Chapter Text
It’s the fourth quarter, one minute remaining on the clock, with both teams lined up at the fifty-yard line. Achilles kneels low, body tightly coiled with anticipation as he waits for the quarterback’s call. Cameras flash around the bright stadium, breath held as everyone watches the university’s youngest wide receiver, a star athlete despite his freshman status. They have all come to see him… and his only acknowledged rival on this field.
Fifteen yards in front of him, with cautious, brown eyes powerful as a forge and locked only on him, stands the University of Opus’ freshman cornerback. Achilles grins, teeth sharp behind his face mask.
Despite all odds, Achilles has been a prodigy since childhood, his speed and agility unmatched no matter the physical activity. He’s never once questioned his abilities all these years, and in turn, no one doubted his skill… until recently. It was one of many pre-season practice games, with scouters and their cameras aplenty to observe.
Up to that point, Achilles had easily made fools of the other schools’ defensive backs. Every time, a cocky cornerback would stand arrogantly at that line, convinced that they would be the first to tackle the infamous rookie wide receiver. And every time, he would watch their confidence shatter throughout the course of the game as he deftly avoided contact. Even when the routes were predictable, even when they knew the ball was going to Achilles, they still had not managed to catch him.
And then he met him.
More specifically, he saw him.
Handsome, with short, tightly coiled curls, rich brown skin, and eyes wide yet sharp all then covered by his helmet. But it wasn’t his looks that had distracted Achilles.
This player was… different. Achilles had felt his gaze as he observed from the sidelines. When it was his turn, he took his stance… far away from Achilles. It was odd, for sure, and the first time anyone had avoided a direct challenge, but Achilles had let it roll off- surely it was no cause for alarm. Perhaps the man was a coward. Achaea’s quarterback hiked the ball, and he sprinted forward. In front, the strange man turned away and ran down the field. Stupid, thought Achilles as he turned to let the ball slip into his hands.
In slow motion, Achilles watched in disbelief one gloved hand intercepts the ball, curling it into his own chest and taking off across the field.
No.
Go.
Go!!!
Fury and wounded pride fueled Achilles’ swiftness, and in seconds he slammed into the cornerback, crashing them both into the ground. Scowling, Achilles turned the player over to look him in his eye.
“This will never. Happen. Again.” He hissed, wanting to see the fear in the player’s eyes as he realized who he was fucking with. Instead, the player blinked slowly, undaunted.
“See to it that it doesn’t, then.”
The play ended, the player nudged a stunned Achilles off of him and hustled back to the sideline, his coach and team gleefully greeting him with cheers of his name and claps to his back. It takes a couple irritated commands from his own coach forced Achilles to slowly rise from the turf, myriad of emotions swirling through him.
The player- no, Patroclus- has been on his mind ever since, and Achilles has been fiending for a rematch. The point had been driven home- he couldn’t dare get too comfortable with his own skill. He’d pushed himself at practice, harder and smarter, planning for every possible play. It’s been worth every exhausting session too, the way Patroclus has met him with a constant, invigorating challenge all night. For every clever move he has attempted, Patroclus has countered, and what could have been a blow out of a game has become Achaea struggling to hold on to a lead of 28-24.
Is this what it’s like to face a challenge? Is that what it will be every time? Refreshing? Stimulating? Exciting? Achilles finds that he can’t wait to see Patroclus more often. He might have to get his phone number, schedule a few practices between them. He wants to see how Patroclus looks when he trains, what type of workout tricks they might share.
The quarterback hikes, and Achilles dashes towards the end zone. Adrenaline pounds through him as he throws the last of his energy into this final play, wildly and joyously running. He has just enough time to glimpse Patroclus close behind him, and he leaps into the air. As he catches the ball, arms grip around his torso and for a moment, he forgets where he is.
He’s not playing football, he’s not even on the field. He’s in his ballet studio, full of light and mirrors, and his partner Patroclus is lifting him in a pas de deux. He feels trust, safety, in this person’s arms.
