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David’s stomach is swooping, dropping out from under him. There’s a rush of air on his face and he reaches with his hands, unable to get a grip, his fingers touching only empty space. There’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to stop him from falling. He can feel himself slip, and terror overwhelms him as he falls, down, down --
“David? David, wake up.”
The voice cuts through David’s dream and he jerks and flails, this time colliding with Patrick’s strong arms instead of empty air.
“David, it’s all right. You’re okay. You were having a nightmare.”
This isn’t news to David – he’s had this dream three times since Alexis made him do that stupid ropes course last week. He had hoped that some breathtakingly good orgasms and falling asleep in Patrick’s arms would keep the dream away tonight, but he clearly underestimated the power of a nice old fashioned bad dream. There’s a reason they feature so heavily in popular media. Nightmares are the worst.
“David, open your eyes, it’s okay.” David forces himself to comply, focusing on Patrick’s voice and the feeling of his hands on his shoulders. He hears the click of a light switch and squints his eyes open. Blinking, he sees Patrick, his eyes wide with concern. He looks away, tracking around the room, each mundane piece of furniture and old knick-knack reminding him that he’s at Ray’s house in Schitt’s Creek, not flying through the air.
“Hey,” Patrick says softly, and David’s eyes find his again.
“I’m fine,” David says reflexively. Patrick ignores him, scooting closer and rubbing his arms and shoulders. The touch grounds him, and he leans into it.
“Were you dreaming about the ropes course?” Patrick asks.
“More or less.”
Patrick tilts his head in question, and David sighs.
“You’ve heard the whole sordid story now. I don’t have the best experiences with heights. Sometimes I dream about it, that’s all.”
David has in fact had vivid recurring nightmares about falling ever since the Anderson Cooper debacle, usually triggered by something reasonably related to heights. There’s more than one reason that he doesn’t ski, on top of the horrible weather and incorrect clothing.
“I’m sorry your attempt to do something fun for us brought the dream back.”
“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” David says under his breath. It’s his own damn brain that caused this problem. Then something occurs to him and he brightens. “Actually, I blame Alexis.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe she forgot about your fear of heights.”
“Aversion,” David reminds him, trying not to think about how pathetic he sounds.
“Shall we call her up and yell at her?” Patrick pretends to reach for his phone, and David lets a smile escape.
“Maybe we’ll save it for the morning. She probably turned her phone off. Too busy with Ted’s smoothly running generator.”
Patrick snorts out a laugh and settles back down on the bed. He holds an arm out to David, apparently expecting that things are resolved and David will be ready to be soothed back to sleep. But while that sounds delightful, David can tell from the way his heart is still racing that sleep is not on the agenda right at this precise moment.
“I’m just going to go freshen up,” he says, ignoring Patrick’s look of confusion as he untangles his legs from the blankets and slides out of bed. He shuts himself in Ray’s hallway bathroom and splashes some water on his face, taking deep breaths in and out, and trying not to think about dangling far above the ground.
As often happens, David’s nightmare has left him feeling overheated and shaky. He’d like to take a shower and wrap himself in a fresh set of pajamas, but he only brought the ones he’s wearing. He sits on the toilet seat and wills the adrenaline rushing through his body to calm the fuck down.
By the time Patrick knocks on the door, it’s far past time when he should have gone back to bed if he was anything resembling a normal person.
“David? Can I do anything to help?”
David lets out a long breath and opens the door, hoping he looks more composed than he feels. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Patrick tilts his head back towards his room. “I brought you something.”
David follows him back in and sits on the bed, taking the mug Patrick offers him. It smells like cinnamon and sugar. “What’s this?”
“Warm milk, with a little spice and vanilla.” Patrick looks at him hopefully, so David pushes away his knee jerk reaction of “milk, ugh” and takes a sip.
Surprisingly – or maybe not, since Patrick made it for him – it’s delicious, and he says so.
Patrick smiles. “Good.”
“Where’s yours?” David asks.
Patrick shrugs. “I figured we could share.” He holds out his hand for the mug, and David gives it to him as he gets back into the bed. Patrick joins him, and they pass the mug back and forth silently, taking small sips and sharing hesitant smiles.
“I really am impressed by what you did for us, David,” Patrick says, kissing a drop of milk off David’s lip. “Even if Alexis tricked you into it. That tree walk was hard. Especially given your aversion.” Patrick says this with genuine sincerity, not even quirking a lip.
“You said that already,” David says, deflecting.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure you heard me.”
It should be perfect and relaxing, all this attention and care, but David is just feeling more overheated and uncomfortable. Finally he can’t stand it any longer, and shifts away from Patrick, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor. He’s too strung out to even bother putting it away, which is really saying something.
“Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?” Patrick asks mildly.
“I’m fine,” David says, pulling the comforter up under his armpits, ignoring the way his skin prickles with goosebumps.
“I’m pretty sure you left your black sleep shirt here last weekend, if you’d like that.”
David’s desire to play it cool wars with his need to cover himself back up. “The Ralph Lauren one?”
Patrick gets out of bed, leaving the mug on the nightstand, and goes to his drawers. The shirt is produced, and David gratefully puts it on. He really doesn’t like to sleep unclothed, especially not when Ray takes such a casual approach to the concept of personal space.
Patrick picks up the discarded shirt from the floor and folds it without saying a word. Then he gets back into bed and slides one hand under his pillow, gazing at David fondly.
“What?”
“You could have just said, if you wanted to borrow a t-shirt. My clothes might not be designer, but they’re not going to bite you.”
“I know that,” David says sulkily.
“Then why didn’t you-”
“Do we really need to pick apart my every insecurity right now?” David is embarrassed at how squeaky his voice sounds, and even more at his outburst. What is wrong with you, he thinks to himself.
“No, of course not,” Patrick says, and David chooses to think of his tone as simply accommodating, not patronizing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, fuck, I’m sorry,” David says, rolling to his side and grasping Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m being an ass, you made me warm milk, you’re perfect, I don’t know how to do this.” His words spill out and make no sense.
“Do what?”
“Be – together.” Not be a disaster, David thinks.
“You’re doing fine,” Patrick says. “I’m not perfect. And you’re not either. You don’t have to be. It’s okay.”
“Is it, though? I’m a mess,” David says, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.
“If people had to be perfect to be together, everyone would be alone.”
David knows Patrick is trying to reassure him, but it isn’t helping. David doesn’t know what to say. David is well aware of his imperfections, and they don’t lend themselves to happy endings.
“David, I don’t understand what’s wrong.”
David’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the hint of impatience in Patrick’s voice. Patrick likes to take care of David, but he also likes to think he’s in control of every situation. And David’s emotional turmoil is pretty hard to control. He needs to get a grip, now, or Patrick’s going to head for the hills sooner rather than later.
“I’m fine, I just need some sleep. Thank you so much for the warm milk, baby.” David leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s mouth, then plasters a smile on his face and wraps his arm around Patrick.
Patrick snuggles closer, and David forces himself to make his body relax. Even if he isn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, he can shut the hell up and let Patrick get some rest.
After a few minutes, Patrick starts talking, a soft whisper into his ear.
“I’m not trying to make you tell me all your secrets, David. You can keep things private. We can talk about this as little or as much as you want to. But I’m gonna do whatever I can to make you realize that when you’re ready, you can tell me. You can say anything. You’re safe here, David. You’re safe with me.”
David digs his face into Patrick’s neck, overcome with emotion and trying hard not to cry.
“And for the record,” Patrick continues, a mischievous tone lightening his voice, “Ted may think he’s a smoothly running generator. But you, David Rose, are a goddamn Ferrari.”