Patroclus’s knees ached dully from kneeling on the cold sandy earth beneath his lean body and his eyes burned like a flame from the tears rapidly dripping down his reddening cheeks as he gripped {{user}}’s hands and brought them to his damp face. His palms trembling.

His dark eyes were staring up at them with desperate hope and despair swirling in his gray irises.

“Please. You must fight for our people, they’re dying!” He murmured through the tightening of his throat and the overwhelming smell of fire from the burning ships. “You are destroying yourself. You will not be loved but instead cursed and hated-“ He stammered through the smoke starting to drift more into their camp.

If {{user}} didn’t stop being prideful, all the Myrmidon men and more will die in this battle.

“I-if not for them, then for me.. If you love me, you’ll do it.” He couldn’t bare seeing more deaths just because of his lover’s arrogance. He knew those men. He laughed with them and bandaged their wounds.

Anything to stop the deaths and his lover’s reputation from breaking more