What little he has left, anyway. Having decided to up the Extreme Measures pact, the routine solo-Asterius fight left him staggering and wincing in pain much more than he’d grown accustomed to as of late.
Luckily, Patroclus’ chamber awaits him. He wonders if Achilles had the chance to speak with him; he hadn’t had the chance to see either for the past attempts due to the ever evolving chambers of Elysium hiding Patroclus from him and Achilles’ shifts conflicting with his time in the House.
He doesn’t notice until he’s halfway to Patroclus that he’s been dripping blood on the grassy floor.
“Stranger,” Patroclus frowns, rising from his position on the ground. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”
Zagreus clears his throat to reply, but instead he starts coughing a wet, hacking sound. He wipes his forearm against his mouth, tries to avoid Patroclus’ eyes. “Yes, I’d say so, Sir.”
Pat opens his mouth to reply but stays frozen, silent, until he finally asks, “Would it be okay if I take a look? At your wounds…?”
Zagreus’ mouth opens in surprise. He doesn’t have to think long before he’s nodding along, “Sure, if you’d like. Though– why, Sir? If I may ask?”
Patroclus leads them both to kneel on the ground, and pulls out a woven basket from behind the post behind him. “You may. I thought about our conversation, stranger. About– before. I thought perhaps I ought to get a few healing supplies again, see if I remember anything.”
Zagreus takes in the sight of clean bandages, wraps, a jar full of clear liquid, a few sharp knives, and some tweezers. “And you, what, bought these? Have you taken up my habit of smashing pots, Sir?”
Patroclus laughs. “Not quite, no. Turns out most shades are willing to believe any old scribble is Achilles’ autograph, I’ve found out. I think I might have accidentally taken control of the bartering system here.”
“Wow. Does Achilles know about this?”
“Oh, he knows, and was very encouraging. He told me to start misspelling his name, see if anyone notices,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “But anyway, he’s no good to practice on, he’s never injured! Come, let me do my best to relieve you, stranger. Though, I’m sure the Hydralite will do much more work than me…”
“No, no, I appreciate it, Sir,” Zagreus says, letting Patroclus struggle with the buckle of his skull pauldrons for a few moments before going to remove them himself. Patroclus huffs, but encourages his chiton to fall to his waist.
They both fall silent as Patroclus unscrews the jar, gathering a few white squares to dab in the liquid, and Zagreus holds his breath as he brings the first square up to a clean slice on his bicep. Whatever it is stings, white fabric quickly staining red from his blood, but he doesn’t flinch.
“I need to clean them all first,” Patroclus mutters, and Zagreus starts to feel self-conscious about the amount of wounds he’s sustained. Patroclus doesn’t seem to have that much supplies.
“You don’t need to, Sir. I’ll probably die in the next few chambers anyway. Don’t waste your materials” he says, thinking of the fight he’s destined to with Theseus and Asterius.
“Nothing used for you is a waste, stranger,” Patroclus chides, tilting Zagreus’ chin up to clean a scrape under his jaw. His eyes close. One of Patroclus’ fingers brush against the bottom of his lip. His breath hitches. Can Patroclus hear?
Luckily, he moves on, focusing now on the wounds marking Zagreus’ chest and right arm. He cleans each one so gently, Zagreus finally understands what Achilles was talking about that night or day in the lounge. He touches each area with his other hand before cleaning it, giving Zagreus warning, and only holding the soaked material there as long as necessary. The pile of his ruined bloodied fabric starts to form a little pile next to them.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Patroclus says suddenly, while cleaning a particularly nasty wound on his forearm.
“What?”
“What you go through,” he says. “Doing this attempt after attempt after attempt, knowing each time will end the same. It’s noble. I couldn’t do it.”
Zagreus feels at a loss for words. His stomach turns.
“I’m going to bandage the larger wounds,” Patroclus speaks again, grabbing a knife and starting to tear off strips of the material. Zagreus nods. He once again works in silence. It isn’t until he’s done that he stands, offering a hand to Zagreus.
“It pains me to see you injured, Prince.”
Prince. “I’m sorry,” he says. He’s not quite sure what else to say.
“Don’t be,” Patroclus says. “Nothing good comes without discomfort. Just know I think of you fondly, stranger.”
When he walks out of the Styx, Patroclus’ bandages are gone. Though, if he focuses hard enough, he can feel the ghost of Patroclus’ touch.
*
“...Mm, but it would seem we have a visitor, don’t we?”
Achilles’ laughs. He can hear the sound of rustling clothes. He makes it a point to stall, picking up some gold from a discarded pot. Though, he can only look at fifteen gold for so long.
“Good to see you, lad,” Achilles says as Zagreus rounds the corner, and he’s finally able to see them together, Patroclus laying with his back against Achilles chest, sitting against one of the large posts. Both of their outer capes are missing, and Achilles has his hair tied back. A few of his curls have escaped the tie at the base of his neck, and his face is framed by deep golden hair. Walking closer grants Zagreus the slightest indication of bruises along Patroclus’ neck. He nearly trips.
