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The shift was quick, painless. One moment he was standing at the top of the hill, screaming his fury at the dog-faced boy who called himself his son. The child was going to take him away from Patroclus, to separate them for eternity. The gods had had their fun; Achilles had played his part. He had died for it. Patroclus had died for it. Pyrrhus had no right to add to Achilles' pain.
Rage didn't change anything. Not a cursed thing. Achilles was sent to the underworld while Patroclus stayed tied to the world above, lost and alone. Achilles wasn't sure being sent away was any better. He was alone, too. He stood and watched soul after soul walk past, souls who allowed Charon to carry them across the Styx. Occasionally, one of them would ask Achilles if he was coming. A Myrmidon, thrilled to see their commander, then confused at his determined presence by the shore.
“Patroclus isn't there,” was all he told his men. They meet his words with nods and understanding. They had seen him grieve, had seen the way he had chased the promise of death. They had seen his son pass down an eternal punishment for his father. They hadn't questioned his waiting for Patroclus. They had simply saluted and moved on.
Eventually, Odysseus had come.
Odysseus had come while alive. He had dragged his living soul to the realm of the dead, and Achilles had been left to stare for several minutes. Then he had railed against death and the underworld. He wasn't sure if Odysseus understood his fury until he spoke.
“I tried to convince Pyrrhus,” he claimed, quietly. “I failed, but I tried.” Achilles nodded. He wouldn't give Odysseus his thanks, but he could admit what Odysseus had done.
Achilles had just repeated, “You tried,” and went back to staring at the Styx. Odysseus had left him to mourn alone, and Achilles was thankful for that. The only person he wanted now was Patroclus, and Patroclus wasn't here.
He wasn't going to be here.
More souls come and go, but Achilles barely notices them. They aren't Patroclus, and therefore they don't interest him. More Myrmidons, but he doesn't have to impress them. They know where the center of his world is. They all fade into a blur, one that can't drag Achilles's eyes from the water. He doesn't track time: days or weeks or years have no meaning to him.
Not until he felt a hand brush his hair. The feeling of those fingers is familiar, and he can't stop himself from whispering. “Patroclus?”
He turns slowly, afraid that he is wrong. The fingers slip through his hair and cradle the back of his head. But he doesn't notice the sensation. Instead, he is captivated by dark eyes and curls. More of an impression than an image. “Patroclus,” he says again, and light explodes around him.
He leans forward for a kiss, lets it linger against his lips until his body can convince his mind that this is real. Patroclus is here. They are together, and this can last forever. It is only after he can feel his heartbeat slow and his breathing steady that he speaks again. “I love you,” he mutters into Patroclus's skin. “I love you and I missed you and I am going to spend forever with you.”
“I know,” he hears Patroclus whisper. “And I love you, and we have all the time in the world.” Achilles laughs, unable to do anything but laugh and kiss Patroclus's hair, eyes, mouth.
“Gods, I love you,” he repeats. He doesn't bother to ask his questions; they have plenty of time for that. Right now, all he needs to do is bask in Patroclus's presence. For the first time since they left Mt. Pelion, he feels himself relax, and a single thought crosses his mind. This is perfection. This is the moment when everything is right with the universe.