Chapter Text
It was early on a spring morning, the air still lingering between night and day as Pat woke up just before his alarm could go off. He’d been studying late into the night for his upcoming Biology test, perhaps a bit too late considering that he had obligations to volunteer at a sports event for his high school committee that morning. Unfortunately, he was in need of the extra credits.
He couldn’t see himself participating in a track meet in a hundred years, for he was neither skilled nor interested enough in sports as a whole. His father had given up ages ago trying to get him into football while his mother’s only input on the subject remained, “As long as you’re happy.” Well, avoiding participation in sports was what made him happy, who could blame him?
He wasn’t in that kind of shape anyway. His limbs had grown so much last summer that his head didn’t have time to catch up with his body’s new mechanics; he would probably be a danger to any fellow sportsman if he went any faster than normal walking speed. He was a walking talking disaster, as Brianna had kindly put it.
The thought of Brianna instantly put him in a better mood. She was the only thing that would make this day bearable for him.
It actually wasn’t half as bad as he had expected when he got there, for there were many people preparing to spend the day carrying heavy tools from one spot to the next, and given that Pat was often seen as the most attentive one by far, he had been allowed to do administration. In his eyes this meant sitting in a chair all day, writing down names, making notes, and announcing the winners at the end. He could do that.
It was a small competition, otherwise they wouldn’t have allowed students in the position they’d granted to Pat. Most schools in their area participated in it, only a handful of students, and there were rumours abound that their school would win this year. They had to just wait and see, he supposed.
Students started streaming in, mostly athletes, for no one else would spend their time on a Saturday morning watching some school sports match. Parents as well, most of them proud and thrilled to see their kids perform. Pat didn’t have any issues with it, but wondered if that was what his father had wanted, for him to perform like that. Fortunately, the man had never voiced his opinion.
He saw many faces, some familiar ones who greeted him by his name, and other new ones who just smiled at him out of politeness before nervously checking out the competition. During registration, the two of them had divided the work between track sports and field sports, as Pat found track sports way more interesting. Not like that had anything to do with it, really, but he knew more about running and hurdles than he’d ever know about discus throwing. If he didn’t want any other human interaction outside of Brianna, it was a much safer choice.
*****
Finally all names were registered, and the events began. From Pat’s amazing spot he could oversee everything with ease; the long jumpers, the discus throwers and, right in front of him, the sprinters. He was right in front of the benches for the audience, where more and more people were slowly filling in. It wasn’t that early anymore, and most had found the strength to force themselves out of bed and sit there with a fresh cup of coffee.
Pat himself had gotten a cup from one of his classmates, but had been so busy registering names that it had gone cold.
The coat he had thrown over his slim shoulders was doing a poor job of keeping him warm. It would be sunny later on, but now, in the late morning, it was barely warm enough to sit outside comfortably. If he focused on the gathering athletes in front of him, he could see the steam leave their mouths as they breathed out. They were about to officially begin, and Brianna took her opportunity, briefly distracting him as she leaned in close to his ear. “So, who’s going to win?” she asked, and as Pat looked at the athletes, he grinned. She loved to bet, and she only did it when she knew she’d win, but he wouldn’t take the pleasure from her.
He looked over the contestants, comparing their bodies, their determination. In one of the rows, a broad-shouldered, dark-haired guy stood hunched over, eyes fixed on the finish, his muscular calves already tensed in the starting position. He breathed out his nose, a bull ready to attack. Pat leaned in. “Row two,” he said, choosing the bull. It couldn’t be anyone else, could it?
Unfortunately, Brianna smiled and nodded as she pointed to row seven, where Pat now noticed a guy around his height who had his golden curls under a headband and a grin on his face. He was nonchalant, not at all nervous for the upcoming race, and suddenly Pat realized why the others were. Shit, wrong choice. It was weird, for he was not the most muscular, nor had he the longest legs, but as the starting shot rang out, he took steps that were almost hypnotizing; so fast he could not follow them. This boy made sport look like choreography, a dance, and Pat was left baffled.
