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“How do you feel about the ninth?”
Patrick looked up from the invoice on the counter before him and at David, who’d just spoken for the first time in an hour. “What?”
“The ninth,” David repeated, as if his meaning should be obvious.
“For what?”
“The launch.” David shook his head a little. “Sorry, I just assumed that the issue of our store opening was as present in your mind as it is in mine.”
“Oh,” Patrick nodded, and he returned to his paperwork. “The ninth, huh? Of June?”
“Yeah, well,” he started to explain, unboxing the remainder of the lemon cleanser and moving closer to the counter by Patrick. “I feel like that would be a good time since it’s on a Wednesday, and since nine is my lucky number, and since it gives us another week to finish going over the rest of the stock we have to make sure we’ve correctly prioritized which items we’re going to have out on the sales floor.”
“We’ve been over this,” Patrick answered with a smirk. “No one’s going to buy a double-knit alpaca beanie with attached scarf in the dead of summer.”
“I would and I have.”
“Okay, but other than you,” Patrick smiled now, unable to contain himself lately, it seemed. Because of course David would wear alpaca wool in summer, and of course David would prioritize it over the natural linen shoulder wraps that would be more suitable for a breezy summer night. And of course David would want to open the store on a Wednesday of all days, rather than a Saturday, which would make so much more sense. And of course despite all of this, Patrick found himself inclined to say yes, because lately he’d found that he wanted to give David everything he wanted, no matter how impractical, ridiculous, or unbearably, unseasonably warm.
“Okay,” he agreed, his voice soft and his mind racing, telling him to stop looking at David. Stop giving himself away. But then he remembered, and he looked back up. “Wait, no. The ninth won’t work.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’m having a procedure,” Patrick said. “A dentist thing. It’s on the ninth.”
“Can’t you just schedule your cleaning for a different day?”
“It’s not a cleaning,” Patrick explained sheepishly. “I’m having my wisdom teeth out.”
“Oh,” David hesitated, and he wasn’t sure why Patrick seemed embarrassed to say it. “That’s a much bigger deal. I mean, I’ve never had to have my wisdom teeth out because Dr. Rosenbaum actually said I had the most perfectly shaped jaw he’d ever seen, but I can imagine.”
Patrick smiled again, looked away again, down at the paper. “I was actually going to ask you if…” but then he stopped as he checked off the last item, pushed the paper and pen to the side. “Well… no, never mind.”
“What?” David asked. “What were you going to ask?”
Patrick stood up straight and took in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way, like asking David for a ride to and from the dentist was such a terrible imposition. After all, Ray had offered to do it, but Patrick had been informed that recovery could be quite painful, and Ray was something of a talker, and Patrick wasn’t sure that it would be ideal. Still, as he stared into eyes that reminded him of the hills back home where he’d discovered his love of nature, he knew that even if he didn’t ask David, he’d still have these feelings nagging at him. Asking for a ride or not asking wasn’t going to make those disappear any time soon.
“It would be nice,” he started, awkwardly placing his hands in his pockets, “If I could get a ride there and back. I’ll be on some pretty heavy anesthesia, so I’m not supposed to drive.”
David thought for a moment. “Aren’t those things usually done pretty early in the morning?” he asked.
Patrick sighed. “Eight A.M.”
David’s eyes widened, then shut tight. He nodded. “I’ll do it,” he answered, almost surprised at himself for agreeing. “But only because I’d like to make sure you get this over with so we can open the week after.”
Patrick smiled in relief. “Of course. And thank you, David.”
David nodded. He turned back toward the last few items left to stock. “Count yourself lucky,” he called back. “It’s not often that I let people see me before ten A.M.”
“Well, you might need to adjust that since we’re going to be opening at nine every morning. But I understand.”
“This takes time to make presentable,” David told him, his hand gesturing in broad circles around his face. “This doesn’t just happen with a bar of soap in a shower.”
