Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

John Steinbeck

Month 1

They become friends, David is fairly certain, on a Friday afternoon, twelve days after Patrick started working at the gallery. 

He had spoken to Patrick only a handful of times: once at a video conference, where Johnny informed David that Patrick will transfer from Johnny’s Toronto office to the gallery in New York, then briefly on his first day as David introduced him to the rest of the team, and then in passing at the hallway as David rushed out to meet a client and Patrick came back from lunch. He thought he’d gotten the feel of Patrick from those early interactions — that Patrick is a boring finance guy with the personality of a cardboard cutout; perfect for the business, but without much else to offer. He is not wasting his time getting to know him beyond a professional capacity.

So on this rainy Friday afternoon, when they both happen to be in the gallery’s pantry, David doesn’t pay any attention to Patrick. All of his focus is on the box of Levain cookies in front of him and the memories of last weekend, when Janthina broke up with him Sunday night.

It was the longest relationship he’s had, and to celebrate, he surprised her with a romantic weekend getaway. In the two months they've been together, he believed they were dating exclusively, up until he saw her in their bed with another man and was invited to join in. It turned out they were in an open relationship and he just wasn’t aware.

It wasn’t the first time this happened, but it didn’t hurt any less. The fog of pain was so thick he could barely breathe, could barely remember the evening beyond fleeting sensations: the cloying scent of sweet perfume, the filthy sounds of skin slapping skin, the cool sheets against his hands and knees, the taste of cum in his tongue, the pain in his heart. But what he remembers with clarity was his tenuous hope to keep Jan beyond the weekend. Jan, who sometimes smiled when she saw him, who made him think that maybe it was enough to be shown affection. That maybe, he could be content if that was all he could get. 

Because all he wanted was something — anything — and if Janthina wanted an open relationship, then David wouldn’t have a problem with it.

In the end though, it didn’t matter. The moment they returned to New York, she broke up with him. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. People discarded him once they got what they wanted. He had always held on to the hope, though, that if he changed a little bit, gave a tiny bit more, that maybe this time it would work. His affections would be reciprocated, and someone might stay and think he was special, even if only for a little while. 

Wishful thinking, all of it. 

And so today when he feels raw and fragile in a way he hasn't since his first breakup, he bought a box of cookies to ease his heartache. He’s making his way through it methodically when his assistant, Twyla, breezes in the pantry.

“Hi, David!" She smiles brightly at him. "You have an 8:00 pm reservation at Nobu later. Should I call Jan to remind her?”

David glances at Patrick, who is facing away from them as he prepares his tea by the sink. Sound carries in the small room, and it makes David wary at the thought of a practical stranger knowing something so intimate about him. He considers moving to his office for this discussion, then he shakes his head to clear it. What does it matter that Patrick would know he’s had another failed relationship? Patrick had better get used to hearing about them if he plans to stay long enough.

He lets out a deep breath. “Cancel it, please. We broke up over the weekend.”

“Oh, okay. Got it!” Twyla waves cheerfully before turning to leave.

David returns his attention to the cookies. He contemplates whether to eat the peanut butter cookie next or save it for later. He is so focused that he doesn’t notice Patrick sitting across from him until Patrick clears his throat. Patrick has one hand wrapped around his mug and the other resting on the table. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off thick, pale forearms. They look strong, like they could carry heavy things. Or persons. Definitely children. Small people. David continues to let his mind drift, staring blankly at Patrick’s arms until Patrick clears his throat again. He wonders if Patrick is a compulsive throat clearer. That might be a problem. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Twyla,” Patrick says. David looks at him in surprise. “How are you doing?” 

David wonders briefly if there is someone else in the room, but Patrick continues to gaze at him in a way that leaves him feeling exposed. Vulnerable. His throat hurts inexplicably at the question. He tries to say I’m good, but nothing comes out. He swallows thickly. He wants to pull the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. He wants to stand up. Walk away. 

The silence stretches, every second making David feel more off-balanced, until he realizes that Patrick is looking at him with kindness. It is so unfamiliar that he barely recognizes it in Patrick’s face.

Nobody in his adult life is ever kind or honest or sincere. Nobody ever asks how he is after a breakup and is genuinely interested to hear his answer. He never really thinks about whether he’s all right. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t have the words to explain all this to Patrick, so he lies.

“I’ve never been better,” he says, his lip twisting up into a smirk. The lie tastes like ash in his mouth. “It’s not my first breakup, and it definitely won’t be the last. I’m used to it.” He shrugs, hoping Patrick will leave it at that. 

Patrick doesn’t. Of course not. Instead, he says quietly, “I don’t think getting your heart broken ever gets easier. It always hurts, like a scab that’s been reopened and bleeding again.” 

David stares at the cookie in his hand. It's so quiet that he can hear the raindrops outside. His eyes prickle with tears, because this stranger who doesn’t know anything about him has shown him more kindness and compassion than anyone he could remember. 

They remain silent for a long time, Patrick sipping his tea and David breaking small chunks from his cookie before eating them. When Patrick tries to reach for the box, David is so startled that he instinctively swats Patrick’s fingers away. 

“Oh, sorry!” Patrick holds up both hands in surrender, laughing. “I thought they were for sharing.” 

David shakes his head no. Patrick had better learn he doesn’t share his cookies. 

“That’s alright. I wanted the chocolate chip walnut cookie, but it’s already in your grubby hands,” Patrick teases. Before David can protest, Patrick turns more serious. “David, I wanted to let you know that it’s been great to be here. I’m still learning about the business but I’ve been very impressed with what I’ve seen so far. Your dad was right to get another finance director to focus on your strategic plans. I’m very excited to contribute to your success.”

Once again, David is caught off guard by Patrick’s sincerity. He feels slightly ashamed at the assumptions he made when he first met the other man. It seems there are more layers to Patrick than a cardboard cutout.

“Umm, thank you,” he replies softly. “It was actually my idea to hire another finance person? But anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t spent time with you to go over my plans for the gallery. We should do that on Monday.”

Patrick shakes his head. “Hey, no need to apologize. It’s a difficult time for you...you should definitely take care of yourself first.”  

David’s heart clenches all over again. His eyes close, finding the simple acknowledgement of his heartache unexpectedly moving. 

He decides that maybe this Patrick guy doesn’t have to remain a stranger. 

Three weeks later, after Jamie ghosts him, David makes sure there are two chocolate walnut cookies in his takeaway box. Patrick appears genuinely touched that he gets a cookie when David selfishly kept all for himself the last time. Then his eyes narrow and the corners of his mouth quirks up, and David could hear the teasing in his voice. 

“Are these breakup cookies, David?” 

He glares at Patrick. He's learning that there’s nothing Patrick loves more than to rile him up. David wants to throw the box at Patrick’s annoying face, but he doesn’t, because Patrick does that thing where he smiles at David and looks at him softly, like his thoughts and feelings are valid and worthy of attention.

David pretends to sulk instead. “They’re cookies. They’re not breakup cookies.” 

“You only buy them after a breakup, so they’re breakup cookies.”

“We’re never calling it that,” David sniffs. 

After a small eternity, Patrick looks at him with a smile that, surprisingly, isn’t teasing. “So tell me what happened.” 

Reluctantly, against his will, David smiles back. 

And right there, while eating their not breakup cookies, David realizes what has happened: they’ve become friends.

He hasn’t had this before, a genuine friendship with someone good, and it is impossibly nice. He hopes that he gets to keep it for a long time.

Chapter Text

Month 3

Patrick has invaded his kitchen. 

Last month, when it was pushing 8:00 pm and they had yet to finish their quarterly forecast, they walked the four blocks from the gallery to David’s flat so they can continue working in a more comfortable setting. When they got there, Patrick discovered that David barely had any food in the apartment except for snacks, and that David rarely cooked anything beyond breakfast food and usually ordered in. Patrick then announced that it was his personal mission to teach David how to cook “because you are an adult.” 

Since then, Patrick has been coming to David’s apartment twice or thrice a week to cook dinner. Apparently, Patrick has tremendous patience when he wants to teach David something, whether it’s Excel spreadsheets or cooking. 

Tonight, he arrives at David's house with an armful of groceries and announces they will make pan-fried salmon and a double batch of onion soup. David complains when he sees the amount of onions he has to prepare. “Why do I get the onions!?”

Patrick levels him a look. “Do you want to cook the salmon instead?”

He snorts. 

“Don’t worry, David, I’ll help you once I finish with the fish. But it would be good if you can get a head start on the onions. Please.”

So he starts peeling the onions. After three pieces, David starts to tear up and he has to pause. Desperate for a distraction, he asks, “So what brings you to New York?” 

“I’ve always wanted to get my MBA here,” Patrick shares while patting the fish dry. “I knew about your gallery because sometimes I’d help prepare your month-end reports. So I approached Mr. Rose, to see if I could transfer here. Thankfully, he’s familiar with my work and he sees the value in me getting an MBA, so he supported my move here.” He adds salt and cracks fresh pepper. “You already know about the bond; Mr. Rose agreed to my proposal for a corporate sponsorship, so now I’ll work for the gallery for the duration of my MBA plus two years after I graduate.” 

“But what if my dad didn’t agree to any of your proposals?”

“I would still have moved here. I’ve saved for this since I started working six years ago.” He squeezes half a lemon over the fish. “I saved enough for my living expenses and some of the school fees. I might have needed to take out a loan to cover the rest, so I’m really grateful I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Now my main concern is whether I get into the school and program I want.”

David goes back to the mound of onions in front of him and starts peeling again. Reluctantly. “But with the sponsorship, how come you still live with a roommate? Surely you can afford your own apartment?” He doesn’t know why he’s so curious about all this, and he realizes that he might be overstepping boundaries. But he’s learning, through his conversations with Patrick, that there are gaps in his understanding of the world, especially where money is concerned.

Patrick doesn’t answer immediately, as if he’s trying to find the right words. After some time, he says, “My family’s not rich, David. My parents provided me everything I needed, but they were clear that I had to work for everything else. They set up a college fund, and with my baseball scholarship, my school fees were covered but I had to work throughout college so I could pay rent and food and other stuff. It’s just the way it is,” he says simply. He starts the grill. “I learned early on to differentiate between my wants and needs. And to be honest, I take a lot of pride in knowing I manage my finances well. To me, that means spending and saving responsibly. So while it’s true that I can afford my own place, the money I save on rent goes into my portfolio instead. I think it’s the wise thing to do, and it makes me feel secure.” 

It’s not a rebuke, but David feels himself wilt a little inside. Patrick has a deep-seated confidence in his ability to make it in the world, and David can’t help but compare himself even though he knows their circumstances are vastly different. If not for his dad’s support and the safety net it provides him, he doesn’t know if he would have had the confidence to take the risks he took to make his gallery a success. He doesn't know if his gallery would be thriving if he had to worry about money and loans. David is grateful for his family’s money, but he also recognises how humbling it is to see someone succeed through their own merit. His respect for Patrick grows a little bit bigger. 

“That makes sense,” David replies quietly. “And you’re really good with money, at least with the parts I understand at work. I’m sure that’s why dad agreed to the sponsorship. He’s wise when it comes to investing his money.” 

“Mr. Rose is a good man, and I’m not just saying that because you’re his son,” Patrick chuckles. “He’s a decent fellow who makes an effort to get to know the people he works with. We basically bonded over financial statements and baseball. I told him once that my ultimate dream was to watch baseball from behind the home plate at Fenway Park and he said he did it before and that he highly recommends it…” 

David can feel his attention drift and decides Patrick probably won’t notice he’s not listening anymore. He continues to peel more onions.

“So when the first zombie arrives, I’ll be prepared because the nice thing about baseball is typically there are baseball bats around and you can hit their head hard enough to smash the brains,” Patrick says in an even tone. 

“Wait, what?”

Patrick blinks innocently at him. “I moved on to a baseball-adjacent topic since you obviously haven’t been listening and I thought zombies might be right up your alley.”

“Zombies aren’t baseball-adjacent! And why would you think I'd be interested in zombies?"

“Wild guess.”

“Very wild. But also, not incorrect. I’ve thought of how I‘d survive the zombie apocalypse and what clothes and footwear I should be wearing.” He pauses, and then retraces their conversation. “Hold on. Did you say your ultimate dream is to watch baseball?”

“It’s my ultimate baseball dream. But it has to be from behind the home plate in Fenway during the All Star Games —” Patrick stops to laugh. “David! Your eyes are glazing over again!” 

He points a finger at Patrick. “It’s not fair to expect me to be excited about baseball, and you know it,” he says accusingly.

“No, I don’t expect you to be excited for baseball. But it’s my dream and it’d be nice if you can pretend some interest because, you know, we're friends?” Patrick teases.

David feels his ears turning red.

“Besides, in terms of ultimate dreams, it’s not even at the top five of my list. Certainly lower than finishing my MBA and owning a business,” Patrick explains. The salmon finished cooking while David was lost in thought, so Patrick has started chopping onions. “What about you? What’s your ultimate dream?”

David thinks for a moment. “It would be...hmm, if it’s one of many ultimate dreams, like your Friendway dream—”

“Fenway ,” Patrick interrupts him.

David rolls his eyes. “Your Fenway dream, which doesn’t scratch your top five list, then I’d say...dancing under the stars, preferably on the beach.” He immediately feels the blood rush to his face at sharing something ridiculously, sentimentally banal. He backpedals, “Okay, ignore that. One of my ultimate dreams would be to live in Japan for six months...wait, no. Let me set the bar even lower. My ultimate dream is to find the best tiramisu in New York.”

“Hey, I like your first dream a lot,” Patrick says, nudging his hip. “What kind of dancing is it? Slow dancing or like club dancing?”

David searches Patrick’s face for any indication that he’s teasing, but even the tiniest hint of amusement is gone now. Somehow, he knows Patrick is being sincere and it is safe to share. His lips quirk. “The slow dancing kind.”

“That sounds beautiful, David. I hope your dream comes true.”

“Thank you. I hope your dream comes true, too.”

They’re quiet for a few more minutes until they’re both tearing up from chopping the onions. 

“So tell me about your zombie apocalypse plan and I’ll let you know if you’ll survive,” Patrick says, sniffling. 

David huffs, but he loves this topic so he ignores Patrick’s comment. “Okay, but first, we have to set the scene. What kind of zombies are they? Do they move slowly or can they run? How fast is the infection rate, and where are we when it happens? Are we in New York or like a beach island on vacation?”

He quizzes Patrick until they settle on the setting. They mostly agree as they proceed to weaponize themselves, decide on what food to pack, what to wear (David insists this is an important consideration), and how they will escape the crowds. Patrick says the best car would be an SUV with big wheels to run over zombies and shallow bodies of water, but it should not be too big as to require so much gas. They will also get bikes and attach them to the roof, at which point David admits he doesn’t know how to ride one. Patrick almost has a heart attack and promises to teach him so they can survive together. 

They spend the rest of the evening fine-tuning their plans, going back and forth, and it’s relaxing in a way that David is not accustomed to. He finds that with Patrick, there’s no pressure to perform, socially or sexually or otherwise. It seems like it has been a long time since David talked to someone who is interested in what he has to say, not to butter him up or use it against him, but is simply, genuinely interested. It's good, being friends with Patrick. It fills a place in him that he never realised has been empty.

Chapter Text

Month 4 

It’s the first time they’re getting drunk together.

On this random Friday evening, they’re in an art fair supposedly looking for new artists to exhibit at the gallery. But just after they arrived, Patrick learned he got accepted into the MBA program he wanted, and because Patrick is the practical person that he is, he decided it would be a great idea to celebrate by taking advantage of the free drinks. 

And so they did. 

They’re at a quiet corner of the balcony, away from the crowds, and the cool evening breeze feels good on David’s overheated face. He can hear the faint buzz of people talking and the inconspicuous jazz music playing. He’s pleasantly buzzed and he can’t help smiling at Patrick. 

Patrick is drunk. And Drunk Patrick is a Touchy Patrick. He brushes a stray hair on David’s temple. His hands linger on David’s shoulders as he explains baseball. Or basketball. Something with a ball. He strokes David’s arms firmly and shakes him a bit as he talks excitedly about a play. David is completely lost. Then Patrick cups his face as he announces his need for the washroom, and when he returns, he’s holding up another bottle of wine. 

David is careful with alcohol. Sometimes, and only very rarely, David becomes unbearably horny when he gets past a certain point of inebriation. He becomes needy and insatiable and wanton all at once. He loves sex. Sex is usually good, regardless of his partner. But sex under the influence can mean all bets are off. It can mean lowered inhibitions and bold confidence and surrendering to his body’s desires, caution be damned. With him, it’s a very fine line to go from drunkenly singing Mariah, to gagging for cock and getting his face fucked. 

So. Booze and lust. David is wary of the combination. 

Patrick is still talking about the thing with the ball. His arm is around David's shoulder as he tries to refill David’s glass, which David keeps moving away, giggling. When Patrick drops his hand to grab his waist and unceremoniously pull him close until David is trapped between his legs, it feels almost natural for David to wrap both arms around Patrick’s neck.

Everything stills, and the world is reduced to the space in between Patrick’s arms, where it’s safe and warm and feels inexplicably like home. 

David doesn’t know if it’s the sparse light or the wine or something else completely, but it’s like he’s seeing Patrick for the first time. He traces Patrick’s face with his eyes, from his nearly invisible brows to his whiskey brown eyes, his strong nose, the curve of his flushed cheeks, the perfection of his lips. Patrick is beautiful. 

This is dangerous, he thinks. Inadvisable. 

David cups the nape of Patrick’s neck and brushes his fingers through his short hair. He feels an overwhelming desire to close the distance between them and trace Patrick’s lips with his tongue, to watch his eyes become impossibly dark. He wants to be pinned under that solid strength, to be consumed completely.  

Everything about Patrick screams that he’s straight, but he is also very drunk. And in David’s experience, straight men aren’t always so straight, not when they have a willing partner, and especially not when they can blame the alcohol afterwards. 

If David kisses Patrick, then Patrick might kiss him back. Then he would bring Patrick to an empty room and kiss him until his lips are swollen and his hair is wrecked, until Patrick is trembling and they become a tangle of lips and tongue and hands and cock. Then their friendship would be changed forever. 

Because it’s one thing for Patrick to have an idea of how damaged David is, but it’s another thing entirely to experience it. Patrick would know this shameful part of him that is desperate to be held, to be wanted, to be found useful and good for something. And then Patrick would feel sorry, perhaps feel guilty, might even feel responsible that he took advantage of David, because that’s the kind of man he is: Patrick Brewer is good and decent and kind. That’s why he would try to do right by David, would try to remain friends, but it would be painfully obvious that things would have changed between them, and in the end all David would have is a polite business partner who might have been a very good friend.

The gallery is the best thing in his life right now, and Patrick might be the best thing to happen to it. He cannot risk it. And if Patrick wants to explore being with a man, which he most likely does not, then David will not do it this way; he will get Patrick’s sober consent. Patrick deserves a beautiful experience he will remember, not a drunken sexual encounter that he will regret. 

The thing David is learning when it comes to Patrick is that he wants to keep him. To try and become better. To be a good friend. Because Patrick might just be the best thing to happen not just to the gallery but more importantly, to him as well. Patrick’s friendship is something he wants to savor, to clutch in his hands and never let go. 

