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💬 ft. achilles & parker.
achilles: hey, rhee, u still up?
achilles: [a pang of guilt rises in his chest. it's almost 2am and tomorrow is a regular weekday. the chances are the other one will have to go to work in the morning; it will be unpleasant if he doesn't get enough sleep. but it has been a couple days since their last interaction & there is a reason he is not renowned for his selflessness.]
achilles: come on, p, wake up. its a dog video
achilles: u know u can't resist it
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he has cut down more formidable opponents than he cares to remember. his ruinous wrath has brought countless ills upon numerous people. he has lead the greek forces into battles several times and, without a failure, always emerged victorious. the achilles in their stories is splendid in his grandeur; the man he is now, as he stands outside a certain apartment in queens, is but a pitiful shadow of that.
the man’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he regards the plain door before him. it should not be this challenging — it is just a date, after all, is it not? a simple knock would do and, if the stars aligned, patroclus would be home and respond positively to his suggestion. the slight tremble is visible in his hand as he lifts it; and though his knuckles touch the door, he does not knock. momentarily, fear overtakes him. it is not just a date. when it comes to patroclus, nothing is ever just something. it has to always be wonderful and indescribably perfect. anything else is a failure — and that thought, in relation to patroclus, is something he cannot stomach.
achilles’ eyes flutter close as the nervous pit in his stomach grows. he inhales, although shakily, and his exhale is not much better — but a few rounds of that, he finds, do calm the worst of his nerves. the former hero opens his eyes ( he does not wish to look like a complete fool in front of his beloved ), knocking twice before he steps back. now all he can do is wait.
but if it isn’t the most nerve-wracking wait of his existence.
@sonofopus
DARKNESS CAN BE ALL CONSUMING it can take, it can cover, like the creeping cold or the wash of warmth — like the swirling wisps of smoke that curl at the back of his throat and fall from his lips, cascading like an ASHEN SKY succumbing to gravity. LEATHER MAN. cold man ; he relishes it ; the release of his own breath as he watches the expulsion ascend and descend, manufacturing that sensation like something within his chest is transcendent — the visceral revealed. he can feel eyes on him, watching as he taps ash by the nearby bin. ❝ lost are we ? ❞ a moot question, but he has little patience for pregnant silences. //. @sonofopus
