Patrick's Personal Card

Patrick studied the sleeping boy with sympathy, he looked frail and the white locks of slightly wavy hair together with a pointed chin gave him an almost elfin appearance. "How old is he?"

"Seven." At Patrick's surprised glance, the blond man smiled. "Yes, I know. He looks much younger, but that's partly because of his heart condition. But Vibeke, his mother, was tiny in size too, and Michael looks very much like her, except for his eyes." This time the sadness was much more pronounced, the broad shoulders slumped and a small sigh escaped. Without thinking Patrick reached out and put his hand on the muscular arm near him; the past tense didn't escape his notice. No need to ask about the reason why this man had no use for a Valentine card.

A large warm hand suddenly covered his, and Patrick looked up to meet intense blue eyes which were clearly grateful, but also contained another emotion that confused him. "Anyway, we have to be back at the hospital at two and hear the result. So you'll have to excuse me, if I'm a bit distracted. I haven't even told you my name, sorry about that." A wry smile appeared and his hand turned Patrick's sideways and gave it a firm squeeze. "My name is Peter, nice to meet you." The pronunciation of his name was slightly different to the English equivalent.

Somehow Patrick managed to reply. "Hi Peter, my name is Patrick, nice to meet you too. And you're most welcome to stay here and relax. I can call a cab for you, when you have to leave for the hospital. I'm afraid I don't have a car, so I can't offer to drive you there." He returned the handshake and expected Peter to let go, but the warm hand still held his. It felt good, and maybe Peter needed the comfort of connecting with another person, even if it was a complete stranger. So the least Patrick could do was to offer whatever support and sympathy the handsome man would accept.

Wait a minute, where did that thought come from? And why did Patrick get an image of hugging Peter, of holding him tight while the taller man sobbed on Patrick's shoulder, of kissing his cheek and whispering comforting words in the ear hidden below soft golden locks. As both men let go and sat back in their chairs the vision faded, but Patrick felt so flustered, that he jumped up and took refuge in the standard British tradition for awkward moments. "How about another cup of tea?"

Peter nodded, "Oh yes anything rather than the horrible brown fluid that the hotel and the hospital pretend is coffee." He made a disgusted face, then smiled. "Actually, tea tastes much better in England than at home, don't know why." The two men kept up a casual banter which slid into relaxed chatting until the time approached for Peter and his son to leave.

As Patrick got up to phone the cab company, he couldn't help asking, "What are you doing after the meeting? Are you going straight back to Denmark?" He had the feeling that they were staying for the weekend as well, though nothing specific had been said.

The blond man shook his head, "No, we're just going back to the hotel. I'll mail and maybe phone a few people, depending on the prospects. Then we'll probably just have a meal there before Michael goes to bed. Tomorrow and Sunday we'll try to see some things in London, like the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum." Patrick took a deep breath, and before he could chicken out, he made the suggestion.

"Why don't you come back here? You can use my computer and phone, and maybe Michael would like to help me unpack the Easter bunny and decorate an egg to take home." Somehow he knew that Peter didn't want his son to overhear those conversations, and he felt certain that he could distract the boy. "We can get a meal from one of the local restaurants and eat it here or go back to my house." The blond man's face brightened, and this encouraged Patrick to go on. "I have Saturday and Sunday off, and if you like I can go with you to the museums. My dad and I used to spend hours there, but I haven't been back for years now."

It was strange, but the thought of going to places that reminded him of his parents didn't make Patrick cringe. All he could think of was how much he liked spending time with Peter and how he wanted to show Michael all his favorite exhibitions, even if he couldn't talk directly to the boy about them. Patrick knew he was attracted to Peter, but that wasn't as important as the feeling that this man might become his first genuine friend. Someone he could confide in and talk to, and who maybe needed a close friend too.

