The worst thing they could have done, really, was to underestimate Achilles.
Achilles had never been a proud boy, not openly. And not for anything that didn't merit it. He could be boastful, and he liked to show off, because he knew he was good. In everything he set his mind to, in everything he was challenged to, he would be good at. Sports and music were what he excelled at. From the summer afternoons back in ‘97 and ‘99 when he, Antilochus and Automedon would spend sunny days playing baseball in Peleus’ backyard in Lamia before they moved to the United States—barefoot and wearing cheap copies of Yankees uniform jerseys over sweat-soaked white tank tops—to that 2001 talent show where he performed Bohemian Rhapsody by himself on an acoustic guitar he’d been given for Christmas their first year in Los Angeles. He would always stand out. He would always shine.
Patroclus was the first of the two to enter college in 2003, and from then on, he knew college baseball wouldn’t be for him. At least not at ELAU, and definitely not on his academic scholarship for vet school. Achilles entered two years later on an athletic scholarship. The ELAU baseball team won the 2006 NCAA season after a half-decade of losses with Achilles as their hitter. He was made for the game. His height was an advantage—he reached six feet by the end of his senior year in high school. Door frames were a common enemy, but it was a boon in confusing the five-foot-six USC pitcher—as was his speed. He averaged eight to ten meters per second, which allowed him to score a run in less than thirty seconds. Ridiculously, stupidly fast. Enough to confuse opposing fielders and reduce the number of outs per inning.
Everything went well for the first two years. Patroclus graduated from medical school and got a job as a veterinarian for a pet clinic nearby. Achilles left the frat house and they moved in together in an apartment not far from the school. The Achaeans won the 2006 and 2007 seasons. The days of celebration seemed endless, and their little gold coin could never be missing. Their best player. Their star hitter.
In such a short time, he earned the respect and adoration of the team. They loved him. And Achilles had no problem indulging his teammates by showing up to the parties they threw, just as Patroclus had no problem tagging along and making sure to keep his patient load as low as possible for at least one night. But truth be told—and it was a personal preference on both of their parts—the perfect celebration happened in the confines of the home they had created. Cooking dinner together with Anna Vissi's 90s hits filling the silence and a bad romantic comedy to watch curled up on the couch in front of the TV. It didn't even have to be that. Just each other's silent company was enough to create the perfect reward.
2008 was the year it all went downhill.
It wasn't Phoenix's fault. No one blamed him. He was an old man, and his retirement was a federal right. They held a memorial party for his years working at ELAU at a nearby pizza restaurant they always went to after a friendly game. Everyone loved him. Everyone adored him.
The real problem came when the university hired the Atrides as its new coaches.
Well, actually, Patroclus didn't like to point fingers. But at least Agamemnon was objectively a bad coach. If he had to point fingers—even just one—it would definitely be him. And his boyfriend would definitely agree.
Everything had been fine at first, as far as it went. He remembered Achilles telling him that he didn't like them, and that they were Greek. They were one of the few on the team that Patroclus knew for sure were Greek after Antilochus and Odysseus. That had been the only thing his boyfriend had to say about them at first.
Then came more complaints. That Menelaus had said his technique was mediocre and wanted to change it, that Agamemnon's strategies weren't working, that they weren't organized. As a result, Achilles came into the apartment every day in a foul mood. And eventually, Patroclus stopped asking him why he had such an attitude. There wasn't a need. He could easily guess.
Occasionally, he accompanied them to their practices and could understand his displeasure. Agamemnon was a deplorable coach. His strategies weren't bad, but his plan for executing them was shaky, and the team's spirit was shattered. Arguments were more common among the members. They narrowly won the regionals against UCLA. And the season was just beginning.
Patroclus and Odysseus weren't close friends. They barely saw each other when Patroclus attended practices, and Odysseus conveniently happened to be there, on the field instead of in his small event coordinator's office. The last time he accompanied Achilles to one of his practices, he sat next to Odysseus and they had a conversation. In the middle of their conversation, a commotion erupted on the other side of the stands—a tangle of shouts between Agamemnon and the star hitter—followed by the clang of metal against the grass after Achilles slammed his bat into the ground and strode off the field furiously. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and everyone knew it wouldn't be the last. Beside him, Odysseus sighed deeply and voiced what everyone—or at least Patroclus—was thinking.