“Understood,” Patrick answered. And he allowed himself a moment to appreciate the face, the gorgeous, almost impossibly smooth skin on David’s cheeks and neck, skin he thought must be just as soft as it looked, lips that looked like they were made to be kissed. And now he was thinking too much, and there was work to do, and maybe the pain of a quadruple tooth extraction would be some relief from the overwhelming ache of this feeling that he was now committed to working beside a man he was falling in love with, a man he’d probably never work up the nerve to say it to.
.
David arrived at Ray’s at exactly half past seven, just as Patrick had requested, and waited awkwardly beside the desk where they’d first met while Ray informed Patrick that David had arrived. He felt a sense of comfort as he heard now-familiar footsteps, Patrick walking the length of the upstairs hall, trotting down the stairs, and David wasn’t sure what to think when he saw what Patrick was wearing. Comfortable, flattering sweatpants, a simply gray zipped-up hoody, tennis shoes. He’d never seen Patrick so… casual. And he knew he should hate it, but he very much did not.
Patrick handed David the keys to his car as they stepped outside. “Did you bring a book to read or anything?” he asked. “It could be as long as an hour wait, so you might want a book or something.”
“I’ve got one,” he answered, holding up the paperback in his left hand. And even as they let themselves into the car, David couldn’t stop staring at Patrick, dressed down and leisurely. Almost unrecognizable compared to the business major, the take-charge guy who’d walked into David’s store and informed him that he’d be there all along the way to make sure the business was a success.
“What?” Patrick asked, pulling the seatbelt around himself.
David was surprised that Patrick had noticed his glares, but he didn’t feel any shame in it. After all, it was a very different-looking Patrick from the one he’d gotten to know and… whatever-he-felt. “You just look very relaxed,” David grinned as they pulled away.
“I’m supposed to wear comfortable clothes,” he answered defensively.
“It’s just different,” David said, still smiling, and now Patrick was smiling, too.
“I don’t sleep in a button-up and jeans, David,” he answered. But now David was thinking about how Patrick did sleep, and where he slept, and how he’d once offered to let David sleep over, and how he wished he’d taken him up on that offer.
“It’s a nice look,” David said. “It’s just like the time I saw Paris Hilton twelve hours into her 21st birthday weekend: dressed down, scared, and just a hint of regret in the eyes.”
“I’m only a little scared,” Patrick admitted after a moment’s silence. “Last time I had anesthesia, I didn’t talk for an entire day. My mom thought something went wrong and maybe I couldn’t speak anymore. She was panicking, and I felt like kind of an ass because I knew I could speak, but I was so angry about having to have my appendix taken out that I refused to talk to anyone. And then it all wore off, and I realized I was being childish. In my defense, though, I was twelve.”
“Well, I promise that if you get mad at me, I won’t take it personally.”
Patrick went quiet after that, nervously chewing on his lower lip and bouncing his leg until they arrived at the office. David went in with him and sat in a very uncomfortable chair while Patrick checked in, and about thirty minutes after Patrick was called back, a nurse found David in the waiting room.
“You’re David Rose?” she asked. “You’re with Patrick Brewer?”
“With Patrick Brewer” was something David didn’t expect to have a reaction to, but he did. He could think about why later, but for now, he was happy just to find comfort in the phrase. “Yes,” he answered.
“He’s all done. Could you come in back and fill out some discharge paperwork?”
He left for a reception desk in the back, where the nurse informed him of the aftercare instructions – no food, no straws, no extremely hot liquids like soup or tea. Nothing at all until the anesthetic wore off, in fact. Change out the gauze every thirty minutes, but call the office if the bleeding is excessive. Rinse with salt water. No driving, of course. Antibiotics to prevent infection, Advil for pain and swelling.
David was starting to feel sort of ill.
“He’s ready to go now,” she told David as he signed that he was responsible for bringing Patrick home. “He’s in recovery, and keep in mind that he’s a little out of it still.”
