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“Which is more important to you? A good track team or a good football team.”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Achilles.”
“No, Patroclus. I told you not to think about that stuff. Just focus on whatever matters most to you.”
With a helpless groan, Patroclus drops his head to bang against the table. Or at least, that’s what it would have done. Had Achilles’ hand not darted out to catch his forehead the moment before impact, softening the landing.
“What’s wrong with Pat?” Odysseus asks, setting down his tray.
“He’s choosing where he’s going to college next year,” Penelope says, following suit.
“Where we are going to college,” Achilles corrects.
With the way Patroclus’ grades had picked up over the last two years and the essay he’d written about his time in the foster system, he’s actually gotten some pretty good acceptances. By design, Achilles has gotten all the same acceptances. Except he also has full-ride offers for sports scholarships to some even better colleges.
His complete lack of regard for offers that other students would kill for is what’s making this entire process a nightmare now.
“No, Achilles, I’m choosing where I am going to college next year,” Patroclus grumbles, voice muffled by the table. “Please stop saying that.”
Hand petting lightly at Patroclus’ hair in a comforting gesture, Helen explains, “So, apparently Pat has never made a decision about his life before.”
“It’s both tragic and hilarious,” Penelope says with entirely too much glee.
Helen’s tone is much more respectful. “Tragic because, well, you know.”
“And hilarious because it turns out that Pat freaking hates making decisions,” Penelope concludes.
“Like, really hates it,” Helen adds, at least having the decency to sound sympathetic.
Patroclus lifts his head, frowning at his sisters. “I’ve made decisions about my life before.”
“Oh yeah?” Penelope arches a brow. “Like what?”
“Like,” Patroclus gestures to his boyfriend, “Achilles.”
She shakes her head. “Doesn’t count.”
“No,” Odysseus agrees grimly. “No one chooses Achilles.”
Briseis nods. “He’s better categorised as an affliction than a choice.”
“The love of my life is not an affliction!” Patroclus exclaims, outraged.
Achilles snorts, giving him a consoling pat on the back.
“I’m putting that in my ‘prompts for Pat’s wedding vows’ note sheet,” Helen says, pulling out her phone.
Penelope’s eyes light with joy. “Oh my god, Pat planning a wedding. All those decisions. He might explode.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up,” Briseis holds up both hands, regarding her girlfriend through narrowed eyes. “Why do you think you’re going to be helping Pat write his wedding vows?”
Helen gives Briseis a level look. “Obviously, I’m going to be his best man.”
“Obviously nothing!” Briseis exclaims. “I’ve had dibs on that position since I was seven.”
“You already did it once,” Helen argues, waving her off. “Besides, you don’t have the vow prompts.”
“Guys,” Penelope says, “Let’s remember that only one of us saved Pat from the foster system. When you think about it, he and Achilles might never have found each other again if it weren’t for me.”
“Bullshit!” Helen slams both her hands down on the table with uncharacteristic violence. “You might have gotten him out of the foster system, but getting those two idiots to figure their shit out was all me. Remember that day? What advice did you give again? Oh yeah, something along the lines of kick that sleazy slimeball straight to the curb.”
Patroclus stares, head hurting.
“Can we focus on graduation first before we start the wedding planning?”
All three girls speak as one. “No!”
Odysseus snorts.
“We’re not even engaged,” Patroclus tries with increasing desperation.
“Yet,” Achilles puts in.
Patroclus shoots his boyfriend a glare. “Not. Helping.”
Achilles shrugs, unapologetic, green eyes sparkling with hidden laughter.
“Fine,” Patroclus says, reaching a decision. “Then I delegate the responsibility of best man selection process to my groom. All nominations should be redirected to Achilles.”
“Achilles,” Briseis says sweetly, “I want you to know that the other day when I called you an intolerable ass with the impulse control of a toddler, I didn’t mean it.”
Achilles nods, accepting the apology with a grace entirely different to the spitting rage he’d showcased upon receiving the insult over their last Monopoly night.
“Thank you, Briseis, I will take that into consideration.”
“And I’m sorry for when I called you a natural disaster wrapped in a varsity jacket,” Penelope says gravely.
