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David comes home from the store to the soft sound of Patrick strumming on his guitar. To his ear, it sounds a little funny...kind of lighter and tinklier than normal. But what does David know? He’s not a guitar person. That’s Patrick’s thing. And he’s happy to let Patrick play around on the thing as much as he wants, as long as he lets David pick the songs he sings in public. He will not be emotionally ambushed again, like at their first Open Mic Night.
Not that he’d actually minded, in the end. But the buildup, the anticipation, the not knowing of it all had been too much. So when Patrick started making noises like he wanted to set up another Open Mic, David had handed him a handwritten list of acceptable songs, with a heavily underlined notation at the top: NO SUBSTITUTIONS.
Patrick is doodling around with something that sounds a lot like Somewhere Over The Rainbow, which is not on David’s list. But maybe it should be. Patrick’s clear, buttery voice paired with the feather-light strumminess makes David’s insides go a little bit gooey. He’ll have to make an amendment to his list, because this is lovely. And he wouldn’t mind at all if Patrick sang this to him in public.
David rounds the corner, peeking into the living room. The smile on his face falters when Patrick looks up at him, still strumming away on a comically undersized guitar.
“Um...so did your guitar shrink in the wash? Or is this, like, a baby guitar?”
“It’s a ukulele, David,” Patrick explains, grinning at David as he continues to strum at what is obviously the offspring of his main, grown up guitar.
“Mm. It looks like your guitars are breeding. Do we need to have them fixed?”
Patrick places his hand over the strings, silencing them. Then he grabs David by the hand and pulls him down onto the couch beside him.
“My guitars are not breeding, David,” Patrick says, with infinite patience, as always. He looks delighted by David’s deliberate obtuseness. He always does.
“Hmm. Well. See that they don’t,” David murmurs, trying to squash his smile down into the corner of his cheek, but he knows he’s failing by the way Patrick’s eyes grow fond. “Can you imagine trying to find homes for them all?”