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Patrick hears the sink in the bathroom running and begins to stir. In his still bleary state, he notes faint footsteps moving across the floor and then the opposite side of the mattress dips. He peeks his eyes open to see David sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Patrick. He’s hunched over with one elbow on his knee, his head resting in his hand.
“Hey,” Patrick says quietly. He stretches an arm across the empty space between them, even though he can’t reach David, figuring the effort is sufficient enough. “Everything okay?”
David’s head snaps up and he looks over his shoulder at Patrick. “Hey,” he whispers. Patrick notices then that he’s holding his phone in his other hand. He locks it, the soft light dimming to black, before placing it onto the bedside table. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I tried not to wake you.”
“S’okay,” Patrick murmurs back. He’s still half asleep, so David technically half succeeded. He pulls the bedspread up under his chin and sinks further into the mattress, getting comfortable again when he asks around a yawn, “Bad dream or something?”
In the dim light that filters through the room’s sheer curtains, Patrick notices the furrow in David’s brow. He wiggles his fingers in invitation as David turns more fully toward him, grateful that he reaches over and latches on. David shakes his head and quietly responds, “No. I haven’t fallen asleep yet.”
Patrick takes a quick look at the clock and notes the bright white numbers that glow 2:20. His attention becomes more focused, noting they’d gotten into bed almost three hours ago. He’s definitely awake now. Patrick pushes himself to sit up and scoots closer to his husband. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, David cuts in.
“It’s okay,” he insists, letting go of Patrick’s hand to nudge his shoulder. His eyes still downcast, unfocused. “Go back to sleep.”
Patrick ducks his head so he can catch David’s eyes as his gaze falls back down to his lap. He can see the exhaustion in David’s face — eyes half-lidded, eyebrows drawn toward the middle ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth turned down in a gentle frown. Even on his best days, Patrick knows he doesn’t do well without sleep.
“David,” he says softly, his name leaving Patrick like a sigh. He smooths his hand up and down David’s arm, stopping at his bicep and stroking his thumb just below his t-shirt sleeve. Patrick tilts his head a bit and keeps his voice quiet as he gently asks, “What’s wrong, babe?”
David presses his lips together, closes his eyes, and lets a concentrated breath out through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, they’re a little glassy. “Nothing’s wrong.” He pauses, and Patrick can practically see him flipping through the rolodex of words in his brain, searching for what fits best. His shoulders lift as he settles on, “I don’t feel good.”
“Like a fever?” Patrick asks, touching the back of his hand to David’s cheek, then forehead. “Are you sick?”
David reaches up to guide Patrick’s hand away. “No, honey.” Even David’s words are tired, his voice sounding burnt out and slightly clipped. Patrick doesn’t take it personally. After a few moments of silence and another huff of breath, David continues, “Sometimes I just feel...not good . That’s the only way I can describe it.” He shrugs. “There’s no reason.”
For all the time Patrick’s known him, he can’t really remember David’s feelings ever manifesting this way, affecting his sleep. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s new. Even years into their relationship, and a year into their marriage, there are things that just haven’t come up before. Plus, Patrick knows that David wanting to handle certain things on his own isn’t necessarily a reflection of his lack of trust. It’s just something he’s been used to his whole life, and he’s still unlearning it. Patrick knows to be patient.
“Okay,” Patrick says. He doesn't understand — at least, not in a way he can empathize with — but that doesn’t mean he can’t be there for him. He brushes a hand through David’s hair, his fingers traveling over his ear and resting behind his head. He scratches lightly and asks, “Can I help? Or is that the opposite of what you want right now?”
David laughs humorlessly and then groans, rubbing his face. “I just want to go to sleep.”
Patrick nods. “Okay,” he says again, carefully. Even if he can’t help David fall asleep, the least he can do is make him feel comfortable. Comforted. He shifts back a bit and nods his head in the direction of the mattress. “Lay with me?”
David’s shoulders slump. “Patrick, you don’t have to—”
“Hey, do you think I wanna deal with you in the morning if you’re exhausted?” he asks, his voice just the right amount of goading. He tugs at David’s forearm, encouraging him closer. “C’mere.”
After a moment, David sighs and gives Patrick a half-hearted eye roll in return. But he follows.
He also tilts his head in a way he thinks hides the quirk of a tired smile, but of course Patrick catches it anyway.
He pulls David close, arranging them so they’re both on their sides facing each other. One of David’s arms is tucked snug between them, while the other rests on Patrick’s waist. He slides his warm hand underneath Patrick’s shirt and rests it there, thumb stroking over his hip bone. Patrick shivers at the contact but then comfortably settles, one arm curled under the pillow his head is resting on, the other wrapping around David’s shoulders, holding him closer.
David sighs, sinking into the spot with his head tucked under Patrick’s chin. It’s not a completely uncommon arrangement for them, but they don’t usually fall asleep cuddling. They learned early on that David needs his space to fall asleep and Patrick gets hot in the middle of the night. At most, he’ll wake up with David’s head on his shoulder.
