#patrickbrewsky

@bestwisheswarmestregards​

Odd Man Rush by @samwhambam​

It’s David and Patrick and Hockey! Three of my favorite things! Also the ending is one of my favorite endings. It’s so sweet! It’s part of the series score and all of the stories are so cute but this one is my favorite!

@brighter-than-sunshine​

Thanks For Choosing Bagged! by dinnfameron

I love this one because the dialogue is so adorable, and true to David and Patrick! I can totally see the characters getting involved in something like this, like a different version of a rom-com.

@danieljradcliffe​

Going Down by concannonfodder

This is one of the best stories of NYC!David and recently out Patrick while they're both trying to find themselves. It's beautifully written and my favourite part is that each chapter switches between David and Patrick's POV. It does a great job of highlighting the aspects of their personalities that we know and love but shows them to us in a new light.

@devilstelephone​

sustineo by @rockinhamburger​

The contemporary art discussions between Patrick and David are interesting and important to the story. Patrick still cares for and emotionally connects with David In a world that is so different than Schitt’s Creek. I liked that Sebastian Raine was the evil force without being included as a character.

@fishyspots​

Welcome to Cabaret by @vivianblakesunrisebay​

It's lovely from start to finish! In this 'verse, Christmas World didn't pull out, so David didn't get the lease for the general store. Instead, he gets roped into helping Moira with Cabaret, and meets Patrick (kind of) through that. I love the way this author writes. The dialogue is in-character, and the plot is wonderful and pulls out moments from canon and reimagines them in some truly inspired ways. I'm such a fan of all of this author's works; this was the first one I read, and it remains my favorite.

@imargaery​

David.; or, a Tale of Misapplied Sense by Siria

A Jane Austen D&P AU and it is BRILLIANT. If you're an Austen fan, you will be able to immediately pick up on how well this author adapted Austen's style, wit, character descriptions, and ability to whack you over the head with romance when you're not even ready for it yet. Siria is a very experienced fanfic writer, but writes for many fandoms, so I think that's maybe why it doesn't have that many hits? I'm so glad I clicked on it. I want to wrap myself up in this story. I want to make a podfic out of it. I want to put it on a t-shirt and wear it every day. Also, it's in a regency AU where homophobia isn't a thing, so you don't even have to worry about that. I want to tell you more, but that would spoil it. Just read the damn thing and thank me later.

@justwaiting23​

You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone by @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons​ 

The image of a curly haired fisherman Patrick is enough but this whole fic is such a sweet concept. Their interactions in this are so reminiscent of the show but also so different because they already know each other vaguely, and I come back to this fic over and over just because it's the perfect mix of angsty miscommunication and fluff.

@maxbegone​

Known and Be Known by ahurston

As someone who tends to lean toward canon/canon-divergent stories, this was a refreshing take on an AU. Beautifully written and wonderfully raw, ahurston conveyed the vulnerabilities between both David and Patrick so wonderfully. “The mortifying ordeal of being known,” personified in fanfiction format. With humor and some wonderfully hot scenes peppered throughout, this fic was just brilliant from start to finish. I love when authors explore Patrick's insecurities and vulnerabilities - they aren't written about as often as David's are. I implore you to read this, if you're able.

@patrickbrewsky​

Bound by Symmetry by barelypink

They say write what you know. I instead read what I know. David is the accidentally fantastic teacher we all wished we'd had in high school, and some of us wish/hope we are or might be one day. This fic is a great exploration of combining everything David knows he is (creative, bright, v.knowledgeable about art) and all the things he thinks he's not (empathetic, a role model, great with kids, selfless, kind, & big hearted) The selling point quote: "And it feels good, David realizes, to have a job that means something, a purpose beyond himself. A place where he feels like he belongs, just like his students." (David Rose proves he is both a good and nice person).

