Summary: You worry your entity lover a bit too much when it's silent. He's realised that without your noise in his life it's as painful as when he lost his brother and Stormy. Then you cuddle, and he realises he worried for nothing.
𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤू ۪۪۫۫ᤢ ° 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄 ू ۪۪۫۫ᤢ ° 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄 ू ۪۪۫۫ᤢ °
Something didn't feel correct. He couldn't put his finger on it as the old mahogany creaked from the hinges, a whine of protest to being moved from it's stiff position. Only to be closed with almost a relieved sigh from the hard wood, heading up the stairs that creaked. That feeling, the unease, never relenting as his voice called out for the one thing that soothed the weariness of his soul that seemed to haunt him like a banshee. Was it Michael? Howling from the agony that was his tormented mind. No. This was different, this was from him. Why?
“My muse, I'm home.” His voice echoed around the silence, the silence usually was welcoming. A symphony of his loneliness that usually was a reminder of what type of being he was, however that changed once you stumbled into his life.
You brought joy, a feeling his chest had never felt before and the thing he loved you for the most. Your noise. The kitchen once desolate and devoid now more often than not filled with love, the occasional argument that dissolved within an hour and the sweet smell of treats: coffee, tea, cookies. Anything you decided to create that he adored to watch. Yet now, it was quiet. He forgot what this quiet felt like the past few months, and for some odd reason. It felt wrong. A hitch came from his throat as he rushed through each room, tearing apart the living room in his investigation to find you.
“Pat..? What are you doing..?” A voice mumbled, the lights flickering with relief with a sigh of the taller man's lips. Limbs wrapped around you as tension seeped away from his body. You were safe. Thank whatever beings there were above.
“I didn't mean to wake you sweetheart, just scared the shit out of myself.” He mustered through a bated breath as he pulled away, lean hands that trembled cupping your cheeks.
“Baby, I'm not going anywhere. You know that I'd rather die.” You placed your lips to his palm, giving a peck. Slowly, pulling his hands away you held them, smiling at him as his own lips curved slightly upwards.
The disarray of pillows and blankets that had been discarded haphazardly sparked creativity within your subconscious. Your eyes shining with mischievous intent, removing yourself from the being starting to gather the cushions and comforters. You set up a small corner of the couch, grabbing the man and snapping your fingers and pointing for him to sit. Which he quickly obliged, you smirked with satisfaction. You trained him so well, giggling to yourself at the self made realisation. However, you'd never say it out loud.
You sat on top of his lap, coupling your legs together and resting your head on his shoulder. Patrick always seemed to be warm, comfortable to lay one, and at some points it made you jealous but in moments like this. It was very appreciated.
“You worry too much, ya know? Like I'd let anything take me without giving it hell.” Your voice triumphantly spoke, full of confidence. Earning a quiet huff of amusement from the body beneath you.
“I'm sure you will, darling, you're very stubborn. I should know.” A subtle change of tone was definitely not unnoticed. The change from concern to solace, even when he himself was trying to not show it, there was a deep care he had for you in his weary soul.
He was thankful that you were so caring, that you were patient enough to wait for him even when his excursions took longer than a week sometimes due to their nature and the dangers that presented themselves within them. Oftentimes, leading to arguments when he returned injured, bloodied and he'd downplay it until you both cooled off and were able to speak rationally to each other. However, there was always a constant to his unstable and disproportionate way of life, and that was the fact you always waited for him.
The hazel windows into his and Michael's intertwined beings began to droop with the absentminded playing of his short dirty blonde strands of hair. Maybe this was all he needed amongst the chaos of the iteration cycle. A muse to call his own, a mortal human that somehow managed to pierce his precise planning and invite colour in his dull idle world.
And that's all he wanted, slowly falling into slumber with his arms around your back. A reassuring squeeze, more for himself than anything as he heard soft snores and breaths against his neck. Finally, peace. The world turned dark as his mind allowed rest.
