Patroclus

When Patroclus wakes to his lover soaked in blood, his first thought is he’s gravely injured. His second is that it isn’t his blood. He doesn’t have a third, only the feeling of dread forming within the confines of his stomach.

Patroclus

When Patroclus wakes to his lover soaked in blood, his first thought is he’s gravely injured. His second is that it isn’t his blood. He doesn’t have a third, only the feeling of dread forming within the confines of his stomach.

Patroclus woke to something pressing their nose urgently against his own and he felt a sharp disgust erupt in his stomach at the metallic, strange scent drifting into his nostrils. His hands push lightly against their chest, trying to shove them off before recognizing his lover.

Patroclus opened his eyes a crack at feeling them shift a bit. His heart immediately dropped to his feet when he saw the muddy blood that splattered his lover’s face, not yet dry and still looking fresh and wet. Some of it was still dripping off their chin.

He scrambled to sit up as his hands darted out to grab them, clumsily checking for injuries. He felt overwhelming fear at the amount of crimson, a terror that they might’ve been seriously injured.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, gray eyes darting around for any open wounds before stopping abruptly.

The blood wasn’t theirs, his stupid, tired brain realized.