So in his next breath, David takes his newly filled wine glass and he steps away from Patrick’s arms. Patrick remains oblivious, laughing as if a trapped David is the funniest thing in the world. 

David needs a distraction, so he turns to look around them. He sees a petite redhead over Patrick's shoulder, then breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Rachel, hi! I want you to meet someone.” 

He drags Patrick over to where she is standing alone. “Rachel, this is Patrick. He’s our finance director at the gallery and he moved to New York about three months ago. Patrick, this is Rachel. She’s a writer and she also teaches pilates.”

“Yoga, not pilates,” Rachel laughs, gently correcting David. “Where did you move from, Patrick?”

David tunes out their conversation. “Thank fuck,” he murmurs to himself, and goes off to search for water. 

Disaster avoided.

Chapter Text

Month 6

David doesn’t understand why anyone would be up early if it doesn’t involve sex. 

He has an 8:30 am video conference call with an important client in London that he has to take from his office, and he needs crispy bacon and a tall stack of pancakes to survive being awake this early. He goes to the diner across the gallery, and it’s early enough that the place isn’t packed yet. He scans for a seat and sees Patrick and Rachel in one of the booths. 

“Hi,” he says as he slides in beside Rachel, not bothering to look at either of his tablemates. He’s busy scanning the menu, trying to decide what else to add to his order. He probably needs a couple of runny eggs, black coffee that tastes like poison, and an orange juice to round out his breakfast. Satisfied with his choices, he gives his order to the waitress and thanks her. 

He finally looks up and sees Patrick. David can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Good morning, David. It’s so nice of you to join us.”

David gives him a withering smile and pointedly turns to Rachel, who looks like she also wants to laugh. “Hi, Rachel! You look gorgeous this morning.” The soft morning light creates a gentle glow all over her auburn hair and her clear skin is flushed, her eyes bright. She really is quite stunning.

“Thank you, you look great yourself. Is that Givenchy?” she asks, touching his sweater. 

“Yes! I knew I liked you.”

“Oh, I love what they came up with this season.” 

They get into an animated discussion of their favorite runway looks from Givenchy, then they move on to other designers, pausing only to thank the waitress as she served their order. Patrick doesn’t attempt to join their detailed analysis of Valentino’s menswear collection, he just quietly eats his egg and toast and occasionally fails to hold on to his laughter. It’s distracting. Annoying. 

After David takes the last bite of his bacon, he catches Patrick’s latest attempt to suppress a smile. For some reason, most likely the fact that he’s awake so early, this irritates David. “Okay, that’s enough. What’s so funny about couture? Do you feel superior because you don’t care about it?”

“No, no. I don’t find it funny at all,” Patrick says in that terribly sincere way he has. He gives David another smile, wide and daft. 

“Then why is your face like that?” 

“Like what?” Patrick makes his eyes grow bigger. He does not look innocent at all. 

David gives him his most intimidating look, but Patrick’s smile doesn’t budge an inch so he turns to face Rachel. She’s giggling, looking across the table at Patrick who is not holding back his grin anymore and seems to be enjoying himself immensely. Honestly, these two. Something is definitely up. It's too early in the morning and the caffeine has yet to kick in and whatever goodwill he had from grease and carbs is rapidly disappearing.

David prepares to throw an epic fit. “Listen—“

And Rachel, because she’s a much better person than Patrick, takes pity on him and cuts him off. “It’s just that, we’re on a date,” she says cheerfully. “It’s our third date.”

David tips his head back and closes his eyes and wills himself to disappear. He can literally feel the blood rushing to his face. Fuck. Fuck. Is he really crashing their date? Please let them be joking. He takes a deep breath and decides he can stay here forever with his eyes closed if it means not having to see Patrick’s face ever again. He really doesn’t want to look at Patrick. The bastard. (Although if he’s honest with himself, Patrick and Rachel had been so gracious to not kick him out of their date. But appreciation for graciousness and honesty are for a different day. Today he can only feel mortification.)

“If I knew you could wake up this early, I would have asked you to join us.” Patrick is clearly enjoying this. David wants to reach out and smack the smirk he knows would be there off of Patrick’s face.

“Yes. Well. Uhm.” He still refuses to open his eyes. “Thank you for letting me have breakfast with you.”

“We watched the sunrise in Dumbo before heading here. It was beautiful,” Rachel shares. “We just didn’t expect the breeze to be so strong. Next time when you come with us, be sure to bring a scarf. We can meet at 7:00 am. Or is that too late for you?” Her tone is teasing but he could tell that‘s exactly what they did earlier. 

“Oh my god,” he says, horrified, finally snapping his eyes open. “Who goes on a date that early?”

Rachel shrugs. “I taught a 6:00 am Vinyasa class.” 

“Yeah, I usually wake up early myself.” Patrick’s smile is so bright that David almost misses the smitten look that passes through Patrick’s face as he watches Rachel. David almost chokes on his coffee. 

Oh, this is good. David wonders if Patrick knows how deeply in trouble he already is. He hides his grin and observes the two again. 

Patrick is wearing what David has come to call his “power shirt,” a particular blue shirt not really unlike his other light blue polo shirts except this has a very light checked pattern and pleats at the back. Patrick wears it for his MBA presentations and when he meets high profile clients, plus any other situation where Patrick wants to feel confident and relaxed, and that apparently includes being on a third date with a pretty redhead. Rachel looks chic and fresh in a white oversized eyelet blouse and fitted jeans, her face free of makeup except for an expertly done cat eye. 

They both look positively gleeful and awake. He grimaces. “You two are perfect for each other,” he says, pretending to be disgusted. 

“Why thank you, David.” Rachel at least can pull off the innocent look.

He stands to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your date,” he says with as much courtesy and dignity as he can muster, which is not much at all. 

“We’ll text you the details of our next date, promise!” Patrick shouts after him. 

David flips him off and he hears them burst out laughing. 

It’s tough to decide whether to sulk over his embarrassment or be amused at Patrick’s infatuation, so he settles on both.

Three hours later, David lets out a pleased smile. The meeting was a success and he’d been totally absorbed in settling the details of the sales, so much so that he forgot to check his phone. There’s a couple of messages from Patrick. 

The first is a text: Fourth date is on Friday, 7:30 pm at my place. We’re having a game night so come prepared. 

The second message is a photo of Patrick and Rachel with shit-eating grins on their faces. They each have an arm hugging the empty space between them, presumably where David would have been seated, and their other arms meet together in the middle to form a heart shape with their hands.  

David rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised there’s no permanent damage to his eyeballs. 

God. He can already tell these two would be insufferable.

Chapter Text

Month 9

David flies to Cancun to surprise Sebastien. He arrives early in the evening and it’s easy enough to find the shoot location by the beach. There’s a huge bonfire partially hidden by a grove of coconut trees and he can see the silhouette of people dancing and talking in pairs and small groups. As he nears, Sebastien’s laugh rises above the sound of waves and music. 

“Are you kidding? God, no,” Sebastien scoffs. “Nobody wants to be with David unless you want a trip somewhere or want to score free publicity. He’s too...clingy.” He takes a pause, and David knows, he just knows that Sebastien will say something vulgar. “Unless you want him to cling to your cock. He’s very good at that. I highly recommend his blowjobs.” 

David’s feet seem to have taken root and the world feels like it’s been covered in a layer of cotton, white and foggy around the edges, softening every sound. There’s an ice cold sensation left behind in his chest as the air rushes from his lungs, leaving him breathless as if he’s underwater, drowning. He grasps the tree in front of him, the rough bark grounding him to the moment.

There’s a low, throaty laugh. “Well then, I don’t see why we can’t have some fun tonight.” 

“Oh, not just tonight, honey. Once he agrees to show my work in his gallery, I’ll end things with him,” Sebastien drawls. “You have to admit, his gallery’s the best out there for my art, and it’s not because of his Daddy’s money.” 

David is going to be sick. He doesn’t need to hear more. Fucking Sebastien. He turns around and walks until he finds an empty pocket of the beach. He breathes deeply, trying to calm the anger thrumming through his veins. 

He should have known. 

He thought Sebastien was different because they had been together for eight weeks and five days. He thought that maybe he saw something else in Sebastien’s eyes when he asked for things. David bought him new camera equipment. He’d tried to tone down his clinginess. He’d agreed to fucking wax his fucking chest hair and suffered through the fucking itchiness between each fucking session. 

He’d agreed to everything. 

He rearranged the gallery’s lineup so Sebastien’s exhibit would be at his preferred date and he did his best to appease the artists so they don’t transfer to a different gallery. Tonight, he came here to surprise Sebastien with the news that everything is in place for the exhibit, and then maybe they can celebrate. 

David has spun a romantic tale of themselves so convincing that he didn’t see that Sebastien is a pompous photographer with mediocre talent, who has no business being shown in David’s gallery if they were not sleeping together. 

His nails leave impressions in his palm as he gazes at the moonlit ocean, hoping desperately that the salty air would calm him. It doesn’t. All he feels is a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He hasn’t cried in a very long time, not since Janthina, and he can’t put into words why he feels like crying now, only that he does. 

He tries to keep the tears at bay, to hold on to his anger at Sebastien’s duplicity, but it feels like clutching at air. Then all at once, the ice that’s been lodged in his chest seems to melt, replaced by something molten that burns through his heart, through the cotton in his head, burns his cheeks and bleeds through his eyes as hot, silent tears. It hits him then like a punch that he isn’t angry at all — he’s just lost.

He doesn’t know where he is supposed to stand anymore, stuck between being too much and not enough. He has no idea what to say or do or even think. He has no idea. He’s been giving everything, anything they want, and still it isn’t enough. He hoped it might be different this time. It isn’t. It never is.  

He feels raw and frayed around the edges, and if he didn’t hurt so deeply, he might have waited to call Patrick when he was back in New York. But his hands are trembling and he just might shatter into a thousand pieces. When he calls Patrick and tells him that things are over with Sebastien, Patrick insists that he’ll rebook David’s ticket at the earliest possible flight and he’ll pick him up from the airport.

David squeezes his eyes against the burn of fresh tears.

Chapter Text

Month 9, Next day

Six hours later, David is in Patrick’s car, and the tension is easing out of him slowly. The car is warm and smells of old leather, and the silence is soothing, punctuated by the low sound of music playing from the radio. The clock on the dashboard reads 12:42 am. Patrick pulls out of parking and heads toward the exit. 

Earlier, when they met outside Arrivals, Patrick took one look at David, then he grabbed him and hugged him close until David gave a strangled sob and his arms went around Patrick’s shoulders. David allowed himself to cry, to ease the hurt in his chest that made it hard to breathe. After David felt calmer, he leaned back and wiped his face. Patrick was looking at him in the way he sometimes did, with the same something that made Patrick smile like it hurt. Then he handed David a takeaway Levain box and a travel mug filled with what turned out to be hot chocolate. 

Now, after he’s finished eating two cookies, David leans his head against the window. He absently rubs a hand over his heart; the sharp burn in his chest has unfurled into a dull ache. 

He wonders if what he had with Sebastien and Janthina and all his ex-lovers was love. He doesn’t know, but maybe it was love. Maybe love is supposed to feel like you’re being ripped apart by it. 

He sighs. He’s tired of chasing love. He’s tired of having his heart broken. He’s tired to his bones, even more so because he sees his future stretching out ahead of him, an exhausting, ceaseless repetition of tentative hope followed by inevitable heartache and disappointment. It’s a future dedicated to impressing lovers so they will stay, lovers who can be so casually cruel in their fickleness, who are never sated nor content. And for what? For crumbs of love and affection? Apparently so.

Anguish steals his breath away. 

He turns his gaze to Patrick. Patrick is tapping his fingers to the music, his casual posture belying the careful way he watches the road. He radiates stability in his thick sweater, dark jeans and the always incorrect mountaineering shoes. Patrick at his side is an anchor, someone strong and steadfast and safe. Reliable.

Sometimes David still marvels that he has found a friend in Patrick. He wants to ask: why do I trust you; how do you know how to make me feel better; why am I at ease with you but never with my lovers; why are you still friends with me even after you’ve known me; how are you so good?

So many questions. In the end, he asks, “Why do you do this?” 

Patrick chuckles. “Do what? Bring you hot chocolate and breakup cookies?”

“No. I mean, yes, those. Everything. Pick me up from the airport at midnight.” People don't do these things without asking for anything in return. 

“I want to,” Patrick replies simply. 

“But why?”

“Because I care about you. You’re my friend,” Patrick answers, unbearably gentle, as if he’s surprised that David might not have known such a thing. Patrick makes it sound so natural, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that this is how friendships are supposed to operate, where you care for each other and never ask for anything in return. 

“I see how your dates and lovers treat you…you’re nothing but a means to an end for them. You’re not David, you’re just a black credit card; your family name.” Patrick is not teasing or sarcastic. If anything, he sounds a little defeated. “They don’t see you, and you don’t deserve that. You, of all people, don’t deserve it, David.” 

David closes his eyes, releasing his breath slowly. His heart clenches. You don’t deserve it. He wants to laugh, but David suspects he might just burst into tears and never stop crying. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t know what he deserves. How pathetic is that, to be 28 years old and not know? He’d always thought he deserved what was given to him, but Patrick said that wasn’t it. 

“What do I deserve?” he asks, hating the way his voice sounds broken and lost, so soft it barely reaches his own ears. 

Patrick keeps driving, his gaze straight ahead. The silence stretches for so long that David wonders if Patrick heard him at all. Eventually, Patrick breaks the silence, his voice quiet and firm. “Listen, David. I’ll tell you what I believe. You can ignore it if you want, it’s up to you.”

They hit a red light. Patrick turns to him, and in the half-light his eyes are amber, sharp and intense. Patrick touches his knee, and David becomes aware of the rhythmic sweep of blades across the windshield and the warm air blowing at the back of his hand. Everything else feels still. 

“I think because you’ve only dated horrible people, you don’t know how good it can be. It’s different when you’re with a good person, David. You will be loved and accepted for yourself...not a version of you that you think is more interesting, but the whole you, even the parts you think are unloveable. And that’s what you deserve: someone who makes you feel good for being yourself.” 

Patrick turns his face away for a moment, frustrated, and David swallows around the thing in his throat that hurts at Patrick’s words. “I really want to punch all your asshole lovers for not seeing your worth. You should be adored, David, completely and without reservation. Be shown off to the world.” Patrick’s voice is lower than before, more forceful, his warm hand acting as an anchor and safe harbour. “You need to demand better for yourself. Stop giving yourself away to people who don’t deserve you. You deserve someone who respects you and cares for you and is kind to you. You deserve someone nice, David, because you’re a good person. One of the best people I know. You need to believe this.”

The light turns green and Patrick faces the road again. “That’s why I do what I do," he continues, intent on making David understand, unaware of David’s world tilting sharply at his words. "You deserve at least one person who sees you and doesn’t want to change you.” 

David watches Patrick, and with heart-stopping clarity, he knows. David just knows. Because Patrick has said the words, and he has shown him from the beginning, but it’s only now that David finally, truly understands: he deserves better. He could have better. And he already has it better with Patrick. Their friendship is proof of how good things can be with someone who cares for him and accepts him and supports him. 

In that moment, Patrick has given him a glimpse of the relationship he’s wanted all along — a relationship with a good person. 

He chokes on a small sob. He covers his face as tears finally spill down his cheeks, hot and silent, as if they will never end. David is drowning and somehow, Patrick has engulfed him in his arms, in his warmth. A hand moves soothingly down his back. He buries his face in Patrick’s shoulder and a hand cradles the back of his neck. Strong fingers card through his hair with such care and tenderness that it makes him cry harder. He lets it all wash over him, wash over the hurt he held so deeply all these years, like water washing over a dirty window. 

He could finally see with clarity what Patrick meant. 

He wishes he could have understood this a long time ago, when he was much younger and more trusting, because it’s suddenly perfectly clear that Patrick is right all along. The people he dated were just taking advantage of him. It had never been about love for them, not like it had been for David. 

It makes him weep, because all those times he looked for love—because he wanted to feel good, because he was lonely, because he wanted for someone to look at him and see him—he had been looking for the wrong thing. He had confused fighting to hold on to someone with fighting for love, even if it was with the wrong person. And it had always been with the wrong person, because he didn’t know that he wanted a good person. Someone he respects. Someone like Patrick. 

And for the first time, in this quiet midnight cradled safely within Patrick’s arms, David lets himself imagine a different future. He imagines a lazy morning filled with soft kisses, enveloped in warmth, secure in the knowledge that he is more than enough. He’s with someone with kind eyes who looks at him like he’s worth something, who touches him with gentle hands and makes him feel good. 

He could see, in that infinite moment of stillness, a glimmer of the future, bright and warm. David is wanted, and pursued, and it’s perfect. He loves deeply, and he is loved back. 

And from one moment to the next, something inside David shifts and is changed forever. He is perfectly at peace. He has found a tender hope for the future, and it is this fragile hope that will comfort him through hard times ahead. 

David’s tears stop eventually, and he could hear Patrick in his ear murmuring softly, “I’ve got you, David. You’ll be okay.” Sweet, sweet Patrick. He has given David the most extraordinary gift of all. “Feel better?”

David doesn’t trust himself to speak yet, so he nods and gives Patrick a grateful smile. 

Patrick looks at him, and there is so much fondness and concern in his expression that David blinks back fresh tears from his eyes. Patrick places a kiss on his forehead and gives him a soft smile before he continues the drive home. 

They don’t speak again for the rest of the ride. The silence is so soothing that David feels his eyes close, and when he comes to, they are pulling up in front of David’s building. 

“Thank you again, Patrick. For everything. And please tell Rachel I’m sorry you had to pick me up at this time.”

“Don’t worry, she understands. And she says to tell you that she always thought Sebastien is an asshole.”

David gives him a small smile. He watches Patrick drive away, then he goes up to his flat. He drops his bag at the door, takes a shower and does his nighttime routine before he crashes into bed. 

And on this first day when everything he knows about love has been reshaped, he falls asleep filled with hope and warmth for the future.

Chapter Text

Month 12

It happens on a random Tuesday night. 

David looks forward to these evenings alone with Patrick. Before Patrick started his MBA and its evening classes and the group works, and before he got together with Rachel, Patrick used to spend three to four nights a week with David, to attend evening work events or to hang out and cook at David’s place or try new restaurants together. But now, between work and Rachel and Patrick’s school and David’s dating life, plus all their other friends and activities and responsibilities, they’re lucky if they can have one night a week just the two of them. 

Patrick is still teaching him to cook, and tonight, they’re making spaghetti bolognese. David never thought he’d enjoy such an ordinary, everyday activity, but Patrick has a way of making the mundane bearable, even fun.

He’s sorting the groceries when the doorbell rings. David reminds himself to register Patrick with the concierge and give him the passcode and a spare set of keys so he doesn’t have to keep opening the door for him. He crosses the room, connecting his phone to the bluetooth speakers and selecting a playlist, and when he swings the door open, he stops, blinking at the beautiful bouquet of flowers Patrick is holding. 

“Is Rachel coming?” David asks, confused, hand still holding the door. He knows she’s teaching back to back classes tonight but maybe there’s been a change of plans. 

“No, these are for you,” Patrick answers, eyes warm, and he’s smiling that certain smile he has when he’s proud of something David has done. He thrusts the flowers to him. “Happy anniversary!” 

