TDM - OCTOBER 2020

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing baseball outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

OCTOBER 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, a cartoon pack of cigarettes and accompanying cigarette dancers prance around a black and white pumpkin patch, joined by dancing skeletons, ghosts and witches as a cheerful little earworm blares: ”Thirty days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, thirty days til Halloween—“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD. Over the course of the week, your neighbors will come by unannounced, each with a new homecooked meal to welcome you to their cozy little side of town. Meatloaf, potato salad, lamb chops. Gelatin molds — lots of gelatin molds. Someone even comes by to drop off a gelatinous yellow lump of pineapple, green peppers, celery and yellow cheese swimming in a soupy mixture of sour and whipped cream. “It’s my aunt Myrna’s recipe!” they gush once they drop the casserole tin into your hands, proceeding to rattle off every ingredient. Well, at least you won’t be starving anytime soon. When you bring it back in to your kitchen - and its cheery wallpaper and its floral patterned Pyrex dishware, you and your new...family(?) all stare at the cheese salad, the gelatin, the curiously frosted meatloaf spread. A smorgasbord courtesy of the insistent generosity! Who will take the first bite?

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

You can only avoid the cheer and the neighbors for so long, even as you sit inside enjoying all the amenities of your new home. The television can only turn its volume up to five, after all! One bright and sunny Saturday, the weather crisp and clear, news broadcasts and reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show are drowned out by the music in the neighborhood. Eventually it’s too much to bear — you simply must put on your shoes and go discover the source of that infernal racket.

Why, it’s the block party! Haven’t you seen the invitation — with instructions — sitting in your mailbox, silly? Wear a badge so everyone on the block can know you’re new and welcome you to their extended family!

Well! Each neighbor was supposed to set up a table with snacks and drinks and entertainment on their front lawn. Carter Mayhew, one of your Robbie neighbors, has a whole ring toss obstacle course set up for boys to play with, and his wife is cheerfully and blandly instructing a group of girls on jump rope rhymes. Colorful streamers hang from every lamppost and mailbox, balloons and party favors galore. Like you, there are even a few newcomers to Santa Rosita that are caught just as unaware of this event — though others are being welcomed in by husbands and wives and children, caught in conversations about building decks and the upcoming Halloween festivities.

Before you can decide if returning home or joining the party is your choice, a plate with chips and dips and yes, more gelatin is shoved into your hands and a party hat snapped on to your head.

“The guest of honor has arrived! Come and meet your neighbors, neighbor!”

---

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

Life falls into a peaceful haze for the next several days. Dull, unassuming, tranquil. As the month drags on, the spirit of Halloween begins to manifest in Santa Rosita, from the pumpkins people start putting out on their doorsteps to the smiling faces of paper skeletons pressed against their windows. And then, towards the end of the month, something terrible happens. You hear it first through word of mouth, rippling through Santa Rosita like a wave, dark murmurs accompanied by sad sighs and downturned eyes. Soon, you start to read about it. Grim business, they say. A tragedy. How could something like this happen. People stop talking about it by the end of the week. Best just to forget about it. Every day, that cigarette commercial comes on. It’s impossible to escape it. And every day, the number of days in the song changes, counting down. ”Thirteen days till Halloween—” “Eight more days til Halloween—” “Three more days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween…”

---

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

October 31st. It sneaks up on you whether you like it or not. When dawn breaks on Halloween day, things are as serene as they’ve ever been as men do yard work, raking leaves as their wives bake fresh pie and cookies in the house, the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple and pumpkin wafting through the neighborhood on chilly October wind. There’s a smile on every child’s face as they skip off the school bus in the afternoon, running into their houses to get their costumes ready. As it begins to get dark, the residents of Santa Rosita start lighting their jack-o-lanterns. One by one, little balls of light flicker to life on every porch and doorstep, jagged smiles grinning in the dark. For the entire night, nobody blows the candle inside their pumpkins out. It’s a tradition, a very old one, and traditions are just another way of saying rules. And Halloween in Santa Rosita, as it turns out, lives and dies by the rules.

