Coarse sand rests against my bare back as I lay under a clear sky, basking in the cool ocean breeze, with something warm and familiar curled against my side. I glance down, hopeful to see Patroclus’ hand resting on my tunic.

“What is on your mind, Achilles?” he asks in a voice I thought I’ve long forgotten, one that has become muffled over the millenia. Within this dream though, it’s as it should be; full of affection and calm.

“Achilles?” he whispers when I don’t answer, his hand reaching up to cup my chin.

When he forces me to look at him, I clench my eyes, terrified this good dream will warp. He chuckles, oblivious to my fear.

“Are you toying with me?” he asks, sounding closer than before, and my desire to see him again, the real him, grows too strong. I open my eyes, shocked and overwhelmed to peer upon Patroclus’ curled brown hair damp by the sea air dancing over deep brown eyes. Far more beautiful than the ocean we lay by or anything I've gazed upon in my long life. It makes me miss him all the more.

I take his hand, holding tight over my racing heart. He smiles, the way he always did, that made one dimple show on his right cheek. Words lodge in my throat. A tear slips over my cheek. Patroclus wipes the tear away with the back of his thumb.

“Why do you shed a tear, my love?” he asks.

“I… got sand in my eye,” I lie, making him laugh.

“Achilles, when will you learn? That was the perfect moment to tell me you were so taken by my beauty that it forced you to shed a tear.”

“If I say that now, will I receive a reward?”

Patroclus rises, keeping firm hold of my hand to take me with him. Smiling, he says, “Perhaps.”

When he races towards the sea, pulling me along, everything suddenly fades away. Patroclus disappears in a series of light and explosive bangs.

I sit up fast in bed, breathing heavily, not from a real explosion. Just a boisterous neighbor. Laughter from the party intensifies. Sounds that should be joyous do nothing to calm the rapid beating of my heart.

A century has passed since I’ve had such a beautiful dream, and it was ruined. What part of keeping it down doesn’t the monster next door understand?!

I miss the days when you could kick the shit out of an annoyance without getting caught. Fingerprinting, DNA, and cameras in the palm of your hands makes it so difficult to resolve your own problems. Sometimes I prefer the days when you settled your differences through combat. I always won.

I throw off the blankets, cursing when I get out of bed only to land funny on my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg. That doesn’t stop me from quickly dressing and grabbing my cane to stomp over to Harper’s apartment.

I had Patroclus in my arms. He was right there. And it was ruined.

I pound on Harper’s door, unsure if anyone will even hear me. I’ll kick this damn door in, if I have to.

A stranger opens the door. The girl’s red in the face, eyes glistened over. She takes a long swig of her drink, then asks, “You here for the party?”

“Where’s Harper?” I ask. The sooner I get this over with, the better. Sober people are already a pain in the ass. Drunk ones are even worse.

“Mm, in the kitchen, I think? This way,” she says, waving to follow.

I slip through the throngs of bodies taking up Harper’s apartment. It seems everyone invited a friend or two because there’s at least thirty people, if not more hiding in the other rooms. A makeshift dance floor has been made by pressing the furniture against the wall. Music blares from the TV and surround sound speakers. Modern parties are such a headache. How can anyone hear themselves, let alone communicate with friends?

“Adrian!” Harper calls from the kitchen. He’s mixing some kind of drink on the counter. Finishing up, he pushes it aside and approaches me. That’s when I realize my guide is gone, disappearing into the crowd.

“I’m so glad you came back!” Harper shouts over the music. His cheeks are tinted a light shade of pink, but his voice isn’t slurred and he isn’t tripping over his own feet. He must not be drunk. Yet.

“Kind of got out of hand, didn’t it?” he laughs, looking around at everyone. “People just kept showing up! Are you hungry or thirsty?”

Harper grabs my wrist. He literally caught me by surprise, so he’s able to tug me around the countertop, further into the kitchen. Some people lean against the cupboards chatting and munching on snacks. Harper gestures to said snacks, while continuing to hold my wrist. His hands are soft and warm, making my arm break out with goosebumps, which is even more outrageous considering the situation.

“We have real food and junk food,” he laughs. “There’s some pizza and wings left. You’re lucky.” He peeks over his shoulder left to right, checking if anyone is listening. Then he leans up to whisper in my ear. I pull away fast, recalling Patroclus on the beach and how I so desperately wish to return.

Harper tilts his head, momentarily confused, but continues, “The chicken dip was devoured in, like, twenty minutes. But I put some in a bowl and hid it in the fridge, if you’d like to try some.”

“I’m not here for the party,” I snarl, ripping my hand away. Harper flinches like I physically hurt him. It’s too loud in here to talk and there are too many people. Gesturing to the door, I declare, “We need to talk. In private.”

“Okay,” Harper whispers, realization seeming to settle in. He frowns while walking to the door with me following right behind him.