It’s a silly distraction he’ll always regret.
Regaining focus a millisecond too late, he twists in Patroclus’ grasp. For the second time since they’ve met, they go crumbling to the ground, Achilles all elbows as he falls on top of him. Despite the awkward landing, for all intents and purposes it should be a regular tackle.
Instead, a sickening crack, followed by an agonized scream, gives every sign that it is not.
Patroclus curls in on himself, choking on his sobs and grasping blindly for his shin. Achilles thoughtlessly tosses the ball away, horror thick in his throat as he takes in the blood seeping from Patroclus’ shin guard. A sour scent permeates the space around them, his agony so strong that it overpowers the suppressants that some players take before games. An Alpha, then? The realization is now irrelevant.
“Shit, shit,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…Fuck, don’t panic, I’ve got you!” He removes Patroclus’ helmet so that he can breathe easier, revealing shivering eyes now vulnerable and staring at Achilles so pitifully that he might cry himself. Just as he reaches for under Patroclus’ arm to lift him onto his good leg, the coaches finally arrive and surround Patroclus’ prone body. Achaea’s coach pushes him out of the way, demanding that he return to the sidelines.
Patroclus whimpers in protest, reaching for Achilles. “No, no, please-”
“Go back over to the team, Achilles.”
Achilles looks down at Patroclus, whose gaze still holds tight to him. “But- but he-”
“Now, Achilles!”
Distraught, Achilles backs away, looking down at his feet. Patroclus raises his hands over his eyes to hide his tears, skin pallid as they finally lift him onto the stretcher and off of the field.
Achilles bats his lashes at the giggling cheerleaders, enraptured by his tales of last football practice. It’s now the beginning of his junior year at the University of Achaea, and some of the football team is enrolled in a required Seminar course. Naturally, to them this means messy uniforms (Achilles can’t remember the last time he actually wore his tie), barely making it to class on time, and sitting at the back of the deep lecture hall while paying the bare minimum of attention.
Right now, they have some extra time before class lets out, so they’ve been relaxing. Achilles has been entirely too focused on this year’s homecoming game against the Trojans from the University of Ilium to worry about some boring lectures on careers that he’s not interested in. The goal this year is to take their team to victory after two years of losses, and Agamemnon is determined that the news be spread. It’s one of the few times that Achilles can say he’s agreed with the man, so if that means boosting school morale with a story every now and then… who is he to deny everyone the pleasure?
“I just think it’s so cute that you’re an omega, Achilles,” Deidameia, one of the head cheerleaders, simpers. “Everyone expects omegas to be small and slight, but you’re super muscular. You’re like, breaking glass ceilings and all that!”
He grits his teeth to hold back the annoyance at her commentary, attempting a smile. “Sure!”
Both universities are known for allowing equal opportunity to all students despite their secondary presentation, with an environment where it is generally accepted that many of the stereotypes about those presentations were wrong and sometimes actively harmful. This outwardly progressive stance has especially worked out in Achaea’s favor, having placed Achilles on their football roster. He’s the first omega (and the youngest player) in their school history to play a starting position, and while he and his family are very proud of the accomplishment and representation, it’s extremely annoying that many people are rarely normal about it.
Luckily, Deidameia’s friend interjects before Deidameia can dig herself in any deeper.
“So! As cheerleaders we’re obviously always at the games, but I honestly don’t understand what’s going on half the time. Can you give me like, a basic rundown of what the star players like you guys do?”
At this, a suddenly alert Odysseus scoots his chair closer, pointedly cutting off any answer Achilles might have had. With a mop of curly brown hair tied into a ponytail exposing sharp brown eyes, one would hardly know that the senior alpha that spent most of his class time with his feet on his desk half-sleep had the highest grades in his undergraduate program.
“Wonderful question! Allow me to explain. Ajax, please hand me a piece of paper.”