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

Halloween isn’t just for the kids, although they certainly make up the bulk of who you’ll see out and about on the streets. Walking through Santa Rosita, your neighbors are as generous with handing out treats as they are with handing out gelatin molds and pot roasts, and they don’t discriminate. Adults are received just as warmly as children; the worst one can expect is a quirked eyebrow if they show up to a house without a costume.

Apples, packs of gum, homemade cookies. Chocolate bars, nickels, popcorn balls. Your neighbors hand out all sorts of treats, most of them homemade. The Robbies are no exception, and it’s their treats that seem a bit more high quality than most, some of the candy they hand out being obviously expensive, brand names. The good stuff. They drop each treat into your bag with those same pleasant, mild expressions and too-tight smiles you’ve grown used to in your short time here.

Eventually, as everyone winds up doing at some point in the night, you decide to start digging into your treat bag to sample some of your well-earned goods — maybe in the comfort of your home, maybe outside on the streets. And that’s when the fun begins.

Maybe you bite into metal, the razor sharp end of a blade embedded into the apple or candy bar you’ve picked out burying itself in your gums, or splitting your tongue. Maybe it’s a needle, impaling itself straight through the roof of your mouth or a cheek. Or maybe it’s nothing that obvious. Maybe the realization that something is wrong comes moments after you’ve devoured that chocolate bar or cookie, the bitter aftertaste of rat poison hitting the back of your throat along with bile and the rest of the contents of your stomach as they rise up and out of your mouth.

Or maybe you’ll bite into plain, sweet chocolate or fresh fruit. That’s also part of the surprise. You really don’t know what you’ll get until you start eating.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

At ten o’clock, all the television sets in the neighborhood turn on, blaring to life right in the middle of that omnipresent cigarette commercial. The volume begins to rise of its own accord as your television starts to pick up interference, bursts of static squealing amidst the rising, screaming chorus of ”HAPPY HAPPY HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN!”

Breaking through the static, garbled and tinny, a child’s voice cries out.

“Can’t— I can’t hold them— back— Pumpkin— don’t blow the— out—”

And just as quickly as it cut in, the voice cuts back out. Commercial jingle notwithstanding, you’re alone once more. But not for long.

The doorbell rings. You can see them outside from your window: costumed children. Their masks and clothes are grimy and ragged from the muddy, slimy water they’ve been decomposing in for over a week. When they come to your door, squelching wetly as they shamble up the porch steps, they ring the bell or knock, as all polite children do. If you don’t let them in, they’ll find their own way, always by force. And once they find you, all they can gurgle in their reedy, waterlogged voices is, ”Trick or treat.”

From there, they attack.

With superhuman strength and speed, they tear and rip at anything they can get their hands on — clothing, skin, muscle, face, eyes. Being short and small, despite their strength, they're at a distinct disadvantage. They can even be thrown off, with some effort. But they don’t stay down for long, and attempting to hurt or mortally wound them only stalls them for a few moments, if that. How can you kill something that’s already dead?

Some in the neighborhood are willing to try and find out.

The only houses they seem to ignore completely are the ones with lit jack-o-lanterns still outside. They’ll loiter outside these houses, staring straight ahead at your door or window like they can see exactly where you are. But sooner or later, they’ll pass by and move onto the next house.

As long as the candles in carved pumpkins stay lit.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's first TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to December 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper.

If you would like to have Halloween content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

With regards to the dead trick-or-treaters: you may NPC them however you'd like, but keep the details we've listed in their prompt in mind. They are supernaturally fast and strong, will ignore houses as long as they have a lit pumpkin on the porch outside, and will try to enter each house the moment the candle in the pumpkin goes out. Additionally, they can't be killed, but they can be momentarily stalled by injuring them. By November 1st, 6AM, they will disappear the moment the sun comes out.

---

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Comments

WEEHHHHHH

[roseapothecary]

[ As usual, Patrick fits against him perfectly. Holds him perfectly. Smells exactly right, even though he's missing the cologne that David had picked out for him so painstakingly and insisted he wear all the time. But there's also a difference - this time there's a trembling Patrick's arms that's never been there before and David can't clutch him hard enough in return. He'll be as steady as Patrick can't manage right now.

Because David, too, is quickly doing the math now that knows Patrick is here - has been here all this time - and putting together the torture that it must have been for him to wake up married... to the wrong person. David clears his throat and swallows because he has to stop crying. He has to stop. Right now. Because it's his turn. ]

No. [ Pulling back, a little breathless, just so he can hold Patrick by his sweet face. ] No, no. No. Never.

