Work Text:
And Odysseus must comfort Akhilles, and pry from his arms unbreathing Patroklos. A lifetime gone, and all the friends, and now the lover, and only the brother (brothers in blood, your blood and his, and the golden child this grieving man) is left. You alone are left.
And this boy who turns so effortlessly invisible and so easily turns heads and tends to his lover (your brother) with such gentle hands (woman’s hands, healer’s hands) and such efficiency. Such love (the word is a dart, the wound too fresh) that he is less than alien, your brother’s boy. His Briseis.