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David hadn’t realized how much he missed the store this week. He’d been so focused on the Drama of it all, so determined to feel miserable and wronged, that the rest of it had felt like background noise. But now he’s restocking bath bombs after a frantic rush that had cut right into his scheduled lunch break—and he’s just so fucking goddamn happy to be here. He’d been so excited this morning that he’d come in early enough to help open and everything.
(He’d stopped at the Cafe first, and bought an Earl Grey in addition to his caramel macchiato, only to get to the store and find that Patrick had bought a caramel macchiato in addition to his Earl Grey, which is… certainly something.)
It wasn’t like this yesterday. Yesterday, David was too busy worrying and walking on eggshells and choreographing an impromptu olive branch. He didn’t get to just be here. He didn’t appreciate it.
Today, he’s appreciating the fuck out of it. He got in before 8:00 and spent the morning stocking produce and watering plants and doing all the morning tasks that he hates, and he’s fucking loved every second of it. He doesn’t know how he survived an entire week away from this place. He knows that the store has always been wonderful, but, god, has it always been this wonderful? How does he ever make himself leave? Should they extend their hours?
His face scrunches up. That might be going a bit overboard. But still. The store is lovely, that’s the point. He didn’t realize how happy he’d be to come back.
And he didn’t expect that this sentiment would be shared.
At first, David credited it to the warm sunshine on his blindingly white skin, but now he thinks he might have to admit that, yes, it sounds disgusting, but Patrick is kinda—
Fuck. He’s glowing.
David assumed that last night was an exception. There was drama, there was romance, there was Tina Turner; it’s not like it was a normal night. Of course Patrick was warm and nice and, and really… something. Sappy. Caring. Loving? (They’re not doing ‘love’.) It was a big night. Things were… heightened. That doesn’t mean that’s how they actually are.
Or, so he’d thought. Because David had come to work expecting an ordinary day, and instead he’s found a drink waiting for him on the counter, and a business partner who’s actually honest-to-god glowing. Patrick jokes and laughs with customers, he bounces on the balls of his feet when he’s stood in one place too long, he’s fucking whistling again (he’s moved on from ‘Oklahoma’, thank fuck, even if ‘Camelot’ is only a minor improvement), and he’s touching David. Every chance he gets. If David is within arm’s reach, Patrick’s arms are reaching for him.
It’s a lot.
David thought there might be an adjustment period after the week apart, some weird time of lingering glances and almost-kisses while they decide if they’re starting over, or picking up where they left off.
But apparently Patrick doesn’t need any time. He’s already decided, and his decision is that they’re not just picking up where they left off, they’re going like sixteen levels past that. The Patrick from last week, the 4-month cookie Patrick, every other Patrick David has seen so far, apparently they were all holding back. This new Patrick touches David’s waist when he walks by and smiles at him from across the store and kisses his cheek literally every single time it’s turned toward him and he’s whistling behind the register and the worst part is that…
The worst part is that it’s not actually that different, is it? It’s an onslaught of affection from a fond cartoon of a man, and it feels like so much more than David is used to but it… isn’t. Sure, he’s been deprived of it for the past week, but apart from that. This is who Patrick is. This is how Patrick treats him. This isn’t some bizarre, overly-emotional day. It’s just a day.
David carefully places the last bath bomb in the basket. He grabs the empty box so he can take it back to the stockroom, but when he turns to go, he hesitates. He lingers. He watches Patrick ring up Bob’s weekly order of body butter (neither of them are willing to ask why he goes through it so quickly). Patrick is smiling, and making cheerful conversation even though it’s Bob, and it’s… nice to watch.
As Bob picks up his tote, he twists around to awkwardly and uninvitedly make David a part of their conversation. “And I gotta say, Gwen and I were so happy to hear that you kids worked everything out.” He turns back to Patrick, and David frowns and mouths ‘Who’s Gwen?’ over his shoulder—which makes Patrick give him a warning look, even as he keeps smiling. Bob leans in over the counter, like he thinks he’s being charming. “And I’m not just saying that because, ah—I won the pool on how long it’d take you to get back together.”