[ Kissing him once, twice, on the cheekbone, on his brow, everywhere, because it hasn't even crossed David's mind yet that they're probably not supposed to here, just out in the open like they are. He doesn't care. Couldn't care less. ]

I thought I was just having the weirdest dream ever. For.. for a while I did. I don't know anymore. [ He's trying to talk and wipe away his own tears and the ones that have trailed down to Patrick's chin and none of it is going well. At least he's smiling now. He even chokes out a breathless laugh. He's just so relieved. ] I'm-- I'm here now, okay? Okay? [ He nods, over and over, needing Patrick to look at him and agree. Whatever else happens, they have each other. Even here. ] Always.

cries in patrick

[buttonface]

[ Patrick's marginally more aware than David is that they're out in public, that it's 1961, that if anyone sees them kissing in the street they might get a whole lot worse than some weird looks. He also, in this moment, doesn't care. He's just desperate to kiss David, to hold him, to convince himself that he's here, he's real, this isn't just a dream. They bump noses in their sloppy attempt to press kisses all over each other's faces, and Patrick chokes out a laugh, hands twisting in David's shirt. ]

Always. [ He blinks, wet lashes brushing his cheeks - oh, he's crying too, that makes sense, that explains why David's thumbs are wet as he strokes Patrick's cheeks. But David's smiling, and Patrick smiles back, a lag before he notices David's emphatic nodding and mirrors it, trying to settle his own emotions enough to reassure him. ]

I'm not a dream. [ He knows that much. Dreams don't have feelings, dreams don't lie awake at night in bed next to the wrong person and stare up at the dark ceiling and feel so horribly empty inside. He reaches a hand up to cup David's cheek, brushing his thumb over rough stubble. He can't look away. ] I just - David, I'm so happy to see you.

me, a liar: i only want to play fluff with them 😭🥰

[roseapothecary]

[ David loves that half-desperate laugh of Patrick's, the one that escapes like a hiccup and always seems to surprise him, and it makes David's heart flutter to hear it now. It's the sound of relief catching up to his husband and he loves it. ]

I know, I know. I know. [ He's swallowing hard and trying to agree. He's also biting down on his own mischievous smile that's already threatening. ] In my dreams you wouldn't be wearing a pair of creased wool-blend slacks.

[ As if David can talk. He practically looks like Patrick. Even his hair doesn't do what he wants it to with the products available to him here. Patrick on the other hand, David can't help but notice, wears the 1960's well. Very well. ]

Me, too. God, me too. [ He feels almost lightheaded, he's so happy. David's mood has never changed so hard, so fast, and it isn't like he's unacquainted with being moody. ] What.. what happened? To you, I mean? When you woke up here? Was it just like...

[ Just like what happened to me? He gestures behind him weakly at 'his' house. He's a little afraid of the answer and he doesn't know why. He's also squeezing Patrick's shoulders with both of his hands again in agitation like he can't let go of him. Should they go somewhere? David's house (even though he would never, ever think of it as his house)? It was finally dawning on him that they were still standing close by his mailbox on the side of the street. Right out in the open. ]

Let's- let's just go inside, o-okay?

LMAO...why fluff when they can suffer

[buttonface]

These are way nicer than any of my normal clothes, David.

[ But he's smiling as he says it, not bothering to try to hide it - he couldn't, anyway, not with the way his face hurts from grinning. It just feels so good, so right to have David here, dragging his fashion choices and biting back his own smile like he can deny having emotions at all. He's so ridiculous and Patrick loves him so much.

He knows better than to even try to answer the deluge of questions - it's just too much, way too much to try to go into right here and now, not when the answers...well, they're certainly not going to make either of them feel better. But he hesitates, all the same, glancing at the house David gestures to - bland, cookiecutter, nowhere David Rose would ever choose to live. ]

Can we? I mean, um. [ He can't quite do it, can't make himself say the words is your wife home. He feels sick to his stomach, a little, just thinking about it, thinking about David forced into the role of suburban family man, wearing suits and reading newspapers and living here. ] Is it...okay?

