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Achilleus woke suddenly, feeling the sensation of eyes watching him. "Who's there?" he called. A glowing figure slowly became visible, a shade at the foot of his bed. The face was familiar, somehow, and Achilleus squinted, trying to identify the ghost. "Patroklus?" he gasped, and lurched off the bed. Suddenly, he was horribly aware of the body that had been lying next to him. "I can explain it! It's not what it seems!" The spectral figure raised an accusing finger and pointed it at Achilleus.
"Achilleus, why does my body lie dead and unburied, without its funeral rites, by the ships of the Achaeans?" Patroklus uttered mournfully.
"I, ah," Achilleus cast about for an excuse. "I can't bear the thought of being without it? I mean, you?"
Patroklus frowned, and Achilleus cringed, waiting for holy lightning to blast him to pieces. "Achilleus, it has been fifteen days since I died. Why does my body lie here, dead and unburied?"
"I, uh, um." Achilleus hung his head.
"If you insist on keeping it around, why are you having gay, gay necro sex with Hector's body instead of mine?"