"Those two are just alike; just as stubborn, and neither of them realizes it," he murmured. "If things keep going like this, we'll have to get them a couple lobotomy before the super regionals. Change their brain chemistry completely."
And yes, Agamemnon was a detestable, bitter coach whose strategies barely worked, but none of that was what caused the enmity between Achilles and him. No, not at all; it was their similarities. They were both stubborn, proud, and obstinate. If one shouted, the other sought to shout louder, and so on. There was no direction to any of their arguments. No matter what, they would never reach an agreement.
There was once a time when Patroclus tried to explain this to Achilles, which led to an argument that ended with him sleeping in the room they reserved for Thetis whenever she visited the States. This also became more frequent among them, the arguments, the disagreements. Since Achilles arrived at the apartment every day in a terrible mood, it became easier and easier for them to surface. Over anything. Over the dishes, over the clothes, over dinner. Eventually, the afternoons spent cooking and listening to the music Achilles' older sister instilled in them or watching romantic comedies on the couch became a rarity. Silences and hours of distance replaced them. And it was quite pitiful. Neither of them deserved that.
"Well, it seems to me he acts the same," Briseis replied when she told him about the situation.
They had just had a cat spayed and were taking a break to catch up. Patroclus looked at her in disbelief. As if she'd just said something in Chinese.
"What? No... That... That's not Achilles. Achilles isn't like that."
"With you."
Patroclus sighed.
"Yeah, well... I guess you're right."
"Look, Pat, I don't want to make it sound like I'm making light of the situation, but it's not weird for him to have such a terrible attitude. I mean... He's been like this since high school."
"I don't know, Bri. This week Neo was supposed to visit us, we'd go to Malibu, see his dad at the super regionals, and watch movies together; now Dei had to find a way to take him to Skyros with her boyfriend because Achilles is apparently too angry to spend time with his son. What can I do? He's never done that."
“Maybe you should confront him. But don't do it alone.”
“And with whom?”
“With someone he trusts, I don't know. His mom, his dad, his best friend…”
For the next practice, Patroclus brought his secret weapon. One of his favorite people in the world. The best person to snap Achilles out of his abnormal state.
“So... I don't understand. Do you suspect he's cheating on you or something?”
“What? No!”
“And what do you think is wrong with him?”
“You'll see. He's in a terrible mood.”
“...Is he not always…?”
Patroclus sighed. “Poly…”
The woman let out a lively, mocking laugh. At thirty-six, Polydora looked better than ever. With a youthful freshness, even after giving birth to her first child. She looked just like Achilles' cool, twenty-something sister who visited Peleus' house from time to time in Lamia.
To Patroclus, she was always like an older sister. She was very pretty, very nice, and helped him cope better with the trauma of a neglectful father. Much later, he discovered that she was also a victim of Achilles' jealousy. A topic for another time, but still quite funny.
He still didn't understand why they didn't get along that well. They were perfect matches. Both with a spitting image of Peleus reflected in the mischievous glint that shone in their green eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. He's always like that with me, okay? So to me, this is like you being worried because you woke up, looked out the window, and the sky was blue. If you're fighting, it's fine, it's normal, it's natural. Dad and Thetis fought all the time."
Patroclus looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“... Maybe not the best example. But it'll pass, I promise.”
When they arrived at the field, the boys were already in their positions, and Achilles was waiting on the bench for his turn to bat, a frown softening when he saw Patroclus and solidifying again when he spotted his sister.
"What's she doing here?"
"Don't worry. Are you waiting for your turn?"
He nodded. "If they even remember that is my turn"
They did remember, after Antilochus scored on the third attempt. It was Achilles' turn. Patroclus and Poly sat in the stands watching practice and catching up. But it wasn't long before things went south.
Achilles hit the ball on the first attempt. A weak but useful move, apparently. Enough to score a first strike, given that Antilochus had barely scored one after the two strikes. That only reinforced his role as a star player. At least that was Patroclus' train of thought. Apparently, not everyone thought so.
Before running around the bases, Agamemnon paused the game to give feedback on his performance.
No, feedback sounds like an overly diplomatic verb; there's respect in feedback. What Agamemnon did was far from that.
"Aeacid, you swing like a sissy. We have to do this again. Start over, okay?"
