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Patroclus likes college, he promises.
Brown is nice. His third year of pre-med is not, but he figures that would be the same at any school. That being said, he’s going through the specific hell of his organic chemistry lab, so maybe God has him on the Naughty List or something. He doesn’t know, man.
Overall, though, he’s having a good time. His friends are nice. He calls home to check in with his mom at least a couple times a week. His roommate’s a dick, but he does the dishes and pays the rent, so Patroclus can’t complain that much.
Said roommate is out tonight, which is a relief. Patroclus has gotten in a rare two hours of productive studying, so he’s considering just leaving the textbooks open on his desk and going to sleep. They’ll be there in the morning, and he’s an adult. He can spend his Saturdays reading about basic neuroscience if he so chooses.
Just as he’s pulling the covers over his body, he hears his phone vibrate against the desk. Groaning, he pulls himself up to answer it, not bothering to look at the contact name.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
How is it that one person’s voice can settle into your muscles and bones, can soothe away every ounce of stress or fear or hurt? Is that normal?
“Hey.”
Achilles laughs. “Greetings?”
“Shut up,” Patroclus says lightly, feeling a headache dissipate that he didn’t even know he had. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” He hears the squeak of Achilles’s spinny chair. “Just chilling. You?”
He shrugs, even though he knows Achilles can’t see it. “Not chilling.”
Achilles laughs. “Fair enough, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Patroclus snorts. “Just… school stuff.”
“Rough.”
“Anything new with you?” Patroclus flops back onto the bed. He yawns.
“Got a ninety-seven on that stupid-ass philosophy test,” Achilles brags. “Sexy, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Patroclus drawls, sarcasm evident. “You’re turning me on so much right now.”
He can hear the smirk in Achilles’s voice when he asks, “I know.”
Patroclus scoffs.
“Anyway,” Achilles says. “How’s your lab going? The shitty one?”
He laughs shortly. “Not great.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nah,” Patroclus says, and he can’t help but feel a little guilty. “I’m just… really tired right now.”
“It’s okay. I can tell.” And of course, his boyfriend is nothing but perfectly understanding and concerned and God, who gave Patroclus the right to have a love like this? Who decided that it was okay to not only find someone who just fits, but to be able to keep them for years and even forever?
“Sorry,” Patroclus says, already anticipating the subsequent response.
“Baby,” Achilles admonishes softly. “Please don’t apologize; you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yeah, I know.” Patroclus grabs a spare pillow, hugging it close to his chest. “I just know it’s been a while since we’ve talked. And I feel like I’m complaining a lot about really stupid shit.”
He can hear a slight movement from Achilles’s side of the phone. “And that’s okay. You’re a pre-med student at an Ivy League college, love. You have a right to be exhausted all the time. Like, dude,” he says, and Patroclus can sense the smile on his boyfriend’s face, can physically feel the heaviness around both of them lifting, “that’s impressive. You’re impressive. And I know that this is something you really want, so minor things can take a backseat for a while. I want what you want.”
“Okay,” Patroclus forces out after a few seconds of silence, because he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to respond to that when it feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” And yeah, Patroclus knows that, but it’s the right thing to do in the moment.
“You’re so annoying.”
Achilles chuckles. “Shut up.” It sounds so affectionate that Patroclus wants to die. Just kill him where he lies.
“No,” he shoots back, because they always have their banter to return to when everything else is up in the air.
They sit in comfortable silence for a bit until Achilles breaks it. “You sure you’re okay? With school, with us, with everything?”
“Yeah,” Patroclus says, and he’s content to leave it there. Unfortunately, a thought escapes the furthest, most introspective corner of his mind before he can cram it back. “Do you ever feel like it’s harder to love me now?”
“No,” Achilles responds immediately. “I mean, a relationship definitely isn’t easier long-distance, but I’ve never had any difficulty loving you, even when we were kids.”
Even though he knows Achilles can’t see him, Patroclus nods.
“Why?” Achilles asks. “Is something wrong?” And there’s no judgment, of course, just genuine desire to help and candid emotion, because when whatever universal force––be it science, God, or something else entirely––created Achilles, they forgot to include any goddamn flaws whatsoever.
Patroclus can’t bring himself to lie. “Not exactly,” he says. “It’s not harder to love you either, because… yeah. What you said. It’s really easy to love you. I just feel like I…”
“Hm?”
“I’ve had a harder time expressing it,” he admits. “It’s not like there’s a lack of feeling, but I just feel like I haven’t been giving you the… affection, maybe? Or like, the care that you deserve.”
Achilles takes a moment to process. “Well, of course it’s harder. We’ve been apart for a long time. We’re out of practice.”
Patroclus almost laughs. “Like a sport, or something?”
“Yeah,” Achilles says, gaining a bit of momentum. “Like a sport, or something. So it’s obviously going to require more effort to do and say the same things we do when we’re together––y’know, like, in person––and it’s especially more awkward with things like time zones and not having physical affection or face-to-face conversations all the time.”
“This is our third year doing that, though,” Patroclus argues. “I feel like I should’ve gotten used to that by now. And besides, I never feel like you’re awkward about this stuff. It’s just, like, a me problem.”
“Okay, so.” Patroclus can tell that Achilles is kind of enjoying the debate, the thrill of the back-and-forth that they’ve engaged in for years and years. It’s cute, he decides. “First of all, this is your busiest year yet, so you have every right to be in an adjustment period. And we just spent all of winter break together, so we basically sorta recalibrated. I don’t think either of us regret that––” Patroclus makes a noise of affirmation–– “so maybe it’s just something we need to recognize. This thing is gonna be cyclical until we’re in the same space again, and that’s fine with me.
“Also,” he continues, and Patroclus lets him talk, lets the calming voice trickle through the phone speaker and untangle the twists and knots he’s made for himself, “it’s not like I haven’t been putting in extra effort with this stuff, y’know? For the first time, like, ever , I think about what I’m going to say to you before we call. And I know you don’t do that,” he rushes, before Patroclus can cut in, “and that’s more than okay. More than. Because I actually have the time and energy and brain space available for that, and you’re surviving on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee a day.”
“Four,” Patroclus corrects under his breath, not even realizing that Achilles could hear him until––
“Dude.”
“Sorry?”
“But anyway, you’re proving my point. I don’t feel any less loved, Patroclus,” Achilles says, and there it is––those three syllables, pronounced deliberately, carefully, intentionally. “So this was basically just a really long-winded explanation to tell you that I love you, and I know that you love me, and I’ve never had any problems with the way you show it.”
“I love you too.” Patroclus feels warm. He leaves off the thank you this time, though, letting Achilles fill it in for himself.
“I know,” Achilles teases. “Now it’s, like, 2 AM your time. Want me to stay on call until you fall asleep?”
“Sure,” Patroclus says, because he can’t say God, yes and please stay with me and that’s all I’m ever going to want , but Achilles knows that now, and he always has, and it’s okay.
The warmth stays with him, accompanied by nothing else but a comforting presence through static.