Out Of Joint

“If you had any brains at all, you wouldn’t have picked a fight with the biggest man in the room.”

They’re both young, though not by their reckoning. Achilles has the first of several proper broken noses to come, feels about ready to break out of his skin if the swelling is to be believed, and doesn’t appreciate this lack of sympathy. He’s got two black eyes and is well on his way to the most attractive shade of purple. Not to speak of the blood, though Patroclus wipes that clean unflinchingly. (The color combination looks striking, with his hair all in disarray, and all of the blood.)

“Being brave,” he finally produces once he seems sure there are no missing teeth in his mouth.

“Being stupid, more like it, cousin. At least I get to practice doctoring on you.”

Achilles mutters something profane. “Lot of help you were.”

Patroclus leans in beside him, officious despite the advantages of only a few years. Achilles tries to grimace at him, only to find that that hurts pretty badly as well. There’s a long moment that passes between them, the older boy studying him intently in profile while those gentle hands barely brush his skin. The fact that his face hurts like hell prevents it from being too companionable.

And suddenly, it’s over. Patroclus claps him on the shoulder, rises from his seat wiping off his hands on his tunic. “It’s a clean break. You were lucky. Try not to do it again, cousin.”