#the line between tomfoolery and being so annoying that nice people want to throttle you is very thin and Achilles crosses it every day

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! May I ask a WIP Wednesday, only if you're okay? Thank you so much for all your wonderful fics!

Hello!! I've been steadily working (plodding along lmao) on the western AU, here's a tiny snippet of Achilles being a silly menace:

After finishing his lunch, Patroclus leans back against the birch tree trunk and pulls a small book out of his pocket; the same book he was reading the day before, and the day before that. He is soon engrossed in it, and back to ignoring Achilles thoroughly.

"What are you reading?" Achilles asks, sitting up. He tries to make out what the book is about, but he’s too far away.

"A book."

"I can see that. What kind of book?"

Patroclus chews idly on the long stem of wild wheat dangling from his lips. He never once takes his eyes off the page as he turns it. "The reading kind."

“You don't say,” Achilles mutters, seething in frustration. Patroclus must think himself quite clever, and Achilles quite the dolt, if he thought for a minute that he would be placated by this answer. He wants to grab that insolent boy by the shoulders and shake him, to push and poke and prod him until he finally looks at him.

Before he can stop himself, he's already shot up and snatched the book from Patroclus' hands.

"Hey!"

"Assorted poems," Achilles reads off the cover of the book when he flips it over. "Huh. Didn't pin you as the poetry type."

Patroclus visibly bristles, his shoulders and neck tensing, and gives him a hard, from-under stare. He pushes himself up to his feet, but Achilles is faster; he dashes away and climbs up the next tree, quick and agile like a cat.

"Give it back here," Patroclus demands sharply, but Achilles is already perched on his tree branch, out of Patroclus’ reach, and biting into his piece of honey pie as he examines the book at his leisure. It is small and sturdy, and seems to have been well loved. The pages are tinged yellow, and the leather is scuffed at the corners but it’s in relatively good shape, considering Patroclus has probably been carrying it around in his pocket for God knows how long.

"Let’s see, let's see…" Achilles muses loudly. The cake fills his mouth with sweet, gooey syrup as he peruses the small book’s contents, but nothing tastes as sweet as disturbing Patroclus’ peace. "What does Patroclus No-Name like to read? Bet it's something very clever and profound. Bet it’s some big secret no one's allowed to know." He finishes off his pie and licks his fingers clean as Patroclus continues to glare at him from below.

“Shall I read us something from it?” he asks pleasantly. It thrills him beyond measure, the way Patroclus’ eyes flick from his face to his fingers, still sticky with syrup, that are touching the pages of his precious book. “It would be just the thing to pass the time, don’t you think? I’ll read your favourite poem, if you tell me which one it is.”

The only answer Patroclus gives him is a long, hard, dark look.

“Fine, then, I’ll choose one myself!” Achilles declares, and flicks a page at random.