#lightspills

    “HEY!” Enjolras pushed the other man away, stepping out of his embrace. “What are you doing? Do I know you?” He demanded in rapid succession, taking a few steps back to place distance between himself and the other. 

Patroclus froze, his eyes remaining fixed on his hand for a moment before they flicked up to the man’s face. The kiss pressed to his knuckles was clearly a sign of respect– but what was he that deserved to be respected? He was nothing special– he was nothing, especially next to Achilles. He pulled his hand away slowly, the slightest of smiles touching his lips. “–What was that?”

     There are days where his memory LAPSES in on itself and it feels as       though he is waking surrounded by sand and salt air, not in the soft bed       of his apartment; he glimpses himself in the mirror and still sees the       king he once was with sturdy Eurysaces at his back. 

     Today has been one of those days. 

     Ajax moves s l o w e r on days like this, as though the age of his SOUL       catches up with everything else. He’s not needed on set today and takes      advantage of his freedom to surround himself with modernity, anything      that will ground him to here and now. He walks through the city, lets the      blare of car horns and foot traffic wash over him before he finally ducks      ( literally ) into a coffee shop.