Patroclus knew Achilles was seething inside just by watching him stand there, silent, his mind working tirelessly to avoid hitting the Atreide.
"What are you waiting for? Are you deaf? Should I speak in another language? Éla, agóri! éla, éla, éla! ”
Beside him, Poly made a face of disgust.
"Is that the guy you were talking about? So annoying."
Patroclus nodded. "He's one of the coaches. Although I don't see his brother anywhere."
"What happened to the previous one?"
"Phoenix? He retired."
"I see..."
On the field, Achilles obeyed orders without question. He took his stance again; arms and hands apart, the bat at twenty-five degrees to his body. Across the field, Eurydamas threw the ball in his direction, and Achilles made sure to swing with more determination. The ball flew to the other side of the field.
It was a good home run. Patroclus couldn't find a mistake. Polydora, beside him, stood up and began shouting encouragement. He smiled. He couldn't expect any less from his star hitter.
Agamemnon didn't seem to agree with any of them. When Achilles reached Home, he approached him, shaking his head.
Poly frowned. "What's that old man's problem?"
On the field, Achilles crossed his arms as the man approached him.
"What's your problem now, old man?" he asked. "What did I do wrong this time?"
Agamemnon sighed deeply. "Look, I know you think I'm very demanding, but..."
"Isn't that what you are?"
"I simply want this team to strive for excellence."
"You already have me. You don't to strive further."
That answer drew an unpleasant gasp of astonishment from Agamemnon's throat. He snapped his fingers and began pointing at Achilles while looking at the rest of the team.
"See?! See?! This is what I was talking about! He's an arrogant, spoiled boy. He thinks he's more important than he really is."
“Tell me how many games we've lost since I joined the team, you damn old dog!”
He was angry. Who wouldn't be? Anyone, in a situation like this, would be furious. But Achilles was too volatile. What in any human being would be mere exasperation was multiplied a thousandfold in him.
“And he disrespects me! Look, prinkipikó , brag about those accomplishments all you want, but that was before I came to knock you off your high horse, you hear? Grab the damn bat and let's start over until I decide it's good.”
“The only reason I'll grab the bat for is to smash your skull—”
“Well, that's enough with you two.”
Patroclus hadn't noticed Odysseus's presence on the field. But yes, there he was, on the bench with a thermos of water at his side. He'd gotten up to break up the argument.
He wondered how many times he had to do that. Interrupt the arguments between those two before they got out of hand and someone ended up with a broken nose.
"It's always the same with you!" Achilles yelled from a safe distance away from Agamemnon. "You can't admit I'm the best this team has. If it weren't for me, USC would have used all of you as a mop years ago. Am I wrong?"
That last bit was said on air, waiting for a response from his teammates. But no one agreed with him. Everyone fell silent.
Patroclus wondered if it was his time to step out and storm in. Even Poly squirmed beside him. But no one did anything.
Agamemnon let out a laugh, humorless. Accompanied by raucous applause.
"Now what? We all agree. You've got your head in the clouds. And for what? You're not good enough to be so arrogant."
Achilles clenched his fists. "I see. If that's the case, then I don't see why I shouldn't quit the team, right?"
That had been like a bucket of cold water for Patroclus. Quit the team? Was Achilles on drugs? He couldn't! It was his passion! Ever since he was little, he'd wanted to aspire to the big leagues. He was so excited when ELAU, a number one university in the NCAA rankings, gave him an athletic scholarship that he drove Patroclus to buy dozens of junk food in the middle of the night and told everyone he met along the way. The woman smoking on her porch, the Hispanic man smoking weed in front of the gas station, the cashier, everyone. He even called Polydora on the landline, and their screams woke Peleus, who shared his excitement before telling them to shut up.
How could he even consider the idea of leaving it all? In his junior year, no less? For something so trivial?
"Achilles..."
"No, Odysseus, it's over. I won't put up with this disrespect for another day. Not from Agamemnon, not from any of you. I'll be watching from home as the Priams drag you across the field. I'm leaving."
And so he did.
That day, Patroclus had to say goodbye to Polydora earlier than planned. He promised to get in touch with her another day and took her to her house. He really hoped to take her and Achilles to a café. He wanted to make the conversation more pleasant. But it didn't seem like it would happen anytime soon.