Okay. There are so many things wrong with that sentence that David doesn’t even know which one to object to first and/or loudest—
“Well thank you, Bob, that’s very sweet.” Patrick gives David an even warning-er look. “Isn’t it, David?”
David makes a mental note to murder Patrick in his sleep tonight for cornering him like this, but he manages to arrange his features into what he assumes is a smile. “Uh huh. That’s very… yes.”
Patrick’s smile twists into something bemused because he’s an awful man, but Bob seems satisfied, as he gives them both an unfortunate wink and jogs out the door.
David pulls himself together with all the righteous indignation he can muster. “We should have demanded a cut of that pool.”
Patrick chuckles as he finishes sorting the drawer, and David goes to the stockroom to trade his empty box for a full one. On his way back out behind the counter, Patrick reaches for him, and tugs lightly on the hem of his sweater. He doesn’t even look up. David wonders if all these touches are even conscious decisions at this point.
David is halfway through unpacking the new box when Patrick asks, “Were we broken up?”
David whirls around, a bath bomb in each hand. “I’m sorry, what?”
Patrick is focusing a little too intently on the card reader. “You said you needed time. Is that—was it—” His mouth tightens. “Were you just taking some time, or. Was it a breakup?”
David frowns. He’s not sure he hears a difference. “Does it… matter?”
Patrick shrugs, trying too hard to seem casual. “I guess not. I guess it’s semantics, more than anything. I was just… just wanted to know.”
But that’s not true. David can tell. Patrick might not want to say it, but it’s obvious that he cares, for some reason. So David has to care, too. He has to stop for a second, and breathe, and actually think about what he wants to say before he says it.
“What did—” he swallows. “What did you think it was?”
“I don’t know, David, you were the one calling those shots. It wasn’t up to me.”
It takes a moment for David to digest that. Because yeah, it’s true, and he was theoretically aware of that the whole time, but now that he’s hearing it out loud he realizes that it’s. It’s something, isn’t it? For him to be ‘calling the shots’, for him to be the one in the relationship who… does that. It’s—yeah. It’s something.
He sets down the bath bombs. He’s not sure how to say this. Especially not in the middle of the store, during business hours, with no time to prepare himself.
Finally, he asks, “Didn’t you want it to be?”
Patrick laughs, but not like it’s funny. “I think I made it embarrassingly clear that I didn’t.”
“Okay, but, like—” David shakes his head. “But, really. I know there was drama, and it was all very sudden and Austenesque, but like, aside from all of that. After the dramatics and everything, you still, didn’t…”
He loses his nerve before he can get out the last few words, and he starts vigorously tidying up the display of sampling wine instead.
“Didn’t what?” Patrick prompts.
“It’s been a long time,” David says helplessly. His fingers flit over the wine bottles, and the stack of little cups, then he moves over to the candies. “You know I’m not used to people… being around this long, and I thought that maybe—hm.” He shuffles back towards the skin care, because he needs to keep moving. He needs to distract himself with tidying as many things as possible, and he needs to move far away from Patrick while he does it. “I thought maybe you couldn’t figure out how to do it. With your whole,” he waves a hand in Patrick’s direction, “decency thing, your Disney Prince vibe.”
“Wait, Disney? I thought you said it was an Austen.”
David fixes Patrick with a sharp glare. “Okay, I’m trying to say something here. And you’re not as cute as you think you are.”
“What are you trying to say, David?”
“That I was getting it over with!” he snaps, because god, he shouldn’t need to spell it out like this. “I thought maybe there was a chance you couldn’t figure out how to do it nicely and you were just waiting for an opportunity, so when an opportunity presented itself for me to do it, I thought—” David runs out of steam, and he’s left just… weakly pushing around the cuticle oils. “Maybe I was sick of waiting. If it was gonna happen anyway, I wanted—”
He looks up, and tries to make it clear that he’ll say this once, and then he’s never going to talk about it again. “I gave you an out. I thought you’d want to take it.”