“Out of it?” he asked. Great. He’d be stuck driving home with twelve-year-old Patrick, irrationally angry at everything, arms probably crossed in front of him like a child. It was sort of cute to imagine, David thought. And god knows he’d dealt with worse attitudes from Alexis.
They entered a small room where another nurse waited beside a padded bench. On the bench, Patrick sat with his hood over his head, the drawstrings pulled tight, eyes glazed over. Patrick wasn’t really looking at anything, exactly, but as soon as the nurse explained that David was there to take him home, he finally looked up to see who they were talking to.
“How are we feeling?” David asked, bending over slightly to meet Patrick line of sight.
Patrick stared at him, eyes wide as saucers. He said nothing.
“This is normal,” the nurse reminded him. “He might not talk for a while. Lots of goofy looks and such, but he--”
“Whoa!” Patrick almost shouted.
David and the nurse both looked back at Patrick. His eyes were glued on David’s as he slowly relaxed the strings on his hoody.
“Hi, Patrick,” David said gently. “Are you ready to go home?”
“I love you,” Patrick answered back, his voice still loud.
“Okay, you need to get home.”
“Who are you?” Patrick asked.
“I’m David,” he repeated. “Come on. Time to go.” David reached for Patrick’s hands and took them into his own, gently encouraging a still-wobbly Patrick to his feet.
“You’re David?” Patrick asked, and finally he looked elsewhere, this time at David’s lips. “Whoa. You sure are!”
The nurse guided them out the door and to the car, and David opened the passenger side door and eased Patrick down into the seat. “The nurse gave me ice packs for you,” he explained, holding them up in one hand for Patrick to see. “Do you want them?”
“It hurts,” Patrick said, raising one finger up to his puffy cheek.
“I know it does. I’m sorry.”
“Kiss it.”
“Okay, well we’re going to buckle you in first, okay?” He reached the belt around Patrick and maneuvered it into place.
“Now will you kiss it?” Patrick asked sloppily, jabbing at his cheek.
“No,” David said, closing the door and walking around to his side.
“It hurts!” Patrick repeated. “Kiss it! Make it better!”
“You’re very high, aren’t you…”
“You’re David!”
“I’m David.”
“I’m Patrick!”
“I know.”
“You’re David. DavidDavidDavid…”
“Okay, that’s…” David reached across and rested his hand on Patrick’s forearm. “That’s a lot. I’m going to take you home.”
They started on the road, and David could feel Patrick’s medicated gaze on him. He dared to look beside him, and Patrick was still wide-eyed and hazy, clearly out of his entire mind. David wanted some of that.
“Where’s Rachel?” Patrick asked.
“Who?” David asked.
“Rachel. My friend Rachel.”
“You don’t have a friend named Rachel.”
“Well not anymore I don’t,” Patrick mumbled, a dejectedness lurking behind his words. “But I used to.”
“So did I,” David answered. “But unless your Rachel was Rachel Bilson, I don’t thi--”
“I was gonna marry her,” Patrick said. His words were surprisingly clear, and David wasn’t prepared.
“Oh. Okay.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
“No. She wasn’t right for me. She’s my friend Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re David!”
David giggled a little now. “Yes,” he answered.
“DavidDavidDavidDavidDavidDavid!”
“Okay,” he said, reaching his hand over again, placing it on Patrick’s arm. “We’re almost home, okay?”
“Where’s mom?”
“Your mom is probably back in your home back home.”
“What about Dad?”
“Probably the same thing, though I don’t know your parents’ situation, so who knows.”
“Where’s David?”
David smiled again. “I’m right here.”
“You’re David!”
“I’m David.”
“I love you!”
“Okay, you’re on a lot of drugs,” he repeated.
“Is this my car?”
David sighed. “I doubt you remember this, but earlier you told me that you thought you wouldn’t talk at all after you had your procedure.”
“I’m not talking. You are.”