@rockinhamburger​

Blackbird, Fly by distractivate 

This is a post-apocalyptic story about love, connection, and hope, with a central theme of growth from destruction. I could not put this one down; I read it feverishly in one sitting, desperate to soak up every word. I love this fic because it is what I like to think of as an exemplar for transformative works (one of ao3’s top values). I love the way the fic stretches toward the light in the dark. It makes me think: about the quintessential elements of these characters, what remains the same despite changed circumstance, and what inevitably shifts when these characters we know and love are faced with a situation far outside their experience or comfort. This story likely hits differently in 2020, when post-apocalyptic narratives feel much less distant than they might have just a year ago. And yet, all the more reason to read an incredible work about hope and resilience and transformation.

@roguebabyinyourstore​

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman

Where do I even begin with this fic? I was at first skeptical about what reason David Rose would have to willingly subject himself to a trek through the wilderness out of his own volition. Well I’m so glad I ignored that admittedly stupid part of me because this is one of the mostly beautifully crafted stories I have ever read. Patrick and David are individually on their own journeys of self-discovery, but the way they help each other find what they sought... It’s breathtaking. Their feelings for each other bloom so organically over their time together that despite the circumstances laid out before them, the miles that they stumble and walk and run bring them miles closer to each other. Closer to the love that they both didn’t know they needed. The characters come alive and are identical to their canon selves. The dialogue and banter are spot on David and Patrick. The writing itself is superb. The tropes are incredible, the pining and *oh no there’s only one tent.* The slow burn is tantalizing but in a way that feels true to a genuine love story. The way the setting somehow breathes in tune with the characters, the way they leave messages behind in the trail register—conveying more than they can utter aloud— and the way their families communicate with them throughout their time on the trail through letters. All of the elements of this story ground it in universal truth, in feelings that are not only relatable, believable but demand to be felt. I can wax poetic until I am blue in the face, but really... Read this story. And then reread it a million times.

@rosebuddsmotel​

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You by @ladyflowdi​ and @ships-to-sail​

There are over 180,000 words in this WWII AU, but not one of those words is wasted. It is gorgeous in its prose, and incredibly romantic without romanticizing the very real pain and tragedies of the era in which it exists. It's not an easy read by any means, but it's the kind of cathartic emotional journey that is more than worth it in the end.

@stuck-on-your-heart​ 

kiss from a rose by mihaly ( @davidroseshusband​ )

What can I say about this very special fic that would do it justice? In this story, Alexis stars in a Bachelorette-style dating show and it’s every bit as brilliant as it sounds. On top of the incredible characterization, there are little surprises at every turn, there’s pining, and of course, there’s love. Secret love, even. This fic is truly addicting – I promise you won’t be able to stop once you start reading, and it will leave you feeling so satisfied (and if you’re like me, a little misty)!!!

@the-13th-wheel​

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by @mooodlighting​

It is a wonderful short AU where Patrick and David where they meet at an airport after they get snowed in. It is cute, there is longing and pining that just make it a wonderful read!

@thedidipickles​

Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate

The writing is so utterly gorgeous all the way throughout that I frequently needed to take breaks to breathe. The author *perfectly* builds an Olympic world that I can totally see my favorite characters inhabiting, and the resolution is gorgeous. All of Distractivate's AUs are amazing, but this one still stands out.

@thisbuildinghasfeelings​

How Do We Get Back by @unfolded73​

This one deals with a literal alternate universe, which is the first thing I loved about it because I had never read a fic quite like it before. It's a beautifully written 60,000+ word masterpiece that definitely makes me feel ALL the feelings. In addition, it is absolutely riveting. I could not stop reading until I got to the end.

@yourbuttervoicedbeau​

Make It To Me by figmentof ( @rosesdavid )

Epistolatory fic is SO hard to pull off and the author does such an incredible job with the way the characters shine through even though we only see them interact via text message. This fic is my comfort food and I reread it regularly <3

Anonymous Recs:

Just Breathe by olivebranchesandredwine

I love this one because it's got Patrick as a yoga teacher (hot!) and shows David being proactive about anxiety and it's just such a lovely story.