Patrick frowns. “David, what exactly about the last four months made you think I was looking for an out?”
“You spent it with me.”
Patrick doesn’t say anything. And the silence lasts just long enough for David to feel his heart shrivel up and fall into his stomach. He waves a hand dismissively, brushing it off and signalling that this horrific conversation is over, and he goes to rearrange the already meticulously-arranged toners.
But before he can even get his hands on a bottle, Patrick has crossed the store, and taken him by the shoulders. “David—”
“No, whatever, it’s fine. Forget I said anything.” David tries to shrug out of Patrick’s grip, but he just holds him tighter.
“David, listen to me. I don’t want an out.”
David tosses his head. “Fine. Noted. But it’s not like I knew that a week ago.”
“David.” Shit, now Patrick is using his Serious Voice, and he calmly, infuriatingly waits until David looks at him again. “I will never need an ‘out’. If I’m ever having a problem with our relationship, I won’t wait to find some excuse to get rid of you. I’ll just tell you about it. That’s how this works.”
“Okay, but—” David scoffs. “You can’t just say that like it’s obvious? Like, you have to get what I’m saying. If it’s inevitable anyway, this was a good chance to. Rip off the bandaid.”
“Who says it’s inevitable?”
David’s mouth drops open, but for a moment, he can’t make… words. He shakes his head. “Because it’s always happened, that’s literally the definition of inevitable! And those were—You know I’ve. You’re—” he lets out a huff of frustration. “You know you’re the first decent person I’ve been with.”
“And?”
“And.” David presses his lips together. “And I’m still not used to it. I’m not used to being with someone who’s actually… good. At this, at all of,” he waves a hand weakly between them, “this.”
Patrick’s face constricts. “That’s still how you see it? Because if I remember correctly, this whole week only happened because I fucked up. Massively.”
“I know, but that—”
David stops himself. Because he can’t… he can’t say that. He doesn’t know how. Or, maybe he does, but he…
Patrick is right. He fucked up. He fucked up in a way that David hadn’t thought was possible until it was happening, and he’d had to stand back and watch as his knowledge—as his idea of Patrick was torn down and reassembled right in front of him. It’s been adjusted a lot over these months, as David has learned, as he’s been given new details. Some he’s liked, some he hasn’t. But this was so much more than that, this was a… a paradigm shift. This was the sudden, harsh reality that Patrick isn’t some perfect caricature, that he’s capable of hurting David, he’s capable of mistakes, of a real mistake. He fucked up.
And then, he wanted to fix it.
It’s harder, now. Even though it was illogical (and completely fucking stupid, really), David had honestly let himself believe that Patrick was someone who wasn’t capable of fucking up. And instead, it turns out that he’s someone who fucks up, and then apologizes. He’s someone who does something wrong, and says he’s sorry, and tries to make it right. He hurts David, and he says he wants to do better, and then he tries, he learns, he does the work. Patrick is someone who makes mistakes, and lets David leave, and wants him back. He gives him time, and he misses him, and he… He waits for him. He’s someone who’s still there when David comes back.
Patrick isn’t perfect, anymore. Somehow, he’s so much worse.
David blinks. He keeps blinking, and he shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t be expected to do this right now.
He clears his throat. And he says something easier, instead. “Yes, that was bad. But it was isolated. In the general sense, generally speaking, you’re. You’re… very good. At this.”
Patrick frowns, but with a smile buried underneath it. “Thank you?”
David shakes his head again. “I’ve never been with someone like that, before.”
“Okay.” Patrick’s hands slip from David’s shoulders to the crooks of his elbows. “And did you ever consider that, maybe that’s why this has been going so good for us? Generally speaking?”
“No, you’re not—” David rolls his eyes. “You’re not getting it. I’ve dated some—some garbage. Some absolute pieces of shit, and.” He takes a breath. “And even they didn’t want to stay with me this long.”