David smiled and nodded. “Okay, Patrick.” He started to move his hand away, but Patrick reached for it and held it tight, the grip almost enough to cut off his circulation. David thought about wrangling it back for a moment, but then realized that there was something about Patrick’s hands, something about the calluses on his fingers and the short, manicured nails that brought him comfort. Even if the grip itself was a bit much.
“You’re very handsome,” Patrick said after a moment.
“Thank you.”
“You look like a movie star. You look like Rock Hudson.”
“I don’t, but thank you.”
“You look like… like… like… like… like…”
“Okay, so we’re home now,” David announced as they pulled in front of Ray’s. “And I’m just going to get you in there and up to bed so you can rest, okay?”
“This isn’t my house.”
“It’s Ray’s house. You live here.”
“I live here? I live in Ray’s house?”
“Yes.”
“I live with Ray?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s Ray?”
“You know who Ray is. And if you don’t, I’m not going to try to explain.”
“Is Ray my husband?”
David just about choked on his laughter. “No. I can’t imagine any universe in which Ray is your husband.”
“Are you my husband?”
And David couldn’t imagine that universe either, but for different reasons.
“No. I’m David.”
“You’re David!”
“Okay, you need to let go of my hand now so that I can get you out of this car.”
“Oh. Okay.” Patrick brought their hands up as high as he could, then released his grip. “Boop!” he shouted.
David left and walked around to help Patrick out, which was no small feat. Patrick relied largely on David to support his weight as they hobbled inside, and David had expected Ray to greet them, but the place was empty, dark.
“Okay, we need to go up the stairs now,” David explained as he led Patrick through the front room. Patrick nodded, but before they’d made it quite to the staircase, Patrick stopped. He looked over. There was the desk where he used to work.
He stood, just staring at it for a moment. David couldn’t quite read his expression, but it struck him as something between epiphany and happiness. Had he loved working here so much? Had he forgotten who Ray was but remembered his old desk job from just a couple of months before? David wondered if he’d missed something. If maybe he’d cheated Patrick out of the chance to keep a job he clearly enjoyed much more than struggling through the financial trenches at the store.
And then Patrick looked back at David, and there was almost a hint of clarity in his eyes.
“You’re David,” he whispered.
“I’m David,” he answered, and he continued guiding Patrick to the stairs and up to his bedroom.
This was the first time that David had seen Patrick’s bedroom. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a juxtaposition between floral wallpaper and an industrial armchair, the stack of books on the table beside the bed, the smell of Patrick’s cologne, something cheap and generic but distinctly him, or the neatly organized closet of garments on the transportable clothes rack beside the window. He almost liked it there.
“My mouth tastes funny, David,” Patrick said, plopping into the chair beside the bed.
“Oh, okay…” he was sort of dreading this part. He didn’t do anything that had to do with blood or spit or certainly any combination of the two, though he would occasionally make accommodations for the latter. He found the small waste bin the corner of the room and brought it over to Patrick.
“Take out your gauze,” he told him. “We need to put clean ones in.”
Patrick leaned over and opened his mouth, and the gauze fell into the bin.
“Here,” David said, removing four new squares from the packet he’d been given by the nurse. “Put these in now. Two on each side.”
Patrick reached for them, then pressed them to his cheek.
“No,” David smiled. “You have to open your mouth. They go inside.”
“I’m tryin’,” he mumbled in frustration, pushing against his cheeks again. “It hurts!”
“I’m not sticking my fingers in your mouth, Patrick. You need to do this for yourself.”
“I can’t!” Patrick whined, an exaggerated frown on his face when he tossed the gauze back at David.
“Okay, okay, listen,” David started calmly. He moved aside the waste bin and dropped to his knees in front of Patrick. “We’ll do this one step at a time. Okay?”
Patrick nodded.
“Open your mouth.”
Patrick opened his eyes wide.
“No, your mouth is this one,” David said, pressing one finger gently, briefly to Patrick’s lips.
Patrick opened his mouth.
