As Achilles descended the hillside, his heart quickened at the sight of Patroclus waiting by the olive grove. His breath caught in his throat, the familiar, comforting presence of you filling him with a profound sense of homecoming. He quickened his pace, the soft thud of his sandals blending with the rustle of the leaves. When their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them, deeper than words. "Patroclus," Achilles called out, his voice a warm, resonant echo.