At least that was how Peter came across to his special sense. As someone who welcomed Patrick's offer, both the spoken and unspoken one. It didn't matter that he was straight; they were compatible in so many other ways. No matter what they spoke of during that long weekend together, they either had similar tastes or were intrigued by the different perspective. Obviously a lot of their attention was on Michael, and in a way that was helpful too. It kept Patrick aware that Peter was off limits romantically.

Even so he couldn't help indulging himself in the harmless fantasy that they were a couple out with their young son. The boy was delightful in his appreciation of everything he saw, and he even started to say a few English terms and phrases. It turned out that Michael actually knew many English words, courtesy of various computer games as his father said with a grin. He was just too shy to talk, but when Patrick patiently read out the signs by the exhibitions, Michael would often repeat the words he knew. Peter translated back and forth, and the whole experience was one of the best times in Patrick's life.

He was aware that he should be careful about the crush that he was developing, but he told himself that he could deal with it after the two Danes went home. He would get over the infatuation, and Peter and he would be able to be good friends. After all, they wouldn't see each other that often, since they lived in different countries, but they could stay in touch by writing and other means. Peter had already asked for Patrick's mail address, and they'd exchanged business cards with the necessary information.

Whenever Michael needed a rest, often accomplished with a nap on his father's lap, the two men would talk or just sit quietly on a bench, in the Museum café, or wherever they happened to be. The one thing they didn't discuss was the issue of Michael's condition. When the two Danes returned to the card shop, all Peter had said was "There's hope." Patrick had given him a spontaneous hug, which the larger man returned briefly. Then they both turned to focus on the boy who'd immediately gone over to the large box on the other side of the room.

He'd giggled and pointed at the two long ears sticking out of the wrapping, and as Patrick had hoped, the unpacking of the huge Easter bunny and all the related decorations captured Michael's attention for the next half hour. After that Peter had joined them and Michael laughed himself silly at his dad's clumsy efforts on decorating an egg. The boy had painted two eggs himself, and both of them admired Patrick's three beautifully executed shells. But the happiest moment was when Michael gifted the two men with his eggs, after a short whispered dialogue with his dad. "Den er til dig, far. Patrick, dis is for you."

It was obvious that he'd asked his dad for instruction, and even if the th sound of this was too difficult for him, the meaning was clear. Both of them had thanked Michael profusely, and Patrick immediately set his egg on a small stand on his work table. He'd given Peter a similar stand and asked him to explain to Michael that he spent most of his time here and would be able to look at his lovely gift every day. Michael beamed with pride and Peter added that he would display his egg on the desk in his office. After this the boy took a nap on the sofa, while Patrick tidied up and Peter made another call.

No persuasion was needed to get his two new friends to visit Patrick's house. Peter had hesitated briefly, but Michael asked, and when he understood what Patrick offered, his happy expression had sealed the deal. They bought a meal on the way and took turns carrying Michael, who was still tired and could only walk for short stretches. Luckily the Underground was only ten minutes' stroll from the shop and at the other end, after six stops, Patrick's small dwelling in the row of terraced houses was only five minutes away.

After they'd eaten, and Patrick had shown them his house, Michael settled in front of the TV with a Disney movie. When it was over, he soon fell asleep with his head on Peter's leg, and the two men talked for a couple of hours. By then it was almost midnight, and when the blond Viking came back from a short trip to the bathroom, he suddenly looked like he had rowed nonstop across the North Sea. Patrick felt guilty for keeping him awake, even if Peter had given no sign that he wanted to leave. He told himself that was the only reason for his offer. "Why don't you stay the night? I have a guest room with a double bed, where you can sleep."

"If you're sure, Patrick? I have to admit I'm beat, and I don't like to wake Michael up and take him out in the cold, even if we get a cab." The relief and gratitude in the handsome man's voice and eyes made Patrick want to hug him again. But he distracted himself with getting out clean bed linden and towels and making up the bed. The guest room was chilly, so he put the electric blanket in the bed and switched it on as well as the heater in front of the grate. When he got back to the living room, Peter had taken Michaels sweatshirt and trousers off and wrapped a blanket around him.

