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*
David wakes up to find Patrick gazing at him. In the beginning, it took him a while not to instantly flinch away from that, and instead learn to bask in how lucky he is to have it. Now, though, they've been married nigh-on ten years, and it's as reliable and warming as the sunrise each and every morning.
"Mm, hi," David murmurs, voice hoarse from sleep. As he blinks the blur out of his eyes, he catches Patrick's widening a little, skittering away and back again, like he's been caught out. That's different. David immediately squints as his husband clearly attempts to recover from a faux-pas that David can't put his finger on yet. "...What?" he says, sharper and suddenly alert.
"Nothing!"
"Patrick."
"What, I'm just - am I not allowed to admire you?"
Despite his growing suspicion, David preens, stretching out like a cat in the bed and arching closer to Patrick in the process. "Mm, that is always allowed, honey." He ends up pillowed on Patrick's chest, and it's very nice, but the strong arms winding around him and the fingers lazily toying with his waistband aren't enough to distract him. "Okay, no, seriously, what were you looking at? As my husband, you're contractually obliged to tell me immediately if I have a zit. Every second counts in spot treatment."
Patrick's face is soft as he smooths out David's tousled hair. "I'm well aware of my legal obligations in the skincare department, David. You don't have a zit."
"Well then, what the fuck were you staring at that got you looking so guilty?! I haven't seen that look on your face since you told that customer she'd benefit from the anti-aging serum."
Patrick sighs, a short burst of air which usually means he's bracing himself for something to explode. Which is ridiculous, because everyone knows David is an extremely reasonable person, and is always measured in his responses. "Promise you're not going to freak out."
"I will promise absolutely no such thing."
Somehow while remaining perfectly neutral, Patrick's face struggles through a whole host of hesitations and false-starts, before he says plainly, "You have a grey."
David blinks. "Yes. I... I already know that. I have several. Have I stumbled into a portal to a year ago?"
"Mm, no, not there." Patrick gives his hair a playful tug, combing through the strands of silver woven through the dark. "Here." His finger brushes gently and deliberately over the tail of his eyebrow, and David frowns, making it wriggle under Patrick's touch.
"Oh."
Only a beat passes before David's scrambling out of bed and bolting to their en suite, leaving Patrick's surprised-exasperated laugh behind him in favour of leaning in nose-to-nose with his reflection. "Oh, fuck. Fuck! Fuck me!" he barks, glaring at the offending, traitorous hair. It stands out starkly from the dark thickness of the brows he's always been privately proud of. You could spot it a mile away. How did David not realise this? Did it spring up overnight?!
Slowly coming to terms with the salt-and-pepper aesthetic he's steadily growing towards on top of his head is one thing, but it took him almost a month of agonising and one horrific at-home hair dyeing experience for him to finally give up and embrace it. This is new, scary in its own right; yet another sliver of him blanching with age, yet another step from the man he's used to seeing in the mirror. Another reminder that he's finite, that there's a limit on the time he has to make all the marks he wants to.
Patrick appears behind him, shaking his head fondly. It doesn't help that Patrick's looking as youthful as ever - aside from a few extra lines around his eyes, his hair (in all places, thank you very much) is still gloriously auburn. Stupid Brewer genes.
"David."
"I'm my dad!"
"David."
"One second, honey." David rummages for the tweezers and leans into the mirror again, getting ready to pluck the bastard out.
"No! Wait, don't. Please don't." Patrick steps forward and gently turns him around, cupping his face and then smoothing his thumbs over both brows. "Keep it."
"And why would I do that?"
"It's sexy." Patrick shrugs, then gets a dangerously earnest look on his face. "I like it. I like... seeing you change. I like seeing us change together."
David swallows, blinks too many times, his eyes suddenly feeling hot and prickly. Sometimes, Patrick's attention still feels like too much, and David instinctively backs up against the sink as his husband moves in closer, insufferably gentle in the way he presses his lips to David's. From there, he kisses the little scar on David's chin gained from a fall during their move into the second RA store; then, the faint smile-lines at the corner of David's mouth; next, his crow's feet which crinkle up under the attention. Finally, he rocks up on his toes, and drops a sweet, soft kiss right onto David's eyebrow.
"Okay. Well. You're a fucking sap."
"You're married to this fucking sap."
"A questionable decision, I now realise."
"Nine years and change is a little late for that revelation, babe." Patrick grins. David's heart is so, so big. "Are you gonna keep it?"
David hopelessly fights the smile twisting his lips. "Mm, mhm, I don't think I'm fully sold. I feel like I might need some convincing re: the 'it's sexy' argument."
"Oh," Patrick says with a wicked smile, slowly sinking downwards with only a slight wince as his knees complain. "I can do that."
*