“Oh,” is all David manages to say. What the actual fuck? What anniversary? He takes the bouquet awkwardly, then holds them out in front of him, unsure of what to do. Nobody has ever given him flowers before. It’s a gorgeous palette of white and green that he would have picked for himself, with lush white garden roses, eucalyptus stars and delicate sweet peas, barely contained among various succulents. It’s beautiful. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. 

“I was going through some paperwork this morning, and then I noticed today was your gallery’s incorporation date, so. Happy anniversary!” Patrick grins, bright and easy. “I wanted to give you something to mark it with, and thought you’d like flowers.”

For several seconds, David could only stare at Patrick. He finds himself speechless, as blindsided by Patrick’s thoughtful gesture and goodness as he was that first day at the pantry, when Patrick had looked at him with kindness after hearing about his breakup with Janthina.

The smile slowly falls from Patrick’s face, misinterpreting David’s silence, and he starts to reach for the flowers. “You know what, let me take them. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” David blurts out before Patrick can touch the flowers. He hides his flushed face among the petals. “Sorry. These are beautiful. I love them,” he mumbles, unable to keep the pleasure and shyness out of his voice. He feels self-conscious in a way he cannot put into words, so he turns around to search for a vase. Patrick is quiet but his gaze is heavy on David’s back, and somehow, words tumble out of David in a rush. “It’s just...I haven’t received flowers before.” 

“What?”

David will not repeat himself. He is certain his ears are glowing red and he wonders if Patrick can see them, will tease him about them. He clears his throat. Tries again. “I mean, I’m allergic.” Lie.

“But you always have fresh flowers here and at the office.”

Fuck. David squeezes his eyes for a second. Why the fuck is Patrick so observant? He finally finds a vase after what felt like hours and he grabs it, rushing to the kitchen.

Patrick follows him at a slower pace and gently touches his arm to still his frantic movements. “You’ve never gotten flowers before?” 

“Yes, well. I buy them for myself,” he replies, cheeks feeling very warm, and he gestures at the flowers in front of him. He smiles faintly and says, “They make me happy.” 

Patrick is looking at him, and whatever he sees in David’s face makes him smile, just a quirk of his lips, there for a moment and gone again. “I’m glad,” he says. Then he adds dryly, “The people you dated were really crap, by the way.” 

David gives a startled laugh. 

Patrick crosses his arms and leans against the counter, peering at David with a smirk. “So...am I really the first person to give you flowers?” and David could have thrown water from the vase at Patrick’s face. Ugh. Annoying. 

“Yes, we’ve already established that fact,” David snaps. “What do you want, a fucking medal?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have been nice, but now that you mention it, a framed certificate isn’t a bad idea.”

David feels his ears turning red again. He clears his throat, forcing the words out as graciously as he can. “Thank you for the flowers, Patrick.” 

The glint in Patrick’s eyes is unmistakable. He’s clearly enjoying this. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” 

David grimaces, but the truth is that he doesn’t truly mind any of Patrick’s teasing. It always makes him feel so very warm inside, because Patrick is never mean and his laugh may be one of his most favorite sounds in the world. 

He finishes transferring the flowers to the vase, then he places it at the dining table, admiring the elegance of the arrangement and not quite believing Patrick chose it himself. When he returns to the kitchen, Patrick has an apron on and is peeling the carrots. He hands David another apron and he ties it on, standing beside Patrick, grabbing the celery and dicing it. 

They prepare the ingredients in companionable silence, both lost in thought. 

Patrick had given him flowers, just because he wanted to, because it was the gallery’s anniversary and Patrick thought it would be nice, and David might like flowers. He keeps getting stuck on that thought—David might like flowers—because nobody has ever given him something just because they thought it was nice and David might like it. His stomach flutters, as if he’s eaten butterflies. Maybe he’ll never truly understand Patrick, but he plans to keep him by his side anyway.

After some time, Patrick asks, “I thought Cecile’s joining us?” 

“Yeah, no. We broke up.”

“What?” Patrick stills. “How come I didn’t know?” 

“You didn’t know because it happened just before you arrived.” David opens a bottle of red then pours them both a glass. “Actually, I broke up with her,” he says as casually as he can manage, not quite able to hide how pleased he is with himself.

Patrick twists to face him, brows gone high, his eyes wide with curiosity. “What happened? I thought she was an improvement from your old dates.”

“I thought so too, until I found out she was just using me to introduce her to B-list socialites and pay for her nose job.”

Patrick's jaw clenches. “She what?” he demands, his voice dangerously polite. 

“She wants to use my connections. And wants a better profile off my dime,” he shrugs. Patrick looks furious, like he wants to stalk off in search of Cecile, and it makes David feel warm all over. He can’t keep himself from smiling. “Patrick, listen. You don’t need to worry about me anymore...I think. I’m getting better about not dating assholes. You should be proud.”

Patrick looks surprised, then amused, then proud, before his expression transforms into something terribly fond. He sets his knife down before he moves in front of David and envelopes him in a tight hug. David hugs him back and presses his nose against Patrick’s throat, breathing him in. Patrick smells like cheap soap and aftershave and damp wool.

“I’m proud of you, David, you have no idea. I’ve never seen you like this before, and it’s just…it’s amazing to watch. I’m so happy for you,” Patrick whispers fiercely. “Cecile’s a fool not to see your worth, but that’s okay. You deserve only the best. And whoever wins your heart is going to be so lucky, David.”

There’s an intimacy in the way Patrick says his name, and it steals his breath away. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

How didn’t he recognise this beautiful, terrifying feeling before? 

He’d always imagined that when he finally falls in love, he would know it in an instant. That a big, romantic gesture would culminate in blinding passion, bright and fiery, overpowering him with love and desire. 

But the reality is he falls in love with the best person he knows on an unremarkable Tuesday, standing in the middle of his kitchen while cooking spaghetti. David falls in love without realising it.

It had probably always been like this right from the start. Right from the “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation” and the “chocolate chip walnut cookie” and the “you have to take care of yourself first.” 

His love for Patrick was an infinitely small seed taking root subtly, slowly, persistently, until it filled the tiny fissures and hollow crevices in his heart left behind by years of careless lovers. It feels like invisible hands caressing his heart, warming his soul. For the first time, he is happy, filled with deep contentment that is completely satisfying. In this moment, Patrick is his, and David wants to wrap himself in the other man and stay here forever.

But within that same breath, two things hit him at once. Firstly, that this might be the closest to being in love as he can possibly be. It is breathtaking and his heart feels tender, not used to being so desperately, helplessly in love. Secondly, that Patrick will never know how he feels, because David doesn’t need to be loved in return. 

So this is love—to want only the good for the other, for their sake, even if it means that their happiness is with somebody else. Patrick has Rachel, who is his perfect match. David will not compete, and that is okay. He is okay. He will make peace with himself. It's enough to know that he can have this fragile, impossible love for himself. 

When Patrick pulls away, David does the most loving, least selfish thing he can do. He lets Patrick go. 

“Thank you,” David smiles. He takes a deep breath and continues in a voice far more steady and composed than he thinks himself capable of. “So, Rachel’s surprise party next month. Why don’t we hold it here and say I'm hosting a game night? She wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

For Patrick, he can be a good person.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 2

David is miserable. It’s been three days since he caught the flu, and he feels weak and sore and very sorry for himself, wishing that Patrick is in New York instead of visiting his parents in Toronto, if only so he can pretend that Patrick will come and take care of him.

He settles into the couch with his book and takes in his flat. He loves his place. His dad gave it as a gift when he moved to the city, but he takes pride in the fact that he furnished it with his own money. It’s not ridiculously large, with the entire sitting area, kitchen, and dining area all in view of each other, but it’s spacious and surprisingly warm and lived in, with high ceilings, blond wood floors and loft style windows that bathes the room in natural light. The art on the walls provides contrast against the light creams and grey of the furniture, as if all the colours he doesn’t wear have found a home here instead. It gives his home a cozy and inviting quality that surprises most people. 

Right now though, David wishes he’s outside enjoying the warm weather. He sighs and gazes out the window, grateful his flat is situated near the top floor of the building and having an unobstructed view of the beautiful New York skyline in the afternoon sunlight. Soon, his eyes droop and the book he’s holding slips from his fingers unnoticed. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep when he suddenly sits up, disoriented, unsure of what woke him. He’s hot and his throat hurts and his muscles are aching, and why is he awake? Then he hears it—an insistent pounding on the door. He groans. The clock reads 7:42 pm. Fuck. He has a suspicion it’s Patrick, though he’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow night. And while he loves that horrible, lovely man, he also wants to kill him for waking him up. 

“David, open up! I know you’re in there,” Patrick yells. Thank goodness his flat takes up the whole floor and he doesn't have any neighbor, or that would be one more reason to kill Patrick. Maybe David will kiss Patrick first before he kills him, but definitely there would be killing involved.

He hauls himself up and trudges to the door, clutching a box of tissue and blowing his nose. At the foyer, David catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks like something that crawled out of the bottom of a swamp. His hair is flat, his nose is red, his complexion sallow. Ugh. Why did Patrick choose to visit today of all days?

David sighs. He opens the door and Patrick walks in. He’s holding a clear container of what looks to be homemade soup. 

“What are you doing here?” David asks, his voice rough from coughing. He’s happy to see Patrick—he will never be not happy to see him—but he just wants to be left alone. He shuffles back to the sofa and sits down, wrapping himself up in a blanket. 

“Twyla said you were sick. I brought minestrone and bread.”

David has no appetite but knows he needs to eat at some point. He nods his thanks. “You can leave it in the kitchen. I’ll heat it up when I’m hungry.”

“Want me to feed you?”

David glares at him, trying to ignore the familiar flutter in his stomach. “Ha, ha. Fuck off please.”

Patrick sets the food on the kitchen counter. David could see him take in the pile of used tissue and empty water bottles and various medicine on the coffee table before Patrick shifts his gaze to him.

Frankly, David feels terrible and he’s not sure he can take the teasing that is sure to come. “Thank you for the food. But I’m not the best company tonight, so do you mind showing yourself out?”

“No.” 

David looks up, startled. Patrick slowly crosses the room until he’s standing in front of David, gazing down at him with brown eyes made all the more piercing for the concern shining through them. He leans forward to touch David’s forehead, his hand pleasantly cool. 

“I feel like crap and I’m not in the mood for whatever this is,” David says, waving his hand. “Please, Patrick. I just want to rest.”

“Hmm. You need a bath,” Patrick grimaces.  

David glowers at him for a few moments, but when all Patrick does is cross his arms and raise his eyebrows, he gives up. Patrick can be incredibly stubborn when he believes he’s doing the right thing, and that, apparently, includes taking care of sick friends. David groans and rubs his face.

“I’m not leaving you like this. You need a warm bath, then you need to eat so you can drink your medicine. Then…” Patrick pauses for effect, looking entirely pleased with himself, “we will watch any movie you want.” 

“We will watch any movie I want,” he repeats slowly. Patrick’s smile only gets bigger as David bristles. “That was my plan all along,” he snaps at him indignantly. 

Obnoxiously, Patrick just shrugs with that self-satisfied look in his face. Even more obnoxiously, his expression does nothing to reduce David’s attraction to him. 

“That is not how bribery works!” 

“Who said anything about bribery?” Patrick saunters off to the bathroom. “I’ll start the bath, just rest there.”

David takes a deep breath, trying very hard not to smile. He feels better already. Thrilled. Patrick is taking care of him. 

After some time, Patrick returns to lead him to the bathroom and makes him sit on the toilet lid as the tub fills. The room fills with the roar of water, and Patrick has kept the lights dim. 

There’s an economy in Patrick’s movements that’s mesmerizing to watch. He moves with precision as he gathers towels, adjusts the taps, pours bath soap in the tub. His hair has grown longer than its usual length and the curls are clinging to his forehead from moisture. He removed his hoodie earlier and now he’s left wearing a black shirt that hints at his defined chest and clings to his biceps and shows off his thick arms. David doesn’t think he’s seen anyone so beautiful. 

“David.” Patrick has probably been calling him a couple of times already. “I’m going to help you out of your clothes. Can you manage removing your underwear by yourself or do you need me?”

I need you...to touch me is not an appropriate thing to say to Patrick at the moment. Or ever. Thankfully, his body is behaving better than his brain. “I think I can handle it.“

Patrick’s fingers are warm when they pull the hem of David’s sweater and undershirt over his head, when he slides down David’s joggers and socks and puts them into a neat pile on the hamper. Then he shuts off the taps and moves David to sit by the tub. They’ve gone swimming before and have seen each other in various states of undress, but there is something so intimate to be in such close quarters with Patrick in only his underwear. 

“You’ll be alright?”

David nods.

“I’ll go change your sheets then come back to check on you. Just shout if you need me,” Patrick says as he disappears into the bedroom.

David removes his underwear and eases himself into the tub. The warmth of the bath quiets his mind. He closes his eyes and grabs a washcloth, lathering it with soap then half heartedly rubbing his body. 

He must have dozed off because he wakes to Patrick sitting on the floor beside him. He’s gently scrubbing David’s shoulders with the washcloth. David’s breath catches. He’s never had anyone take care of him while he was sick; nobody has ever cared for him this way. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice breaking only a little. He hopes Patrick will think it’s because of his cold. 

“But I need to. You don’t see how much dead skin you have here. You can practically grow a potato on your back,” Patrick teases softly, and David can spot the smile tugging at the corner of Patrick’s lips.

His touch is gentle as he makes David lean forward so that his head is bowed. Warm water is poured on his head, wetting his hair. Then there is the smooth lather of shampoo and Patrick’s deft fingers gently massaging his tender scalp. It is such a small, caring gesture that David has to swallow to clear the lump in his throat. He keeps his head down, savoring Patrick’s touch, until his hair is rinsed and he feels relaxed and clean. 

“I brought you a change of clothes,” Patrick says. “Do you need help dressing up? I don’t want you to slip and hit your head.”

“I’ll be fine,” he promises. “Thank you.”

Patrick steps out of the bathroom, and David struggles to get dressed and do his skincare routine. He doesn’t bother with anything more elaborate than a toner, moisturizer, serum, and eye cream. He’s still lethargic, but at least he feels more human. 

He wanders into the kitchen where Patrick is heating the soup. There’s warm bread on the counter and David nibbles on a slice, sneaking glances at the way Patrick’s arms are flexing. 

“This will be ready in three minutes.” Patrick shoots him a quick smile, and David’s heart clenches. Patrick isn’t his boyfriend, even though he takes good care of him. But this, being his friend, is more than enough.

An hour later, after they finished eating and David drank his medicine and Patrick tidied up the kitchen, they wind up on the couch. It’s a cozy fit. David is lying on his side, covered in a blanket. Patrick is on the other side of the couch, David’s feet resting on his lap. All the lights are turned off and they’re watching Notting Hill. Unsurprisingly, Patrick hadn’t seen it before. 

On the screen, Will Thacker is fumbling as he pretends to be a journalist for Horse and Hound. Patrick is grinning. He takes a sip of his beer then returns his arm to the back of the couch, completely relaxed. 

And looking at him like that, so casually handsome with one leg crossed over the other, his shirt straining across his chest, his curly hair sticking up slightly, David becomes aware of Patrick absent-mindedly stroking his ankle, encircling it with his fingers, just lightly holding on. His heart flips. The warmth of Patrick’s heavy hand on his skin is exhilarating in a way that David can’t explain. There is something perfectly mundane in that touch—the touch of a lover at the end of the day—so very domestic but also incredibly intimate. 

He knows Patrick is here as a friend and this doesn’t mean anything, but he knows he will never forget this night, will always wonder if there will ever be another one just like this, and another after that. He knows this isn’t real but he can pretend, just for this moment, that this is a regular night where Patrick is massaging his feet after a long day at the gallery, that they’re unwinding with drinks and a movie before they head off to bed. 

Patrick laughs at the screen then, a deep, warm rumble that shoots straight through David’s heart. Patrick gives him a wide boyish grin, and David smiles back. 

He falls in love all over again. 

Patrick squeezes his ankle slightly, then turns back to face the TV. 

This, he thinks. He could be happy with just this.

Patrick is not his boyfriend, but sometimes, it’s nice to pretend.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 4

The night is cold and wet when David steps out into the balcony. Normally he’d worry about his hair, but there’s a lull in between games, and he needs to get away for a moment.

He’s at Kae and Anthony’s flat with Patrick, Rachel, and some other people. Anthony is Patrick’s MBA classmate, Kae is his girlfriend, and David first met them at the game night that Patrick and Rachel actually hosted after he crashed their third date. David has grown quite close to Kae, who grew up in Japan and shares his love for Japanese food and fashion, and he joins them whenever he gets invited to these gatherings. It’s refreshing to be with Patrick’s friends. They don’t care much for his name or money or connections. But right now, he needs some air to breathe. 

David rubs a hand over his face. He lets out a sigh and leans against the wall, staring unseeing into the darkness. 

It’s good, loving Patrick.

It’s easy, such as when Patrick delivers Marcy’s pretzel and dark chocolate blondies, because he knows David thinks it’s the embodiment of a perfectly proportioned sweet and salty snack. David has discovered a long time ago that Patrick has essentially been forcing his mom to bake it everytime he went home, and it melts his stupid, aching heart.

Or this morning, when David had listened to Patrick patiently discuss piece after piece of artwork with an elderly couple who wandered into the gallery and who had clearly never seen anything like it before. An hour later, they thanked Patrick profusely for his time, their pleasure palpable as they talked of how they didn’t expect to appreciate the art as much as they did had Patrick not spent time with them.

If David was not in love before, he would have fallen in love right then.

Sometimes, though, loving Patrick is hard. 

Sometimes it’s almost too much to bear not to reach out and touch him, such as when Patrick looks at him when he’s done something amazing at work. Patrick looks like he‘s proud of him, his eyes warm and sparkling a little more than usual. 

Patrick is his best friend, and yet there are times when it’s not enough, when David wants more — more of Patrick and more than their friendship and more than the casual touches on his arm as they pass each other at work. He wants to be enveloped in Patrick’s embrace, held tightly and made to feel safe and loved, to be smothered in kisses, to have that strong body pressed against his, wrecking him then putting him back together afterwards. It makes him feel selfish, after Patrick has already given him so much, and he’s not even sure he can make Patrick happy the way Rachel does.

It would have been simpler if Rachel is horrible. But she’s as warm and nice and kind to him as Patrick is. She’s funny and fiery, charismatic and confident. Patrick is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and he would follow her to the ends of the world. 

Patrick is enamored. He’s in love. 

And until tonight, David hasn’t noticed how tactile Patrick can be. 

Patrick is always touching Rachel — her arms, the small of her back, whispering into her ear. He notices the way Patrick seems to orbit around Rachel, hugging her from behind or draping his arm around her shoulder or holding her tiny waist. And the kisses: a distracted kiss to her forehead, a series of quick pecks until Rachel is laughing, a longer kiss after they finished the first game. And now, David could see through the door that they’re at a dark corner of the living room where Patrick has crowded Rachel against the wall and he has angled her head up and her arms are fastened on his neck and they’re pressed together from chest to hips and there’s nothing quick about this kiss. It’s slow and deep and thorough, like they have all the time in the world, not a care that they’re in someone else’s home. 

