ACHILLES + PATROCLUS [p. jackson]

0.1: LUCK HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT

RIP WAS NEVER ONE FOR PARTIES, BUT HE WAS CERTAIN HE WOULD HAVE TO GET USED TO THEM NOW. He was celebrating amongst his fellow soldiers for the victory won mere hours ago; they had won! Saturn was defeated! He had made centurion!

He watched with a proud smile as the last of the soldiers slipped away, some towards homes, others towards temples, and others drunkenly stumbling back to the barracks.

(Rip was certain they would give himself and his fellow centurions a headache heavier then the weight of the world, but who could blame them for celebrating the good old-fashioned way?

Though, as he would later grumble to Jason during sparring, as most of their best conversations were held during those times, some of those intoxicated were their age and younger)

"Are you planning on staying out here all night?" A voice broke Rip from his thoughts, his hands instinctively clasping around the pair of dice tied to his belt.

Thankfully, it was simply the newest Praetor himself, Jason Hercules Grace, an eyebrow aimed towards the sky. Though many would bow their heads or even kiss the ground where he walked, Rip knew Jason better than that, and only shared a friendly smile and a half-hearted salute.

A groan escaped the son of Jupiter, deep eyes rolling dramatically in a fashion that reminded Rip he was still a child, despite the muscles and scars. They certainly shared a lot of those.

"Nah," Rip hummed, running a hand through his tussled curls. Dark eyes drifted towards the sky, watching the constellations wink down at the pair.

(There was that new one that he couldn't quite place, that had taken its place in the sky merely two years ago, where it came from, not even the scholars of Minerva could trace)

"Well," Jason huffed, punching his shoulder with enough strength to push over a boulder, yet Rip held his ground. "We've both got so much work to do, eh?"

"Who would have thought?" Rip twirled the dice between his fingers, feeling the cool metal clink together breaking through the gentle silence of the night. "Well, I guess everyone thought you would succeed," another huff escaped Jason. "But a son of Fortuna? Best we usually get is an easy service with a whole lot of nothing to do."

"Don't put yourself down so much," Jason shook his head. "The war would not have gone so smoothly if not for you and your luck, or your strategy."

All Rip could do was shrug his shoulders. Sure, he was lucky, that was his entire job, but what made him stand out among the others was his battle strategies. Rivaled only by those of perhaps his name sake, they were almost always crazy and unorthodox, yet they tended to work.

Octavian claimed it was because of his leadership that any of it worked, and he would't deny the boy's iron fist was helpful, but Rip liked to think it was his mom's way of telling him she was proud, that his luck was worth something.

"What comes next?" Rip asked the stars, who just stared silently back in response. "What's the next threat coming our way?"

"C'mon, Aggie," Jason laughed, though a lot less enthusiastically then he had hoped. Rip guessed the question was haunting him, too. "We can't focus that far in the future, all that matters is what is here and now."

He had grabbed hold of Rip's arm, tugging him in the direction of quieter revelry rising from the barracks. Rip watched as a son of Bacchus stumbled outside, goblet clasped tightly in his hand, and with a red-stained smile, gave a hearty wave.

"Goodnight, Kota!" Jason called out, raising an arm in acknowledgement to his former barrack mate. All Rip did was narrow his eyes at the liquid in his cup, which reeked not of alcohol, but of something far sweeter.

"What is that boy drinking?" He questioned softly, more to himself then anything as they halted in front of his barracks. It was far quieter than the others, which was a good sign.

"You don't want to know," Jason mused letting go of Rip's shoulder. In the light of the moon, his blond hair looked almost silver, and the scar down his lip was distinct. He had once asked him where he got that scar, to which he recieved no proper answer.

An awkward silence fell between them, neither one wanting to say goodnight just yet, to savor in each other's company for just a second longer, because if they did, they would have to face the terrifying idea that things were going to change between them, between their friends.

There was no longer a need to constantly prove themselves, they had made it to a point where both were comfortable, where they finally felt they belonged.

But what of those left behind? The friends in the fifth cohort never felt so far away, they were technically far below either of them now. No more days of being able to lounge around and goof off, it was time they had to grow up.

The thought terrified them both, yet neither voiced their concern to the other. They wouldn't understand, they each thought. This is what they have been working towards all their life, and I can't ruin it for them by being a whiny child.

Despite their years of friendship, communication was never their strong suit.

"Uh," Jason broke the awkward silence, glancing into Rip's eyes with a half-hearted yet heavy smile. "Good night, Agrippa."

A pause. "Good night, Jason."

As the door shut behind Rip, the boy slumped against the door, head in his hands.

(Thank the gods his barrackmates were asleep)

Why, why was talking to his best friend so damn hard sometimes?

Well, the little voice in the back of his head piped up. You know why.

Shut up.

Edit: forgot the end of the chapter incorrect quote, whoops.

Agrippa: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait.
Jason: You and me!!!
Agrippa, tearing up: Okay.