Work Text:
“I can’t believe I forgot about that goddamn paper.”
Achilles grumbles obscenities and rubs the sleep from his eyes as he trudges across campus, hugging his coat to his chest. His disgruntlement is only intensified by the bitter cold; he’s ankle-deep in a sheet of searing white snow, and icy winds tear at his clothes like angry hands. The frost penetrates the old pair of sneakers he’d thrown on and soaks his socks, sending shivers up his spine.
It’s nearly 3 in the morning, and no other students are in sight, everyone either asleep or working contentedly in their own dorms, seeking refuge from the wrath of January. The campus is a desolate field of untouched white snow and naked trees that wrattle like skeletons in the wind.
“Fucking Latin… fucking school… fucking everything,” Achilles mutters irritably as he approaches the library. Under almost any other circumstances, there’d be absolutely no way he’d drag himself out of bed to finish a forgotten assignment, but the paper Chiron had assigned the class five days ago was worth a fair chunk of his grade, and he figures that he could at least try to get some of it done before class at 8 a.m. that morning. Unfortunately, what with all the snow, the wifi’s out in his dorm, so that leaves only the college library as a resort.
Achilles wrenches open the library doors and steps inside, breathing a sigh of relief as he is warm again.
There’s almost no one in the library at that ungodly hour, bar a couple students propping their heads up over textbooks in the back, evidently struggling to keep their eyes open. Achilles doesn’t blame them. He’s fighting sleep himself.
He heads over to a table in a secluded corner of the library, plopping down in a seat and opening his laptop.
It’s too late- early- for this shit, Achilles thinks.
So, he starts writing. Of course, the paper’s going to be absolute shit- what else does Chiron expect from Achilles? And at 3 a.m., no less?- but he plows through his misery and exhaustion and hunger until he looks up and all but one other student remains. A boy sitting at the table directly across the library, pouring over a textbook intently and burrowing beneath a giant sweatshirt.
Oh.
Well, fuck.
Achilles wants to bang his head against the table. He’s never going to get any work done with someone like that to distract him. He tries to drag his eyes back to the computer screen, but they keep flicking up at the boy because, well, he’s-
Gorgeous. He’s fucking gorgeous.
The boy’s skin is chestnut, almost golden beneath a crown of rich brown curls. His facial features are soft but distinctly cut, a straight nose, thick, gently arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, freckled cheeks- and his lips- oh, his lips- they’re dark, the color of rosewood, and Achilles can’t help but wonder how they’d taste, if they’d taste like the hot chocolate the boy takes a sip from every few minutes-
The boy catches him staring, and Achilles’s face flushes red. Achilles quickly drops his gaze back to his keyboard, but it’s too late, the image of the boy’s eyes are forever imprinted in his brain, and now Achilles knows he’s doomed.
Big, gentle chocolate eyes.
“Fuck my entire existence,” Achilles breathes.
He bites his lip, suddenly hyper aware that the boy is sneaking glances at him now that he thinks Achilles isn’t looking. Achilles swallows and literally shoves his head behind his computer screen in a desperate measure to prevent himself from looking back at the boy, and because now he only has four hours to write six more fucking pages and the distraction is certainly not helping him achieve that.
Well. At least he’s not tired anymore.
He continues typing.
He tells himself: don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t you dare look at him Achilles fucking Pelides-
He looks.
The boy is looking back at him.
Achilles’s stomach lurches.
The boy’s eyes widen in surprise, and he dips his head back down, ears red. Achilles can’t help but find this incredibly endearing. He smiles to himself, feeling strangely empowered by the boy’s reaction. While the boy continues to read, Achilles can’t help but let his eyes rake over the boy’s face, the halo of dark, soft curls in his hair, the poofy, oversized sweatshirt he’s cuddled beneath, those long lashes-
The boy doesn’t look back at him. He keeps flipping pages, seeming almost lost in the material. He twirls a pencil mindlessly as he reads, and Achilles watches it pirouette gracefully around slender fingers-
It all becomes too much.
Finally, Achilles decides that, screw it, this is more important than finishing that goddamn paper.
Before he has a single clue what he’s even doing, Achilles is up on his feet and walking across the library.
This is a terrible idea, Achilles thinks.
I need to sit my ass down, Achilles thinks.
He’s busy, Achilles thinks.
Unfortunately, Achilles doesn’t start to actually panic until it’s too late.
“Hey,” Achilles says loudly. His heart is beating frantically in his chest, but he forces himself to look as calm as possible.