Achilles.
The word popped up in his mind, almost as quick as the sound of the starting gun, and Pat grew confused. Was that a name? He couldn’t remember if he had ever heard that name before.
He was so distracted that he hadn’t seen the contestants finish, but he didn’t have to see it to know who had won, number seven surely had.
“Yes! That’s five dollars in mah pockets!” Brianna cheered, but Pat had other things on his mind, quickly going through some papers in front of him, looking at the names and there it was, under the title of his school, almost first on the list. Achilles.
He was confused. He was certain he’d never heard this name before, and he surely did not remember signing the stranger in; he would’ve remembered that face.
In the corner of his eye, he saw the winner of the race run off to the audience beside him, then saw an old man in his fifties stand up to greet him with cheers. That was the man he’d remembered when signing him up, how weird that it had been his name that sounded so familiar.
A warmth crept up on his cheeks without warning, his eyes returning to the list.
Achilles, he’d remember that name, surely. He then turned to Brianna, acting as if nothing of any particular interest had just happened. “You knew,” he said almost accusingly, and Brianna laughed, pointing at the blond-haired athlete again who was now surrounded by a group of other teenage boys. Pat recognized a few of them as being a part of their local football team. Jocks, he called them. He knew that it was wrong to generalize, but his generalizations weren’t often wrong. Pat had never spotted that boy in the crowd before though, maybe because of his tendency to avoid eye contact with them; he found it the best way to stay out of any drama.
“Achilles is our most prize-winning athlete, Pat. He’s won many matches before, he could probably win international competitions with ease. He’s the reason our school is most likely to win this entire thing.” Brianna must have known, of course, for she frequently volunteered at these sporting events. Patroclus.. not so much, as this was the first time he’d ever concerned himself with anything related to school sports outside of PE.
That confused Pat, because they obviously needed more than one well-performing teammate to win, right? Brianna noticed this expression and patted his shoulder, causing the other to flinch in surprise. “Look at the other lists, you’ll find his name there.” And indeed, she was right. The stranger was registered in all sprinting categories shorter than one-thousand meters. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if he won them all.
Pat caught himself staring at the other’s technique of running during matches more often than not. He reasoned with himself that he only did it to learn something from him, even though he knew quite clearly he was just fascinated by this stranger. As match after match passed, Pat also learned more about him, especially about his friends. The footballers saw Achilles as their leader, it seemed; they admired him, chanted his name over and over again whenever the match began, and cheered loudly when he won, sometimes booing the other runners as they passed.
He decided that sure, Achilles was.. fascinating, attractive in the way he moved, but he couldn’t possibly be pleasant to talk with if he excused that sort of behaviour...
He didn’t like Achilles.
*****
It became very clear very soon who the champion of the day was going to be. At two in the afternoon, Achilles’ name was already on top of the list, and others only stood a chance to win if he lost the next three upcoming matches. And, well, that wasn’t going to happen.
He won the first upcoming match.
He won the next one with nearly a two second difference.
He won the third, accompanied by the public chanting his name in excitement.
A nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach began making itself known more and more. Pat had to give prizes out to the individual event winners and to the overall winner as a representative of the sports committee, and he didn’t know if he truly wanted to be any closer to this stranger. The way the other mystified him, how familiar it felt to experience his presence equally fascinated and terrified him.
“Pat?” An hour had passed when Brianna broke the nervous silence between them. The ceremony started in half an hour, and Pat hadn’t been this tense in ages. “Hey, you okay? Do you want me to-”
“No. No, I’m fine,” he said quickly, standing up. “Let’s go get the medals then, huh?”
Thirty minutes, twenty five, twenty, fifteen... Pat could slowly see people gathering near the stage where the winners would be called to receive their prize, he himself behind one of the stage curtains. From there he could see the blond curls easily, right in front near the stairs. Of course he fucking knew he was going to win, Patroclus suspected that the other didn’t know what losing even felt like.