David has been kissed before, many, many times, wearing far less clothing in far more public spaces, but he hasn’t been kissed like that, with open affection. Not for sex, but for intimacy. There’s nothing lewd about their kiss. If anything, it’s romantic. 

He really should look away. 

He closes his eyes and takes comfort in the darkness. He doesn’t have his jacket on and the wind cuts through his sweater, but the biting cold helps to center him.

Sometimes, David thinks back to that evening at the art fair when they were both drunk. He wonders what would have happened if he leaned in to Patrick, and kissed him, and brought him to an empty room and worshipped him with his mouth and tongue and hands… but just as quickly as it comes, he chases the thought away. The fantasy is so overwhelming that he could almost taste it, but the reality of the aftermath would have been unbearable to contemplate. David had been a different person back then, and he would surely have lost their friendship, would have lost Patrick. 

Then he thinks about the gallery, of how it has never been better since Patrick and his intense focus have been devoted to it. 

Patrick is brilliant, and David didn’t know until now that intelligence, coupled with kindness, would be his weakness. Patrick is exceptionally smart. He’s so competent and yet he still wants to improve, always pursuing to expand his knowledge. There’s something so beautifully, irresistibly attractive about that kind of passion that David can’t help but be captivated. 

And Patrick...Patrick walks in a room and takes up all the space in it. His presence draws the gaze like magnet. He’d walk in a room and David would inadvertently stop whatever he’s doing just to watch him. Patrick moves with quiet confidence, his unassuming demeanor belying his incredible will, flexible and unmovable at the same time. 

Loving Patrick is good, even if he doesn’t act on it. 

It has taught him to love himself better. It has taught him to look for someone who sees him and accepts him. David demands better for himself now. He no longer holds back pieces of himself nor changes himself into a version that someone might find more interesting. He's not like that anymore.

Since realising he loves Patrick, he’s been going out less and focused even more on his gallery. When he wants to have sex, he’s clear with his intentions. David no longer confuses it with his search for love. 

He has also learned from Rachel and Patrick. Apart from his parents and Alexis and Ted, he has never seen another relationship that is built on mutual trust and respect and affection. 

So he’s learning, and it’s all fine. 

David is fine because there’s nothing else to be.

The door opens, letting out a gust of warm air, and David finds Rachel standing beside him, her expression serious. 

“Hey Rach, what are you doing out here? It’s too cold.”

“David, I need your help.” She tugs at his arm, into the dark corner away from where they could be seen from the inside. 

David’s heart starts to pound. Is she pregnant? Is she cheating? What the fuck is happening? “Of course, what is it? How can I help?” 

“Well, it’s our first year anniversary next month and I still have no idea what to get Patrick.” Rachel’s eyes are huge. “Could you help me? Please?”

David is suddenly dizzy with relief. God, but he’d forgotten Rachel can be so dramatic. The urge to wring her neck is almost as tempting as the urge to yell at her to not scare him like that again. 

“Okay, okay,” he says instead, shaking his head to clear it. He can’t think at the moment. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. I’ll message you later.”

Rachel looks like she wants to cry. He rolls his eyes, trying very hard not to be amused by her dramatic reaction. She kisses his cheek then hugs him tightly. “Awww, David, you’re the best! We’re so lucky to have you!”

Oh. Well. 

Much later, when he’s back at home, David pours himself a drink and sits at the couch, not bothering to play music or turn on the lights. The night sky beyond the windows is dark blue, starless, infinite. He sips his drink, and the sweet vermouth and bitter taste of gin and campari linger at the back of his throat, reminding him of his conversation with Rachel. 

David knows the perfect gift for Patrick. He knows because he already bought it, several months ago, as an early birthday present for Patrick: two seats for the both of them behind the home plate in Fenway Park next month. It’s the wrong month for the All Stars game, but the Blue Jays will be playing, and David checked with Ted who assured him that it’s a perfect substitute. 

He stares at the phone in his hand for a long time, the glare illuminating the dark room. Then he tosses back the rest of his drink, pulls up his text conversation with Rachel, and types quickly before his courage leaves him. 

David sends Rachel a message with a lie that his dad gave him the tickets, and would she like to take them off his hands since she and Patrick love baseball? She could use it for their anniversary. Patrick doesn’t need to know they’re from his dad. 

Rachel immediately responds with a series of alternating heart-eyes and crying face emojis and a promise to buy him whatever sweater he wants from Givenchy’s collection next season. 

He replies with a single blue heart, then he locks his phone and turns it face down beside him. 

It’s simple enough to message Rachel. What’s harder is to let go of the fantasy he’s held quietly in his heart these past few months: of Patrick’s happiness when David finally reveals his surprise; of the vivid image of wonder that would light up Patrick’s face when he realizes that David remembered his baseball dream from their conversation a lifetime ago, because David thinks — shouldn’t that care, that desire to make Patrick’s dream come true, count for something? 

It’s good, loving Patrick, until it isn’t, until he has to let go of the fantastic sort of experience that will never be his; until the tears come, hot behind his aching lids, flowing so steadily that he doesn’t wipe them anymore; until he can’t breathe through the pain that lances at his heart.

David wraps his arms around his legs to keep everything in place, to keep the cracks from splitting him open, sharp and painful. 

Loving Patrick takes everything of him. It breaks him then reshapes him, until he’s a better man because of it. It has revealed depths of strength and generosity and courage in him that he didn’t know he possessed. 

He barely recognizes himself.

But he’s fine. 

David is fine because there’s nothing else to be.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 7

They met in the most ridiculous manner, which means to say that it was straight out of Notting Hill and David still breaks into a loopy grin whenever he thinks about it. 

Three months ago, on a random Friday morning, David had strolled out of the gallery to get coffee when a blonde man ran straight into him and spilled orange juice on his black sweater. 

David had been pissed, until he saw the man was startlingly good looking and looked very interested in him, and then he was just half-pissed. But when the man, Simon, apologized and offered to pay for dry cleaning, and David declined the offer, he was thoroughly over being pissed, because Simon gave him an arresting smile and asked him out to dinner. How could he refuse? There was something about the way Simon looked at him, an earnestness in his obvious attraction, that set David’s blood racing.  

Simon was tall, taller than him. He also had blonde hair swept back from his face and dusty eyelashes framing blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief. And later, David would discover that underneath the unassuming oxford shirt and navy chinos was a lean, fit body with strong thighs and defined calves from long distance cycling. 

So the following night, David learned what it was like to be the focus of Simon’s delightful charm—slightly bashful but entirely sincere. Simon directed his full attention at David, listening to him and offering details of his own life, such as growing up in California and working in a tech R&D company that’s focused on renewable energy. Their conversation flowed easily, filling up the hours until they were the last to leave the restaurant. David didn’t want to end the night just yet, so he asked if Simon wanted to walk him home.

Earlier over dinner, for reasons David no longer remembered, Simon had folded him an origami frog and made it jump. David was enchanted. And on their walk home, he cradled the frog in his palms to keep it from getting crushed, until finally they were outside David’s building and Simon plucked the frog from his hands, gently folded it flat, slid it inside David’s back pocket, then Simon looked at him, his eyes dark light the night. 

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Simon’s mouth was soft and pliant, and he tasted of coffee but also the promise of sensual things. David became aware of himself again only when he let out a soft, desperate sound. Simon’s hand was cradling his face, his other hand wrapped around his waist. They kissed until they were breathless, then David invited Simon up to his flat. 

The next morning after Simon left, David took the origami frog from his back pocket. He carefully unfolded it and placed it on the bookshelf. It was a tiny thing, not even covering his whole palm, but it was sculptural with its thick, off-white paper. It was beautiful in its simplicity, sat among his books and art. David liked that the frog meant “to return,” and maybe Simon meant something when he gave it to him. 

He found himself wanting to see Simon again. 

So they went out again, and days turned into weeks, and now they’ve been dating for almost three wonderful months. 

David hasn’t expected Simon, this generous, funny, smart man who wants to be with him. He hasn’t really known what to expect, but Patrick was right when he said it would be different with a good person. 

Simon is unfailingly nice. His patience and support as David unlearns bad relationship habits have left him humbled; he makes David want to better. And even though Simon is a couple of years older than him and clearly experienced in bed and out of it, Simon has a certain kindness about him in an unkind world, an innocence that David wants to protect. He’s someone David has grown to like and respect. 

In the beginning, when their relationship was fairly new and Patrick sensed that David was getting serious about Simon, he invited them on a double date. Patrick had been friendly and polite, but in the end he and Simon were laughing over sports and cartoons. Cartoons. That was when David knew they’d all be alright. That he’d be alright. 

David still loves Patrick; he suspects he always will. But it’s softer now, more bearable, much like a wound that has scabbed over, still bruised but is no longer all consuming. David thinks he’s managed to move on and be content with their friendship, which still gives him joy, and that’s all he allows himself to feel. 

He is happy and content in a way he hasn’t been before. And so here they are, three months later, in David’s bed on a Friday evening. They’re kissing, enjoying the afterglow from the second round that has their nerves still singing. It feels so good that they don’t stop kissing until their eyes are heavy and their bodies sated. 

In the moonlight, Simon’s eyes are dark and soft and so very blue. His fingertips trace down David’s temple to his jaw, then settles over his chest. And right before Simon’s eyes drift close to sleep, something in that vast divide between one moment and the next steals David’s breath away. It was visible for only the faintest moment, but Simon had looked at him with more tenderness and affection than he knows anybody is capable of expressing, much less direct at him. 

It doesn’t make sense.

For a moment, there is nothing but silence, just their breathing and the warmth of Simon’s hand where it covers his heart.

Then understanding comes, followed by deep remorse, and David closes his eyes, because he had been so reckless and selfish, and Simon would be the one to pay for it. 

He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, wishing he understood this a long time ago, at the start of things, because it had never been a casual thing for Simon, not like it had been for David. David thought they can be content with just this: friendship, affection, incredible sex.

But he didn’t realize, how didn’t he realize, that Simon might want more? 

Simon plans to be here for the long term, but David is only realizing that he can’t love Simon in return, not like the way he wants to. David cares for him, but he doesn’t want Simon like he wants air, like the way David wants Patrick. And Simon, sweet, gorgeous Simon, with his laughing eyes and gentle heart, deserves nothing less than absolute devotion.  

He takes Simon’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips so he can kiss the backs of Simon’s fingers. It makes him remember the small ways Simon has cared for him, like how Simon would start eating from the bottom of a nachos platter so David gets the cheesy toppings, or how he’d stay on David’s side of the bed to warm it while David finishes his skincare routine because Simon knows David gets cold easily, or his effort to always arrive early because David gets anxious about being late for appointments. They seem like little things, but no lover had ever paid him such close attention before. 

He lets the tips of his fingers trail along Simon’s stubbled cheek, smoothing over the line of his jaw to that spot where Simon likes to be kissed. He traces Simon’s eyebrows, memorizing the way his eyelashes flutter in sleep, and he thinks of his eyes: sapphire blue in the daylight, dark like a stormy ocean when aroused, but always warm and gentle. Simon’s lips part in a small exhale, and David can’t breathe as he thinks of Simon’s kindness, the way he always smells like rain and freshly cut grass, of how David’s head fits his shoulder when they embrace, of how well he cares for David. He’s still getting used to these, and now it feels that he is saying I love you and goodbye at once.

David feels wretched for what he’s done, but he will make things right. He respects Simon too much to lie to him, to waste more of his time, to not let him go when he could be happy with someone who is not in love with somebody else. 

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? Until this moment, he hadn’t known how much he truly loves Patrick, not until he’d been confronted with a choice between unrequited love and the possibility of happiness with Simon. And he is choosing Patrick. Jesus. He is choosing Patrick. He just might shatter under the weight of this revelation. 

David closes his eyes to breathe through the agony throbbing in his chest, and when he opens his eyes to see Simon’s peaceful face, he becomes aware that they are lying on the same bed and sharing the same breath and space for the last time. Trembling fingers cover his lips, and he tries to breathe as evenly as possible to keep the tremors from shaking his body. Tears roll down the side of his face, unbidden, and David cries in complete silence while somebody who could have been the love of his life sleeps beside him.

He cries for Simon, who has shown him that he is loveable and capable of being loved for himself. He cries for the hurt he’ll inflict him tomorrow, because Simon doesn’t deserve any of it.  And David cries for himself, for loving someone he can’t have, because even as he mourns the end of his relationship with Simon, all his heart yearns for is Patrick. Patrick. Patrick. 

He cries himself to sleep.

In the morning, after Simon leaves, David texts Patrick, asking if he could bring him cookies. 

His conversation with Simon has left him raw. Even until the end, Simon remained incredibly kind. David had said he was sorry. For hurting him, for not being able to want him the same way, for not being ready now, maybe ever. Simon's eyes were wounded, his eyelashes clumped with tears. He said he knew there were things David didn’t share because they might have been too painful, that there must have been someone who broke his heart and made it impossible to love wholly again, but he had hoped that David would come around and give them a chance. David tried to laugh, but it was shaky and came out as a sob. Simon kissed his cheek and wished him well, and said goodbye. 

Thirty minutes later, Patrick arrives with the still warm cookies. He kneels in front of the couch where David is curled up on his side. Patrick’s hand is gentle as he sweeps his fingers through David’s hair. 

“Hey...Do you want to tell me about it?” 

David shakes his head. “It’s just, I thought it was all good, you know? That it was enough. Because I was so content, like I haven’t been in a relationship. But I didn’t consider...Simon...” He tries to keep his voice even, but there’s no strength in it, only that awful, hurt quiver. “It’s not a lot to ask of me, I know, not when he was clearly all in. It was only fair.” David’s heart is breaking all over again. “He was kind and funny and he made me feel good. He cared for me. But I wasn’t… Patrick, he was perfect and I couldn’t—” 

I couldn’t love him back because I love you. 

And then he is sobbing. Big, ugly, gasping things that wrack his entire body. David is falling to pieces because of the man in front of him, and there might be nothing that can put him back together again. 

Patrick’s face crumples a little, and then he kicks off his shoes and climbs on the sofa. He slides until David’s cheek is resting on his chest. He tangles their legs together and Patrick moves to engulf David in his arms. They barely fit, but it’s exactly what David needs—to be anchored in place so he doesn’t drift away. 

David weeps against Patrick’s chest. “I didn’t look for this,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He hadn’t been looking to be so painfully, terrifyingly split wide open by falling in love. He really thought he'd moved on. God, why can’t he just leave Patrick alone? “It’s too hard, Patrick. It hurts so much...”

Loving Patrick is the hardest and easiest thing he’s done in his life. 

Patrick’s voice is subdued. “I’m so sorry, David.”  Soft lips brush his temple. 

Patrick holds him until the cookies cool and the shadows move along the wall, until David's tears dry and there’s nothing left but a hundred unspoken words on his tongue.

David knows he will need more than a day and a box full of cookies to feel better. He finds himself murmuring the next words without planning to. “Gomen. Daisuki da yo.” 

“What’s that?” asks Patrick.

David’s throat suddenly feels tight. He has never said it aloud before. He knows what he has with Patrick is as much as he’ll ever get, and to be able to tell Patrick he loves him feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off of his chest. He's not happy, no, but he feels strangely at peace. His vision blurs with tears. “I’m going to Japan,” he says, forcing the words out. 

Patrick pulls back to look at him. “To live there?”

“What?”

“You said before, that it was your dream to live in Japan. For six months.” Patrick is looking at him with oddly dark, serious eyes. 

For a moment, David could only stare back. His chest tightens and the tears threaten to fall in earnest, because of course, Patrick remembers that conversation from a long time ago. He gives a wet laugh. “No, I plan to go for three weeks.” David manages a small smile this time. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

Patrick doesn’t smile back. He’s watching David with an expression he hasn’t seen before. Then he seems to come to a decision, and he places a kiss on David’s forehead. David finds himself wrapped in Patrick’s arms again. “I’m glad,” Patrick says, his voice rough.

David buries his face in Patrick’s neck and breathes him in, feeling his steady pulse. Patrick smells like aftershave and detergent and a bit of sweat, and David thinks it smells like home. He wishes he could stay here in this moment, safe in Patrick’s arms, until the end of time. 

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 9

Since David returned from Japan, Patrick has been in David’s life in a way he hasn’t since before Rachel and MBA.

Before David arrived around six weeks ago, Rachel had left for a thirty day yoga retreat in Bali, followed by a month-long trip around Asia with her girlfriends, so really, Patrick is only filling his time, but David doesn’t care. 

Every two to three evenings, David and Patrick would attend work events or meet with friends or explore the city. But David’s favorite nights are those when they cook together, eat dinner, then drift off into their own pursuits: Patrick digging deep into his readings and coursework, David inspecting proposals for upcoming exhibits. Then once they finish working, they will watch a film, or do nothing and simply hang, sometimes talk, before calling it a night.

David will take all the time he can get with Patrick, even the times like earlier today. Patrick usually drops him off at the clinic for his regular screening, but Patrick’s lecture got cancelled at the last minute and he decided to stay with David and get tested together. 

Now, they’re back at David’s flat, and Patrick makes him sit on the couch with a glass of wine while Patrick prepares dinner. It’s carbonara, with only pasta, cheese, egg, and pancetta, one of the few dishes he’d been able to teach Patrick. 

David learned it when he was fifteen and their family spent two weeks in Tuscany. Every lunchtime, he’d watch the kitchen staff prepare it, until they’d been so charmed that they taught him how to cook it himself. They would also give him two extra slices of the best tiramisu in the world, one for himself and another for Alexis, but Alexis rarely got to eat hers because he didn’t want to share. The lovely Italian grandmothers told David that he’d know he’d fallen in love when he was finally willing to share his tiramisu. 

Well. David has found someone he’s willing to share it with, but he has yet to find a tiramisu in New York that tastes just like the one in Tuscany. And as he watches Patrick under the soft kitchen light, with his thin shirt stretched taut across his muscled back, David’s chest tightens as he thinks he might not have the chance to share it with Patrick at all. 

Lately, he’s been thinking a lot about the future. He thinks of how little time he has left with Patrick, maybe five more years, before Patrick and Rachel get married and move away. He thinks of them, with their redhead kids and a dog and a house with white picket fence, and the very idea of a future without Patrick in it—he suddenly feels the loss with a deep, throbbing pang of grief, and his eyes prickle with tears.

There are worse things than having to say goodbye to Patrick, he supposes, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment. Allowing himself some grace, he gently sets his wineglass on the coffee table, walks quietly to the bathroom, buries his face in his hands, and lets himself fall apart for exactly two minutes. He times it carefully, because any longer and it will leave his eyes puffy. He knows this from previous experience. He’s done this before, countless times. And after the two minutes, David studies his reflection. His eyes are a little pink, but they will clear in a few minutes. Another perfectly executed stealthy cry. He doesn’t look proud, or happy, but he feels calm, ready to spend the rest of the evening with Patrick.

He walks back to the couch and his eyes land on Simon’s origami frog on the bookshelf. He misses Simon, and often thinks of how he’s doing. Simon, who has shown him he’s loveable. Simon, who makes him wonder if he’s one of the lucky people who gets more than one great love in their lifetime. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Patrick, who sits beside him with two plates of pasta. Patrick’s hair, what little length is left of it, is sticking up from the humidity of cooking. 

