‘I’m gonna just, um, hit the restroom real quick and then I’ll come back...’
Pushing a little too forcefully, Patrick jumps when the solid old wooden door judders against the wall.
As the door swings back into the frame, he finds himself in front of the sink, gripping the cool porcelain. Breathing in, and out. Trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest; his fingers clutching the edge of the sink.
he doesn’t feel the same...
Shutting out the harsh brightness of the fluorescent strip light, Patrick closes his eyes, drops his head, pulls in another long, slow breath. How could he have got it so wrong? But that hug. Snapping his head up, Patrick opens his eyes. The fear stares straight back at him from the mirror.
Rippling through his body, the heat from that touch flares once more over his skin, scorching him under his shirt. He can’t have got that wrong. Hands rubbing against his back. Caressing. They hadn’t pulled back; David hadn’t pulled back.
‘Oh, god.’ Pulling in a sharp breath as his stomach drops.
Patrick got it wrong. He’s over thought it; the fresh air, the view, he’s let it all lead him down the completely wrong path. David Rose doesn’t feel the same. Grasping the faucet, Patrick thrusts his hands under the full flow of cold water. He could get over it; he had to get over it.
Shaking off the clinging drops, he rubs his hands quickly over his face, heat of his cheeks stinging under the cold slick of water.
It's a friendly dinner with David, and Stevie. Friends.
Ignoring the tight desperate knot in his heart, Patrick turns from the mirror. Two strides to the door. Slowly pulling it open, he closes his eyes, breathes in, pushes down that lightness, that spark, shutting it away. Just friends. Patrick forces his feet out of the restroom, back into the restaurant. Trailing tiny pieces of his heart behind him.