Right now, however, an exception is necessary.
Patrick’s fingers find their way back into David’s hair. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of David’s head and begins slowly combing his fingers in a way that he hopes is soothing rather than stimulating. At the sound of David’s relaxed hum, he’s confident it’s the former.
“Thanks,” David says muffled against Patrick’s chest before burrowing even closer.
“Anytime.” He feels the rise and fall of David’s chest against his own. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”
David shrugs minutely. “Happens.”
Patrick has heard the story of David’s panic attack from when they first moved to town, and has even helped him through a few over the years, but he knows this is different. While David may not always have a plan, he always has a purpose. He has a reason. He feels so wholly and so deeply, often masking his care with frustration and sometimes worry, and Patrick has been lucky enough to witness the rare moments when he opens up a bit more, shares the more concealed parts of himself. They were some of the core moments that first made Patrick fall in love with David.
Still, he’s plenty familiar with David’s bad moods — his refusal to articulate specifics because doesn’t want to be seen as vulnerable, and the challenge of giving up old, destructive coping mechanisms to make room for the people in his life who care about him. He knows David well enough now to recognize that this isn’t necessarily one of those moods. It’s one Patrick hasn’t had to navigate yet, and perhaps David hasn’t yet either. But he knows they’ll figure it out together.
David sighs deeply, impatiently, interrupting Patrick’s thoughts. “Maybe you could bore me to sleep by talking about profit margins and capital expendables.”
“Expenditures.”
David yawns. “See? It’s working already.”
Patrick chuckles lightly. Despite David’s words, and as much as Patrick would be willing to do that, he’s not exactly sure it would do much help. David won’t admit it, but he pays a lot more attention than people think and he’s learned a lot over the years as a business owner. Patrick figures it’s best to steer clear of any sort of work talk for the time being.
Instead, he thinks about when there are days, and sometimes weeks, that are particularly draining at the store, and how he and David tend to wind down. Sometimes it’s mindless TV or a movie, other times it’s a bottle of wine or a joint with Stevie if she’s in town. But there’s also those days, either after work or on a day off, when they’re both on the couch, or perhaps still lazing in bed. David will scroll through his phone or write in his journal, while Patrick reads or catches up on the latest motel updates from Mr. Rose.
There’s always music playing.
Patrick closes his eyes and brings to mind all the times David has put on music while Patrick is engrossed in a book or his phone or even the occasional weekend work task. Eventually, David will slink into his space, just enough to rest his head in Patrick’s lap. He doesn’t always do so with the intent to fall asleep, but it’s usually not long before Patrick’s fingers involuntarily find their way into David’s hair — much like they are now — and David’s breath will even out for a while.
He can definitely make an abridged version of that happen.
So Patrick asks, “Want me to play some quiet music from my phone?”
“Sure,” David says tiredly, clearly exhausted enough to try anything Patrick suggests. Then he adds, “My phone, though,” because of course there are still some regulations.
Patrick loosens his hold so David can reach over for his phone, but he just half lifts his arm and makes grabby hands in mid-air in the vague direction of the bedside table. “Can’t reach,” he says, though he hasn’t opened his eyes or moved any other part of his body.
Patrick shakes his head and wordlessly complies, reaching over David’s body to grab his phone. He settles back and hears a pleasant hum from his husband while he searches for a good, soft playlist that he knows David has curated. He has to admit it’s an impressive talent, the amount of playlists he has that fit a specific vibe. They have come in handy many times. He chooses one, sets the volume low, and rests the phone down beside him.
Patrick lets the music blanket them with soft, soothing sounds that he will occasionally hum along with — very softly, of course. His hand drifts from its place in David’s hair down to his back, smoothing it up and down the fabric of David’s shirt. He does this for a while, alternating between slow, rhythmic strokes with his flat palm, and the light skim of his fingertips.
Eventually, he hears a small whine from David, who nudges his arm. “Back to my hair,” he mumbles against Patrick’s shoulder before pressing a small kiss there.
Patrick smiles and slips his hands back into David’s hair. His thumb brushes David’s temple and he closes his eyes. “Hey,” Patrick whispers, nudging his foot against David’s. “Love you.”
He can feel David’s mouth upturn into a smile against his shirt and he replies, even quieter, “I know.” The hand still at Patrick’s hip squeezes lightly. “Thank you.”
For a while, the music from David’s phone plays in the background while Patrick gives short, gentle responses to the occasional frustrations David whispers between them. And eventually, when Patrick notices himself starting to drift, David’s breath has evened out, too.
He carefully extracts his hand from the back of David’s head and reaches for his phone, pausing the music. He turns to see if his husband stirs at all, and he’s thankfully met with the sight of David curled up on his pillow. His arms are tucked close to his body and the furrow in his brow has melted away. As he watches David breathe evenly, Patrick feels the worry in his chest unclench in a satisfying wave of relief.
Before he goes back to sleep, he turns off David’s alarm.