"If you wait five minutes, the bed should be warm. I'm afraid the room is cold, and it will take some hours before the heating has made up for it." Peter nodded and followed Patrick to the guest room to be shown how to switch off the heating devices, and where the extra blankets were.

"At least you have duvets," he said with a tired grin, "I hate beds done with just sheets and blankets, always makes me feel confined and uncomfortable." Patrick couldn't help smiling; his parents had felt the same after taking a trip to Scandinavia before he was born. So he'd grown up with duvets, the thick warm version for winter and the light one for summer. Just another small instance of similarity that made him feel in tune with the hunky Dane. Before he could go any further down that road, Patrick said good night.

The next morning Michael had been thrilled with waking up at Patrick's house instead of the hotel. He chatted non-stop while he stuffed his face with scrambled eggs and toast, and Peter was clearly delighted to see his son also drink a whole glass of milk as well as orange juice. Patrick even managed to coax the boy to eat some fruit, which he'd cut into small pieces. Michael had watched as Patrick sprinkled the fruit on his yogurt, and even if he was skeptical at first, he ended up enjoying the snack.

While Patrick cleared away the breakfast things, he could hear the two Danes have an intense discussion. Michael was clearly begging and cajoling his dad for something he wanted, and Peter seemed to be gradually losing the fight. When he left the table, came up to the sink, and started drying the dishes, Patrick couldn't help smiling from the warm feeling inside him. To distract himself from the silly domestic dream which he must not harbor, he casually asked. "What was that about? Michael seemed quite upset."

Peter sighed. "He wanted me to ask you, if we could stay here rather than at the hotel. I tried to tell him that we shouldn't impose on you like that, but in some ways he's very much a spoilt child. He rarely asks for anything, so I hardly ever say no." Patrick fought to keep the huge grin down and not give away the excitement he felt. His dream of domestic bliss with these two lovable guys could come true, even if it was all platonic and only for the weekend.

"You're more than welcome to stay here, Peter. Actually, you'd be doing me a favor too. I've felt so lonely in this house, ever since my parents died, and having someone to visit is wonderful. And if you're here, it'll be easy to take small excursions over the weekend and come back when Michael gets tired." He tried to think of more arguments that would sound reasonable and not too needy, but suddenly Peter laughed. Patrick's stomach lurched when the larger man gave him a sideways hug with a strong arm around his shoulders.

"You're an amazing guy, Patrick. I can't believe you're coming up with reasons whyyou should be grateful tous for invading your home. But I won't deny that we'll be happy to accept." He squeezed Patrick one more time and strolled over to the door to say something in Danish to Michael. The boy had gone into the living room to watch TV, and from his yell of delight there was no doubt how he felt about the news. The sound of running feet alerted Patrick who managed to turn around just in time.

Michael leapt into his arms and hugged him hard around the neck. Patrick couldn't help grinning like mad and his eyes got damp, as he put his arms around the thin body and looked over the boy's shoulder at Peter. The tall man was smiling back, his blue eyes intense and happy as he leaned against the door frame and spoke to them. He alternated between English and Danish, and both Patrick and Michael agreed to his plan. So Peter went to the hotel to get their stuff and check out, while his son watched cartoons, and Patrick sat in a chair with his laptop, planning their outings and humming happily.

That was how the weekend began, and it only got better from there. By Sunday afternoon Patrick was totally enamored by the whole concept of playing happy families, and even if he knew it would end soon, he refused to think about it. After spending several hours at the Science Museum they returned to the card shop, so that Patrick could prepare for the week ahead. While he dismantled the Valentine's Day display, Peter sat on the sofa with Michael on his lap. They were talking in low voices and looking in the catalogue with Valentine card outlines.