Achilles frowns, “I don’t think you actually said-“
“Oh!” Penelope says, as if remembering, “And for when I said I wouldn’t get in that kayak with you because I was worried the weight of your ego would sink us.”
“You’re out,” Achilles says flatly.
Helen and Briseis whoop, sharing a high-five as Penelope pouts.
“Odysseus.” Patroclus kicks at his friend under the table to get his attention. “You got a lot of acceptances, right? How are you deciding?”
“Everything other than MIT was a safety school, Pat, you know that.” Odysseus shrugs. “Have you tried a spreadsheet?”
Patroclus spins the laptop he has in front of him in place of a lunch tray around for Odysseus to see.
Odysseus whistles. A quiet sense of pride stirs in Patroclus’ chest, one that started with his first acceptance letter and has grown with every new entry he’s added to the spreadsheet, each row representing a future he never thought he’d have and is now almost afraid to reach for.
“Thetis helped me make it.”
“Problem solved. Ask her.”
Patroclus grits his teeth. “Tried. No good.”
Odysseus shoots him a sceptical look.
“Madame Fame and Glory for my Son at any Cost doesn’t have an opinion on which college you should go to?”
“Oh she does,” Achilles says, turning away from the political manoeuvring now unfolding on the other side of the lunch table. “Odysseus, any chance you can do something about your girlfriend glaring at me like she’s plotting my unexplained disappearance?”
Odysseus glances at Penelope. “Plan A, my love?”
Eyes narrowed on Achilles, Penelope shakes her head. “Too kind.”
“Ah,” Odysseus nods, pulling out his phone. “Plan C then. I’ll place the order.”
Achilles looks at Patroclus with wide eyes.
“I’ll pick best man if you pick college,” Patroclus offers.
“Not a chance.”
Patroclus shrugs, unsympathetic. “Then have fun.”
Briseis’ hand appears on Achilles’ shoulder, dragging him back into the melee.
“Achilles got to her first,” Patroclus says, returning to Odysseus. “She can’t help.”
Odysseus looks back at the spreadsheet. “Add a column for culture,” he suggests. “You’ll probably want somewhere with a strong LGBTQ presence, right?”
“That’s…” Patroclus turns the laptop back around, frowning at the coloured cells. “Really helpful actually. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Odysseus nods. “Oh, and take out all the football options. If you have the power to remove Achilles from the world of team sports then, dear god, please use it.”
“That’s it,” Achilles snaps, everyone at the table falling silent to look at him. “You’re all unworthy. Clearly, I will have to be Patroclus’ best man.”
The table bursts into an uproar.
Extracting his boyfriend from a hail of crackers and carrot sticks, Patroclus hurries them out of the cafeteria and out of the path of their friends’ outrage.
“You did this to yourself,” he says, brushing crumbs out of Achilles’ hair. The corner of his mouth lifts as he shakes his head, following with a soft, “Idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Achilles answers, shameless schmooze that he is.
Patroclus is fully prepared to call him out on it too. If it weren’t for the sweet, lingering kiss that follows.
Achilles takes his hand as they meander down the corridor towards the lockers, twining their fingers together.
“I know it’s a lot of pressure,” he says, earlier playfulness giving way to a quieter, more serious tone. “But I mean it when I say I’ll be happy anywhere, Patroclus. As long as it’s us. Together.”
Patroclus sighs. “It’s the Ivies, Achilles. You can’t just walk away from that for me. It’s your future.”
“You’re my future.” Achilles squeezes his hand. “You know that.”
“If you’d even just tell me what part of the country you wanted,” Patroclus grumbles, shifting his laptop to rest against his elbow to free up a hand to open his locker with.
Wrapping an arm around Patroclus’ waist and dropping his chin to rest on his shoulder, Achilles murmurs into Patroclus’ ear, “You worked so hard for this, Patroclus. You deserve to make this decision for yourself.”
Cheeks flushing at the praise, Patroclus tucks his laptop into the locker, turning into his boyfriend and pressing in closer, grounding himself in the comfort of arms that will never let go and a warmth that will always be home.
“I’d rather do it with you.”
“You are,” Achilles assures, touching their temples lightly together. “I’m here. I’m with you. Always.”
“Always,” Patroclus echoes, the easiest decision he’ll ever make falling through his smiling lips in that single word.