When he arrived at his apartment, he was greeted by the sound of an acoustic guitar coming from his room. Incoherent sounds that suddenly turned into Radiohead's No Surprises and then returned to random notes. Achilles was trying to distract his mind with something and was failing.
Patroclus thought about going to see him and talk about what had happened that day, but decided it was best to just let it be. Wait until the fire is completely out. He put his keys back in their place, poured himself a glass of water, sat down on the couch, and turned on the television. Every time Thetis visited them, she found a channel that exclusively showed Turkish soap operas. They never found it, no matter how hard they looked. He wondered if he could find Hatırla Sevgili with English subtitles.
After giving up and realizing he'd never find that channel, he decided to skip one of those stupid MTV reality shows. My Super Sweet Sixteens was on, and a blonde suburban girl was throwing a tantrum over the cake they chose for her. That'll do it. That'll keep his mind off for a while.
However, his mind wasn't completely clear; why would Achilles give up baseball? There were reasons why Patroclus decided not to play it after high school. His school had a good baseball team, and it was fun and exciting, but that was it. He didn't want to know anything after that—maybe a friendly game now and then and nothing else. But Achilles planned to play for the Yankees someday. The big leagues. How could he give it all up because of a tantrum that had surely passed by now? Was he crazy?
It was too late to change schools. He would lose his scholarship. He would abandon his passion. There were so many negative implications to his quitting.
Yet there they were.
After a while—maybe an hour or half.—Achilles appeared in the doorway of the room they shared.
" Agapité mou ."
His voice came out softly, barely more strident than a murmur. So different from the bellows from earlier. Patroclus smiled and looked up.
" Nai, zoi mou, psychi mou, kardiá mou ?"
Achilles smiled back. Still wearing his ELAU Achaeans jersey, untucked and half-buttoned. His hair was in a low, almost undone ponytail.
"What are you watching?" he asked.
"A trashy reality show."
"Oh?"
"Yes. My Super Sweet Sixteens or something like that. In this episode, Haysleigh wants a Great Gatsby-themed birthday party, but her mom, Susan, thinks that theme is too promiscuous for a girl her daughter's age. Quality entertainment, I know you'd like it."
"That old woman is an idiot. The Great Gatsby isn't even that dirty.”
Patroclus smiled and made room on the couch for Achilles. However, instead of sitting down, he wiped his smile and looked away. He suddenly looked self-conscious. An expression on him that Patroclus thought impossible.
"You took Poly to her house?"
"That's right."
"And you're not going to talk about what happened?"
Patroclus inhaled deeply and reached for the remote to turn down the TV volume. He wasn't paying much attention to it anyway.
"You already know what I think."
"You think I'm crazy."
"Yes."
"And that I'm making an impulsive decision."
"Yes."
"So?"
Patroclus sighed. "I also think you're an adult, and I trust that you know what's best for you. There is nothing I can tell you that you don't already know, and as your boyfriend, the best thing I can do is be there for you and support you wherever you are.”
That seemed to reassure him. "So you're not going to lecture me?"
Patroclus shook his head. "Not at all. Now, why don't you come watch TV with me, Kardiá mou ?"
The next few days were fairly routine. He continued working from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon at the pet clinic. Achilles skipped practice, so he came home earlier and spent more time with the guitar and keyboard that Patroclus forgot they had in their closet. The truth is, he took up music theory to fill his place at that university as a student, but he wasn't the most committed. It wasn't something he wanted to dedicate his life to, after all. Baseball was.
To Patroclus's satisfaction, every time he arrived at his apartment over the next few days, he found it clean and dinner ready. Or an attempt at it. Sometimes he resigned himself and bought dinner. Other times, what greeted him was a naked body in the sheets, ready to please him. That, too, had suddenly become quite common. It was as if he were trying to make up for his silence and hostility the previous few days.
"You seem happy," Briseis observed during one of their breaks. "Have the problems in paradise been resolved?"
"Something like that. He left the team and is happier than ever."
"Oh? Well, good for him. For you both, more like it."
"Thanks. We'll have to see how long that lasts.”
Not much, apparently. But it wasn't Achilles' fault. Not this time. Not entirely.
Odysseus and Automedon arrived at their apartment Saturday of that week. Achilles was practicing a Nirvana song, or something like that. The last song they performed for MTV Unplugged back in ‘93. He'd been in his room since noon, singing " My girl, my girl, don't lie to me. Tell me where did you sleep last night ."