“Uhm, should I ask what’s with the hair situation?” 

An hour before they left for the clinic, Patrick went for a haircut, and when he returned, all his curls were gone. David didn’t get a chance to ask him about it because they were rushing to get to the clinic. 

Patrick chuckles. “You know how I have that big presentation next week?”

“Yes. You’ve barely been sleeping,” David says with an arched brow. In the last two weeks, Patrick would come over to study until 2:00 am and then sleep in the spare bedroom. Ray is very nice but he’s also very chatty, and Patrick needs the quiet. 

“I thought I’d make a better impression if I had short hair. You know, look more professional.”

“You mean look even more square.”

“Exactly,” Patrick says with a straight face, but his eyes are shining with mirth. “You want someone boring to handle your money. Someone who looks like they won’t spend it frivolously.”

David shrugs. “Well, you’ve had those curls since you joined and you’ve been spending our money responsibly, so.” The words are just there, and David feels his cheeks heat. 

“Ooh, I didn't know the gallery owner thinks my curls are tied to the company’s success. I can definitely grow it again, if it will give him a better...handle. On things,” Patrick says, lips curling. Something in his expression is teasing but also defiant, challenging. 

David blinks at the wine in his hand. The alcohol content must be higher than usual if he’s seeing and hearing things that are not there. He looks at Patrick again, who is busy refilling his glass. 

Patrick turns to him, and he’s grinning. “Okay. I didn’t actually plan to cut my hair this short.”

David’s eyebrows shoot up.

Patrick drags his fingers through his hair. “The barbershop gives a really good scalp massage, and I fell asleep. Then a car backfired outside and I jerked awake, and the barber was shaving here,” he touches the top of his head, right in the middle. “He shaved this whole portion off by accident, so he had to even out the rest. And that’s why the curls are gone.” 

David’s face must be showing his horror because Patrick just throws his head back and laughs, completely unconcerned, as if he planned the whole thing just to see David’s reaction. 

Patrick leans back on the arm of the sofa and regards him with a smile he hasn’t seen before. Ever since Japan, Patrick would sometimes give him a look that he can’t parse out. With this smile, there’s something in it that goes beyond fondness and adoration. David doesn’t know quite what it is. All he knows is that no one has ever looked at him like that before. And he likes it.

Patrick pats his knee. “Don’t worry, David, it’s just hair. I’ll grow it out again for you.” He winks badly, then laughs as he brings their empty plates to the kitchen.

“Oh my god.” David lets out a surprised laugh, but it catches in his throat and turns into an ache, and all at once, he feels like weeping, because Patrick isn’t his and will never be. It will never be enough, will never feel like they’ve had enough time together. David thinks he will rip at every seam because god, that is so unfair, to have this perfectly ordinary night, and not get to keep it. 

David breathes deeply and he gets the remote control to scan through the films. Amélie. “Let’s watch something a bit different tonight,” he says. He loves this film. It’s just what he needs: something fun and beautiful and light to keep his mind off things. 

Patrick sits beside him, much closer than he normally does, and their thighs touch. This is another thing that has changed after David returned from Japan. Patrick keeps touching him. Nothing inappropriate, but just more frequently — on his shoulder, on his arms, on his back. It’s maddening how each touch renders him useless for a few seconds. David soaks it all up, even as his heart beats wildly in his throat. He settles against Patrick’s side, his warmth burning through the fabric of David’s shirt.

After some time, after Amélie delivers Bretodeau’s treasure box in the phone booth, Patrick moves to the end of the couch and pulls David so his head is on Patrick’s lap. Patrick smiles down at him, and he likes that smile because it’s warmer than usual. Fingers brush through his hair and settle on his arm, and David grounds himself in these physical gestures of affection, just letting himself feel the simple pleasure of being touched by Patrick. 

Perhaps it was his two-minute cry earlier, or his overall tiredness, or the large amount of carbs and wine he consumed, but the next thing he knows, he wakes up to the sensation of soft fingers carding his hair. David opens his eyes to find the end credits paused on the screen.

He turns to look at Patrick, only to see Patrick has already focused his attention on him. His eyes are almost black, sharp and focused in a way that’s not quite predatory, but something else that David cannot quite name, and it makes his mouth a little dry. It’s terrifying how much David wants to read into it, but he tells himself it’s just the late hour, that it’s nothing, because Patrick is Patrick, and that’s that. 

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” David clears his throat. “Did you like it?”

“It was beautiful,” Patrick replies. His voice has a husky note in it, almost like he’s talking about something else altogether. Then Patrick smiles, just so, and David blushes, grateful for the darkness. 

Everything in this moment is utterly perfect.

The corners of Patrick’s eyes crinkle. “You were drooling.” 

Patrick is wonderful and terrible at the same time. 

David grabs a pillow and smacks Patrick’s face with it. Patrick just laughs. “Come on. Time for bed.” 

When they reach outside Patrick’s room, Patrick wraps his wrist lightly as he says goodnight. The gentle sweep of Patrick’s thumb over the inside of his wrist is sure as it is tender, and David almost forgets to breathe. He feels exposed, impossibly vulnerable, his neck prickling with warmth and desire. And when he looks up, Patrick is watching him with a certain softness, with something that might be sweetness.

“Good night, Patrick,” he says quietly, before walking to his own room and closing the door. He presses his forehead to the wood and closes his eyes.

Patrick is very tactile, he tells himself, and with Rachel away, it’s his way of compensating for the lack of physical touch. It’s nothing more than that.

David opens his eyes and looks around. The room is dark with all the lights turned off. Outside, the rain is pouring steadily. He can hear it against the window, soothing in its repetition.

He walks to the armchair and pulls his legs up. The clock reads 12:42 and he’s startled to find that it is exactly one year ago, down to the minute, since Patrick picked him up at the airport after he caught Sebastien cheating.

The memory of that time in Patrick’s car flickers in his mind.

A year ago, he had no idea what was love, and what he wanted, and what he deserved. Then Patrick had shown him a different future, one where he was with a good person, and he had been filled with peace and breathtaking hope.

So much has changed since that night, and he likes to think that he knows now how it is to love and be loved. 

But as he watches the rain sluice down the window, it happens. Clarity. The one where David realizes that he doesn’t have to be with anyone to have a good life. He could be alone in the future, but it would be alright, because alone doesn’t mean lonely. Alone isn’t failure. He could be happy on his own because he loves himself, and he is more than enough. 

And with this realization, he finally sees his love for Patrick for the gift that it is: something that adds joy to his life. Not a burden, but also not a necessity. Not really.

David understands now that his time with Patrick is fleeting. It is here, and now, but is not enduring. 

He thinks that if this is all he will ever get, that he would still be grateful that once in his life, he had known a good friend who thought he was special, and David loved him in his own way, and he had been unselfish and had given his best to make that person happy. 

Loving Patrick might leave a hole in his heart, a hole so big that it might never heal, but there are wounds that are worth it. Patrick is worth it. 

He will keep these moments safe, and soak them in.

And right here, on this quiet midnight, with the rain pouring softly outside, David is completely at peace with whatever the future will bring. He would be happy if he ends up with someone, and he would be happy if he ends up alone. Either one is fine. Knowing that, he could deal with it.

The future is blank, and he finally, truly believes that he will be alright.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 10

David has been in love for ten months, two weeks, and three days when it happens. 

He’d always imagined that when they finally came together, that it would happen in an instant. That there would be a big, romantic gesture that overcomes them and leads to heated, frantic kisses that culminate in blinding, passionate lovemaking. 

The reality is it happens in a garishly lit karaoke room with terrible singing in the background. They don’t even kiss. 

But none of that matters, because they had been building up to it gradually, and that is precisely how they proceed. They choose to wait to be together, and the deliberate care with which Patrick has made that choice is infinitely sweeter and more romantic than any fantasy.

It’s a random Friday evening, remarkable only in that they’re celebrating Kae’s birthday at their favorite Korean karaoke bar. David arrives late, so there is no seat beside Patrick on the other side of the room. He settles beside Kae instead, and Patrick keeps throwing him glances to check that he’s okay. David purses his lips and rolls his eyes, but deep inside, he feels a rush of affection for the impossible man. 

His song comes on and he stands up, ready to have fun. He loves karaoke, and he loves this song even more. 

I call you when I need you, my heart’s on fire

You come to me, come to me wild and wired

Halfway through the song, David realizes that despite his shoulder shimmies and exaggerated dance moves, he has been singing every word for Patrick. All the feelings he's kept to himself are pouring out and there’s nothing he can do to stop, so he lets it all go. He leans in. No one would notice. In the end, everyone is laughing and singing along.

David smirks, gives a small bow, takes his seat, and tries to regain his breath. He finds Patrick is watching him, his eyes dark and steady, but there’s something in that gaze that steals David’s already limited supply of breath. It’s a look tangled in hope and uncertainty and warmth and desire.  And when the corner of Patrick’s lip curls ever so slightly, soft and for him alone, David swears the world comes to a halt for an instant, because in that crystalline moment, he finally, truly understands. 

Patrick takes out his phone, and less than a second later, David’s phone vibrates: Can we talk outside?

The main floor is too noisy to have a proper conversation, so Patrick pulls him into a small, empty room. David takes a deep breath and looks around. It's truly garish. The walls are painted hot pink and purple and the seats are made of red pleather. The room is dim, lit only by the television in the corner and a disco ball flashing on the ceiling. 

The door closes behind them, muting the terrible rendition of Hotel California outside, and in the sudden silence, David realizes that this is all a mistake. Because Patrick is still with Rachel. Even if Patrick is suddenly attracted to him, David won’t let himself be someone on the side, an experiment while the girlfriend is out of town.

No. Not even for Patrick. 

He should leave now, and pretend this is not happening. That his heart is not breaking. He wants Patrick, but not like this. 

Beside him, Patrick is quiet. They are standing close, leaning on the wall almost shoulder to shoulder. David finds himself pinned by those dark eyes searing into his soul. He drops his gaze, because he needs to gather the courage to say no. 

“David, I’d like to take you to dinner.” 

He fights against the hurting thing in his throat. If this happened two years ago, he would be kissing Patrick right now. It would have been enough to know that Patrick wants him, Rachel be damned. But David is not the same person he was before. As much as he loves Patrick, he will not be a dirty secret. He deserves better. 

He wonders, when Patrick says I want to take you to dinner and all that implies, if he also feels that deep pain swelling in his chest. He wonders if Patrick ever thinks of him. In that way. In all the ways David has thought about him, about them, when he’s alone in the dark. Of what they could be. Of how good things could be between them. 

The thing is, there is nothing to support the idea that Patrick truly wants to be with him. In all the time he’s known him, he never gave David a second glance, had never shown any interest in men. The only way to explain this sudden interest is that Patrick has somehow worked out David’s feelings, and by some twisted sense of obligation, or out of honest interest to explore his own sexuality, or the worst, pity, Patrick is now trying to give him what he wants but without returning his feelings.

David needs to stop this before their friendship is damaged beyond repair.

“You don’t want to take me to dinner,” he says, very quietly and very carefully. “You think you do, but you don’t. We’re best friends but I wanted more, and now you feel you need to act on it. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Patrick shakes his head but David cuts him off, because he thinks he knows what Patrick is going to say and he doesn't want anyone to say it ever again. He's not like that anymore. 

David straightens his spine. “Let's forget this conversation ever happened.” He looks at Patrick directly, unflinchingly, and hopes that his sincerity comes through. “I will manage my feelings, and it will be fine. All is forgiven. The important thing is that we remain friends.”

“I don’t want to be just friends.” Patrick’s voice is tight, and there is something in it that sounds far too close to pleading. “David, you burned through me so slowly I didn’t even know it was happening.” 

The disco ball wobbles in and out of focus, and David rubs his fingertips against the cuff of his sweater, grounding himself on its softness. He fights against the tiny wings of hope fluttering in his heart, faint but insistent. Rachel, he reminds himself.

“We were colleagues who became best friends almost instantly.” Patrick’s eyes are too bright and too big in the dim light, and David stares back, dazed. “We spent countless hours together, at work and outside of it, and we saw each other go through so much — when you’d get your heart broken, and when mom had that health scare.” Patrick suddenly looks impossibly young. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes like it hurts. “It took us no time to get to that point, to that level of trust, that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Because it felt like you had always been there: my very own anchor. Someone steadfast and strong and who makes me feel safe. You make me feel right, David. And it took me these last few months without Rachel to realise it. To know that I would like to try...with you. If you’ll have me.”

David is trying so hard to be strong, to do the right thing, but Patrick is looking at him like he doesn’t want to look at anyone else again. 

Rachel. Rachel.

Patrick steps closer, pausing in front of David. He extends his little finger and grazes David’s hand hesitantly. Patrick is always so confident, and it is a shock to see him tentative, but he is in that gesture, in the soft press of his finger against David’s, until the tips of their fingers touch lightly, like the whisper of a promise. 

“Earlier, when you were singing, it felt like you were singing it just for me.” Patrick touches his wrist, just the outside at first, then around to wrap his hand loosely around David’s wrist, his warmth seeping into him. He holds him there with a tenderness that David can’t quite dare to believe.

“Patrick,” he says, his voice breaking a little.

“And I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to tell you...that I feel the same way. That I care about you. I want you, David. I want to try with you.” Patrick's forehead creases in a silent plea. “I know the timing isn’t great. I wanted to wait for Rachel to come back, so I can talk to her in person. End things properly with her—”

“You’re breaking up with Rachel?” Something shifts inside David, a moment’s happiness before guilt clamps down on his chest. Patrick must read it on his face, because his hand tightens on his wrist reflexively.

“David. I don’t want to just hook up with you. You’re not an experiment, or a secret lover, or a rebound. Or any of the things you might have been thinking. I respect you too much to do that to you. You have to believe me.” He lets out a deep breath and loosens his grip on David. “And yes, I’m breaking up with Rachel. We’ve been on a break since you were in Japan.”

David stills. Three months ago. All this time. “How come I didn’t know?” 

“At first, I just didn’t want to add to your worries.” Simon. “Rachel and I had been fighting more frequently. It was obvious she was growing dissatisfied in our relationship. She wanted more — to move in together, to make plans for the future, but I kept resisting. I couldn't commit and I didn’t know why. I thought it was because I was completely satisfied with what we already had. But she was becoming so unhappy, and the fights were so unpleasant.” Patrick looks lost in the memory, his thumb rubbing lightly against David’s wrist. “The week after you went to Japan, Rachel suggested we take a break, just take the time apart to figure out what we both wanted. I was so tired of fighting that I agreed to it.

“I thought I’d be devastated, you know? Absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder. Well, after a couple of weeks without seeing each other, she stopped by the flat to pick up some things before her trip. I saw her again and realized...I didn’t really miss her all that much. And I felt good again, lighter than before. I was even happy. Then you came back from Japan, and I started to spend more time with you. I realized how much I missed you. All the things I expected to feel after seeing Rachel again, I felt them with you. And I didn’t just miss you — I craved being with you. I wanted to make you laugh, David.” God, why does Patrick look so earnest and so breathtaking? “So much. All the time. I wanted to make you happy. And that’s when I realized I didn’t just care for you as a friend.”

Patrick is so careful not to say the word “love,” but David knows better now. All those times he had looked at Patrick, he had been looking but not seeing. Patrick had been telling him, with his eyes, with his smile, that he was falling for David. 

“Patrick, have you been with other... men...before?” David asks. It doesn’t really matter to David how Patrick identifies, but it matters to other people, and maybe it matters to Patrick. And to a certain degree, it matters to David to help him understand where Patrick is coming from.

Patrick takes a step closer to David until their chests are almost touching. “No. But I’m definitely not straight either, David.” This close his voice is deep enough to drown in, twisting something in David’s stomach. “I’m still figuring it out. I’ve always been attracted to men, but it was easy to rationalise it away because I’ve been in emotionally satisfying relationships with women. But then you cried to me after you broke up with Simon. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were bright with tears and your hair was a mess and…” Patrick lets out a deep breath, his eyes flicking down to David's lips before coming back up to his eyes, watching him a dark, piercing glint in his eyes. “And I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone more beautiful. I was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss you, and I still didn’t get it then.”

“And they say you’re the smart one,” David teases, trying and failing not to sound like the wind has just been knocked out of him. He shuts his eyes, gone dizzy at the sound of Patrick’s rich laughter. 

“David, all I could think about was how much I wanted to comfort you, to do everything I can so you wouldn’t cry anymore. I want to make you so happy.” Patrick is looking at him in wonder and affection. So much affection. “I spent these last couple of months thinking about it, about me...how it is all so unexpected, to want to be with a man. But I couldn’t find any sort of discontentment or apprehension, because it’s with you. David. My very best friend.”

David’s eyes well with tears, but he refuses to let them fall.

“Instead, I felt nothing but happiness at the thought of being with you, and the idea that maybe... you also want me too.”

He feels those tiny wings of hope grow bigger in his heart and take flight, until he can taste them in his tongue. They taste like happiness. They taste like tomorrow.

“It gives me courage when I think of you. Because you accept me for who I am, my stubbornness and bad moods and competitiveness. You take all of me without blinking, without breaking stride, as if those things don’t matter in the slightest.”

How can he tell Patrick that he has changed him, too? Made him a better person, because he accepted David? Maybe, if Patrick can be brave, David can be brave too, to throw himself into the breeze and hope he will fly. But he’s good at hiding and putting up false pretenses, not vulnerability and openness, and the words run away from him now. 

“I need you to understand, if you still have doubts, that I choose to be with you,” Patrick says fiercely. “I'm not rushing into this blindly. I care too much about you to hurt you like that.” 

In that moment, David finally accepts what Patrick is offering. David had been afraid, and suddenly he isn’t anymore. He is absolutely sure this is where he belongs, whom he belongs. He might not be able to control how things pan out eventually, but this, this total commitment of his heart to Patrick, this he can choose. He has given it away, a long time ago, but it continues to seep away from him, to Patrick. He says the only thing he can think that could even remotely convey what he feels without telling Patrick he loves him.

“I choose you too, Patrick. My heart chose you a long time ago, stupid though it was.” His voice is thick and tears cling to his eyelashes but it feels as if the world is suddenly his for the taking. 

“Well I don’t know what’s so stupid about it.” There are tears in Patrick’s eyes, too, but his smile is blinding. Then it softens, his face open and raw and loving, looking at David without regret or discomfort or hesitation. “But I do want to ask...if you could wait a bit longer for me. Because I want to be honorable, David, and do right by you. I don’t want to start our relationship when I’m still with someone else, even if we’re on a break. You deserve better than that.”

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He closes the distance between them until he is in Patrick’s embrace, their chest and hips and legs as close as possible. The last few months had been hellish and now to have this. To have Patrick. He buries his face in the side of his neck. It makes David feel warm, and quiet, and protected, as he discovers there is as much space in his heart for Patrick’s love as there is space in the universe.

He never wants to forget this moment that David has convinced himself would never come. 

And then the words are just there. It’s surprisingly easy. “I knew when I met you that you were different. That you were a good person,” David finally manages, unable to keep his voice from trembling. He closes his eyes when strong arms pull him even closer, firm and solid and sure. “You’re still the best person I know, Patrick. Of course, I’ll wait for you.” 

