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Always behind you // Pat x Rose x J // angst, comfort, fluff.

0Summary: Pat and J have, for so very long, had a handprint on your heart. It was a protection, a mark of love and of trust, but as life takes you by surprise and catches you up in a whirlwind, those fingerprints on your life organ have begun to fade, and you find yourself grappling in the air. Are they gone? You want Pat, you want J, and you want what you had back so badly, but it’s okay, my love... look within you, and find them there, for piece by piece does a whole make.🌸💜💙💗

A/N: In true Erika fashion (because you know I can never just do one thing at a time🤣😩), I wrote this while also working on my assignment and watching 10TIHAY to help with the ambience and characterisation (J comes easily to me; I struggle with Pat sometimes and whereas I usually ask you for guidance, I obviously couldn’t on this one😅🤣). I know I only wrote for them separately the other day, but I want to give @loveletterstoledger the best of not only myself, but of my writing and of this beautiful OT3, too. I’m so sorry that I didn’t ask you before writing this, darling, but I got a hit of inspiration and I wanted to put this together for you as a sort of surprise hasdfghjk (I say “sort of” because this was alluded to in our messages👀). If you don’t like it or if you want anything changed, then please let me know and I’m more than happy to write you something else!!!!! I love you so much, darling, take care of you as much as you can!🥰🥰🥰💞💞💞

TW; emotional heaviness, crying, emotional angst, upsetting thoughts, unhealthy relationship dynamics (this part is resolved fully in the piece, the others are alluded to become continuing because love can’t “fix”, though it does ease the way!!!

Word count: 2, 548.

You lay in bed, alone.

Always.

Alone.

You grip your pillow tighter and curl into yourself, almost wishing to simply disappear. The bed is so big, and both the sides next to you are cold, empty. The sheets are untouched, the blankets are unwrinkled, and the thunderous silence echoes so loudly within your ears that there is a high pitched ringing which you would worry was tinnitus if you didn’t know any better.

But you do.

Honey, you always know better.

You sniffle and you try to sit up, but your stomach is aching and you can’t be bothered to do anything about it. You don’t want to, so you just lay back down, settling into the sheets easily. What’s the point of helping yourself? You’ll only have a stomach ache tomorrow or the day after. Emotions, when unvented, show themselves in messy and explosive ways, this you know well (better than most, one would argue) and sometimes it’s a physical manifestation which grounds you so ferociously in your seemingly empty reality even and especially when you most want to escape, to be someone else somewhere else... just for five minutes.

You sigh, a loud noise which cuts through the silence like a hot knife through butter, and you hear the weary sound, which tells untold truths of your emotional heaviness, with a numb detachment, as if you’re hearing your own suffering through another’s ears. The gesture puts a sicky lump of something in your throat and you swallow, wincing at the thickness which won’t shift, much like your mental state.

Oh, where are they?

Your beautiful, beautiful men, both of whom are so very different and yet so similar in all the ways in which they love you. You had been, for so very long, Pat’s strawberry and J’s prickly rose, among other very genuine and affectionate nicknames which the chaotic duo had for you. For J was his favourite nickname for you more so a joke initially, a comment on the fiery temper he knew you could have when the right (wrong?) buttons were pushed, eventually had it become a real affectionate name for you, so unpredictable and wild could he be.

You know not where they are.

Even if they are in the apartment with you, the three of you sharing the same roof, they’re not here with you, and that’s what hurts. They’re not here sharing the bed with you, laughing and cracking jokes or throwing popcorn at each other just to hear you giggle and half-heartedly telling them to stop it, if only because they’re getting crumbs and melted butter on the pillows (you don’t care what J says or how many times Pat jokingly backs him up just to get a rise out of you, a melted butter and sugar combination is not good for one’s hair and you don’t want it on your pillow). They’re not here to cuddle you and to rub your stomach in slow circles to help you to feel better.

In short, they’re not here.

They never are, whispers your mind. They’re gone, but I miss them so much.

