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“Honey?” David called as he walked in the front door.
Patrick had texted him in the late morning to tell him fuckin cafe seafood night and now live in bathroom, and David frowned, sent back hearts and vomit emojis and left Ana, their new hire, in charge at the store. Though, she wasn’t that new. She had been training for six months (“Six months, David, really? For retail training?” But David hadn’t budged) and reassured David no less than seven times that she would call him if anything at all went wrong in any way—whether or not it was mentioned in his heavily researched and painstakingly compiled Rose Apothecary Training Binder. Patrick had kissed David, hot and deep, against the counter when he’d whipped that one out, so to speak. And David had teased him endlessly for being turned on by a binder Patrick, really?
So David had left Ana with strict instructions, stopped at Mr. Hockley’s new (legitimate and completely legal, Roland) pharmacy, and drove home to his husband. He left his keys and bag by the front door, grabbed some water from the kitchen, and headed up to their bedroom. David paused outside the door, steeling his nerves and practicing breathing through his mouth, before striding straight through to the bathroom.
Lucky for everyone, Patrick was miserably laying on their beautifully tiled bathroom floor, squashed into the corner between the tub and the toilet, face draped unfortunately over the rim of the bowl. David’s entire body softened, overwhelmed with sympathy at the look on Patrick’s face as he struggled to lift his head and greet David. “Hey,” he croaked.
David left the pharmacy bag outside the bathroom door, but kept the water bottle, and knelt down next to Patrick. “Hi, baby,” he said softly, reaching out to gently touch his forehead. “You look awful.”
Patrick smiled weakly and leaned into David’s touch. “I feel awful. I think—I haven’t gotten sick in 30 minutes so I’m either due for another or—” he hiccuped and David recoiled violently. Patrick held his fist up to his mouth and shook his head. “I’m good.” He mumbled behind his hand. “Or I’m done for a few hours.”
David rubbed his back, careful not to jostle him. “Do you want to sip some water? Then we can go lay down.”
Patrick groaned, and David took that to mean yes, so he twisted off the cap and held it up to Patrick’s lips and his pajama shirt ended up with a huge splash of water down the front. David helped Patrick stand to rinse his mouth, and held his hands as he pulled him into the bedroom. He helped him change into a light t-shirt, and tucked him tightly into their bed, before pressing his lips to Patrick’s clammy forehead. He put on Patrick’s favorite napping documentary (“It’s not my napping documentary, David.” “Okay, then what’s it about?” “... fine.”) and made sure he could reach his water and the small cup of ginger ale on the nightstand.
Patrick fell asleep quickly, but David stayed for a bit longer in case he woke up to—
Patrick groaned and flopped around, tossing the covers off and stumbling back into the bathroom. David was right behind him, breathing through his mouth and trying hard not to listen to the retching sounds as he rubbed Patrick’s back some more.
Once Patrick was sure he was done, they repeated the entire brush teeth, walk to bed, and tuck-in rigamarole, and Patrick was snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. David changed into loungewear and settled in next to him to read.
Patrick woke up after dark. He felt—well he felt like he spent all morning puking his guts out only to be rescued by a tall, dark, prince who brought water and ginger ale to his deathbed. He groaned, pulling a hand over his face and fumbling on the nightstand for said ginger ale. “I got it,” he heard David whisper as an arm reached around him to grab the cup. Once he was leaning against the headboard sipping his drink, he could finally look at David.
He was wearing his glasses, and Patrick was struck, as ever, at how comfortable they made him look. He looked—looked home. “What?” David smiled, running his fingers through his mussed hair.
Patrick grinned back, but just shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How do you feel?” David laid his palm against Patrick’s forehead again. Patrick was pretty convinced that David didn’t really know what he was feeling for when he did that, it was just part of the motions he performed anytime Patrick was less than 100%. Achy shoulder from drilling David into the mattress? David would touch his forehead to see… something. He’d never gotten clarification on that. Patrick smiled wider at the thought and nodded.
“I’m better.”
“I brought the kettle up here. Let me heat up some water, you want some tea?”
Patrick nodded again, still smiling at his husband.
“Quit smiling at me you’re freaking me out.” He got up and walked around the bed, but Patrick caught his arm as he passed his side.
“Thank you, David. For taking care of me. And for leaving Ana at the store, I know that wasn’t easy.”
David looked at the ceiling, but Patrick knew he was just trying not to smile. “I’m not going to talk to you about the binder, mister, so just cut it out.”
Patrick laughed softly and tugged David forward by the front of his t-shirt. “I mean it,” he said and kissed him until they were both breathless.