Patrick brings a hand up to the side of his jaw, reverent, careful, his thumb against David’s lips.

David swallows against the habit of denial. He swallows and swallows. “What happens, after?” 

“After, I show you how much I adore you.” 

Patrick had said, all those months ago in his car, looking at David with his broken heart and exhausted spirit, you should be adored, David, completely and without reservation. David’s chest feels for a moment like it will splinter under the pressure of that memory, because this is what Patrick had wanted for him all along, had told him he deserved: to be loved and accepted for himself. To be treated with kindness and respect. To be with someone nice and who doesn’t want to change him. 

David feels unbelievably safe, because nobody has ever held him with such tenderness, entirely certain and unbearably gentle. 

Then his breath stops and stutters as he feels a burst of warm breath on his skin. 

David has been in love for ten months, two weeks, and three days when Patrick kisses him for the first time, on a spot in his neck he never knew feels exquisite. He doesn't know if it's because he's wanted Patrick for so long, or if this is simply how Patrick kisses, but it is excruciatingly beautiful.

He already feels adored.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 11

It’s Friday, two weeks since karaoke, and Rachel has just returned to New York. Patrick went to meet her after work, and it’s now 8:56 pm, almost an hour since Patrick sent him a text message: It’s done. Heading over now.

Despite his countless experience with breakups, David doesn’t know what to do once Patrick arrives. People deal with breakups differently. For him, sometimes it’s cookies and romcom movies and crying at random times throughout the day, other times, it’s sex and drugs. But there are also times when he can’t do anything but lie awake in bed and wish for sleep that won’t come.

David hopes that when it comes down to it, he will know what Patrick needs, and it will be enough. 

It’s uncharted waters for both of them, because they’re not just friends but they’re not quite lovers, either. Patrick has asked if they can take things slowly, and David agreed. This thing between them is too precious to rush. They understand that there is no need to hurry, because this is right. And if it is right, it will happen.

Nothing good gets away. 

They have yet to kiss on the lips, because Rachel is still there and Patrick wants to do the right thing. David thought it would be intolerable to endure, but to his surprise, knowing he can reach for Patrick and he will not pull away is more than enough. The first time he touched the back of Patrick’s hand, it felt like he was crossing a border, as if he was granted a forbidden pleasure very few people were allowed. He cautiously traced the prominent veins with his finger, and when Patrick turned his palm over, David covered it, warm, dry, rough against his own. Patrick had looked at him the way he did when David did something brilliant, had smiled brightly enough to light the room.

Patrick has not been shy about touching him either: in the casual way he grips David’s waist as they stand in line at the coffee shop, in the perfect mould of their bodies as Patrick kisses his neck, his cheek, as he says good night. 

Touching is a marvel beyond compare, and David imagines he will burst into flames the moment Patrick’s lips kisses his own. He imagines their kiss would be hungry, frantic, demanding. He touches his lips, and wonders if Patrick would taste as sweet as he imagined, if his lips are as warm and soft as they look.

The door opens, and Patrick steps in. His cheeks are red from the cold and his hair is clinging to his forehead from the light rain. He removes his jacket, and even with the tense set of his jaw, David is overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he walks across the living room. It’s so easy to take the last three steps to Patrick, and it would be so easy to hug him if Patrick would let him. But Patrick is not looking at him, is looking at the floor, his expression too controlled that David stands just shy of touching him. He hesitates for only a moment, then he pushes through his own insecurity to let his fingers touch Patrick’s tentatively. Patrick twines their fingers together, then he leans forward until his forehead presses against David’s chest. 

It’s startlingly quiet. Patrick looks up at David, and there is such vulnerability in his eyes that David’s breath falters.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight, or tomorrow, but if the day comes when you want to talk, just know that I’ll be here to listen,” David says.

Patrick’s face crumples before closing the distance between them and pressing his face against his neck. David moves his arm around Patrick, encompassing him until he can feel every hitched breath that sounds awfully like he’s fighting tears. 

David feels very protective at this moment because for the first time, he is the one comforting Patrick. Patrick is the one he comes to when his heart is broken, because Patrick is home, his safe harbour, the one who is there when no one else is and takes care of him without question. It tears something open in his heart to see him like this. 

“I’m so sorry,” David says, kissing his temple. 

The moment the words leave his mouth, Patrick clings tighter, and something hot and damp bleeds through his sweater. 

It’s silent for a long time, so achingly quiet except for Patrick’s tears. Then he breathes deeply and he kisses David’s neck. “I’m alright.” He makes a sound that is almost like a laugh, but there is anguish there, too. “It’s just...it’s only hitting me now, that it’s over.” 

David nods and leads Patrick to the couch, then he prepares their drinks. Patrick is staring outside the window, glassy-eyed but breathing steadily. Before he knows what he’s doing, David places both glasses on the table and touches Patrick’s cheek, letting his fingers smooth down the soft skin. Patrick leans into his palm for a some time, and then he takes a large sip of whiskey. David slides his hand between them, and Patrick stares at it before placing his own hand over it. 

Rachel, it turns out, has come to the same conclusion as Patrick: that he is probably developing feelings for David and that was the reason he couldn’t commit to a future with her. She’s not angry, is in fact very supportive and encouraging, and she wishes them luck in their relationship. He blushes as he says that Rachel’s parting words were to invite her to their wedding. 

Patrick laughs while wiping his eyes, because apparently, Rachel met a hot Japanese American architect on her trip and wanted to pursue it. He says it probably helped in making their breakup smoother. 

David is grateful, so grateful, for Rachel’s kindness and generosity that allowed them to have a clean break. For sparing Patrick the agony of dealing with bruised egos and hurt feelings and lack of closure. He can’t think of what to say, so he wraps an arm around Patrick and lets the silence stretch, allowing the seriousness to shift gradually. 

Then he remembers the surprise in the kitchen. David squeezes Patrick’s hand. He stands up and retrieves it before returning to the couch and shyly handing Patrick the box of Levain cookies. 

Patrick starts giggling, trying at first to suppress it, but the more David glares at him, the harder he laughs. “So you agree now that these are breakup cookies?” 

“No,” he scoffs. “They’re yummy cookies that remind you that life can be good even when it’s horrible.”

“It’s not horrible, David. Not when I can finally take you to dinner.” Patrick makes it sound so effortless, like it’s perfectly natural that David wants him and Patrick wants him, too. He is so close that David could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “Would you have dinner with me on Sunday?”

David swallows against the lump in his throat. He loves Patrick so much he can barely remember how to breathe. But he is also impatient. After a second, he bites his lip and asks, almost against his will, “Do we really want to wait until Sunday? How about tomorrow? Tomorrow works for me.”

“Okay, David, tomorrow is great if you want my mom and her best friend to chaperone us. I was twelve the last time it happened, and I don’t really recommend it. Kills the mood.”

Oh god. He forgot they are visiting the city. “Actually, Sunday is great. Smaller crowds, better service. Easier to get a reservation this late.”

“Who said we’re going somewhere that requires reservation?”

He waves his hand. “Oh, of course,” he says, but more like breathes. That’s a better word to describe how high his voice rises. He gives a nervous laugh and strokes Patrick’s arms. 

“David, it will be fine. You can trust me.”

“Doubtful.” He can’t help his grimace. 

“I’ll make sure there are no moths around.”

“Okay, Patrick.” He is tempted to stick out his tongue, but he’s not six years old, so he just stands to prepare them another round of drinks. But then Patrick laughs, long and loud and without the sadness weighing him down earlier, and it leaves a warm glow in David’s chest. 

“Come back,” Patrick gasps, wiping a tear away. “Let’s eat my breakup cookies.”

Their arms and legs touch, and David’s breath catches. He’s still not used to this, to the truth that he gets to have this, this something soft and fragile between them. It’s so familiar, yet so new at the same time. 

David finishes the cookies, and Patrick empties his glass. They put away the dirty glasses and empty box in the kitchen. And as Patrick makes his way towards the door, he stops in front of David. He brings up both hands to cup David’s face, and kisses him.

“Good night,” he smiles at David.

“Take care,” David manages around an unexpected tightness in his throat. He watches as Patrick puts on his jacket and leaves. “Good night,” he says to the empty room.

David stays there for a long time afterwards, at the exact spot in the kitchen where he realized he loved Patrick almost a year ago. He lets the tip of his tongue slowly trace his bottom lip. It would seem like a dream but for the faint taste of whiskey on his tongue and the still warm feel of soft lips pressed on his own. 

But, it was real. 

All he knows is what he has experienced prior to this: the emotional whirlwind and emptiness of relationships that burn out faster than they ignited, the adrenaline of sweeping, drug-fueled release with randoms, even the passionate fucking with Simon as they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It had always been a primal thing — hungry kisses, desperate grasping at clothes and skin and hair, teeth and tongue and dominance and surrender. 

It is all he knows, all he has ever experienced. All he thought he’d ever get. 

Nothing has ever felt as intimate as this chaste kiss. It’s not sexual, but it’s warm and home in a way he has only ever imagined. It’s not foreplay, but a sign of love and affection, pure and innocent.

For the first time in his life, a kiss is just a kiss. David feels like he will float like an ember in the wind. 

It’s worth every second of the wait.

Chapter Text

Year 1, Month 11, Two days later

David nervously adjusts the cuffs of his sweater as he is led to their table.

Patrick chose this restaurant, an old-fashioned, neighborhood Italian trattoria in Brooklyn with high ceilings, wooden rafters, and exposed brick and terracotta tiles. It’s 8:00 on a Sunday evening but it’s surprisingly filled with diners, the buzzing conversations and muted laughter lending a sense of coziness to the open space. He has never heard of this place, but he could already tell he will like it. It is simple, unpretentious, and feels like home; it’s a whole lot like Patrick. 

Patrick had to bring his mom and her best friend to the airport right before their date, so they agreed to meet here directly. He finds Patrick at a nice table near the back of the restaurant, and Patrick stands up when he sees David. He notices at once that Patrick is wearing a dark blue coat and a form-fitting pair of dark jeans that David is sure he’s never worn before. It perfectly accentuates his thick thighs and hints distractingly at the bulge underneath. It is devastating.

“Hi,” Patrick says, drawing David’s gaze from his clothes to his face. 

It’s gratifying to see him look as nervous and excited as David feels. Patrick’s eyes are bright, and they dart from his hair to his eyes then down to his lips, where he seems to have a hard time looking away. 

“Hello,” David replies, trying and failing to hold in his smile. The sight of Patrick flushed pink at being caught staring is both the sexiest and most adorable thing he has ever seen. He moves in to kiss Patrick’s cheek. Patrick smells of some nameless aftershave, cedar and musk and rose, and David has to resist leaning in closer. “This place looks nice,” he says as they take their seat beside each other.

“Yeah. I thought you’d like it here.” Patrick’s lip quirks into a small smile. He runs a hand through his hair as if he’s still nervous. David follows the gesture with his eyes, his fingers itching with the desire to touch those short curls himself. “Everything is good,” Patrick says, opening the menu. “Why don’t you choose the pasta and pizza? I’ll order us a charcuterie board.”

David scans through the menu and decides on gnocchi and margherita. 

“How about some wine?” Patrick takes the wine menu. “Do you want red or white?”

“I like all wines.” David smiles slightly, still a little giddy. He tilts his head in Patrick’s direction, looks at him and raises an eyebrow. 

“I know.” Patrick’s smile spreads slowly across his face and lights his eyes in that way that makes him look achingly beautiful. He has heard David’s analogy enough to know that they’re talking about more than wine. “Personally, I like red.”

David feels himself flush in pleasure. “Any preference on the fruit?”

“Surprise me.”

He selects a moderately priced but delicious wine, and they proceed to place their order.

“David.” Patrick turns to face him, his leg sliding under the table, stopping when it comes up against his. He leaves his leg where it is, doesn’t move away, their legs resting side by side. Patrick’s gaze is so intense, it almost feels like a physical touch, and when he lays his lips just under David’s ear, it feels as if Patrick is breathing him in. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Well, uhm…” David feels slightly faint. “Fortunately, I am a very generous person.”

Patrick laughs, a sudden, beautiful, surprising laugh. He settles back on his chair, looks at David like he can’t quite believe that he is real. He smiles some more, his hand lingering on David’s cheek for a long moment. “Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The server comes back with the wine, pours them each a glass, and leaves the bottle at their table. David notices then how small their table is, their hands so close to each other, but still so far. His eyes flick up to Patrick’s face and then back down. He reaches out and touches the sleeve of Patrick’s jacket, brushing over the back of his hand, settling to cover it. With his other hand, he takes a sip of his wine.

“It’s probably in bad form to mention your ex on your first date…”

David almost chokes. His hand shakes slightly, and he puts down his glass before he spills. 

“But David, when I went to Fenway with Rachel, all I could think about was how much I wished that you were there with me to experience it.”

“Really?” David smiles, but he has to drop his gaze so Patrick doesn’t see his eyes. 

He remembers dreaming for himself a fantasy, of basking in Patrick’s surprise at his gift when he realizes that David has made his dream come true, that David remembered a throwaway conversation from ages ago. He remembers the night he messaged Rachel to give her the tickets. Remembers learning, in quiet acceptance and devastation, that his desire to make Patrick happy outweighed his own fantasy. He remembers the tackiness of dried tears on his cheeks, the bitterness of gin and campari on his throat. Remembers almost breaking at the realization of how much loving Patrick has changed him. Remembers finding, instead, the courage to let go. 

And to hear this, now. David knows now that it had all been worth it. Patrick doesn’t need to know the tickets were from him, because it’s enough that Patrick had been thinking of him, too. 

“I didn’t understand then, why I felt that way. But now I know why I wanted you there, and I just...I can’t tell you how nice this is, to finally sit here, with you, and hold your hand. And also this…” He moves closer, his scent all around David, strong, delicious, addictive. “I now get to do this.” 

David waits, breathless. Patrick’s hand slides up the back of his head, thumb gently caressing his cheek. He tilts David’s head a little as he closes the space between them. Their lips are just barely touching, mouths slightly open; David’s pent up desire and nervousness escape a little and he exhales long and slow and breathes a sigh of pleasure into Patrick. Their lips finally touch, and David’s eyes close. 

This kiss is very much like their first: soft and sweet, but so very deep. Their lips move languidly against each other. It’s not pulling David so much as it envelopes him in a warmth and contentment that he never knew was possible, never knew he needed or wanted. 

It seems that only one span of breath passes, but he knows it’s been much longer. Then Patrick is holding him still, takes control of the kiss. Patrick’s tongue circles his own lightly before drawing it between his lips to suck on the tip. David almost whimpers. It’s hot and wet, and after a moment, David realizes it’s a long, slow tease: a preview of what Patrick could do with his mouth. 

David breaks the kiss with a shaky breath. His brain is fuzzy. He didn’t know Patrick could kiss like this, like he means it, like he has wanted to do it for a long, long time. 

Their server chooses that moment to bring their meals, and he and Patrick try to smother their laughter. 

The shift between what they used to be and what they are becoming is surprisingly easy. David is familiar with Patrick’s teasing and casual sincerity, is prepared for Patrick’s brilliance and competence to render him useless with desire. But what he’s discovering, what he’s not prepared for, is to have the full force of Patrick Brewer’s charm pointed directly at him, because then, it’s easy to feel like David is the only other person in the whole world. Neither is he prepared for the heady sensation of Patrick touching him so assuredly, so bold and experienced, his confident hands resting on his arm, his waist, his thigh. He wonders, once again, if this is real. 

At the end of the meal, the server arrives with their coffee and dessert: a single plate of tiramisu with two forks. And when the first bite melts in David’s mouth, his eyes shut in bliss. It is exactly like the tiramisu he had in Tuscany, when he was fifteen and unwilling to share the cake with anyone. It is what he had been searching for years without success.

“Do you like it?” Patrick asks. He is watching him intently, trying to act cool, but David can see that he is a little unsure. 

“Like it?” David holds Patrick’s gaze, feels the weight of that sweet, solemn look on Patrick’s face that says he hopes David is pleased. He can hardly breathe. “I love it. It’s perfect.” The uncertainty leaves Patrick’s eyes, and he has a sudden thought. “Did you...did you bring me here for the tiramisu?”

Patrick nods. His eye are roving over him, drinking him in. 

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever taste it again,” David says. He suddenly feels very warm, his throat hot and tight. “I spent years looking for one exactly like what I had from that summer, but there was always some tiny detail that was wrong. How did you find this?”

“I don’t think you remember, but, you told me a long time ago that your dream is to find the perfect tiramisu. I couldn’t forget it, and I thought it would be nice if I could surprise you some day.”

David feels the ground shifting beneath his feet.

“I didn’t know what makes a perfect tiramisu, though. They all taste the same to me. So for more than a year, every time I met someone who used to live in Italy, I’d ask where to find the best tiramisu, then I would drag whoever was willing to eat pasta or pizza all over the city.” He pauses, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “It became a fun little project, but somehow, I never brought Rachel with me. It didn’t feel right. And later, when I thought about it, I realized it’s because it was a secret you shared with me. Something that was for me alone. It was special because it was ours.” 

Patrick’s gaze scorches him. “Then one time when Alexis was in town, I asked her about it. She told me you’ve been obsessed since your family spent a summer in Tuscany, but she couldn’t describe the taste to me because you kept stealing her slice.” Alexis! “She did say the secret is an incredibly rich cream.” 

“ — incredibly rich cream,” David finishes with him, hiding behind his hands.

Patrick laughs softly. “So I kept trying until I was able to narrow down my list, then I invited mom and her best friend to come and visit, because Sofia grew up in Tuscany. Her family actually just came back from Florence, and uhm...I might have asked her to eat as much tiramisu there as possible, so we could be sure,” Patrick rubs the back of his neck. “We spent the last few days trying out different restaurants, and she said this is the one we were looking for.” Patrick gently takes his hand, bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss the backs of David’s fingers. “I’m glad you like it, David.” 

David looks down, blinking rapidly to keep his tears from falling. Patrick has offered this gift quietly without expecting anything in return. He went through all the effort to give David what anyone else would have written off as impossible, had spent over a year talking to random people and eating his way through the city, had flown in his mom’s best friend to track down the perfect tiramisu, all to give David something he only mentioned once in passing. It stirs something within him, a sense of disbelief at the most romantic act anyone has done for him. By someone he trusts and respects. Someone he loves. 

This cake is impossible proof that as long as he has wanted to make Patrick happy, Patrick has wanted to make him happy, too. 

He tries to get the words out without his voice breaking. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“It’s nothing,” Patrick replies. He is looking at him intently, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so. 

David shakes his head. “It’s not nothing.” He cuts a piece of the cake and lets Patrick take a bite. Then he moves closer, kisses Patrick, who returns the kiss at once and licks into his mouth. Patrick’s fingers tangle with the hair on his nape, and David’s hands clench the lapel of his suit.

For once, time is endless for them. David has forgotten how erotic it could be, this slide of tongue and lips and heat. 

He understands now why the old Italian women told him he’d know he’s in love when he’s finally willing to share his tiramisu. It’s because of this: the rich cream and perfect balance of sweetness and bitterness transform kissing into a sensual indulgence. Patrick’s tongue is smooth and hot and pleasantly bitter, a blend of wine and espresso, and David loses himself in the decadent flavor of Patrick on his lips. 