“Now take this,” he continued, and he placed a square of gauze in Patrick’s hand, then raised the hand close to Patrick’s mouth, “And put it in there, in back. Where your teeth used to be.”
Patrick did as instructed, and he seemed both elated and surprised at his success.
David walked him through the other three pieces, and though it all took too painfully long, David was satisfied knowing it had been completed at all. He started to get up, but suddenly there was a hand on his cheek, Patrick’s of course, and the thumb running the length of his cheekbone.
“You’re so handsome,” Patrick told him. “Why? How?”
“I know the value of a night cream.”
“How do you make your mouth do that?”
David smiled. “Do what?”
“That,” Patrick asked. “How do you do that?”
David shook his head a little, and he wished the comfort of Patrick’s hand on his cheek wasn’t so dominant in his mind. He wished he hated the way it felt, the way he hated the way it had always felt before with anyone else. The way a touch on the cheek was like ownership. But now it felt like mercy.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Patrick said in a whisper.
“Don’t tell anyone what?”
And then there was that hint of clarity again. And Patrick removed his hand. “No. I can’t trust you. You might be CIA.”
David took the opportunity to stand once again, and he pulled back the covers of the bed. “Come on,” he said. “Why don’t you get over here and rest for a while, okay? And by the time you wake up, this will all have worn off, and you’ll go back to normal.”
“Oh, I’m going to bed?”
“I think you need to.”
“You too?”
“Me too what?”
“Coming to bed?” Patrick crawled up the bed and tried to settle into place, but David opted to help him remove his shoes first.
“No. I’m going to go home,” David told him, pulling at the laces of Patrick’s tennis shoes, slipping them off one after the other. “But I won’t be far if you need me.”
“Stay,” Patrick said, his voice insisted.
“There’s nowhere for me to stay, Patrick. I think Ray’s a very nice guy, but I’m not really in the mood to hang out with him for the next several hours while we wait for you to wake up.”
Patrick wrangled the covers enough to get them around his body. He patted the space beside him. “Sleep here,” he emphasized. “You’re David.”
David smiled. “I think that would be a bad idea.”
“Why?” He rested his head against his pillow as he lay on his side, his tired, hazy eyes staring up intently at David.
David looked down at him, the picture of serenity, a vision somehow even with chipmunk cheeks and slurred words and unclear eyes. He looked down at the man and felt something, everything, and it overcame him.
“Because I like you,” David admitted. “And if I stay here while you sleep, I’ll probably end up liking you even more.”
And there was a terrifying moment when David wondered if Patrick would remember him saying that. He wondered if what he’d admitted would ruin everything that they had. The friendship, the work. Whatever else he suspected there might be.
“I like you,” Patrick grinned.
“Thank you.”
“I’m scared to be alone. Please stay.” He patted the space beside him again.
David thought about it for a moment, but he slowly kicked off his shoes and allowed himself to meander into place beside Patrick. He faced him for a moment, also lying on his side, and looked into his eyes as he realized that in just a couple of hours, all of this would wear off, and Patrick wouldn’t have a clue.
“I’m going to leave after you fall asleep,” David whispered.
Patrick lowered his voice too. “Okay,” he said.
David smiled. “You know, even though I have a psychiatrist’s note saying that I am legally allowed to break contracts that involve bodily fluids, I’m really glad I signed up to take care of you today.”
Patrick’s lids were heavy, but his eyes still stayed on David’s. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.
“So are you,” David answered. “Sometimes I can’t stop looking at you.”
“I googled you,” Patrick whispered. “But don’t tell.”
“You googled me?”
“You’re not supposed to tell!” Patrick spat, and he reached one hand to David’s shoulder. “Secret!”
David made a zipping motion across his lips. “Won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But why did you do that?”
“To see.”
“To see what?” David smiled.
“If you liked guys.”
David felt something catch in his throat. Something burning in his chest. There was too much truth to this.