Shall I Stay? by alladaydream ( @maybewecandreamalittle​​ )

This is so worth the 100k wordcount. 18-year-old David and Patrick sweetly leaning into first love, a lot of angst and pining in the middle that allow them both to heal and grow, and a heartfelt reconciliation. Plus, two bonus cherries on top with artist!David and a beautiful epilogue in which they (spoiler) live happily ever after. The tone and pacing of this fic is so good, and I always go back to it when I want to read something comforting.

Your Heart is Keeping Time with Me by @yourbuttervoicedbeau​

I haven't seen 50 First Dates, but this fic is better than the movie could ever be. The author's writing is so beautiful and her David who has amnesia and her Patrick who wants to help him are just PERFECT. I want more and more and more of this.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Patrick protests. “It was totally innocent.”

“Hand it over.” David crosses Patrick’s apartment, narrowly missing clipping the bed with his knee, limbs akimbo the way they always are this early in the morning. Patrick lets David take the sweater from him, perhaps to say a fond farewell, and turns to start David’s coffee. He didn’t know David liked this sweater best; David’s peeled it off of him more than once, but that’s true of most of his shirts at this point.

For some reason, David folds the sweater and puts it in his bag instead of the trash where it belongs. “What are you going to do with that?”

David looks at him like he’s being difficult. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re trying to clone me, that sweater got ripped in the wash so you’ll want something less fresh.” Patrick grabs for the cocoa powder he keeps in his cupboard and that David still won’t look directly at.

“Why would I clone you before they let me edit out your sense of humor?”

“You love my sense of humor.”

David is scrolling through something on his phone now, clearly past the sweater conversation, but he looks up and smiles when Patrick slides his coffee across the counter. “I have very intentionally never said that.”

“Just like how you’re not saying what you’re going to do with my—”

“The tear is on the seam.” David shrugs and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose in the way that means he tastes the cocoa but will not be commenting on it at this time. “It’ll take, like, five minutes to fix.”

“And you know someone who’s willing to do that? Because the only person I can think of is Jocelyn, and I know you two have that begrudging acceptance thing going but I don’t think it extends to me.”

“She likes you too, you know. She told me last week that you were the best Emcee they could have cast.”

“That’s very sweet.” Patrick tilts his head. “But I don’t know there were any other contenders, so it probably sounds better than it is.” But they’re getting off topic now. “Wait, no. Who’s fixing this sweater?”

“I’m fixing the sweater.” David grabs his bag and sets the mug in the sink. “Should we go? We’re going to open late otherwise.”

David’s concern for keeping normal opening hours more than anything else tells Patrick that he’s missing something. Still: “You’re going to fix it.”

“That is correct.” David sighs. “Can we please go? If you wait much longer I’ll lose all this energy and then you’ll have to open by yourself.”

Patrick rolls his lips in and bites down. “How many sweaters have you mended, exactly? Because you talked for an hour once about all the cashmere sweaters you lost to moths.”

“Cashmere is different. Anyway, I’m not, like, totally helpless,” David says. “I went to art school.”

Patrick privately thinks that the sentence might be an oxymoron, but he can acknowledge his own bias here. He took a pottery class in college as his “understanding art” elective; he and his fellow business majors had a lot to say about the cost of equipment and the annoyance of waiting around for the clay to bake. And then after all of that, his glaze was cracked and uneven. “Do they teach stitching there? Like, a whole class?”

“Mm.” David’s mouth is a thin line. “Right after the Etch-A-Sketch one.”

Patrick may have overshot it. “That didn’t—”

“Go to the store. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Patrick sets the spare key on the counter and elects to retreat.

***

“This is earlier than I was expecting to see you.”

David makes a beeline for the macchiato Patrick set in a prominent place on the counter in a spot near the door. He didn’t want David to miss it. “I said an hour.”

The teasing is right there; Patrick has to consciously push down countless other times where David has wildly miscalculated his arrival time. Instead, he takes a breath and prepares for a real apology. They’re a new thing for the two of them—after his parents came to town, Patrick’s been making communication a priority. It’s mostly his idea, but it was spurred on by some...gentle suggestion from Stevie. He doesn’t want to keep falling back into old habits, and he’s not going to put the burden on David to keep him accountable.