Patrick nods. “Yeah.”
David frowns. He brushes Patrick away from his arms so he can use his hands to very, very clearly articulate: “I am saying, even bad people always want to leave me. And you are good people. So.”
The corner of Patrick’s mouth tics up, like he’s… amused. “That’s right.”
David’s arms fly up, an obvious what the fuck?!?
Patrick’s expression cracks open into a grin, but with a tilt to his eyebrows that almost looks confused. Disbelieving. Like David is the one being ridiculous here. “David, bad people don’t want to be with you because you’re not like them. You’re good people. The reason a piece of shit wouldn’t want to date you is because you aren’t one. So you’re not compatible.”
“N—” David takes a step back. “No. No. That’s not what I…” he shakes his head. “You’re still missing the point.”
“What point is that?”
“The point is this is different! This isn’t—I don’t—it—” he flails, searching. “Even if I am… it still, it still wouldn’t. You’re nice.”
“Okay, but why does that mean I’m the one who’s not doing it right? Why is it that I’m too nice for you, and not that everyone else wasn’t nice enough?” Patrick tilts his head. “I don’t think that’s fair.”
“It’s—Because, it’s.” David’s jaw flaps a few times while he desperately wills his brain to catch up with him, with the bullshit he’s hearing. “It’s everyone, it’s always been like this, and you can say all the nice things you want right now but you’ll still…” He swallows. “I think eventually, you’re going to figure out that you’re wrong, about this.”
“Am I? Or am I just the first person you’ve been with who’s actually deserved you?”
That—
David blinks.
“That’s… that’s not—”
He blinks again. He breathes.
Patrick’s face softens. “David, how many times do I have to tell you how happy you make me before you start hearing me?”
David breathes. He… tries to remember how to breathe. “I—” He blinks, harder this time. He can’t think of a lie, so he decides to be honest. “I don’t know.”
“Well.” Patrick raises an eyebrow. Like this is easy. Like this is something you can just… do. “Guess I’ll have to keep trying, then.”
David tries to shake his head, but it’s barely anything. He can’t… he can’t do this. He needs to not be here. He turns—
“David.” Patrick grabs his hand before he can get away. And when David turns back to him, he doesn’t let go. He takes both of David’s hands in his own and… holds them. Tightly. “I think I understand what you’re saying, and what you were trying to do. And I—I can see where you were coming from. But, David, I don’t need you to make my decisions for me, okay? I’m a big boy, I can figure things out on my own. You don’t need to guess how I’m feeling about you, because I promise: I’ll tell you.” He moves one hand to David’s cheek, and his smile goes the slightest bit mischievous as he scratches through the hair behind David’s ear. “If I want to break up with you, I am perfectly capable of doing it myself. You don’t have to do it for me. Understand?”
The bell rings, and suddenly everything feels so loud, David’s heart is pounding, too much is happening, he turns to look at the door—
“Hey.” Patrick takes David’s chin and gently, so gently, turns David’s face back toward him. “Do you understand?”
David feels hot, his cheeks are on fire and he can barely hear over the blood pumping in his ears, and he needs this to be done now so Patrick will stop holding him so goddamn softly and looking at him with these big, stupid eyes.
So he forces everything off of face and makes a sharp, dismissive noise. “Okay, fine!” He hisses, “Instead of trying to be helpful, and taking an active role in our relationship, from now on I’ll just sit back and passively wait for you to dump me!”
Patrick’s smile tucks down. “Don’t hold your breath.” He leans in, gives David a tiny peck on his burning cheek, and that’s it. He walks away, going to the counter to greet the customer.
And David…
Mm.
David sneaks into the back room before there’s a chance for him to be needed elsewhere. And he…
Fuck.