What he did not expect, however, was the brief moment the athlete’s eyes were instantly directed to the spot he was hidden, and a shock of adrenaline went through him as their eyes met. He jumped out of sight, unable to see the sudden confusion crossing the other’s face.
Patroclus.
His own name had popped up into his head, as quick and as clear as the stranger’s; he didn’t have any clarification as to why, only that looking at him had triggered it.
His eyes had been as clear as emeralds, and there was something about him that made his stomach turn, not only in appearance, but in the way he held himself.
Five minutes.
Pat was nervous. There was music playing, and Brianna was sitting right next to him quietly, knowing the guy long enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. Pat would rather not have her breach the subject, he’d do so himself when he got his mind in order.
Four minutes.
Pat didn’t dare to look at the audience again, too afraid that he’d meet eyes with him again. Achilles already probably thought that he was creepy, or just another guy who was jealous of him, or one that admired him for his talents. A loser. He wasn’t, not at all, but what did he know? Arrogant and self-centered he was. Patroclus didn’t want to see him.
Three minutes.
Brianna breached the subject carefully, something she had never done before. “He’s been looking over here for a while now, you know,” she muttered, and Pat’s stomach practically turned. It wouldn’t surprise him if he’d fainted right there on stage. He was going to embarrass himself, he could feel it.
Two minutes.
Brianna held the big cardboard box filled with medals while Pat held the cup and the list of winners. He had some time to get used to naming other winners, though many would still be Achilles. Of course he could already see himself stuttering like hell, why had he not picked the simple task of carrying the equpiment around? He wasn’t a performer, nobody even really bothered to know him.
One minute.
Brianna held his hand, only briefly, to calm him down. He didn’t thank her, though it grounded him. She was a good friend, she’d be there on stage with him so that meant nothing would happen and everything would be all right.
The music stopped, microphones were handed to them, then with a brief shuddering breath from Pat, they made their entrance, letting go of each other’s hands before anyone saw.
Brianna took over the greetings, politely thanking sponsors and contestants before gesturing at him. “And now to Pat to read out the winners of today’s competition!”
He swallowed thickly, trying to speak with as much confidence as he could into the mic. “In third place... In second place... And in first.. Achilles.”
He heard the footsteps of the winners as they climbed the stairs, waiting for them to be greeted with polite applause from the audience. He didn’t look at them until it was time to give the winners the medals, calmly putting them over their necks and congratulating them.
“Good job.”
“Congratulations.”
He didn’t say anything to Achilles as he put it around his neck, for his words would have been drowned out by the loud cheering of the football team anyway. He hoped the other didn’t notice that he’d stopped breathing for a moment, but he could feel that gaze on him. He didn’t meet it.
The medals kept piling up; Achilles had practically won everything, and it became awkward to try to make it even a bit suspenseful to call his name for first place.
The last medal he had won was piled up upon his broad chest. Five medals, flawlessly. It was this time that the athlete broke their silence. “Thank you.”
He nervously nodded, glancing up to meet his gaze. He was surprised when another shock went through him, his heart beating faster. “You’re.. welcome,” he said before he moved back to his spot.
Now it was Brianna’s turn to give medals to the field sporters, and Pat forced his focus on her while Achilles must have been doing the same to him; he could feel the other’s gaze burning into his side profile. He had looked.. curious, lost in thought. He was probably asking himself who that boy could’ve been, and why he was acting so ridiculous. Honestly, Pat didn’t have an excuse for it.
Then, as the ceremony progressed forth, they finally got to the part when the overall champion of the meet would be announced, and Pat found himself getting nervous again. “And now, with as much pleasure, I would like to announce the winner of this event!” He was as cheerful as his voice allowed him to be as he opened the ceremonial envelope; how pretentious. “This athlete has shown true motivation, and should be an example for us all..” He was almost gritting his teeth, that sounded absolutely ridiculous. He glanced down to look at Achilles, and saw how multiple people were already patting him on the shoulder, but he was looking at him, and Pat felt the hairs in his neck stand up.