But David has not been exceptionally amenable to this new strategy. “Stop,” he says once he’s taken a drink and turned to look at Patrick. “Enough. Thank you for the coffee.”

He drops a kiss on Patrick’s cheek and continues on to the back room. Patrick entertains the idea of following him, but the bell above the door chimes again and he pushes down the conversation they need to have. Not forever, he tells himself sternly. Just until closing. Or lunch, if he can rig them a break.

But it’s Ronnie crossing the threshold, so maybe they do need to finish their relationship discussion. Maybe close the store for the day, or something.

“Ronnie!” Patrick winces at the enthusiasm he can hear in his own voice. David keeps saying that he’s forcing it, which might be valid. “What are you looking for today?”

Ronnie lifts her chin but doesn’t make eye contact. “David here?”

Still trying too hard, then. “He’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

Apparently he heard them, because David’s already peeking out. “Sorry about that, Ronnie. Back for that cheese or is it something else?”

Ronnie lets David curate a cheese plate for her next Women in Business meeting and suggest some wine pairings; Patrick bites back his own opinions to the best of his ability. Or, he does after Ronnie pointedly sets the chardonnay back on the shelf after he says it’s his favorite.

David rings her up and sees her off, and Patrick opens his mouth again to take advantage of a lull. Then the phone rings.

“Can you take that?” David asks. “I want to figure out what we need for that greeting card workshop next month. Jo likes it when we order with at least three weeks’ notice, and they gave us that frame for the poster last time as a thank you so I don’t want to—”

Patrick waves him off before the phone goes to voicemail. “I got it.”

Fortunately for their stocking schedule, it’s Brenda. They’ve been running low on the moisturizer she’s trying out recently, and they need to get more on the shelf as soon as she has it ready. Unfortunately for him, Brenda called seeking opinions about her new combination skin formula and the essential oil blend. David informed Patrick early on that he had combination skin, but Patrick senses that Brenda will not find this information useful. He bides his time and lets Brenda talk until David catches on to his frantic gestures.

They don't teach this in business school. He lets his eyes drift from David's face (a struggle, sometimes) to the bag at his boyfriend's feet. They don't teach a lot of things in business school.

Patrick passes off the phone and greets the next customers, who thankfully do not have any qualms about his personality. Then he checks the stock spreadsheet. They’re getting low on sweaters and socks after the cold snap last week, so he flags the vendors for David to email and sets about filling in the blank spots on the shelves after a busy morning.

The sound of David’s voice soothes Patrick’s nerves even more than the playlist he and David made together in a process that started adversarial (“Smooth jazz? Why not just get a Muzak?” “People shop in those stores too, David.”) and turned playful after they decided on a one-for-one system. Patrick’s alt-folk mixes surprisingly seamlessly with the Whitneys and Mariahs David added. Even the Counting Crows Patrick put on the list just to be contrary fits, in a way.

“Everything okay with Brenda?” Patrick asks after David drops the phone back into his holder. “Are you going to put a new cleanser in my bathroom soon?”

“I don’t see why those two things are necessarily related,” David says, “but yes to both.”

“Good to know.” They might be able to flip the sign for lunch if they’re quick; clouds are gathering in the sky outside in a way that spells a dreary afternoon. “Want me to pick us up something?”

Patrick heads for the door at David’s nod of assent. Even though they haven’t talked about it, he still feels like he’s making up for something. Hopefully that will change. He’s jumping into this new talking strategy with both feet, and he just hopes that David will catch him.

Silly, he thinks as he crosses the street. David has never once let him fall.