David can’t say how much time has passed. But after they part, Patrick's eyes are very dark, and they burn right through him. There are no words, just their uneven breaths, their faces so close to each other. David’s hand finally drops away as he remembers that they’re in public. 

But Patrick doesn’t pay attention to anything else. His gaze lowers to David’s lips; he can’t seem to resist the urge to taste him again. Patrick pulls him in and kisses him in a way that is truly delicious. It remains tender, so deep and intimate that David can scarcely catch his breath. Even when Patrick’s hand slides up the back of his neck, the kiss remains unhurried, a long, gentle pull and release of lips and tongue.

David slowly becomes aware again of the rustling and soft voices of others around them; can feel the gaze of several people across the room, looking at them; feels a frisson running down his spine realizing that Patrick doesn’t care to be seen kissing him in public. It is intoxicating.

When they part, Patrick opens his eyes, and he looks at David with a smile filled with so much hope and desire that it makes David’s heart stop. 

They share the rest of the cake, this time without kissing, and yet David is drunk but not on wine. He doesn’t even notice Patrick paying for the bill. Suddenly Patrick is standing, has come around to David’s side and is offering him a hand out of his chair. 

Patrick drives him home, brings him up the lift, down a familiar hallway, until they stand in front of David’s door.

Patrick’s lips are on his, relentless. David lets his head fall back against the door, melts as Patrick moves from his mouth to his jaw, his neck, nips gently with his teeth, laves it with his tongue, until David is breathing heavily in the silence. 

When he feels a hand sneak under his sweater, settle lightly over the small of his back, the warmth of Patrick’s touch feels like it will burn right through his undershirt.

Patrick shifts against him, pressing closer, and the heat and hardness of him is so overwhelming that David feels his breath stutter. Patrick wants him. It is nearly enough to make his knees shake. Even in his half-hard state, Patrick feels big, and David is deliriously light-headed. 

They kiss for a long time, David losing track of time. Then after, Patrick tucks his face on David’s shoulder, breathes deeply, just holding him, pressing dry, chaste kisses on his neck. A minute passes, then another. 

Once he catches his breath, Patrick moves back. The tips of his fingers touch David’s chin, smooths over the stubble along his jaw to his ear, and the brush of his warm skin is electric. David wants , and when he looks at Patrick, he sees the same desire reflected in his dark eyes. 

“I have to go,” Patrick says, his voice rough.

If he closes the distance, brushes his lips against Patrick’s, David knows his self-control will crumble like a house of cards in the wind and he will beg Patrick to stay, so he doesn’t. “Okay, Patrick.”

Under the muted light, he could see Patrick smile fondly. “So...can we talk tomorrow?”

David can’t help but smile back, because he can barely believe this evening is real. He feels incandescent. “We can talk whenever you’d like. Preferably not before 10 in the morning.”

Patrick takes his hand gently in his. David’s heart scrambles into knots at the gentle brush of lips on the inside of his wrist, so delicate, yet so intimate. 

The next morning, David is in his office wearing an impeccably tailored suit that lengthens his legs and shows off his shoulders. He’s trying to decide whether to make a last minute switch on one of the artwork for their proposal to Mr Burgess. The meeting is scheduled for the afternoon, but the memories from last night keep distracting him.

He thinks about Patrick wishing David was in Fenway with him. He thinks about Patrick’s persistence to find the impossible tiramisu even if he doesn’t truly know how it is supposed to taste, just so he could offer it to David and say I hope you like it. He thinks about Patrick’s lips and his strong hands and those whiskey brown eyes and the exquisite way Patrick kisses. 

There’s a short knock before the door opens, and David turns to see a smiling Patrick enter. But he doesn’t expect to see him carry a box from Levain. 

Breakup cookies.  

David’s breath grows ragged, and his heart fills with a dark, searing pain. He’s seen this all before; it shouldn’t bother him, but it does. Because this is Patrick, whom he has loved for so long, and he can still feel those insistent lips on his, can hear the deep rumble of his laugh, the brush of lips on the inside of his wrist.

He turns back to face his desk and sets down the stack of papers. He shuts his eyes against the burn of tears, but they fall onto the desk, onto the mess of presentations and reports on his desk. Shit. He straightens his back and pulls himself together, tries to blot the tear stains with tissue. “I was going to ask if you regretted last night, but I guess I already have the answer,” he says, his voice breaking a bit at the end. “I’m so sorry. We can forget last night and never mention it again. We’re good. We’re friends.”

Some of the paper falls from the desk and he kneels to pick them up, grateful for the chance to hide from Patrick. He startles when Patrick appears in his line of sight, having crouched down next to him. Patrick grasps his elbow, halting his movements. 

“David,” Patrick says quietly. “What are you talking about?”

David clutch the papers as he watches the dust swirl above the rug he’s kneeling on, Patrick waiting patiently beside him. 

When the heavy silence becomes too unbearable, David concedes. “It’s just, people usually regret it...doing things, like this.” He closes his eyes and wishes, more than anything, that Patrick would step outside for two minutes. Just two minutes, so he can cry and they can carry on with this conversation. 

“Things like what?”

“Going out on a date with me. Kissing me.” His throat closes up a bit.

Patrick’s hand comes up to cup his chin. Fingers gently turn his face so he can see Patrick. His eyes are amber in the sunlight, bright with anger and too upset on his behalf. “I’m not people, David.”

Then Patrick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again, he has a soft smile and his eyes are filled with wonder. “Last night was perfect. I don’t regret any of it, not a single moment.”

“But...the cookies?” 

Patrick suddenly looks embarrassed. “I thought, well, there must have been a time when you loved these cookies so much that you found comfort in them, and I wanted to reassociate them with happier memories.” 

It feels as if a hand plunged into David’s chest and squeezed his heart, there and gone again. Then the ache recedes, and he is blanketed in love. He scoots closer until he’s wrapped tightly in Patrick’s arms. 

Patrick kisses his cheek. “Come on, the cookies are still warm.” 

He reaches for David’s hand, and when they stand, Patrick eyes his grey suit critically. His large hands slowly slide down the front of David’s jacket to smooth out the fabric, and he tugs on the tie’s knot to align it properly. Then he leans down and brushes David’s knees to make sure there is no dust.

David is struck by Patrick fussing over him like he’s arranging a delicate piece of artwork.

He stands there, at a complete loss of words, then suddenly he is thrown back to when he was twelve years old again at their house, right before his parents' annual holiday party. He could recall with perfect clarity the crisp smell of pine in the air and the piano playing softly from downstairs and the look of concentration in Adelina’s eyes, not unlike how Patrick is looking at him now, as she yanked at his tie and spit on her fingers to tame his hair as he squirmed in her arms. It was the last time he’d ever felt truly, unconditionally loved and cared for. Adelina moved to work for a different family after the New Year, because his parents decided that he and Alexis were too old for a nanny. 

David is an adult now. But no one has bothered to fix him up since, not his mother who loves him in her own way nor any of his previous lovers. Not until now. 

Patrick reaches out a hand to touch David’s hair, but catches himself before he could touch it. David gives a nod and Patrick smooths down a stray curl into place, and it is this final touch that pulls on David's heartstrings. 

“Thank you,” David says again, quietly, finally finding his voice. He doesn’t know if he means thank you for not regretting last night, or thank you for fussing over him, or thank you for wanting him to eat Levain cookies again without wanting to cry. He doesn’t know, but David is almost overwhelmed by Patrick, because he has never felt this adored.

Patrick smiles at him, brushing off a tear from the corner of his eye. Patrick understands what he means, understands, too, that David needs time to recover. “Cookies,” Patrick teases, “no matter how good they taste, are not worth crying over.” 

“Mmmkay. This is why you should leave judging cookies and pastries to the professionals.”

“Noted,” Patrick smirks, his eyes drifting down to David’s lips. “Thankfully, I have good taste where it really matters.” He leans in, kissing David slowly and running his tongue over his lips. Patrick lingers over his cupid’s bow, catching it between his teeth and gently rolling it between his lips. He nibbles on his lower lip and sucks on it lightly before he finally lets it go. David’s breath seeps out of him in a sigh as he slowly opens his eyes again. 

And later, when they’re at the pantry, Patrick has his mug of tea and the box of cookies are set between them. David is reminded of that Friday afternoon two years ago, when he wouldn’t share his cookies with Patrick, but they still became friends. He remembers his heartache over Janthina. His vulnerability. Remembers the suffocating knowledge that he had been giving everything of himself to people who didn’t deserve him, because all he wanted was something — anything — and in the end, it was still not enough. 

He had been there for him, then. Patrick. Kindness and compassion and sincerity. Sitting with him, reminding him to be gentle with himself. Remembers being moved at Patrick’s simple acknowledgement of his heartache. He had been there, even when he didn’t know David. 

And here, now, is Patrick, feeding him a piece of not breakup cookie and laughing when some of the chocolate catches on his teeth. David smiles back.

Patrick rests his weight on the table as he leans forward to kiss David very softly on the lips, and David’s eyes flutter shut at the light touch, and he thinks that finally, finally — he has everything.

Chapter Text

Year 2

It’s half past four in the afternoon and they are so late that David knows the party has already started. 

Their flight from New York had been delayed for three hours, and they finally arrive in Patrick's neighborhood. It’s quiet here, with modestly sized houses set behind the beautiful oak and maple trees that line the sidewalks. David could imagine a young Patrick riding his bicycle up and down the streets, but at the moment, he is close to mangling the cuff of his sweater. 

He’s nervous about seeing Marcy and Clint for the first time since he started dating Patrick. They like him, but it’s one thing to be your only child’s best friend in a city where he has no family, and it’s another thing to be the man your son is dating.

David adjusts his cuffs yet again, then catches himself. The knit is starting to stretch, and as he tries to smooth it out, David reminds himself of why he agreed to go to Norma Brewer’s 80th birthday party: this is for Patrick. This is not about him. Despite his misgivings at being the date of a recently out gay man to a party with his extended family, watching Patrick’s boyish delight when he agreed to go to Toronto had been enough to make David’s stomach flip.

“My family will love you, David. My parents already do,” Patrick reassures him with a fond squeeze to his thigh. 

They round a corner then the car slows down to a stop in front of a brick house. David sees someone waving at them from the front porch. It’s Marcy, her hand stretched out above her head, and Clint is beside her with a wide grin. David wants to turn to Patrick, to hold his hand, but Marcy is lovely and bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement and looking straight at him with a beautiful smile. No one has ever been waiting for David like this, like they are overjoyed to see him and welcome him to their home. He wants to run to her, because when Marcy’s eyes meet his, something tight in his chest loosens with relief, making space around the swelling of his heart. 

The moment Patrick turns off the engine, David is out of the car and in Marcy’s embrace. 

“David,” she says sweetly, pulling back to place a kiss on his cheek. She smells like iris and fresh linen and brown butter and warmth, and David hugs her again. “I’m so happy you could come.”

“It’s so good to see you again, Marcy,” he replies with a smile. “And thank you for having me. But, um, is it really okay for me to stay over? I don’t want to impose.” His hand flutters nervously around him. “I can find a hotel nearby —“

“Don’t be silly, David,” Marcy interrupts, squeezing his arm lightly and laughing. “I have both of my boys in Toronto, so of course you’re staying here at home!” She must see the way his cheeks flush with pleasure at being called one of her boys, because she pats his cheek. She leans in close as though sharing a wonderful secret. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve never seen Patrick this happy. He practically glows whenever he talks about you.” Her smile is soft, barely crinkling the corners of her eyes. “He adores you, and so do I.” 

David swallows, and swallows, and bites his lip, the tightness in his throat making it hard to think of what to say, so he reaches for her hands instead. They’re small in his own and he holds on, because he can’t let go, not now when Marcy is looking at him in a way that is unambiguously loving. Her eyes are an endless brown, saying so much of her acceptance of him, of her unshakeable support in his relationship with Patrick, that he is drowning in their depths. 

“He makes me happy too, Marcy. So much.” He quickly wipes the corners of his eyes, because God, they’ve been here for five minutes and already he feels more love than he ever dreamed he could fit in his heart.

“I can see that. And I’m glad you found each other,” she says, squeezing his hand. “David, thank you for taking care of him right from the start. You made his life better by being in it; your friendship those first few months in New York made his life not just bearable but richer, fuller. He would call to tell us the new experiences he’s had because of you, and then he’d make me teach him my recipes so he could cook for you, because he didn’t know how else to thank you.”

It’s ridiculous, how suddenly his eyes flood with tears again. All those nights Patrick taught him how to cook, patience infinite and humor intact, those memories are now drenched with new meaning. 

“Sweetheart, don’t think I don’t know how you’ve always been looking out for him, even before you loved him.” Marcy looks at him and smiles, wise and soft and knowing. “I could not have asked for anyone better for him.”

He closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling. Years of hiding the parts of himself that truly matter have not prepared him for Marcy Brewer, who sees him, and looks at him as though he is something precious. 

“There’s no need to cry, sweetheart.” She runs a thumb over his cheekbones to wipe a tear away. “Come on, why don’t you and Patrick freshen up, then meet us in the kitchen to meet Norma? We’re making fudgy bourbon balls. I think you’d like it.”

Somehow, they manage to head upstairs and drop off their bags in Patrick’s old room, which had been converted into a guest bedroom. David takes the quickest shower of his life while Patrick uses his parent’s bathroom. 

Twenty minutes later, they enter the kitchen where Marcy and Clint are talking with an older woman dressed in a canary yellow sweater and a voluminous black and white polka dot skirt. Her white hair is fluffy like clouds and her glasses are thick enough to qualify as binoculars. Norma Brewer is a sight for sore eyes, and her enchanting face lights up when she spots Patrick. 

Patrick kisses her cheek then drapes his arm around her shoulder, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Grandma, I’d like you to meet David, my boyfriend.” His eyes glint in amused anticipation of David’s reaction.

The sly bastard, calling him my boyfriend for the first time ever in front of his grandmother. The surge of emotion that goes through David almost makes him dizzy. He touches his lip and tries to hide how desperately pleased he is, but from the look Patrick gives him, he could tell that he’s not fooling anyone. 

“David, this is my Grandma Norma, the coolest, most beautiful eighty year old you’ll ever meet.”

Norma beckons for him to come closer, then tilts her head up before touching her glasses and peering closely at his face. 

“Patrick, he’s gorgeous. You were not exaggerating!” She practically cheers. She reaches up to grab David’s face and plants a kiss on both of his cheeks. “Welcome to the family, my dear boy.” 

What. David coughs into his hand, his eyes going wide. 

“Uhh, Grandma…” Patrick says, suddenly red all over. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I see you haven’t told David my rule,” Norma says blandly, and she turns to David. “You see, dear, I told my grandkids not to introduce me to their boyfriend or girlfriend unless they plan to marry them or be together for the long haul.”

Patrick covers his face and lets out a groan.

“What? I’m too old to keep memorizing new names every few months. Honestly, some of them used to bring a different date to each party that I just decided to call them all sweetheart.” She waves her spindly hands in the air. “Now, Patrick here is very choosy.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, as though unsure of what Norma would say. “Grandma…” his voice pleading with her to stop. 

“Oh, shush, you are!” She turns to David. “I know he had girlfriends before but he never introduced anyone to me. I was beginning to think I’d have to stage an intervention and set him up with my friends’ grandkids, but I guess he was just waiting for the perfect one for him.” She laced her fingers together and smiles beatifically. 

Patrick holds David's gaze. He looks subtly pleased, pink-cheeked and beautiful in his light blue sweater, and he also manages to look almost shy. Almost. Mostly, though, he looks proud, and David fights the wild urge to kiss him senseless. 

Clint coughs into his elbow, reminding David that Patrick’s parents are also in the kitchen. They are preparing what must be the fudgy rum balls. Clint’s shoulders are shaking as he scoops the dough and Marcy is biting her lip to keep from laughing as she rolls the dough on bowls of rainbow sprinkles and crushed pretzel. They are clearly enjoying seeing Patrick squirm at Norma’s truth bombs. 

And all at once, David feels like laughing. He is punch-drunk in love and lighter than air and he is diligently trying to remain composed. “Uhm, thank you for sharing that story. I doubt Patrick would have told me,” David says politely, trying not to grin as he hands her his gift. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Brewer.”

“Thank you, David. You are very thoughtful, but none of that Mrs Brewer nonsense. Please, call me Norma, or Grandma.”

He is so caught off guard that he looks at Marcy for a cue. She smiles encouragingly at him. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Norma.” Marcy gives a sharp shake of her head while Grandma Norma’s eyes narrow into slits behind her glasses. He hurriedly corrects himself. “Grandma. I meant, Grandma.” 

The lines around her eyes and lips deepen with pleasure and he can see a glimpse of the iron-willed young woman she must have been. “Don’t let Patrick distract you from showing his baby photos. Even as a baby, he had a big —“

“MOM!”

“Norma!”

“Grandma!!!”

“What?” She turns to look innocently at Patrick. “I was going to say that you had a big head. Your mother took you to several doctors to make sure nothing was wrong.”

Before David could say a word, Patrick excuses them both and drags him through the hallway and out to the back porch. Laughter bubbles up in his throat as Patrick shuts the door behind them with more force than necessary. 

“What did you all think Grandma was going to say?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” Patrick leers exaggeratedly and crowds David against the wall. 

“You really do seem to have a big...head,” he says lightly, and Patrick wiggles his nearly invisible eyebrows at him lewdly. David can’t stop the giggle still forming behind his lips, and he can’t resist, leaning in to kiss the corner of that grinning mouth. “So...boyfriend, huh?”

“Well, you heard my grandma’s high stakes rule. I thought boyfriend sounded more romantic than ‘best friend.’” His words are teasing but there is nothing but warmth in his voice. 

David purses his lip and gives a small nod, as if being in a relationship with Patrick is a hardship. “I suppose we can be boyfriends.” He rolls his eyes for effect then ruins it by smiling.

“Okay, David,” Patrick murmurs. “Do you suppose we can kiss?” He doesn’t wait for an answer as his hand wanders down from David’s waist to his hips, shifting David’s weight forward so he slips down the wall, evening their heights. David hums in appreciation at being manhandled, smoothing his hand over Patrick’s chest, the other gripping his waist. Patrick leans in and kisses him hungrily.

The way Patrick kisses him still takes his breath away. He would probably never get over how good Patrick is at kissing. Patrick has the perfect balance of chaste and filthy to get David increasingly desperate, the perfect amount of tongue that teases his own, nipping his lips, and the hint of a dominant edge which has David melting in his arms. 

“Patrick!” A voice shouts near their face. “Stop mauling your boyfriend for a second and introduce us!”

Patrick chuckles against David’s neck before dropping another kiss under his ear. When Patrick finally pulls back, he’s smiling a little at David, an apologetic look on his face. 

They turn to the newcomer, a pretty redhead around their age: Sadie, a cousin on Clint’s side. David knows her because he used to obsessively go over Patrick’s Facebook account. Patrick rarely used it, but his cousins and friends would tag him in comments and photos, and David spent enough time on Patrick's page to have memorized the names of most of his relatives in this party. 