“You as well, Sirs,” Zagreus replies, unhappy with how breathless he sounds. He sits down across from Patroclus, and it isn’t until he glances around that he notices–
“Sir, I can’t help but notice the lack of shades in this chamber. Is there a reason for that…?”
Patroclus laughs. “Yes, stranger, that’s correct. Our Achilles took it upon himself to–”
“You told me they were annoying you! What else was I supposed to do!”
Patroclus’ pats his arm. “I’m joking, my love. I appreciate it.” He leans back to kiss Achilles’ cheek, and after doing so cups his mouth with a hand as if he were side-whispering to Zagreus. “He came in here, and immediately challenged any shade who’s still in this chamber by the time he, what was it he said? ‘By the time I’m finished tightening my grasp on this fearsome spear’?” he imitates with a grin. “Needless to say, they all ran. As much as shades can run, I suppose.”
“Wow,” Zagreus says. “Well, you’re just lucky Theseus didn’t take that as an invitation.”
Achilles props his head on Patroclus’ shoulder. “Mm, perhaps we ought to challenge the so-called ‘Champions’ in the near future.”
Patroclus looks shocked. “I’ve brought this up before. You said no.”
“Well, I’ve had some encouragement as of late,” he teases, “and of course I want to physically harm an old King who hurts our Zagreus nearly every attempt. I’ve been told he’s quite the loudmouth.”
Zagreus and Patroclus share a glance.
“Yes.”
“Very much so.”
Achilles laughs. “I’m sure we’ll get along terribly. I can’t wait.”
Patroclus is smiling in a way Zagreus has never quite seen before. It’s wide, stretched so that when he turns to look at Achilles, Zagreus can still savor the sight. His eyes are crinkled at the corner. Zagreus doesn’t notice he’s staring until Achilles clears his throat.
“Sorry–” he’s not quite sure what he’s apologizing for, but stops anyway when he sees Achilles’ smile. He feels frozen. Patroclus shifts in Achilles’ hold, scooting forward and Zagreus is just about to ask if he’s okay when–
And then Patroclus kisses him.
Time feels like it’s stopped. All he can feel is Patroclus’ lips against him, the scrape of his beard and the large palms cradling his face gently. Zagreus staggers backward.
“What? No, you–” He looks to Achilles, still expecting to find him suddenly enraged with fury or sorrow or something , anything other than the mirthful expression he wears instead.
“That wasn’t what we discussed, Pat,” Achilles says quietly, though his smile wears through any intended irritation.
Patroclus is still looking at him sweetly, eyes half-lidded when he replies to Achilles. “Yes, but you saw him. How could I not?”
“Okay,” Zagreus says, half-expecting Hypnos to wake him up from this rude prank. “Okay. You’re–” he looks at Achilles. “You? You’re not mad?”
Achilles laughs. “Lad, no. Maybe disappointed I couldn't do it myself, but well…”
“What is happening. I’m–” Zagreus stands up and starts pacing in front of them. “Okay. Achilles. You– like me?”
“Yes, Zagreus. I... was very blatant with my affections.”
“What?” He shrieks again. “In what way were you blatant with your affections?”
Achilles blinks. “I–” he stops. Zagreus wants to tear his own hair out.
“Okay,” he says slowly to Zagreus, “you may be right.”
“Of course I’m right! You literally told me your heart belongs to another!”
Patroclus smacks him on the arm. “You told him what?”
Achilles puts his hands up defensively. “It was before we reunited! I didn’t know what I was doing!”
“Obviously!” Patroclus says, but he’s laughing now. “It’s alright, my heart, there’s no need to worry about it now. All that matters is he knows the truth now.” He casts a glance to Zagreus. “Isn’t that right, stranger?”
Zagreus’ mind is still racing. “I… guess? But then, you also–”
“Also what? Care for you deeply and keep you close inside my heart?” Patroclus asks, with only a little bit of his usual bored tone. “Yes, I do. Surely this isn’t that surprising, stranger.”
“Um, only a little bit, Sirs?”
Achilles laughs; he rises and Patroclus quickly follows. Zagreus stops pacing.
“Zagreus,” Achilles says, reaching forward with a hand. “Is it okay if I–”
“He hasn’t told us how he feels yet, Achilles.”
“You can do whatever you’d like, Sir. Both of you can,” Zagreus says innocently without thinking, and immediately his cheeks are growing hot at the implication.
“Hear that, my love?” Patroclus teases. “I think a kiss is permissible.”
Achilles steps forward, forcing Zagreus’ head to tilt back to keep his gaze. He places one hand on Zagreus’ hip, the other cradling his face. His hand itches to feel Achilles’ hair.
“Is it?”
“What?” he says, distracted.
“Permissible. To kiss you, I mean.”
“Oh,” he whispers. He looks over to Patroclus, and the smug bastard is smiling. He finally lets one hand come up to tug at Achilles’ ponytail. “Please–”
Achilles meets him before he can even finish speaking.