Ajax, squished into his desk and focused on his phone, tears a piece of notebook paper and hands it to Odysseus, who scribbles out a small football field.
“Now. I’ll start with myself. I play Safety; I’m the last line of defense before the end zone. As a co-captain in charge of the defensive backs, I also change the defensive plays if necessary.” Odysseus makes a small oval and marks X’s within it. “One of the other defensive backs is Diomedes. Diomedes is a Cornerback, and it is his job to tackle and/or intercept the ball from the wide receiver. In other words, he’s the person who would defend against Achilles, on the other team. Don’t make that face, ladies- not everyone is Achilles, and Diomedes is a very clever individual! Sometimes, when it comes down to speed versus brains, it’s better to be more instinctively clever.”
A short vision of dark eyes, followed by a gloved hand swiping a ball from him, flashes behind Achilles’ eyes.
“Then, further up, we have Menelaus- he’s a Linebacker. Despite being a junior, he is also a co-captain placed in charge of the defensive line and the other linebackers. Their job, put very simply, is to stop the other team from progressing down the field with the ball. Are you still with me?”
They nod, trying their best to follow the diagram.
“Antilochus is over here, as a Defensive End-”
“The sophomore?” asks Deidameia, visibly skeptical. “He’s starting?”
“Hey,” lightly checks Achilles. “I started as a freshman. Don’t underestimate my sophomores.”
She quickly clams up in respect, waving for a patient Odysseus to continue.
“And it’s Antilochus’ job to tackle the Quarterback or the Halfback. Which means, you’ll want to know what those are next, right?” Odysseus smiles. “So, next we move onto the offensive line.”
“We’ll start with our great captain himself! Agamemnon, senior, captain, and our excellent Quarterback. Achilles, I’ll thank you not to roll your eyes! All of the offensive line is facilitated through Agamemnon; he calls plays, works as a liaison with our coaches for planning plays, and either hands the ball to the Halfback or throws it to the Wide Receiver.”
Menelaus was a pleasant enough beta, if a bit boorish at times. But his brother Agamemnon took the alpha male schtick to the extreme so often that Achilles felt grateful his position put him a field’s distance away from all the posturing. Shivering in distaste, he tunes back into Odysseus’ explanation.
“Automedon- yes, another sophomore- is our Halfback. He accepts the ball from Agamemnon and his job is to run with the ball. The linemen have to protect poor Automedon as he risks constant annihilation by angry defense. Luckily, he’s a joyous sort of fellow like Antilochus, so he doesn’t take it personally.”
“When we want to throw the ball instead of running, we have our Wide Receiver- your favorite prince, Achilles himself. His job is to catch the ball and run it to the end zone. In order to perform this position, you have to be extremely fast and agile- luckily for us, we’ve got no issues there! Because he’s also studying exercise physiology, he helps design our summer and winter training programs, as well as leading our warmup and cooldown stretches. I’m sure you’ve seen this part outside on the field.”
The girls giggle, Deidameia’s cheeks pinking a little as she looks a proud Achilles up and down.
“Last but not least, the gentle giant himself- Ajax! Ajax here is a Center, a job meant for only the most gigantic of men! His job is to snap the ball back to, and protect, the Quarterback. Agamemnon can rest well at night knowing that he’s the most protected man on this entire team, with 290 pounds of Ajax guarding him.”
Odysseus claps Ajax on the shoulder with pride, and Ajax blushes despite his small smile. Delighted, Deidemeia greedily reaches for the diagram, jumping in shock when Achilles snatches it into the air.
“Nope! Now it’s time for a test- you’ll have to tell me every position before you can have this back.” He dances out of her way as she tries to snatch it back, weaving in between the people now hustling to their next class.
“Achilles!” she cries playfully. “Come on, it’s not like we’d be able to learn this again with studying!”