[roseapothecary]

[ For a few stupid seconds David doesn't realize what's made Patrick pause, but when those brown eyes flick to the house behind him he feels what he's sure is his heart breaking a little bit. It makes David more determined than ever to fix this. Somehow. He's going to make it better for Patrick, because he can't stand to hear that tone in his voice. ]

Yeah. Yes. I think so. [ He's not actually sure, but he knows that at least the house is empty. His kids left for school two hours ago and David has no idea where his wife is. He shudders even thinking that sentence. He's in no hurry to talk about her in front of Patrick, either. ] Come on.

[ He pulls away and threads his fingers through Patrick's to lead him, back across the yard and up his tacky front steps, to the door he'd left wide open. In smarts even worse now, entering this ugly suburban hulk with Patrick, since he's thinking about their cottage and the foyer they should be lingering in together. Their foyer in their house. Not... whatever the hell this is. ]

Avert your eyes from all... this nonsense... [ He flaps his hands at the carpeting and wallpaper and decor. It is what it is and he's forcing himself not to care. Caring would be far scarier. None of this is really his, no matter what the drones of this town tell him. ] ...and come here.

[ Because he has to hug him again. He has to. They've literally never been apart for so long. The moment David has that realization he also has to say it out loud. ]

I missed you so much. I've never had to miss you for so long. Let's... [ Mumbled into Patrick's shoulder. ] Let's not do that again, okay?

[buttonface]

Okay. Yeah.

[ He's not about to argue, not when he wants nothing more than to get inside and have at least a few blessed moments of privacy with David. Patrick feels like he hasn't been able to be himself since he got here, and having his husband here helps so much, but...he still feels exposed out here. Like they're on display.

But he grips David's hand tight, neither of them willing to let go of the other even for the short trip across the yard. The house itself is...well, about as bad as he'd expected, nearly indistinguishable from the one Patrick himself had woken up in (or any other along the street, for that matter). He lets his eyes travel around the space silently, trying and failing to imagine David living here. It's painful, in a way even seeing him live out of a motel room hadn't been. At least no one was trying to pretend the motel room was more than it actually was. Like the Roses really belonged there.

He falls into David's embrace without protest, cradling him gently as if he could scoop him up and carry him away from all of this. ]

I missed you too. [ Missed him doesn't begin to cover it. He swallows hard, resting his chin on David's shoulder and rubbing his back gently. ] It's...it's a deal. Never again.

[roseapothecary]

[ Patrick has always known just how to touch him; how to make him feel cared for and protected and supported by just an embrace. Even in the middle of a nightmare he somehow manages to do it again and David is greedy for it.

The sigh he releases into his husband's neck is long and warm and full of so much longing. It's almost impossible for David to pull back again, but somehow he manages it. The weight of his heart in his chest can't be ignored and, as usual, he needs to talk. ]

This is all like a sick joke. Whatever this is. [ His hands are immediately busy running up and down Patrick's arms in his impossibly ironed dress shirt, touching him incessantly, fingertips lingering on his belt. ] Where.. where did you get put? Close?

[ He sounds like he's swallowing a bag full of coffee grounds as he says it and his voice waivers noticeably as he squeaks out the word close? ]

It's.. it's like... some Hitchcock movie premise or something, right? Something the Twilight Zone would come up with? Are we being punished, do you think?

[buttonface]

Two doors down.

[ Which normally would have sounded like nothing at all. They'd lived much further apart than that for most of their relationship. Now, he feels like he might as well have said "on the moon." There's no such thing as being close enough to David, right now, and even when he pulls back Patrick can't stop touching him, resting his hands on his waist even as David restlessly runs his hands up and down his arms.

But his expression hardens at the word punished, and he shakes his head. He can't believe that. He can't. ]

No.

[ Lifting his hands, he cups David's face between them, forcing him to meet his eyes. To hear him. ]

This isn't a punishment. I don't know what it is, or why we're here, but...we've done nothing wrong. Okay? You've done nothing wrong. And we're gonna... [ He laughs, a little desperately. ] We're gonna get through this, okay? We're together now, remember?

[roseapothecary]

Two...

