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David walks into the store smiling. Patrick’s looks up from where he’s rearranging blank notebooks, and smiles back.
“Hi,” he says, and comes over to wrap his arms around David, to pull him into a kiss.
“Hi,” David whispers as they break apart. “You’re beautiful.”
Patrick raises his eyebrows and flushes a little. “I am?”
David nods and steps back just enough to rummage in his bag. “I found this.”
He hands Patrick a plain white envelope with ‘David’ written on the front in Patrick’s neat script. The envelope’s been opened, and Patrick’s a little confused – it’s a card he sent to David with a delivery of flowers weeks before, the first of the olive branches. “You found this?”
“This morning.”
“You just . . .”
“Found it. It must have slipped off the bed whenever you sent it. I found it while I was tucking in the sheets this morning; saw it jammed up against the beside table.”
“Oh.” Patrick thumbs the envelope. “You only just . . .”
David sets down his bag. “Would you read it to me?”
Patrick swallows. “I don’t know, David, what if someone comes in, or . . .”
“Please?”
Patrick looks up at David, sees that there are tears standing in his eyes. He’s still smiling, though, and looking at Patrick like he’s the most precious thing imaginable. “Okay,” Patrick says a little uncomfortably, and pulls the card out of the envelope and opens it.
Dear David –
I know you don’t want to hear from me right now, but I have to say this one thing.
You’re not damaged goods.
Patrick hears David’s breath catch, and rereads the sentence.
You’re not damaged goods.
I don’t know all the people you used to know, but I know they’ve been thoughtless, even cruel. You’ve had to put up a hundred defenses against the casual ways they stepped on your feelings.
But that doesn’t make you damaged. It makes you bruised by other people’s carelessness. Bruises can heal.
Reading the card vividly brings back the memory of David telling him he needed space. Patrick remembers that moment – the fear he felt, the sadness, the quiet rage that people had treated David badly enough that he’d call himself damaged. He takes a breath.
I know who you are. And you’re a good man, with a good heart, and you deserve all the love and kindness the world can give you. I hate to think of how long you’ve gone without someone in your corner.
I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Rachel, and made you feel like I’d left your corner too. But no matter what happens between us, I’m never going to regret having known and cared about you. I’m always going to be grateful for the ways you’ve known and cared about me.
You’re not damaged. I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
Patrick
Patrick blushes and looks back up at David again, sees that the tears have spilled over and quickly reaches up to brush them away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Whatever,” David says, and grins at him, leans in and kisses him gently. He pulls back and covers his mouth with one hand, touches the card with the other. “No one has ever . . .”
Oh.
Patrick reaches out to pull David into a hug, wraps him up in his arms and spreads his hands wide across David’s shoulders. David hiccups, and buries his face in Patrick’s neck, kisses him there, and Patrick runs one hand up and down David’s spine. “Always in your corner,” he says, and he feels David smile. They break apart.
“And you’ll fight people for me,” David says, laughing a little.
“I would too,” says Patrick, squaring his shoulders slightly.
“I know.” David cups Patrick’s face between both hands. “You are just the most beautiful thing to ever happen to me.”
“Hey, I know that feel,” Patrick says, making David laugh again, a sound that warms Patrick’s insides, always does. He smiles – he loves this man so much it almost pains him – and reaches out to pull him back into his arms.