She tries a couple more times to reach the paper to no avail. Achilles is not stupid- he knows that as future captain of the cheerleading squad, Deidameia knows much more about football than she was trying to let on. He also can’t claim that he doesn’t know why she’s putting on this ignorant façade; from the way her friend looks on in obvious envy, it’s clear that Deidameia is trying to keep within his space. Either way, he’s having a good time thwarting her efforts. He’s finally about to hand her the paper when-
“You’re standing in the way. Please make space.”
The low, velvet voice is clinically polite but assertive, slowing Achilles where he stands and sending his heart rate skyrocketing. Deidameia triumphantly snatches the paper from him, but she might as well not be there as he puts on an unaffected look and faces Patroclus.
Patroclus, who has grown two inches taller than him, whose locs now fall to his shoulders, whose tie is always pristine, and his sleeves rolled up under tight biceps-
“Who, me?” he asks nonchalantly, cutting off his own trail of thought. Patroclus closes his eyes, sighing through his nose, and Achilles’ pride ruffles. Before he can retort, Odysseus holds out his hands to behold their newcomer.
“And who could forget our dearest, gentle Patroclus? Patroclus is one of our team managers, working specifically with making sure all of our gear is properly checked and functional, as well as helping out with any other necessary logistics. Truly an asset to the functioning of our team- who else would volunteer their time to remember all of that?”
People who don’t want others to get hurt, thinks Achilles. Guilt still curdles in his stomach when he allows himself to think about that day… It has always been baffling to him, that after Patroclus healed from his severe injury, he chose to transfer to Achaea and work with the team…with the player that caused his life-changing injury. From what he’s overheard, Patroclus still attends school on multiple academic scholarships, so money is hardly an issue. Perhaps it’s just a way to feel closer to the sport he loved…but that still wouldn’t explain the transfer.
“You’re still standing in the way.”
This was the other thing about Patroclus- the man rarely rose his voice above an inside volume, the voice of reason for everyone else, but he managed to grate at Achilles with subtle passive-aggression that drives him insane. He’d rather just outright fight him than to deal with…whatever this is! Perhaps this was why he transferred, to personally torment Achilles? Well he’s been playing this game back for a year now, and he doesn’t plan on giving up any time soon!
Achilles steps forward, only an inch of space separating them. Looking up from under his lashes, he smiles beatifically despite his clear challenge. Patroclus stands his ground, maintaining eye contact. For a couple moments they stand there, visibly willing the other to stand down.
“Achilles, please-”
“Why don’t you make me move, Patroclus? Hm? Like at practice?”
“Would it kill you to be amenable for once?”
He doesn’t know what it says about him that he wants Patroclus’ hands on him, and he’s not going to figure it out, either. He simply doesn’t move. When Patroclus’ eye finally twitches with impatience, Ajax rises from his seat. He’s just made it into the walkway when Achilles raises a hand. Grinning, he moves to the side.
“See? I’m so amenable.”
With another annoyed sigh, Patroclus fixes his face and moves to the side as well.
“Go ahead,” he gently says.
Two small, nervous freshmen squeak out their thanks as they race past Patroclus, having been too terrified to ask the football and cheerleading stars to move for them. Once they’re out of sight, Patroclus takes a few more steps forward.
“Ajax, Odysseus, I’ll see you both at practice. Achilles, at least try for best behavior until then.”
With that, he sweeps out of the room. The moment he’s out of sight, Achilles’ face contorts into a scowl. The girls try to return to Achilles, but he only raises his hand to wave them away.
“Patroclus one thousand, Achilles zip,” Ajax teases, finally sliding on his bookbag.
Throughout all of this Odysseus has stood back, observing with knowing eyes and a sharp nose.
“Achilles. I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re mildly scenting-”
“I’m well a-fucking-ware, Odysseus!” Achilles hisses. Cheeks pink with indignity, he tosses his hair. “He just-” Infuriates me. Intrigues me. Makes me feel guilty. Makes me feel things I don’t understand. “He just annoys the fuck out of me sometimes and it overpowers my meds. Goody two shoes bastard. Let’s go.”