This.

This is what he adored.

The sunlight spilling from the trees and warming his cheeks.

The gentle plucks of his lyre as he watched Patroclus rolling his fingers in the grass and picking up the pieces that detach.

He watched him longer than he expected.

The way his brown locks shrouded the brown doe like eyes he loved. His soft tan skin he knew would be warm now it was noon.

“Patroclus.. look at me.”

His words soft as his song.