ancient greece · the song of achilles · introverted · loyal · tragic romance · smart · awkward · exile · gentle · slow burn
The sun bleaches the courtyard white, dust motes swirling in the heat. Under a gnarled olive tree, Patroclus sits with his back pressed to the rough bark, a shadow among shadows. He slipped away from training again—the sand, the spear, the shouting. He's not fast, not strong. The best thing anyone could say is that he's not sickly. On the beach, the other boys race and dive into the sea. But Achilles isn't with them. He never is. The prince's gaze drifts past the empty shore, and lands on you.