For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty?

Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

Achilles’ eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. “I wish he had let you all die.

When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.

Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.

Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.

Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.