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“What the fuck!”
Patrick jumps up from the couch, throwing his laptop to the side mindlessly as a loud crash sounds from the bathroom. He only manages to take one step toward the door before it slams open and David practically slides out. He’s soaked, his hair lathered up with shampoo that is now running down his forehead, and he hastily clutches the towel around his waist as he puts as much distance as he can between himself and the bathroom. Steam billows through the doorway, probably seconds away from setting off the fire alarm and forcing all of the residents to evacuate the apartment building.
Patrick can’t even say this is the first time something like this has happened.
Without a word, he grabs a couple tissues from the box on the coffee table and wipes at David’s face, making sure the shampoo doesn’t get in his eyes, and asks calmly, “What is it this time?”
“There was a mouse behind my conditioner!”
Patrick’s eyebrows furrow and he slowly pulls back, meeting David’s panicked gaze.
“A mouse?”
“Yes,” David says defensively, his free arm flailing dramatically, “a mouse! It had its disgusting, disease-ridden nose right on the bottle, and it didn’t even move when I went to pick it up. It probably has rabies! Oh god...am I gonna start foaming at the mouth?”
Patrick presses his lips into a tight line to keep from laughing and throws the tissues onto the table so he can grip David’s shoulders in an attempt to steady him.
“You do not have rabies,” he reassures him. “Stay here, and I’ll go check it out.”
“No,” David says, grabbing his arm as he goes to turn. “Then you’ll get rabies too!”
“No one is getting rabies, David.”
He moves toward the bathroom, blocking out David’s disgruntled muttering. The small space is thick with steam as he peeks around the doorway, and he takes in the disarray of the shower. The curtain is wide open, allowing tiny droplets of water to escape and build a puddle next to the tub, and most of the bottles have been knocked to the ground in David’s panicked escape. But sure enough, on the ledge where he keeps his conditioner, there is an unfamiliar gray blob. Patrick takes a few steps closer, avoiding the water as best he can as he leans in to see better, and he nearly doubles over with laughter when he realizes that there is in fact a mouse there.
A small, stuffed animal mouse.
Stevie was over last night, and she did have a strangely smug expression on her face when she left. Patrick should’ve expected something like this.
“Um, I’m sorry, what could possibly be funny about this situation?” David yells from the living room.
Patrick grabs the toy and stands, holding it behind his back and pressing his other hand to his mouth for a moment in an attempt to control himself, then he leans back around the doorway and meets David’s wide eyes, smiling innocently.
“You’re safe now,” he says, nonchalant.
David looks unconvinced.
“It’s gone?” he asks, taking a small step closer and craning his neck, as if that will somehow give him x-ray vision and a good view of the shower.
“Oh no,” Patrick replies, stepping fully out of the bathroom and revealing the stuffed animal. He gives it a few pets. “I think we should keep it.”
“Patri-” David begins to exclaim before he realizes, and Patrick can’t help letting out a chuckle as his mouth drops open in disbelief. “I’m going to kill her.”
Patrick steps forward and pats his cheek consolingly. “You should probably finish your shower first.”
David storms back into the bathroom, huffing angrily, and as soon as the door is shut, Patrick places their new “pet” on his pillow.