He shakes himself out. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself flail for a few seconds to… to put a stop to whatever that was, and get back to his senses. A little reset, that’s all he needs. He’s not gonna let himself dwell, he’s not gonna think about it. He’s not going to let himself bask in it. He’s tried that approach, and he’s done with it. Basking leads to complacency. This past week he’s learned—he’s been given actual, real-life proof—that letting himself enjoy this too much just makes it that much worse when…
Well. When it goes how David always knew it would. He tried, he really tried being an optimist and embracing joy, and he was punished for his hubris so quickly it was almost comical. So he’s not going to do that again. This time, he’s going to be a realist.
It’s not going to last. It’s not. No matter how many sweet little things Patrick says, no matter how many olive branches they have left to give, it’s still not enough. David just needs to remind himself of that, every now and then. That way, he’ll appreciate it more while he still has it. And when he doesn’t have it anymore, he won’t be surprised. He’ll be ready.
It’s a little memento mori, that’s all.
David sits on the edge of the desk. He closes his eyes, and he breathes, and he does what he needs to do. He imagines Patrick leaving him. He’s good at this. It’s a skill, and he’s had dozens—maybe hundreds of hours of practice. Sure, he hasn’t done it in a while, but that doesn’t matter; he still knows what he’s doing. After all, four months is plenty of time to perfect it. Every day is just another chance to sharpen it, to clarify, to add detail. The better he knows Patrick, the better he can imagine it, the more accurate it becomes. He just has to…
He just has to picture it.
He squeezes his eyes tighter.
He thinks about it. He pictures it. He imagines Patrick leaving him, the way he’s done since the day this started. Since before that, even. He knew Patrick would want to leave him before he even knew Patrick would want him in the first place. He knows how to do this. He knows this. It’s perfect.
It’s perfect.
It’s—
It’s… fuzzy.
He tries, he really does. But the lines he’s rehearsed so many times seem a little… off, right now. They don’t sound right. They keep getting tangled up, mixed with ‘You make me feel right’s and ‘The things you’re supposed to feel’s and goddamn fucking Tina Turner and it’s just… throwing him off. No matter what script David tries, it doesn’t sound quite right in Patrick’s voice, because David’s never heard him say it. So it doesn’t sound like him. David pictures Patrick leaving him and it doesn’t look right because he hasn’t seen it, he’s only seen Patrick staying. He pictures Patrick leaving him, and all he sees is Patrick, waiting for him to come back.
But, that’s—
David opens his eyes.
He blinks. He breathes.
It’s a fluke. This was just—it was a lot. Yesterday there were grand gestures and feelings and it was all very much, and it’s still a lot today, and Patrick just said all of that, and it’s…
It’s just a weird day. It won’t last. This high will wear off, like all highs inevitably do, and they’ll settle back into their usual routine, and David will acclimate again. And he’ll be back. He’ll remember how to picture it. He’ll remember how this will end, and he’ll remember to make sure he’s ready for it. He will.
But… later.
For now, though, maybe it’s fine. Maybe he can get away with it, for today. Maybe he can have one day where he doesn’t have to remember. Maybe today, he can just… wait.
He takes a breath. He touches the corners of his eyes—not that he needs to; they’re dry, obviously, because why wouldn’t they be? He shakes himself out again, for good measure.
And eventually, he goes back out on the floor.
Patrick is ringing someone up. A few more people are scattered around, still shopping. David takes another breath. He pulls his shoulders back. And tries to suss out who looks most susceptible to a good upselling.
And then it’s normal, again. It’s just work. Just a day.
David points a satisfied customer toward the cash (recommending the lip balms, while he’s at it). He glances at Patrick—
Patrick is already looking at him. He’s smiling. A soft, barely-there smile.
David looks at him, and he lets himself smile back.
Patrick winks—tries to, anyway. David rolls his eyes. Patrick looks thoroughly unrepentant.
He can have today. David is confident about that. He thinks that, maybe… he can have tomorrow, too. Maybe he can have a few days. David leans against the back counter, and he watches Patrick from across the store, and he thinks that actually, they might still have some time left.
The last time David imagines Patrick leaving him, he doesn’t even realize that it’s the last time. But it doesn’t really matter. After all, he won’t miss it.