“Who's dying?” Odysseus asked.
"Kurt Cobain. Again."
"Then tell him to come out, then. We need to talk."
Achilles came out of his room and offered them food and drinks, which they enjoyed amicably at the table in their humble home. It was nice to know that Achilles held no resentment or disdain toward them. That this was reserved solely for Agamemnon. It gave him comfort. He wasn't that problematic.
Odysseus put a price on the table. He said the super regionals had already started, that they had lost the first two matches, and if they lost the next one they would be disqualified. So, Agamemnon was offering him money to keep playing. That he regretted it and needed him to come back.
It seemed like a simple thing to accept. Achilles didn't need the money, but he craved his repentance. Patroclus didn't see why he wouldn't agree to the proposal on the table.
But he was Achilles at the end of the day. And if there was one thing about him, it was that he was as stubborn as a mule.
"If he wants to apologize to me, he'll have to do it in person."
Odysseus resigned himself and stopped insisting. Automedon, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, said, "I told you it would be useless," while wiping pizza sauce from his mouth. Achilles locked himself back in his room, and Patroclus concluded it would be wise to dismiss both men on their way out. Apologize too, perhaps.
When he opened the apartment door, he shook Odysseus's hand.
"I apologize on his behalf."
"Don't worry, we know how he is."
"I wish I could make it up to you somehow, though. Is there really no more hope? Nothing else to do?"
Odysseus was about to say something, but was immediately interrupted by Automedon.
"If you want to be of any help, put on that uniform and play in his place. My cousin went to the same high school as you and blondie and I've seen you play before. You're good."
Patroclus shook his head. "I'm rusty."
"What better oil than practice?"
"I'll think about it, okay?"
"Well, please think quickly. The game is Monday against USC, and we don't even have a strategy prepared."
Automedon clicked his tongue. "At the end of the day, that bastard was right, wasn't he? We're nothing without him."
Patroclus disagreed, and so did Odysseus. But at that point, what else was left?
Convincing Agamemnon wasn't easy. They had to organize a friendly game at the university on Saturday. Patroclus had to take time off work and invent an excuse for Achilles about where he would be that afternoon. He was left batting against Automedon. And, despite his defeat, he bought him a beer after the game and they caught up. Agamemnon seemed pleased with that performance. And Patroclus was ready to give it his all against Tampa the next day.
Another day of Patroclus lying to Achilles. He told him he'd have a sleepover with Briseis that night, but in reality, he was going across the state to play a baseball game against Tampa University. He warned him he might be back home in the early hours. Achilles became suspicious, but didn't make it any bigger than he thought he would. He was busy with a school project, after all.
They won that game by ten runs. They celebrated with a small party at a club near the college. Agamemnon made a toast to being able to lead them to victory without Achilles, and Odysseus and Menelaus spent the rest of the night singing drunken Greek songs about wandering sirens and hedonistic pasts.
Patroclus was proud of his performance. It was his first match in years, and he had performed excellently. The next morning he would explain everything to Achilles, and he would surely understand.
That morning, he arrived home tired, sweaty, and exhausted. But after bathing and changing into more comfortable clothes, he found serenity in his bed and the familiar scent that accompanied it. Achilles noticed his presence and hugged him. And that was enough.
Later that morning, however—when Patroclus finished telling Achilles the real reasons for his absences—he received no warm hugs.
He received no disdain either, not one of his explosive outbursts of anger; only silence. Silence, then a look of surprise and disappointment. I could almost hear a "et tu, brute?" coming from his mouth.
"Why didn't you consult it with me?"
"I figured you wouldn't agree. I wanted to help them win a game before letting you know."
"Well... no. But... if it doesn't get in the way of your work..."
"It's just a favor, okay? The super regionals are almost over, and we won't have to hear any more baseball until further notice."
Achilles sighed. "Okay."
That same night there was another game. And things went downhill.
It was the second super-regional game of the week. Patroclus was ready to replace Achilles, who had stayed home to wait for him. He promised to watch the game on television, and Patroclus appreciated that.
In any sport, it's good luck to play games on campus. An omen that ELAU has benefited from many times. This game would be one of those. The game against USC would be on ELAU's field, with its blue and silver flags waving in every corner and the student in the Achaean soldier costume motivating the team.