Twyla greets him with a sunny smile and asks if they want their usual. For him, a burger is pretty standard, but David keeps vacillating between different soups, sandwiches, and salads. It’s a caesar salad day today; though Patrick would love to read into David’s mood from his choice, he knows better than that by now. David just does what he wants sometimes. As for Patrick, he’s mostly just happy that David is limiting the chance that he won’t like his food. He worked through the international section of the menu last week and spent three afternoons in a row cranky due to hunger and the continual failure of the café to meet his admittedly unrealistic expectations. He does add a cookie, because communication is great and all but it’s always good to have an insurance policy if things go south.

Back at the store, David’s handing over a Rose Apothecary tote to Roland and he’s not even grimacing. Much. There’s definite relief in his eyes when Patrick holds the door for Roland, though. It’s quickly replaced by confusion when Patrick flips the sign.

“I thought we could eat lunch together?” Patrick resists the urge to kick at the ground like a teenager, but it’s there. “We haven’t had much time to just...see each other. Today.”

“I saw plenty of you this morning.” David raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Patrick fights his easy blush; that’s beside the point. “That’s not—”

“You know I never complain about seeing you,” David continues. “But Roland said Jocelyn is going to stop by later, so we’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Patrick thinks Jocelyn can probably wait, but he keeps that to himself. He waits until they’re settled on the couch with David’s left thigh pressing against his right and David can’t talk past his mouthful of lettuce before he broaches the topic. “I did want to talk about this morning.”

David’s eyes widen as he chews, but he does look a little less frantic than he would months or even a year ago if Patrick said something similar.

While David can’t cut him off, Patrick presses his advantage. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you’re helpless. I don’t think you’re helpless.”

David rolls his eyes, but there’s something tight around his mouth that tells Patrick he has to do a little more here. He swallows, so Patrick hurries to finish his thought.

“I think you’re...you do a lot that I don’t do.”

“And you do a lot I don’t do.”

“I don’t think—no, I know, I know I don’t think about that enough.”

Something suspicious dissipates from David’s face. “Is this your whole talking thing again?”

“I don’t have a whole talking thing,” Patrick protests.

“You’ve had a whole talking thing for weeks now. Do you want me to run through all of my skills, or is it sufficient to just say that we’re okay?”

Patrick definitely had prepared to run through all of David’s skills, but he elects to save that for another time. Maybe tonight, when he has more ability to keep David in one place until he’s finished saying what he wants to say. “It’s enough. For now.”

“Threatening me with conversation.” David shakes his head. But he doesn’t take another bite, so he’s at least somewhat worried that Patrick will drop all of his feelings right this moment.

“You can eat, David.”

David lifts his fork cautiously.

So Patrick has no choice, really. “I love you.”

Patrick wants to frame the look David gives him, cheeks slightly bulging and eyes furious and generally perfect.

They unlock the front door in time to catch Jocelyn, and Patrick finds himself still cataloguing David’s competencies for the rest of the day. That night, Patrick sees his sweater, repaired and neatly folded in the way that David says limits wrinkles, hidden in his drawer under a college sweatshirt. It looks as good as new. “Thanks for the sweater.”

“Well, the cloning people were unhelpful. Said I’d have to keep all of you if I went for a new one, and I don’t have the constitution to be mocked twice as often.”

Patrick can’t let it go without saying something, though. “David. Thank you.” That should cover his whole talking thing for now. David still looks at him like he’s a too-large shipment that won’t fit in the planned display. Back to teasing, then. “You know, I had a thought.” Patrick affects his most guileless expression as he slides into bed next to his boyfriend. David’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Since you’re so good at this, and you went to art school and all, maybe you can help with costumes for Cabaret.”

Patrick enjoys the horrified look that blooms across David’s face probably too much. “I’m suddenly feeling very helpless.”

Stevie steps aside to let David in. He drops his bag in the foyer and looks around.

Her apartment is a little dreary - it’s always a little dreary, David notes, but it’s very much Stevie and he loves it and that Sarah Maclachlan poster regardless.

It smells like vanilla, too, and David thinks he’ll have to convince her to get something a little more atmospheric, something that will bring a little dimension into her home.

He makes a mental note to set aside a few of the soy candles at the store for her.

