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It’s a strange thing, when David thinks about it, the concept of home. It’s a word he’s thrown about casually for most of his life. He always thought that home was a place, a sanctuary, somewhere he could go to be alone. It was a place that he could recover from all the damage the world inflicted on him.
But lying here in Patrick’s bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest and the way the light from the window (streetlights or moonlight, David doesn’t know, and isn’t sure it matters) falls across his face, David might just have to reconsider.
Patrick is curled up on his side, his back pressed to David’s chest, David’s arm thrown casually across his hip. He’s asleep, if the deep, steady breathing is any indication, and David feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs by just how beautiful Patrick is like this. Somehow, this feels more like home than anything else ever has. It scares him just as much as it comforts him.
Because Patrick isn’t damaged like David is. Patrick had a home growing up, not just a house. He had a place to feel safe and a family that loved and supported him through whatever he needed. David never had that, so he doesn’t know what to do with this ever-growing ball of feelings that has lodged itself deep in his chest.
He loves Patrick, he knows that now. He’s even managed to say it out loud once or twice, though not nearly as frequently or as easily as it spills from Patrick’s lips. But he still lives in fear that Patrick’s love has an expiration date, because that, at least, is something he’s familiar with. It’ll come someday, Patrick will tire of him and his baggage, and it’s going to hurt like fucking hell when it does. Already, David is afraid that he might never recover. So he does what he thinks he needs to do to put it off as long as possible.
David slips his arm from around Patrick’s waist. Or, he tries, but Patrick reaches out and pulls David’s arm in close to him, effectively trapping him there.
“I have to go,” he whispers.
“No,” Patrick mumbles sleepily. “Stay.”
“I’ve already stayed too long. You know how hard it is to get a car at this time of night.”
Patrick rolls over without relinquishing his grip on David’s arm. His eyes are sleepy and soft as they look up into David’s.
“Stay,” he says again. “With me. I don’t want you to have to leave.”
“I know, but–”
“Stay with me forever. Move in.”
The words cause David’s world to shift on its axis. He stares blankly at Patrick, trying to come up with the words to say. Sure, he’s thought about this, dreamed about it, even, but he never dared hope for it. Patrick can’t mean it. He’s half asleep and still drunk on the mind-blowing orgasm David gave him before he fell asleep.
But Patrick’s eyes are wide and sincere and before David can even open his mouth to protest, he says, “I mean it, David. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
And it’s just that sliver of being seen that knocks down all of the walls and defenses that David has left.
“Okay,” he whispers, afraid if he says it any louder, it’ll be snatched from his grasp. Patrick’s face lights up brighter than the streetlights (or the moon) outside and he pulls David down and kisses him deeply.
And David finally feels at home.