Patrick wraps an arm around his waist and hooks a finger on his belt loop. “Sadie, this is my boyfriend, David.” A thrill shoots through David at the casual way Patrick says it, boyfriend. “David, this is my cousin, Sadie. She has the foulest mouth of anyone you’ll ever meet and she can drink everyone under the table, so beware. Her parents are lovely people and we honestly don’t know if she got switched at birth.”

“Fuck you, Patrick, stop besmirching my name,” she says with a disapproving glare, punching his arm lightly. She turns towards David and purrs, “Nice to finally meet you, David. Patrick wouldn’t stop talking in our group chat about how gorgeous you are and how soft your lips are and how much he wants to —”

“Shut up, Sadie! David, don’t listen to her. That’s not true.”

“Ouch,” David says with mock hurt. “Which part isn’t true? That I’m not gorgeous? Or that my lips are not soft?”

Patrick is beet red and he takes David’s hand to get him away from Sadie, who looks positively gleeful. 

Patrick steers him to the barbecue area so they can grab some food, then they move around the yard. There must be sixty guests and Patrick introduces him to each one of his relatives and family friends. They pause whenever someone wants to talk to David, and more than once, he is drawn to a discussion about the gallery, about what he has created through his hard work. And every time he glances at Patrick, he catches Patrick watching him proudly with a small smile on his face.

Touching comes naturally to David. He is a very sexual person, but touching is always as a way to test the waters, as the start of a seduction, with both parties knowing exactly where they are headed. The type of touching with Patrick is completely different though. 

He is keenly aware of the hand that never strays far from his hips or the small of his back, of the chin that is propped on his shoulder and the arm wrapped around his waist, of the solid warmth behind him, of the little kisses pressed to his neck and cheek. Patrick kisses him in public, right from their very first date, but there is a visceral thrill, a quiet joy, in being touched so casually and yet so lovingly in front of Patrick’s family. 

He remembers the game night at Kae and Anthony’s flat, when he noticed for the first time how tactile Patrick is, and he saw Patrick touch and kiss Rachel, without reservation and with so much affection. He had wondered, back then, how it would feel to have that much physical affection shown to him. And now he can say: it is an unbearably romantic feeling. 

He thinks he might drift off into the air but for Patrick’s warm hands and bright smile and soft kisses. David knows he will never get tired of these unexpected tender moments. 

When they finally manage to say hello to everyone, they grab more drinks then they walk to the back of the garden where the empty outdoor dining table has been set away from the crowd. It’s quiet here, the canopy of the oak tree beside them providing dappled shade from the afternoon sun. 

They place their drinks on the table, then Patrick sits down on a chair, spreads his legs wide, and pulls David into his lap. They make minute adjustments, David folding his legs in between Patrick’s thighs to settle more snugly against Patrick’s chest, Patrick’s hand stroking David’s knee, his other hand slowly sliding up and down the curve of David’s back. 

They sit together, enjoying the fullness of this moment with only the two of them, watching Patrick’s family in the distance. They rub their legs absently against each other while the Beatles sing “I want to hold your hand” from a speaker somewhere. David can feel Patrick’s warmth around him, the stubble on his cheek as he kisses his neck, the hand on his thigh. 

“How are you doing?” Patrick asks quietly. 

“Mmm, surprisingly good.” David wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and melts deeper into his embrace. “You have a nice family.”

“Yeah, they’re great, except for Sadie. I’m glad you could meet them.”

“I’m glad I met her, too.”

“Ha! Figured you’d like her.” 

David presses his lips to Patrick’s. Patrick gazes up at him as if there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than to have David in his arms. 

“Thank you for coming with me, David. I really wanted to show my family how lucky I am.” 

In the distance, David could hear Allie barking excitedly as the children squeal and run after her. David feels his chest tighten, like he, too, had run too far for too long without a rest. 

He used to be people’s dirty secret. He used to be on burner phones for hookups that could only happen at 2am when partners are away. He had been asked to stay out of photos because a celebrity he’s dating isn’t out yet. And he had been asked to tone down, or hide, parts of himself, because he’d been told too many times by too many people that he’s too much. He thought that was just the way love worked.

But then Patrick told him, after he broke up with Sebastien: you should be shown off to the world.

It shatters him, a little, to think that he didn’t know he deserved this. To be shown off, proudly, to someone’s whole family and to anyone who cares, including to little kids and deaf thirteen year old dogs. It all makes sense now, Patrick taking him to his pick-up baseball games and staying after for pizza and drinks; remembers Patrick asking him to go on his MBA’s annual charity ball; remembers Patrick bringing him back to his flat to have dinner with freakin’ Ray, his roommate for the past two years whom David has met a hundred times already.

His throat closes up and he quietly falls apart because no one had ever been proud to be with him before, except for Patrick. Patrick, who sees him and accepts him and makes him feel good for being himself; who makes David feel that he is more than enough. Lovely Patrick, who looks at him and makes him feel understood even when he doesn’t quite understand himself.

David closes his eyes to bask in the moment. He feels Patrick’s strong arms wrap around his waist, the heat of him enveloping him. Seconds pass and melt together. Above them, leaves rustle like waves in the breeze. 

When David opens his eyes again, the late afternoon sun is starting to set, the golden light painting Patrick with a warm glow and turning the tips of his curls auburn. His skin is dewy and slightly flushed and Patrick is looking at him with almost unbearably tender eyes. And just when he thinks he’ll never be able to breathe again, Patrick reaches out, his hand feather light against David’s nape. He gives a soft gasp that parts his lips enough for Patrick to dip his tongue inside as he lets himself be lost in the sensation of Patrick’s kiss.

For minutes, or hours, or a lifetime, David’s world narrows down to a sense of home and peace and desire, the languid slide of their tongues, the strong hand cupping the back of his head and fingers flexing on his arms that he can’t remember being placed there, the faintest scrape of teeth across his bottom lip drawing a soft moan in the back of his throat. 

“There’s bourbon balls, if you two are interested in anything but each other,” Sadie interrupts. 

Patrick ignores her for several long seconds before he softens the kiss. “Gorgeous,” he whispers against David’s bottom lip. 

David smiles then moves to stand up so he can transfer to another chair, but Patrick tightens his hold on him, keeping him firmly on his lap. Sadie settles in the chair beside them, ignoring Patrick, and sweetly offers a plate of colorful fudgy balls to David. 

David snags one and pops it into his mouth — and he has to hold himself back from eating two more at once. It’s nutty from the pecan and slightly bitter from the bourbon and unsweetened dark cocoa, the taste of molasses a rich contrast in his mouth. Some of the rainbow sprinkles stick to his fingertips and when he licks them off, Patrick’s eyes darken and the hand on his nape pulls him in for a kiss. But before their lips could meet, something cold hits his face and he almost falls off of Patrick’s lap. 

It’s Sadie, flicking water at them. “Ugh. Enough with the kissing already!”

Patrick flips her off and adjusts David more securely on his thigh. 

“We get it, David’s a snack! But have mercy on us single folks whose beds are empty tonight!”

As if drawn by magnet, the rest of Patrick’s cousins and their partners settle around them. Ian sits across the table. He’s one of Patrick’s cousins from Marcy’s side and slightly older than them, with a thick shock of curly dark hair and laughing blue eyes. “David, are you sure about Patrick, though? You could do much better than him!” 

After that, it’s rapid fire, everyone talking over one another, telling endearing stories about a much younger, competitive Patrick. Ian shares the time Patrick was five and broke his arm after trying to climb the oak tree above them because all his older cousins did it. But that competitiveness is set aside when it truly matters, because when he was sixteen, Patrick punched a teammate who was talking trash about Sadie, knowing he’d sit out the championship game as a consequence. 

David soaks it all up, these glimpses of a young, headstrong Patrick who is not so different from the Patrick he loves. He joins in on the teasing and makes Patrick’s cheeks flush, before he presses soft apology kisses that are more smile than lips. Any attempt at deeper kisses is met with water flicked at them by Sadie, who tells such filthy jokes with a straight face that David is reduced to sputtering into his drink. 

The warmth of the afternoon gives way to evening chill, and the stories they trade move on to each other and away from Patrick. They share stories about annoying siblings and power tripping coworkers, which Patrick claims is the definition of Boss David, and they talk about growing up and where they are now, and where they hope to be. 

It’s not what David expected from this trip, truth be told. He had wanted to make a good impression, and he had expected to find it incredibly difficult to not to be anxious, to tear through the habit of hiding behind the false facade he presents to strangers, so he can offer up his real self. 

But he sees Patrick’s face in the wake of each story he shares, and he sees the gratefulness, and the reverence, and the wonder. He keeps trying, and it turns out that with the right people, it’s not that hard at all. Patrick’s family accepts him without question, without condition, patiently waiting for him to share what feels comfortable. Nobody cares for his money or connections or the fact that he is Johnny Rose’s son. Here, he is simply David, Patrick’s boyfriend, and he is awash with wonderment. He shifts closer in Patrick’s lap, lets himself melt in Patrick’s arms.

Bliss, he thinks, as he listens to Ian tell a story involving a pencil eraser stuck in six year old Patrick’s nose and a trip to the emergency room. That’s what this is. 

He kisses Patrick one more time. Always one more time, just because he can. 

Chapter Text

Month 24, Next day

David blinks awake, hazy and disoriented, an unfamiliar weight at his back. He freezes, lets his eyes get used to the dark. There’s a soft snuffle behind him and a strong arm around his waist, and he remembers.

Patrick. 

The world is muted, and they are nothing but soft breaths and silence and the warmth of Patrick’s chest and legs along his back. Tension bleeds out of David by inches, and the ache that sometimes comes with the darkness is replaced by a deep sense of peace. 

David is happy now, incandescently so, but it’s worth reminding himself that it has not always been this way.

He remembers other nights not unlike this, when he used to stare at the yawning darkness, vast and cold and empty. It used to feel eternal, like his sadness. It used to fit around him like a vice, that crushing melancholy of feeling alone even as he was wrapped in another person’s arms.

He remembers the way that misery had felt with Sebastien, with Janthina, with each failed relationship, in the year before and the years before that. All that time, shrouded in a desperation of doubt, wondering if he would ever be enough; wondering if he would ever be loved in return, even when love felt like it was ripping him apart. 

And he remembers later, after he fell in love with Patrick but before they got together, how the shape of darkness had changed, how it no longer felt like he was looking at a never ending abyss. 

He thinks of the way Patrick took care of him when he was sick, and his gentleness as he bathed him, and the way Patrick laughed with him in the dark while watching Notting Hill. It makes David remember the night he gave Rachel the baseball tickets, how desperately he wanted to make Patrick happy; how loving Patrick took everything of him, left him broken, but stronger, better.

He remembers the last night he spent with Simon, memorizing his face in the dark. He had wept for the tender love that Simon offered him so gently, that he couldn’t accept, because he couldn’t love Simon the way he deserved. He remembers weeping for himself, for choosing Patrick, for loving someone who was in love with someone else. 

And he thinks of a rainy evening watching Amelie, his head on Patrick’s lap, and how certain he was that his time with Patrick was coming to an end. How everything felt so fleeting, so temporary. 

It all seems so very far away tonight. 

The darkness is different with Patrick in it. It washes out the rest of the world into a safe, quiet refuge. It’s just the two of them, David and Patrick, Patrick and David, and everything David has always wanted, so much warmth and hope and contentment that he wonders at times he has dreamed this into existence. 

He is still a little bit broken, a little bit damaged. He always would be. But he knows himself better now. 

He knows that his chance at genuine happiness lies not in others, but in his ability to be kind to himself. He knows now that he is not half of a whole, waiting for another to complete him, to fill the empty spaces in him. And he knows this awareness, that he is responsible for his own happiness and he does not expect Patrick to fix him, this is the hardest but most romantic thing he can offer Patrick. 

He knows now that all of his heartache and all of his struggles have not been for nothing. They had made him a better man — someone who is able to love selflessly. Someone worthy of the kind of love he wants and deserves. 

David is grateful, so grateful, to know what it meant to be by himself, adrift in the dark, in all that time. Of what it means, now, to know and love himself. Of what it means now to be together. To be loved by Patrick.

He turns to face Patrick, sliding a hand along Patrick’s arm to find the delicate skin on his wrist, to cover Patrick’s hand with his. David watches him for a long time, drinking in the sight of his beautiful face, the curved perfection of his cheeks, the way his curls look almost black in the moonlight. 

It seems impossible, back when he was dating people who only wanted him for his money and name, to begin to conceive that he’ll have this: Patrick, a partner he trusts and respects, but more importantly, a person he likes. Patrick, who is good and loving and kind, who sees him and doesn’t want to change him, and for whom he wants to take all his barriers down. 

Patrick pulls him closer and he goes willingly, letting Patrick settle him in his arms, toes skimming his calf to slip between his legs. Patrick is solid, and very warm, and David finds he has no desire to be anywhere else. It is the safest he has ever felt. 

And as one moment melts into another, understanding comes to David.

He understands that he will always choose to love Patrick. 

He understands that one day, he will reorganize his bathroom and make space for Patrick’s toiletries, and Patrick’s shampoo will mix amongst his own, and their toothbrushes will stand beside each other. He understands that Patrick will eventually have a side of the bed, and the bedside table will overflow with books on business strategy and science fiction. David will prepare an empty drawer for Patrick, and that drawer will become two, then three, until all of Patrick’s clothes are neatly folded alongside his. There will be two coats hanging on the rack, and a pair of mountaineering shoes next to his high tops. They will share breakfasts and dinners and work lunches and weekend brunches. And sometimes, he will remain wide awake in the dark, with Patrick’s arms around him, but he will never feel alone again. 

He understands that thirty years from now, there will be a cottage with a white door and red window shutters, and his hair will be streaked with silver and he will wear thick rimmed glasses, and he understands that Patrick will still be there beside him. Their love will still feel worthwhile and lovely and new, and they will still feel that there is so much more to look forward to in the next thirty years they will spend together. 

He knows it will not always be romantic, and it will be hard work, but it will be worth it. 

They will keep choosing each other, every single day, because that’s what it means to love. It’s sharing and nurturing and growing together, of comforting and supporting. It’s wanting only the best for the other, of wanting to give more, to give everything, and trusting that they only want the best for you, too, and they are giving their all. 

David’s eyes drift shut.

And right there, tucked under the heavy weight of Patrick’s arms and thighs, he is finally home. David feels unbelievably cherished and adored. No one has ever held him like this before, and maybe no one ever will again. But that’s okay, because it’s Patrick, and Patrick chose him, wants him, loves him. 

As he drifts on the edges of sleep, soft lips press delicately against his eyelids; first one, and then the other, then the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. 

“David,” Patrick breathes into his ear. He says his name with so much reverence, and he knows Patrick means I love you. He catches David’s earlobe lightly between his teeth, touches the tip of his tongue on it before he lets go, goes back to brushing his lips tenderly along the stubble under his jaw.

“Baby,” David replies, more breath than words, his voice slurred with sleep. He catches himself, because he has never called Patrick that before. It slipped out simply, naturally, and he finds himself unable to feel anything but happy with it. I love you too, he means. 

He can feel Patrick’s smile against his neck. 

David feels sleep begin to overtake him again, and he reaches for Patrick’s hand and holds it over his heart, committing this perfect moment to memory, content with the overwhelming love and certainty that he would spend the rest of his life with Patrick. 

David Rose is beautiful in the moonlight.

Everything is dark and peaceful and quiet. Patrick finds himself captivated by a tousled David pressed against him, sweet and precious and sleep-soaked, a long line of warmth and soft, rumpled clothes. The stubbled line of David’s jaw is dark in the shadows, and Patrick indulges himself by stroking his thumb up and down the thick hair. David hums contentedly in his sleep.

The first time he kissed David in the karaoke room, at the spot on his neck that never fails to elicit a sweet sigh from David, Patrick had been overwhelmed by the rasp of stubble against his sensitive lips. Somehow, he was utterly unprepared by the sheer maleness of David, by the sudden rush of desire that coursed through him and left him light headed and wanting to consume David like he had never wanted anyone before. 

In slumber, David looks younger, more vulnerable, and Patrick is unable to look away. He brushes his fingers down the length of David’s neck, along the sliver of warm skin above his collarbone, modestly covered by his striped sleepshirt. He cups David’s face in the palm of his hand and strokes his thumb against the swell of David’s lips, and Patrick feels his heart crack open. 

David loves him.

It still feels impossible that he has the love of this extraordinary man, that he has earned his trust and respect. David calls him his best friend, has just called him baby, and it feels like privilege beyond compare. The way David loves him fills him with hope and happiness and wonder. It humbles him and makes him want to be a better man, for David, more than anything. 

He thought he understood love a long time ago, but it turns out he has barely scratched the surface of what it is to love another endlessly. What he feels for David is bigger than anything he has ever felt before. It is more than the warmth that fills his chest whenever he catches the look of unguarded contentment in David’s eyes. It is more profound. More powerful. 

It is pure, unadulterated love. 

His heart burns for this wondrous man in his arms. David is brilliant, funny, beautiful, strong, and so, so brave. He continued to open his heart despite the way his lovers treated him in the past. He kept trying and he kept believing, even when he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. 

David is a good person, the best person Patrick knows. He deserves everything, so much more than Patrick can possibly give him, but he will earn that generous love somehow, because he wants to be the one to show David that he is profoundly loved and adored. 

Patrick wants him to know, with every fiber of his being, that he is loved, as much as one can possibly be loved. Patrick wants to protect him, to make him feel cherished and cared for. He wants to take David, take everything of him, tear him apart and put him back together afterwards. He wants him like he wants air. He wants to kiss him, fill him, stretch him, devour him. Claim him forever. And then he wants to offer himself up and let David do the same to him. 

He loves David, is in love with him. 

Patrick leans into David’s neck, nuzzles at the sensitive spots he has mastered in the past month, his arm around David’s waist, their legs entwined, pressed against the love of his life.

It is intoxicating. It is nothing short of perfect. 

He pulls back to look at David. He is beautiful, so unbelievably breathtaking, that Patrick wonders if he has dreamed him into existence. He places a delicate kiss on David’s forehead, soft and barely there, brushes of breath and reverence, devotion and reassurance, hope and promise.

“Patrick,” David sighs in the dark. 

The world stops for a moment, then continues to turn as if nothing has happened. But with that one word, Patrick becomes aware of the certainty that settles in his soul:

I will marry David someday. 

Patrick is filled with utter calm and joy. It washes over him, relief and bone-deep satisfaction, disbelief and affirmation, as though he has always known this truth but just didn’t realize until he heard his name whispered in David’s voice. 

His throat is hot and tight, and his voice breaks. “I will make you so happy, David.”

“Hmm...make you happy, too,” David murmurs in his sleep, breath soft and even against his chest. 

Patrick can’t stop himself from smiling as he blinks away his tears. “I know, love,” he whispers, and he tangles their fingers together.

On some level, he knows it is still early in their relationship. There are many more milestones and challenges to get through.  

But, he knows this, too:

He knows there would be no one else for him. He knows he will keep loving David, and keep choosing him, every single day, even on the days when it seems easier to give up. He feels at peace, knowing that David will choose and love him, too, every single day, trusting each other to get through anything together. 

Theirs is the kind of love that happens only once in a lifetime, and they will hold on to it, treasure it, fight for it.

There is so much to look forward to.

The days stretch out before them, and Patrick is happy and content, knowing simply that they have tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. All the days after, until the end of time.