[ David has very much the same thought: so close and yet so impossibly fucking far. The moment Patrick reaches for his face David is blinking at tears again, biting at his lip because he always feels a little weaker when Patrick gets protective. He's always loved how Take-Charge Patrick can make him feel taken care of. But they've never been put to the test like this before. ]

Oh-- [ He chokes out half of a laugh through his tears and rubs discreetly at one eye to keep an offending tear from spilling over. Then he forces a smile. ] I've done plenty wrong. You of all people know that.

[ He's referring to no one thing in particular and his voice is a little shaky, but David feels like he has to get himself together. Falling apart, especially now that Patrick is with him, isn't going to help anything. Even he know that, so he just nods emphatically when he's told to remember. He will. ]

O-okay. Okay. [ He kisses him again, an affirmation, and then stands there clutching Patrick's shoulders like he has no idea what to do next. Because he doesn't. ] Well. We know I've proved I'm very bad at escape rooms, so. I can't imagine a bigger one is going to go any better. [ He's joking, and he's smiling nervously, but David sounds more afraid that he's ever been. ]

[buttonface]

[ He has to laugh, ducking his head and shaking it softly. Okay, fair. David's done plenty wrong, and Patrick's not perfect either. But he can't believe that they've been thrust into some kind of heteronormative, suburban 1960s hellscape as a penance. He just can't. ]

No comment.

[ But he can hear the fear in David's voice, can see the way his eyes dart nervously back and forth even as he tries to smile. His expression softens, and he strokes his thumb along his husband's jawline, trying to soothe him. ]

Hey -

[ Of course he's afraid. Patrick is, too, though much less so than he had been an hour ago, when he'd really thought he was alone, that there was nothing stopping him from being trapped in the role this place had created for him. Now that David's here - everything's changed. Everything. ]

Hey. David. It's gonna be okay. I promise.

[roseapothecary]

[ If anyone might have been able to soothe David right then it would, of course, have been Patrick, and in truth, he does a pretty good job of it. David feels completely present for the first time since waking up here, and as scary as that is, as long as he's with Patrick, does it even really matter where they are?

It does, of course, but David is trying his very hardest not to freak out. Again. ]

Mmm. [ He's still doing a lot of nodding but he isn't crying anymore. He turns his head to press a kiss to Patrick's hand and closes his eyes, trying to collect himself. ] As long as you promise.

[ But when David hears a car pull into the driveway outside he startles like a rabbit, body flinching in a little on itself and he immediately grabs for Patrick's hand. He does not want to explain anything to his 'wife' (since he certainly hasn't bothered to in detail before now) or deal with any of this, so he draws Patrick quickly down the hall and through the house so they can exit through the back door.

Once he slides the door closed he turns to Patrick again, agony clear on his face. ]

Are we-- are we even going to be able to be alone? [ It feels like they've gone back in time (in their relationship, not just reality) and David is starting to get frustrated on top of distressed. ] I don't want to live here with her, can't we just... [ But he looks around the two of them, out of words somehow. He just doesn't know. ]

[buttonface]

I promise.

[ He'll say it as many times as David needs to hear it. He doesn't know how, exactly, but it'll be all right. He'll find a way to make it all right.

There's the sound of a car in the drive, and Patrick reacts when David does, immediately letting his hands drop and pulling back as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. He feels instantly guilty, but if David notices he doesn't say anything, just grabbing his hand and pulling him out the back door. ]

I don't - I don't know. [ He's shaken. It does bring back memories of their early days back home, but back then Alexis walking in on them in the motel, or Stevie walking in on them in the store, had been an annoyance. Mildly embarrassing at best. Here...He keeps glancing back at the house, terrified that someone's going to open the back door and see them there and...

He doesn't want to think about it. ]

We can go to - to my house.

[ "His house," although it still feels wrong to call it that, worse to call it that while talking to David - "my house," as distinct from "your house," when they should be one and the same. He still can't tear his eyes away from the back door. ]

It's - it's empty. Come on.

[roseapothecary]

[ He'd felt the way Patrick had jumped away from him in the house but it's all such a scramble for David that he doesn't know what to do. He hasn't had to behave like he's ashamed in so long that he hardly remembers the feeling at all and it's left his heart beating like a hummingbird's. He's even sweating a little. He hates that, but maybe Patrick won't notice.