The boy starts in his seat, dropping his pencil. Achilles bends down to pick it up, and their hands brush awkwardly. The boy quickly takes the pencil, as Achilles snaps his hand back, cursing this stupid idea already.
“Thanks,” the boy mutters, staring at the ground.
Achilles is internally screaming.
“Yeah, sure,” Achilles replies. His tongue feels swollen, and the words seem to come out funny. He wonders if the boy notices, and his gut twists.
Five thick seconds of heavy silence pass before the boy looks up shyly. “Um. Did you need something, or…”
“Oh!” Achilles damn near shouts. Fuck, he’s never been this nervous before. “Yes. I was just wondering if, if, if I could- I mean, if you could lend me a pencil? I forgot one.”
“Oh, okay,” the boy says, handing him the pencil he’d just dropped.
Achilles thinks: no, don’t make him give away his pencil, you fool, you absolute fucking buffoon- now he won’t be able to spin it around anymore-
The boy hands Achilles the pencil. Achilles is momentarily lost in the color of his eyes, and his heart hiccups as he notices the intricate little shapes in his irises.
“What’s your name?” Achilles blurts dumbly.
The boy’s cheeks are rosy as he responds, “My name? I’m Patroclus.”
Achilles grins like an idiot and is absolutely delighted when he sees the boy’s lips twinge into a small smile. “I’m Achilles.”
"Achilles," Patroclus repeats to himself in a hushed voice.
Achilles's heart instantly jumps into his throat. No one has ever said his name like that. Ever. Deliberately, almost; each syllable passes his lips separately, carefully, and the way that Patroclus looks while he says it is so fucking precious. At that exact moment in time, "talking dirty" is the equivalent of Patroclus saying Achilles's name.
Say it again, he wants to beg.
"Patroclus," Achilles exhales softly, testing the other's name in his mouth. He loves the way it sounds, and he makes sure to pronounce each letter just as meticulously as those in his own had been.
Patroclus looks stunned for a moment. An even darker blush creeps up into his face, and he tries to hide a smile beneath his sweatshirt. Achilles sees it, of course, and a swell of pride blooms in his chest. Patroclus, he thinks. Patroclus Patroclus Patroclus. He would shout it to the world if he wasn't so damn speechless.
More silence carves the space between them. The air is charged with electricity. Achilles watches as the boy- no, Patroclus- bites his lip. Internal groaning. Patroclus runs his hand through his hair, ruffling the curls. More internal groaning.
“Um, if that’s all you need, I’m gonna get back to studying,” Patroclus says. He seems nervous.
An odd sense of desperation squeezes Achilles’s stomach, and he says, oh God, he actually says this, he actually fucking says this-
“Can I have your number?”
Achilles is now thinking: aaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-
Poor Patroclus looks like he’s about to fall out of his chair. Achilles’s stomach drops, and he takes a step back in panic. He starts to ramble, “Oh, fuck, sorry man, I shouldn’t have assumed-”
“N-no, it’s fine-” Patroclus splutters.
“Seriously, I’m an idiot-”
"Wait-"
"God, I'm making myself out to be an assclown-"
“H-here.”
Achilles stares in absolute shock at the scrap of paper Patroclus has extended to him. He takes it slowly, distrustful of the universe at this particular moment, and glances down to see an actual phone number scrawled out in the most adorable messy handwriting he’s ever seen.
Achilles wants to scream and shout and whoop because this incredible adorable guy gave him his number and this is undeniably the best thing that’s happened to him all week, but he manages to channel his insuppressible glee into a wide, toothy grin.
Patroclus looks stunned for a moment at Achilles’s smile before breaking out into one himself, and his eyes crinkle at the corners and his face lights up and his cheeks are pink, and Achilles quite literally melts into a pile of goo because, holy shit, Patroclus is absolutely beautiful.
“I’ll text you later,” Achilles breathes out, feeling strangely winded.
Patroclus nods. A giddy grin tugs at those tempting lips, and Achilles has to refrain from swooping in to land a kiss on them right then and there.
Achilles packs up his shit after that because, well, who gives a flying fuck about a good grade when you have the number of a guy like Patroclus?
Later, as Achilles is lying in bed, he sends a text to Patroclus.
Hey, this is Achilles
Hope I got the right number
If so do u want to go to lunch tomrw
Less than a minute later, his phone dings, Achilles falls out of bed, and his heart jumps out of his goddamn chest.
Hey Achilles, it’s Patroclus
And yes :)