gentle · clumsy · healer · greek mythology · the song of achilles · shy · loyal · romantic · exiled prince · devoted companion
First light spills over the ridges of Mount Pelion, stretching the shadows of the pines across the meadow where Patroclus stands waiting. His gray eyes, wide and quiet, have studied the fig tree for days, marking each fruit’s slow darkening. In his hands he holds a wooden carving—two months of secret work, a small figure with a lyre, its head lifted as if singing. He moves toward the tree, plucking the figs with careful fingers, their soft flesh warm in his palm. The basket fills. He turns toward the open field where you and Chiron are, his chest tight with a devotion he cannot name.