But good, okay, yes. Patick's house is good, although his stomach sinks and his expressive face falls to hear it phrased that way. Two entire houses between them. Weird I Love Lucy twin beds and strangers instead of their own bed in their own new home. Together. ]

Y-you're sure?

[ Still, anything is better than standing out here, waiting for his assigned housewife to pull back the curtains and see them standing on the patio. He leads Patrick to the back gate but lets him take over from there while he casts short, paranoid looks around the two of them all the way to Patrick's back door. David is disgusted to see that it looks almost identical to his own. ]

God, there's no escape, is there?

[buttonface]

Yeah.

[ His answer is quiet, but assured. His - wife - is apparently just as lost here as he is, and while she and Patrick have been painstakingly polite to each other, she doesn't seem any more eager to play house than he is. Small blessings. They've dealt with the situation mainly by avoiding each other, her spending most of her time out in town, while Patrick sticks to the house and yard. A man staying home all the time has gotten a few comments from the neighbors, which he's responded to with vague comments and smiles (and hurrying back inside as quickly as possible).

But it's a routine: their "children" off at school, his "wife" out doing her own thing, and Patrick has the house to himself during the day. Thank God. He leads the way back behind the houses, grimacing in agreement at David's assessment. ]

We'll find one.

[ They have to. They'll...move away, find a better life, do something. He unlocks the door, ushering David inside and firmly locking the door behind him before walking the perimeter of the room and closing the curtains. He hates doing it, hates having to do it, hates what David must think of him for it...but he doesn't want any surprises. ]

Okay. That's... [ He doublechecks the curtains, lingering longer than he needs to, somehow ashamed to look David in the face.

Your parents know about me. Right?

Here he is again, hiding David away from the world. Like he's something shameful. He adjusts a corner, still looking away. ]

That's, uh, we - we should be good.

[roseapothecary]

[ It isn't that there's real, tangible tension between David and the 'wife' that's living with him - it's more that he hasn't even been treating the predicament as truly real before Patrick had appeared, and communication has never been David's strong suit. But his husband is nothing like him in all of the best ways, and the moment they're inside and he starts drawing the curtains, David is quickly reminded of another way that they're different.

At first, David doesn't move or even say anything. He just watches, waiting and biting his lip, feeling the little shiver of a chill start to settle over the room as the sunlight is shut out, window by window. But then Patrick doesn't turn to face him when he's done and as usual, when it comes to what his husband is feeling conflicted about, David just knows. He doesn't have to ask or guess. He knows what Patrick is reliving. How much all of this is already costing him.

And it's breaking David's heart.

Deceptively strong (he just doesn't like to lift things, okay?) arms close around Patrick from behind and David settles his chin onto his shoulder, just kissing his neck and holding him for a long few seconds. He squeezes. He knows. ]

I love you. [ He says it with complete confidence. Complete surety. Because it's the one thing he does know, here and anywhere else, and it's the one and only thing to say. ] I love you so, so much. No matter what, okay?

[ David sighs into him and doesn't let go, ready if he's needed. He still needs to whine just a little, though. ]

But I do miss my rings. [ Patrick can probably hear the pout in his voice. ]

[buttonface]

[ He's not expecting it, and he starts a little when David comes up to him from behind, before leaning back with a little sigh. For all that David can be dramatic and self-centered, for all that Patrick's gotten used to assuming the role of running interference between him and whatever minor inconvenience threatens to give him a panic attack, he's also strong, and compassionate when he needs to be, and this is exactly what Patrick needs right now.

He laughs, despite everything, sliding his hand over David's where it rests on his ribcage and tracing his too-bare fingers. ]

I'll buy you new ones.

[ Commission them, learn how to blacksmith and forge them himself if he needs to. He tilts his head back, just relishing this moment, this tiny respite of peace in his husband's arms. ]

I love you, David.

[roseapothecary]

[ David just nods. A lot, a bit like a bobblehead (the way he might have stuttered if he was still babbling), but he's just soaking in the quiet moment as much as Patrick is. Ironically, all the little things get to David. Big things? He can mostly tackle in stride. He's been tested in that way already, even if this particular challenge is completely new.

It's horrible enough that he knows he can't stand out here, that he has to dress the same as the other tethered suburban men or risk painting a target on his - on their - backs, but to have Patrick torn away and to be missing his rings as well just hurts like a twist of the knife.