For months now has it felt like they’re not there, like your love within this ethereal polyamorous relationship has been left to gather dust on a shelf. You haven’t felt truly loved by them for months, for so long that you often wonder why they still live with you if they’re not interested in you, if they’re no longer as invested in building a life with you as you have always been with them. It had been so very long since you had felt like you were a part of the relationship which you have with them. You see them around every day, you spend time with them when your separate and always so busy schedules allow for it, and on the surface does it seem like nothing is amiss. And yet.

And yet.

You are alone.

Always alone.

You roll over in bed, but the other side is empty, too, and so you turn over again to resume your previous position. There’s no point in facing the room if there’s no one there with you. Pat and J have been out all day, gone were they before you were even awake, and as the sun sank beneath the horizon, its golden rays kissing the deeper hues of orange, you had begun to think that they wouldn’t be coming home to you at all... you sighed and sank beneath the duvet as surely as the sun was continuing to do so now with the horizon punctuated with grey buildings.

With your head muffled by the duvet and by the spare pillows which had fallen over to become a familiar weight atop your head, shrouding you in total darkness (and,oh, how you could fall asleep like this were it not for the cold emptiness around you and the worry which was overwhelming you for your loves and for your place in their lives, for their places in your life), you missed the sound of a key sliding into a lock and being turned once, twice, thrice, with a deft wrist as the front door cracked open and your men came home.

Yes, they were in the apartment, but home were they not, for where you were was somewhere they were not.

For now.

Relationships took time, effort, energy and commitment. This do the three of you know well. It had not been easy for the three of you to become as you had been, as you are. Sometimes, for one reason or another (even if that reason was that there was no reason), the why was forgotten. Why one was with another, why one was engaging in a hobby, why one was. In times such as this, easy was it for things to turn from passion, love and desire, to simply going through the motions. So chaotic in the worst of ways had your life been for just over or almost a year, that all the things that brought you joy and satisfaction and love, most especially with your dearest ones, your koala and your clown, had slipped away; first Pat, and then J had followed soon after and, oh, how you missed them.

Left to your own devices are you as Pat and J toe off their shoes, leaving them unceremoniously dumped by the front door. You think you hear the metallic tinkling of keys being thrown at the nearest wall (a bowl is kept near the front door for such accessories) and bouncing off; J has always enjoyed pretending to “miss” the bowl just to make you laugh. A most beautiful sound is it and one he nor Pat ever wanted to get used to. As it is, a deep chuckle resounds through the apartment, amused is Pat, but you don’t smile.

You don’t feel anything.

You only stay where you are, with an aching heart and stomach alike, wanting more than anything for Pat and J to lay with you on the bed and cuddle just like you always used to. It’s been forever, or so it feels, since you had Pat on one side of you and J on the other. You want that more than anything. But you don’t expect it, not anymore. Just like you always do, you lay where you are and you listen to Pat and to J moving around the apartment.

And you feel nothing.

You feel nothing when you hear Pat laughing raucously in the kitchen and hear the banging of pans, presumably from J putting on a show of “cooking” for Pat.

You feel nothing when you hear J dump his purple trench coat on the sofa and faintly hear the various heavy thunks as whatever J has in there falls out of the many pockets and secret compartments which are his literal ‘get out’ clause when a bank heist or some other such illegal (but fun) thing goes wrong.

You feel nothing when you hear the bedroom door - your bedroom door - open but not close. You figure Pat will just change into some sweatpants and a tank top. Images of him dressed as such all in black with his dark unruly curls loosely tied up in a bun secured at the nape of his neck fill your mind and you do smile, now, bittersweet though it is, but oh, how it sends a cold shiver down your spine to realise that you’re feeling even a spark of what you used to feel. You can feel those emotions, you know they are there, and you want them back - you want your clown and your koala back - so much that it hurts. The smile is not full-bodied, not yet, but one day again, it will be.

All it takes is the want, and then with one small moment of reconnection after the other will the three of you fall into place. It’s you, Pat and J, and nothing else and no one else matters. When it comes to you, our darling Rose, your happiness and comfort is absolutely paramount. The mattress dips and through the duvet do you feel a large hand enclose around the curve of your shoulder. Even through the thick material do you feel heat spread strongly across the touched area, but this is not enough to identify who is now sat beside you. He is quiet, hesitant, wanting just as you are.