“You have been with some very pretty people,” Patrick told him, his voice high-pitched and ridiculous, but David couldn’t manage to laugh.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
“Am I pretty?”
David nodded.
“Would you kiss me?”
“No,” David said. “Not right now.”
“That’s fair.”
“Please go to sleep.”
Patrick closed his eyes. “Promise you won’t leave, okay?”
“I promise,” David whispered.
He waited until Patrick dozed off, which didn’t take very long. He turned his body around, almost ready to leave the bed, but he felt a grip around him too convincing and too strong to walk away from. Patrick was holding onto him, and David couldn’t leave now even if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
He didn’t know when he fell asleep, exactly. It might have been just after Patrick’s grip tightened or some time after, but he knew that he was waking up now to the tightening around him loosened, the weight beside him shifting. He waited until he felt Patrick leave the bed, and he turned, sat up, and tried to gauge Patrick’s current state.
“How do we feel?” he asked.
Patrick looked back at him, one hand pressed against his cheek. “Did I not let you leave?” he asked.
He was back. At least part of David was grateful.
“You asked me to stay, and you were very convincing.”
Patrick found the waste bin and removed the gauze from his mouth. “I think the bleeding stopped,” he said.
“The nurse said to rinse with salt water when that happened.”
Patrick nodded, found a small glass from his cabinet, and headed for the bathroom. David left the bed, put his shoes back on, and started making the bed while Patrick was away.
“So how big a fool did I make of myself? Patrick asked, entering the room again.
“On a scale from one to ten? Solid seven.”
“Oh, that’s not so bad. I’ve done worse at frat parties.”
David shot him a skeptical glance.
“Birthday parties,” Patrick clarified.
“Well now we’re even,” David told him, tucking the last bit of the comforter just right and fluffing a pillow. “You had to deal with my voicemails, and I had to deal with your overly affectionate cuddling. I’d say we never have to do this again.”
“Affectionate?” Patrick repeated. “Oh god.”
“It was fine,” David admitted. “Kinda nice, actually. Haven’t had my hand held in a while.”
“I’m so sorry, David.”
“I’m not,” David told him. “Truly. I feel like I got to know you on a whole new level today.”
Patrick nodded, then began to search for a change of clothes. And then he stopped, turned toward David.
“Hey, uh…” he cleared his throat, which didn’t feel great. “I didn’t say anything crazy, did I?”
“You only said crazy things, Patrick.”
“No, but I mean… I didn’t say anything that was… uncomfortable, did I?”
David considered his answer. “I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he said honestly, his voice soft and reassuring.
“Oh. Okay, good.”
“Why? Was there something uncomfortable you thought you might say?”
Patrick stared at him for a moment. He shook his head.
“Because when you asked me to kiss your cheek and make the pain go away, I almost did.”
Patrick’s eyes widened. “No!”
“Yes.”
“No! I said that?” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, David, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against his palms.
“It’s fine, really,” David smiled. He waited for Patrick to lower his hands. “I didn’t. Even though you begged. A lot.”
“Stop.”
“I wouldn’t let that be the way I kissed you for the first time.”
Patrick’s hands, which were by then resting against his swollen, slightly bruised cheeks, fell slowly back down beside his body. “What?”
“I think when your mouth heals, maybe I’ll take you to dinner. Or maybe you’ll take me. As a thank you or something.”
The corner of Patrick’s mouth curved upwards. “David…”
“Hm?”
“How much did I tell you?”
David opened the door of Patrick’s room and stood in it for a moment, ever-dramatic about a closing statement. But he didn’t answer.
“David,” Patrick repeated. “Please. How much did I say about it?”
And by now, David knew it was safe.
“Enough,” he answered with a smile.
When he left, Patrick let out a relieved sigh. Maybe he’d have taken a lot longer to say it all, and he would wait a lot longer to say it again, conscious this time. But until then, there was a safety in that fact that David knew. There was a safety in David in general, he supposed.