But that thought also makes David perk up suddenly, just a little, and he detangles himself from Patrick to spin him around. ]

Hey, hey. Here. Take this. [ He twists off the traditional little gold band that he'd woken up wearing here and hands it to Patrick, holding his hand palm up afterward. ] Now give me yours.

[buttonface]

[ He goes reluctantly, not wanting to pull away, but turns around obediently at David's insistence, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Oh. It's stupid, probably, but his heart actually skips a beat when David presses the ring into his hand, and he nods, hiding a smile as he slips off his own ring and hands it over. ]

Okay. Yeah. [ It's a generic gold band, no replace for David's bespoke engagement rings, but - it's good. It's enough. ] How do you - how do you wanna -

[roseapothecary]

[ He loves that little questioning look that Patrick gives him and he can see the trust in it as the other hands over his ring. David draws their hands together with the rings inside them at the same time as he leans in to kiss him, lingering because this feels important. This feels like something he has to do. ]

You wear mine, okay? [ He turns Patrick's left hand over and slips his own assigned band onto his ring finger, raising it to his mouth for a kiss when he's finished. ] And-- and I'll wear yours?

[ It feels like the best he can do in the moment, but he wants each time that either of them glances down at their stupid new rings, while suffering without each other on top of it all, to be a way to think of them. To be reminded that they're not alone, instead of only reminded of the terrible predicament they've found themselves in. ]

This way... this way we still win a little bit, r-right?

[buttonface]

Okay.

[ He smiles, ducking his head, studying the ring - David's ring - on his finger. It's a pretty good fit, but more than that, it feels...right. Even though they're practically identical, it changes things, to be wearing the ring David had given him and not the one he'd been assigned by some unknown power here.

Carefully, almost reverently, he takes David's hand and slips his own ring onto his finger, and takes a moment just to gaze at it, to memorize how it looks there, before glancing back up at him. Just looking at him, expression soft and open, nothing but pure love and affection there, until he can't take it any more and surges forward for a kiss.

Breaking away, he murmurs against David's mouth. ]

I love you so much.

[roseapothecary]

[ David could swear that with that look alone, his heart gained the ability to survive here just a little bit longer. He had never, ever questioned whether Patrick truly cared about him, not even when they'd made their few little missteps in the beginning, but he knows that if Patrick feels a hint of what he feels, they're going to be able to survive.

As always, David melts into the kiss that Patrick initiates, arms falling around his shoulders in the comfortable grip he defaults to, the fingertips of both hands carding into his husband's short brown hair and dragging slowly over his scalp. Despite everything that's happened David doesn't think he's ever been more in love, and when Patrick pulls back to tell him something similar, David nods desperately and responds between kisses: ]

So much. So much. Like, how all the female leads love Hugh Grant.

[ So much that David doesn't care that they're in some strange house with other strangers living in it, at risk of being caught should one of those strangers decide to come home - his kisses move from Patrick's lips to his chin to his jaw, and then finally his neck, getting all the more desperate and sucking as David goes. He's greedy and needy and it's showing. ]

[buttonface]

[ And this is exactly why he loves him. He laughs, cut off abruptly by another kiss, and then he's tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut as David trails his way down his jaw, to his neck...

And suddenly Patrick flashes back to getting caught in the back room at the store, to the hickey on his neck and buttoning his shirt up all the way to hide it. He groans, wanting anything but to stop now, but his hands find David shoulders and he gently pushes him off, hating that he's doing so the whole time. ]

Wait - wait - we can't.

[ He keeps his hands on David's shoulders, keeping him close as much as holding him back, real regret in his eyes as he shakes his head. ]

Everyone'll see, David, you know we can't.

[roseapothecary]

[ Patrick almost never turns him down, so when he's pushed back David looks so earnestly crestfallen that for a second it probably looks like he's intentionally trying to make Patrick feel guilty with his expression. He knows it isn't fair to be hurt in front of him about this - he's right and it isn't his fault. Patrick has always been more responsible. More able to deny himself.

But god, it still hurts right now. ]

Like... like at- at all?

[ There's the littlest tremble in his voice, as though there are certain answers he's just not prepared to hear. ]