All is not lost, my love, is a thought which whispers across your mind, and unconsciously do you find yourself pressing into the touch, wanting more of him. Whomever he is. So attuned to you is he that you do not have to wait long to receive answers to the questions you don’t even realise you’re asking. The hand which is on your shoulder, the heat from which is still seeping into your skin, slides up to the crook of your neck and fingers playfully touch your pulse point, pressing down in such a way that it is gentle but you can’t mistake it for the duvet or your hair moving as you shift. The touches of your loves is unmistakable, for so long have you been wrapped around them completely.

“Oh, so you’re alive, then?” The tone is sassy with a slight hint of desperation, of panic and of want. You know this only because of how well you know him; anyone else would only hear the sarcasm and think him rude. The voice is deep with an upwards lilt towards the end thanks to his accent, and you shiver. My Pat-Pat crosses your mind even as you freeze while that hand pulls the duvet down, down, until your beautiful koala can slide in behind you and wrap a strong, hot arm around your waist. Plush lips find purchase on the back of your neck and you shiver once again, abandoning your beloved strawberry pillow in favour of turning around and wrapping both of your arms around your koala as you squeeze yourself into him. “C’mere, love.”

You believe that Pat is talking to you, for his lips are right next to your ear as he continues to press small kisses to any part of your face which he can reach, so you snuggle in deeper, and slyly does Pat pull you over slightly so that your space on the mattress is freed up, just in time for the bed to dip again. A hand coming from behind you slides under your head and supports you there instead of the pillow. Now do those tears threaten to fall again as you look over your shoulder at J.

Your J.

There is no sassy comment. There is no show. There is no mask beyond the painted visage. There is only J staring at you, with something deep and foreboding in his eyes. When J sees that he has your attention, he softens and his determination fades until there is nothing, until there is only room for himself, for you, and for Pat. J’s eyes tell you that he knows you. He knows you have a stomachache, he knows the thoughts in your head, and though he can’t take them away, he can be here, a silent presence amongst the screaming within you to go back, to keep you company.

Your bottom lip quivers but you have very few tears left. J and Pat don’t cuddle you when you’re very upset, but in the come-down moments like these, they are there to see you through to the conclusion of your tears. Alone you may feel but alone you are not; your loves just quite simply will not allow it. You turn back to Pat, hiding from yourself and from your loves. You just want to be held, you just want to know that Pat and J are here for you. Pat coos gently in understanding, so intuitive is he, and cuddles you as two sets of dark brown eyes meet over your shoulder. J’s hand, under your head, stays still and you feel him move across the mattress to get to you until he is completely pressed up against your back, protecting you from yourself and from the world.

But not from them, no.

Never from them.

They know you, they love you, and they will protect you and love you for always.

J’s other hand slides underneath your shirt and he begins to rub slow, steady circles into your skin, his finger pads calloused and rough and perfect for what you’re craving the most this day. He considers telling you that neither of them are going anywhere, but the silence is too comforting yet also too heavy with things unsaid; a contradiction can life and its many emotions be.

You plan not to sleep like this, but you only want to be. You want to soak in the love of your koala and of your clown, such is it that it defies all words. With some shifting, some muttered curses from Pat and falsely angry eyerolls from J (he loves it really, and you and Pat know this well), some compromise and some patience, the three of you grow comfortable once more. There are words on the very tip of your tongue, words you want to speak yet words you dread all the same, for spoken fears can come true. Instead, you are all silent, you are all sandwiched together, and you are all in love and very much committed to one another and the life which you share.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, as the saying goes, and setbacks are to be expected, but sometimes the way forward is the way back and the only way through it is through. Pat and J will forever be with you; the ring you wear is proof enough of Pat’s devotion, and J’s devotion shows itself in the way he always, always comes home to you and to Pat. You are totally surrounded by them; their scents, their touch, their genuine enjoyment of your presence, and it is not something which you have to ask for during any given moment; it’s already yours for the taking.

You lay in bed, but you are not alone, my love.

Not. One. Bit.

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