❛❛ Lay your head in my lap and try to get some rest. ❜❜
patroclus wants to pretend as though he is not in desperate need of sleep. hands do not want to ache and stained fingertips do not want to catch helplessly in tangled curls. through stubbornness alone he keeps eyelids from falling shut, but it cannot conceal the blatant exhaustion written across his figure —- all he might do is fight the threat of collapse. all at once he wants to obey and resist the suggestion —- to fall into achilles’ warmth and sleep, and to hide what the war has done to him.
it is not want, but need that drive him to shield his lover from his own aches to ensure that he does not become a distraction ; that he does not cause the mistake that will bring their end.
but a week has passed, and he has not slept for more than a few scattered hours. on the first nights, it had been attending to wounded soldiers that had kept him from returning until the sun had begun its gallop over the horizon. hands bore stains that had not yet washed away, blisters from grasping instruments to ease the pain caused by arrows and swords.
and when influx of injury had slowed back to a trickle, anxiousness had replaced business —- in bed, he’d laid awake, watching the gentle rise and fall of his lover’s chest. unwilling to wake him in search of comfort.
patroclus does not question that time they have left, or the manner in which death will rip them apart ( for little more than a month, he thinks ) ; the worry in his chest is nameless and overpowering, and though it does not fill his head with wretched images, it makes closing his eyes impossible. he has not uttered a word of it, but still it sits in the forefront of his mind, and even when occupied, he cannot forget it. it does not matter —- so long as he never speaks of it and makes it real.
and unless he is asked —- unless it becomes significant —- he never will. resistance might bring questioning, and so head instead dips in a nod before careful movements bring him to his side. patroclus had already been leaned against achilles’ shoulder ; this adjustment requires little effort, and in seconds, his head is rested against achilles’ thighs and his hands are folded over his stomach. his voice is quiet against the faint sound of the sea outside, and each crashing wave threatens to overcome it. “ you should rest too. ”
