Chapter Text
“You’re allowed to have these days.”
He’s said that to David countless times and has heard David say it to himself just as frequent.
Patrick handles his own days differently. Like with stress, he bottles it all up until he explodes. He doesn’t kick or scream, he doesn’t throw anything, but Patrick will stir quietly, barely even grumbling until his skin feels too tight.
On these days, in the morning, he’ll toss and turn, sighing periodically until he can’t lay any longer. These are days where deep breaths feel choked, where his legs can’t stop moving, and as if the walls are closing in. They’re low days.
David knows Patrick. He knows his husband well enough to pick them out. Whether it’s Patrick going abnormally quiet or arranging and rearranging things around the house or at work, David just knows. And Patrick will never say anything because he doesn’t want to be a burden.
Today is one of those days.
Patrick felt off from the moment he crawled out of bed. His heart was racing, his fingers were twitching as if they were trying to grab at some phantom thread, searching for something, anything. He’s dressed and ready to go before David’s even up.
His husband is still buried beneath the comforter, a hand splayed out on Patrick’s empty side of the bed. Normally, Patrick wouldn’t fight the urge to crawl back in beside him and hold David a little longer, but today sitting still is nearly impossible.
So he leaves, not for work, but for a run.
And Patrick never runs, he usually hikes to clear his head, but he goes for it anyway. If he doesn’t move soon, he’ll burst.
So he runs, circling their block twice before choosing a different path up through town, passing town hall and the café until finally, finally, the air leaves his lungs in a wheeze and he’s heaving on the front steps of the Apothecary.
Patrick has his elbows leaning on his knees as he tries to catch his breath when the crunching of tires hits his ears.
“Patrick.”
He squints up in the early morning sunlight and sees David, tall and handsome and somehow still impeccably dressed despite being in his pajamas, worrying his wedding band.
Patrick’s lips fall into that weak downturned smile, shifting just enough to give David some space to sit beside him, but he doesn’t. Instead, David reaches out and pulls Patrick to his feet. He stumbles into his chest, heaving as his husband’s arms wrap snug around him.
“What’s going on?”
A sigh. “I don’t know…”
“Okay.” David’s hand brushes through his hair. “That’s okay. You’re sweaty.”
“I was running.”
There’s a beat and a long breath from David. “You never run,” he says knowingly.
“I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin,” he laughs wetly into David’s shirt, and his husband starts holding him tighter. Patrick breaths in, shallow.
He feels weak and a little nauseated.
“Well I’m not gonna let that happen.”
David’s lips press quick into the top of his head, and Patrick is soon being guided back to the car. He crosses the street, leaving Patrick behind momentarily to grab a carryout bag and cardboard tray from Twyla at the door of the café; muffins and a cup of Earl Grey, as it turns out.
“I called it in,” David confirms without question.
Patrick is deposited into the shower when they get back, rinsing off the dust and grime and sweat of his run. He drops the shampoo bottle twice due to his unsteadiness, a loud clatter echoing in the bathroom, and Patrick has to lean against the cool tile wall to compose himself for a moment. It’s as if he’ll break if he doesn’t. Patrick rushes to finish, the heated spray making him feel suffocated.
He dresses for comfort and makes his way back down only to find David hovering at their patio door with a thick blanket.
He follows him out to where a narrow lounger is set up in the cool morning air, their breakfast sitting on a small round table beside it.
Patrick’s eyes flit toward David warily but sits down anyway, making as much room as he can for two grown bodies to fit on the cushion. His heart is still racing and his hands are still shaking as he lays tucked into his husband’s side.
David nudges his nose into Patrick’s damp hairline, finding his hands over the blanket, his breathing still uneasy.
“All kinds of days, honey. Okay?”
Patrick hums in response as a cool breeze wraps around them.
David pulls the blanket securely over them and continues, “Just try and rest for a bit. If you can’t, we’ll figure something out.”
Patrick smiles, feeling a little more at ease. For all he does for David, his husband does just the same, if not more for him. He’s grateful for that. If Patrick’s still feeling the same hours later, he’ll go for a walk, and David will take his hand and follow, no questions asked.
But for now he leans back, growing calmer as David helps him navigate this one day of many days.