Maybe that gave them more confidence than they really should have had. Maybe it was the game the night before. That made them let their guard down, for sure.
Or maybe they were just meant for failure.
They were doing decently. It was obvious that with players like the Priams, they would have a hard time standing out, but that didn't stop them from putting up a good fight. Antilochus was an excellent hitter, Automedon their best pitcher, and their strategy was more than polished.
The Atrides had wide, bright smiles on both faces, even Odysseus seemed engaged in sportsmanship. If Achilles was watching from home, he was surely proud of his team's performance, even in his absence.
Then he stood face to face with Hector Priams. His team's star player, an excellent pitcher. And Patroclus was sure of it. For the force with which he threw the ball deflected completely off his bat and instead struck him in the head with the force of a bullet.
Patroclus had read about the symptoms of a concussion in medical school, only the documents he read focused on cats, dogs, or even rodents. They weren't much different from what he'd felt when he woke up. Before he was even aware of where he was, he rolled over to the other side of the stretcher and vomited into a bucket that, conveniently, was there.
His head pounded with a force he'd never thought possible. He had to lie down to focus his vision and take in his surroundings. He was in a hospital, on a stretcher, with another change of clothes, pajamas that didn't look like hospital clothes. The curtains were closed, letting in the morning sun; it was daytime. There was a screen in front of him next to a whiteboard with intelligible scribbles, but it was off. There were three controls next to it on a small table. He didn't remember how or what had brought him there.
He only knew that his head hurt, he felt nauseous, and he was hungry (although he doubted he'd be able to eat anything without vomiting).
A few minutes later, two nurses entered the room with papers, medication, and a bottle of water. They both had a bizarrely bubbly attitude and made him take two pills. At least drinking water made him feel better. A little.
"We're so glad you woke up," one of the nurses said. "On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in right now?"
Patroclus felt a stab of pain in his head. He squeezed his eye shut and placed a hand on it. "Seven— Eight."
"That's pretty high. Do you think you can answer a few questions, or would you rather we let you rest?"
"Let's just... get this over with, okay?"
"Good. It's just to make sure the injury is not worse. You have a concussion, and it's important to make sure you're okay before we release you."
"Someone's been waiting anxiously for you since last night."
His head throbbed, and he thought. Achilles .
The questions came and went, and came and went. Yes, his name was Patroclus Menoitiades. Yes, he was born on February 25, 1985, and he is twenty-three years old. Yes, he was born in Central Greece, in Lamia, the capital of Phthiode. Yes, he lives in Los Angeles, California. Yes, he knew the madman who fell asleep in the hospital lobby after fighting with a nurse for not letting him sleep in his room. Of course he knew him. That was his boyfriend.
That seemed to convince the nurses that his injury wasn't the worst. He didn't suffer from memory loss and could formulate the answers they asked of him fairly well. He only felt dizzy from time to time, and his head throbbed with sharp stabbing pains. The nurses prescribed him medication and specific instructions for the following days, along with rest, lots of rest.
His boyfriend was indeed waiting for him in the hospital lobby; His hair was disheveled and his face puffy from crying all night, possibly. Beside him were Briseis and Odysseus, who seemed to have recently arrived at the hospital. Achilles was the first to notice his presence, and therefore the first to stand up and jump into his arms before Patroclus could take a step closer to the receptionists.
Ah, who was he kidding? The receptionists could wait. Nothing else mattered when he had his boy in his embrace.
Then she broke the embrace and kissed him on the lips without warning. Then she moved on to his cheeks, his nose, and his eyelids. The kind of desperation that comes with relief.
"Achilles, darling, I'm warning you, I threw up not long ago."
"I don't care," he muttered in a raspy voice. "I don't care, Pat. I almost lost you because I was stupid and couldn't deal with my own problems alone, and that damn idiot..."
"Okay." It was Odysseus who interfered. "Calm down, Aeacid. You almost broke Antilochus's nose last night because of that attitude of yours."
Patroclus saw Achilles roll his eyes and Briseis behind him made a disgusted expression.
He held his face in his hands with a defeated air and sighed.
"This will never happen again. I promise, Pat. I will never put you in danger like that again. I swear.”
Patroclus smiled at the sincere tone of her voice and nodded. No matter what happened, it couldn't get any better for them from now on. He was sure of it.