Polaris
A/N: I read The Song of Achilles and really loved it, but I needed to write some quality Achilles and Patroclus. There will most likely be more in the next couple days.
He is finally here with me in Scyros. It has been a few days since he came, and already my hurts from the month we were apart are soothed. There are no words to describe how the ferocity with which I missed him. When I was apart from him, I felt as if a part of my soul had been torn from my body. Everything I had done felt incomplete, pointless, and now that he is back by my side, I feel as if I am whole again. He has that effect on me, and I know that I cannot bear to be separated from him again. It is a weakness, my attachment to him, and with war looming, a weakness that could be exploited, but I do not permit myself to think of it. I may have to give everything to the war, but if I can help him, not him. Never him.
Now, we lay together in our bed, me and Patroclus, his head rested in the crook of my neck with his lips touching my collar bone. My arm is slung over his bare stomach and his hand is intertwined with mine. His skin is soft against mine, and when he pushes my hair away from my face, I can feel the calluses on his hands. We are a strange creature, singular and joined together. In my eyes, it would be more practical for us to have a single heartbeat, for I know if he were to depart this life, I would not be far behind. A world without him by my side is a world I do not want to see. A selfish part of me wishes that when I die, he will die at the same moment and we can go to the Underworld together. The part of me that loves him more than anything wishes that he has a long and prosperous life, even after my demise.
He speaks quietly, and his breath is a warm breeze against my skin, but I am not really sure what he is speaking of because I am too busy staring at him. Even though it has only been a month since I have seen him, he is changed. His jaw is slightly wider with stubble, and his cheeks are a little more hollow than I remember. Has he been eating well? I frown at the thought of Patroclus not getting enough food, and make a mental note to bring him to the special place I found where figs and other fruits grow abundant. That will be a trip for tomorrow. I will bring him as the sun sets, and we will feast and I will kiss him. The thought brings a smile to my face, and I gently press my lips against his forehead, and he pauses his speaking to smile at me, no teeth showing but the corners of his soft lips curling up.
He starts speaking again, I go back to studying his physique. His hair is a bit longer, curly, dark, and falling over his forehead and creating shadows on his beautiful face. I like his hair best when he is just getting out of the ocean - it is almost like a wild creature, wet, salty curls shooting out everywhere and framing every delicate bone in his face. His eyes are exactly I remember: a deep, rich brown with flecks of gold that reflect the moonlight. They remind me of the deep, rich soil olive trees are planted in, nourishing and earthy and alive.
I wonder if he knows how wonderful he looks to me, or if he knows that when I look at him, I see him as a starving man would see nourishment. I know I don't express this with the right words. He tells me often of the effect my eyes have on him, or how my curls fall perfectly, and it is nice. Patroclus has said before that I am better with words, but when it comes to him, words leave me and I have to fall back on actions. A gentle kiss to lips, pushing his hair back from his forehead, cupping his chin with my hands. It has to be enough, for the words of mortals don't do him justice.
I wonder if he knows that he means the world to me. He is my Polaris, my north star, the brightest of them all and the one to guide me through all of this. He is reason and justice; he is courage and kindness. He may stay behind me in battle and not be known as a great man, yet he is a good man, and he is my good man.
"Achilles?" Patroclus sits up with a groan and stares down at me with those eyes. He props himself up on one elbow, and he looks every bit like a perfectly sculpted statue. I wish we are back in Pthia and I could find someone to draw him exactly as he is now. He is tired, his face full of sleep, and all of his movements are gentle and calm. "What are you thinking about?"
I could tell him every thought that just ran through my head. If spoken aloud or put on paper, my thoughts of him would rival those of poets. I could tell him that when I claimed he was my husband, it made my heart tingle with the thought of it, for he is the only I could ever want or need. I could tell him all that and more, but there would be time.
Instead of saying anything, I reach up, pull him back down onto the mattress, and gather him into my arms. I kiss him again, and his lips part, deepening the kiss. He pulls away first, and curls up against my body. I kiss his cheeks, his hands, his chest, and finally his forehead. He sighs under my lips, and then His breaths even out to a steady rhythm. For once, he is drifting to sleep before me.
"Philtatos," I whisper. "My beloved. I love you, and I always will." As I drift off to sleep, I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.