There’s a suitcase propped-up by her closet, slightly caved-in from its lack of contents and there’s an empty cereal bowl sitting on her countertop, the spoon still in it. 

Smudges of dark makeup sit caked under Stevie’s already dark eyes and the cuffs of her flannel are balled-up in her fists. She swipes at her nose.

“I brought wine,” David announces, setting the bottle next to the empty bowl. He eyes the half-empty blend she already had uncorked. He gestures to it. “But I see that might not have been necessary.”

“It’s from your mom.” Stevie gives him a weak smile as she flops into a chair, her dark hair falling in front of her face.

David sighs. “You okay?”

“Did your dad put you up to this?” She murmurs, voice thick. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“No.” David leans his elbows into the counter, adding much softer, “But...he did tell me about Emir. Coming here was my decision.”

Stevie’s posture visibly slumps in response. She remains quiet.

David doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Instead, he pulls up his sleeves and begins cleaning up her dirty bowl. He sets out a towel under her drying rack, wiping the excess soap from the base of the sink. 

Once that’s accounted for, he tops of Stevie’s wineglass with the stuff he brought - making a very prominent point to pour out the faint remnants of the cheaper bottle down the drain and sets it off to the side for recycling. It was less than a proper glass, really.

He hears a light huff of a laugh from behind him, causing him to smile.

With his own glass in-hand, he sets Stevie’s down, taking the empty chair across from her. Even still, nothing is said as she stares at the dark liquid in her glass. It’s just the two of them sitting in somewhat comfortable silence, taking sips of their drinks until David decides to get up and pour them each another.

“Where’s Patrick tonight?”

David nearly snorts. “He’s sulking at his apartment over Romanian marble and the fact that Ronnie officially hates him.”

Stevie gives him an odd look. “What does that even mean?”

He shakes his head, swilling his wine. “Nothing. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

Stevie just mutters a dejected, “Sure,” and picks at a loose string hanging from her sleeve. 

The apartment goes silent again - it’s a trend tonight, and David thinks he’s okay with that - the only real sound coming from the buzzing of Stevie’s old refrigerator every so often.

“Fuck him,” David states. It’s sharp, it’s a little biting, and Stevie pushes her brows together when he says it.

“I mean, you already did,” he adds, earning another half-hearted laugh from his best friend. “But fuck him.”

She sniffs, eyes trained on her hands in her lap. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“I’m not going to say a bunch of fluff to try and make you feel better because, let’s face it, that won’t help.” She nods and David continues. “So, if you’re fine with it...I’ll stay over tonight, try and distract you or something.”

She scrubs at her cheeks, disrupting tear-stains and still nodding. “Thanks, David.”

His smile grows just a bit wider, the dull knot of an ache in his chest starting to unravel itself. 

He grabs his bag then, tossing it onto the unmade bed. David begins taking out various creams and cleansers, a jar containing the under-eye serum he loves so much, and a bottle of lavender toner.

“Go wash up,” he nods toward the bathroom.

Stevie stands wordlessly, gathering everything up in her arms. When the door shuts behind her and he hears the water running, David begins tidying up again.

He starts with the bed; straightening out the fitted sheet and fixing the comforter. He fluffs the pillows and drapes a chunky knitted blanket that’s been thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch onto the bed.

It’s right about then that David spots the script for Cabaret. It’s written in big, bold letters across the front. His mother had mentioned in passing something about it and a “courageous and sturdy woman like our dear Stevie.”

His heart squeezes in his chest at image of his mother handing the script to over to Stevie. It makes sense why she came here now.

He’ll ask her about it tomorrow. For now, he places it on the kitchen table. 

Save for the very dregs, their glasses from earlier are empty, so David takes to delicately washing them out and setting them upside-down on a dishtowel. He makes two cups of tea, steaming and ready by the time the bathroom door swings open again.

Stevie comes out fresh-faced and dewy, her flannel now bunched-up in one hand. 

She hitches a thumb over her shoulder. “I left everything on the counter if you want to use it.” 