“Achilles! You may come on stage and claim your prize,” he said, and within seconds the other was stood right next to him, smiling smugly once again. Unpleasant, it almost was, to see him take the prize. He was basically the opposite of Pat. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their height and their obscure names. Otherwise, Achilles was everything his own father had probably wanted him to be, but Pat was proud to be the exact opposite of Achilles; people like him never seemed to be pleasant.
“Thank you!” he said, and the dark-haired boy smiled faintly at him.
“Congratulations.” He just nodded politely, then left the stage with his hands in his pockets. Behind his back he could hear the cheers of Achilles’ fan club, only slouching his shoulders more.
Fortunately, that hell was over. He’d never have to talk to that boy again, he’d never have to give him polite smiles again, and he’d never have to experience that weird shivery feeling creep up his skin whenever their eyes met again.
Or that's what would've happened, if it were up to him.
*****
“Uh, Hello?”
Pat was busy sitting near the table again, writing down some more data for administration while he sipped at a cup of well-deserved coffee. He looked up, almost with boredom, but then the breath caught in his throat again. The blond athlete was there, right in front of him, medals off, the trophy probably safe with his father, and his fan club nowhere in sight. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the party celebrating, right now?” he asked, pointing at one of the buildings where loud music came from. “It’s over there.” He had tried to sound careless, a bit sharp, but it had come out more like a squeak, quick and high.
Achilles only chuckled, and a warm feeling covered his cheeks again, one he hoped the other didn’t see. He hated having his heart on his sleeve, especially around him. “Nah, maybe later. Hey, I was just wondering something..” He glanced at the paper Pat was still writing data on, and bit his lip, emerald eyes trying to meet his. “Do we know each other?”
The question confused Pat, especially after recent events. He looked up, only to quickly hide his look of confusion. “You know who I am, I just gave you like, five medals?”
The other kept his patience though, shaking his head. “No, I mean before today, I swear I know you from something...” A brief pause, Pat had no idea what to say to get this stranger leave, but he wasn’t sure if that was something he really wanted. Everything about Achilles had felt familiar today, he had even known his name while never having been given the knowledge. Things were starting to get confusing really fast.
“Sword fighting?”
“No.”
“Do you sing? Play an instrument?”
“No.”
“Are you in class 5A?”
“No.”
“Hm.” The other seemed to grow more confused with every answer he gave, and this was starting to feel more and more like a mystery that couldn’t be solved. Pat half-wished that this stranger had known him from some sports camp in first grade, that he could just recognize him after a minute of thinking, say a short ‘ohhh… I know you from that’ and then leave him be with the conclusion that nothing was out of the ordinary. If it only it was ever so simple.
“We don’t know each other, Achilles,” Pat said tiredly. He wanted to put it behind him; he hated not knowing stuff like that, to not have a proper explanation. He wanted to forget about it. He gathered the papers he’d written on, putting them in a file before standing up. “Why don’t you go talk to the people you do know? Your fan club,” he said, then moved to leave, hoping that his demeanor showed disinterest.
Achilles, fortunately, let it go for now, nodding. “Have a nice day, Patroclus.”
“You too.” Pat responded to it in autopilot, just thankful when Achilles was out of his sight, for only then he could think clearly again.
What followed, was the biggest shock of today.
Did he just call him Patroclus?
That name had not been used by anyone since he’d been around eight and made his parents call him the shorter version it was now, how could Achilles have possibly have known? He tried to think on it, but all he could come up with was how similar it was to the experience he’d had earlier in the day when they caught each other’s eye for the first time. He had heard his own name in the same way he had heard Achilles’.
Had he heard that as well?
For now, Pat didn’t want to know. It was too confusing for him.
Unfortunately for him, a certain athlete wasn’t about to give up.