David hands her a mug. “In a second. But, uh...” He picks up a tattered novel from where it sits on her nightstand, smirking. “What’s this?”

Stevie rips it from his hold, swiftly shoving it into a drawer and hip-checking it closed. “It’s a book.”

“A Scandalous Kiss,” David recites coyly, “Sounds hot. Where the hell did you pick that up? A pharmacy?”

“I’m borrowing it from Gwen. She wouldn’t stop raving about it when I was in the café last week, so I’m borrowing it from her.”

David blinks. “Yeah, I don’t know who that is.”

“Gwen,” Stevie repeats. “Bob’s wife.” When David shrugs at her, she tosses her flannel onto a chair.

“I’ll be out in a few,” he says gently, offering a much softer smile to which she returns. 

“You’ll be out in more than ‘a few,” she calls through the door, and despite the congestion in her voice, her wit is still there.

The seals from the unopened products he’d handed her are still scattered around the sink, so he dumps those into the trash before moving on.

David hastens his way through his nighttime routine, knocking off about half the time it normally takes so he can get back to Stevie.

Abbreviated version done, David lines the products up in Stevie’s mirror-slash-medicine cabinet. He thinks about organizing them by step for her, maybe going through it all with her tomorrow morning if she’s up for it, but brushes off the notion.

Stevie’s curled-up on her side atop the covers, her back to him, when David emerges. He takes this opportunity to slip into a pair of sleep pants and a tee, tucking his things away by the foot of her bed.

As David comes around to her side of the bed, Stevie’s shoulders are shaking ever so slightly.

He lets out a quiet sigh, sitting carefully by the bend of her legs. Stevie has her arms wrapped tight around her pillow, her eyes distant and puffy from what David can make out from his angle.

“Hey.” He gives her thigh a firm rub. She only sniffs in response.

He lets out a breathy “Oh” sound and stands again, repositioning Stevie so she’s under the covers and tucked-in tightly. He lays the knitted blanket over her shoulders and, with a tentative hand, brushes the hair from her face.

Stevie turns just enough to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed. 

David offers a half-frown, one that says, “I’m here for you, I care about you, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the truth.

“Sorry,” he hears her say once the lights are off in the main part of the apartment and the only source is coming from the lamp on her nightstand.

He’s laying with her now, matching her position. She looks so small in her huddled form, and David wants nothing more than to hold his best friend close.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

There’s a long pause before Stevie says anything again. “I feel really, really stupid.”

He lets a beat pass. “You’re not, though.”

She hums. “It just sucks.” Stevie heaves a deep breath, a gurgling sound coming from somewhere deep in her throat. “I thought that it was actually going somewhere...and it wasn’t.”

“Not that it’ll really make you feel any better,” David starts carefully, repositioning himself on the pillow, “but I’ve been in that boat countless times. You get over it. But it does really suck. And it really fucking hurts sometimes, too.”

Stevie’s lips quirk downward on one side. She pulls a hand out from where it’s still wrapped around the pillow to rub at her eyes.

“You really didn’t have to come tonight.” She says it so softly, as if she’s trying to convince herself that David coming here was nothing big.

But he sees right through it. “I wanted to.”

He reaches over to shut the light, a metallic click echoing out. When he turns back to face Stevie, she’s staring at him sadly, eyes still glazed-over.

David lifts up an arm as incentive for Stevie to wriggle over to him. She sets her head on his chest, nuzzling as a hiccuping sob releases itself. David links his arms at her back. 

She settles sometime after that, going deathly still, and there’s something about the way she lays there that lets David know she’s knocked-out cold for the rest of the evening.

She’ll be emotionally hungover in the morning, he knows that for a fact - he’s been there himself, Stevie’s even seen it.

But for now, she’ll sleep like a rock. A small, dark-haired rock shaped like his best friend whom he loves. He really, really loves. He hopes that’s enough for her.

David presses a kiss into the crown of her head, one hand coming up to brush through her hair. He breathes in the familiar scent of Stevie’s shampoo, it comforts him.