At some point Michael fell asleep, and Peter offered to make tea. Patrick was grateful for a break, and the two men sat in the two chairs opposite the sofa and looked at the sleeping boy. Neither of them seemed to know what to say; Patrick dreaded to bring up the topic of the impending departure of the two Danes, and Peter seemed to be struggling with his own inner contemplations. Finally Patrick couldn't stand the silence anymore, and in desperation he went over to his safe and got out the book of finished Valentine cards.

"I saw you looking at the catalogue, so I thought you might find this interesting." Perhaps it was a breach of confidence towards his customers, but Patrick told himself that Peter would never met any of them or be able to talk to people in his shop about this. They looked at some of his favorite examples, including the most recent one of a gay couple who'd made Patrick both pleased and envious with their obvious devotion and love. The other reason it was one of his favorites was that both men had commissioned a card from him without knowing that they'd had the same idea.

They'd come into his shop on this very day a year ago, two days after Valentine's Day, laughing and exited, with their arms around each other, to tell him they were getting married. "You're the first to know," John had gushed, giving Patrick a warm hug. "Thank you so much for the adorable cards you made for us, we'll treasure them forever." His lover, tall, dark, quiet Anthony, had looked at the bubbly redhead with amused affection, but his pat on Patrick's shoulder conveyed just as much gratitude. He complimented Patrick for not letting on that he'd already been approached by John, probably his profession as a lawyer made Anthony appreciate client confidentiality.

Peter smiled as Patrick told the story, and he seemed to be very intrigued by the book and the concept of personal cards. "I tried to explain the idea of Valentine cards to Michael, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Somehow he's convinced that if I just buy a card from you, I'll meet the love of my life. If he saw this book, I think he'd be adamant that I should ask you to make me a card." The blond man obviously tried to make a joke out of the notion, but Patrick could tell there was more to the story. He knew he shouldn't, but his feelings kept tripping him up, and he went along with the idea.

"So if I was going to make a card for you, I'd have to know what the love of your life should be like. Tell me what you want. What is your ideal woman?" Patrick knew he was heading for a broken heart, but he didn't care. It was impossible and utterly crazy, but he'd fallen in love with Peter. It was no good trying to deny his feelings, but he wasn't going to stupidly confess his love to the man next to him. He wanted Peter to be happy, nothing more. He'd make a Get Well card for Michael, and if the boy wanted a Valentine card for his dad, Patrick would create one with an unselfish hope of future love for this wonderful man.

He'd been lost in his own thoughts, but suddenly realized that Peter was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. The blond man shifted his gaze to the notebook in Patrick's lap, the one he used to write down the wishes of his customers and the ideas their conversations sparked. The blue eyes came back up to meet the soft brown orbs, and Patrick was caught like a deer in headlights, unable to tear his eyes away. Peter opened his mouth, hesitated, but then he shrugged and seemed to think 'what the hell'.

"The love of my life? What would the love of my life be like, you ask. Well, first of all he would probably be a man. A kind man, with a generous heart, accepting and honest and true to himself." The silence that followed this statement was profound and only broken when Michael sighed and moved a bit under the blanket. Both men looked at him, but the boy was fast asleep and soon stilled. When their eyes met again, the unspoken question was obvious. Peter was first to look away, a slight flush on his cheeks.

"Yes, I have sex with women, but I don't fall in love with them. Michael's mother was a casual fling, she told me she was on the pill, but that was just one of her lies. In the end she paid the ultimate price, and I was left with a baby to care for when I was just twenty-five years old. And no matter what she did, I can't hate her or be angry with her, because she gave me Michael. My son that I love more than anything in the world, probably my one chance of being a dad, even if it may only last for a limited time."

The expression on Peter's face was at once proud and bitter. "So as you can probably imagine, I've spent the past seven years working to support us after I finished my degree. And of course having a sick child who is in and out of hospitals every five months fucks up your social life, not to mention going out to meet potential boyfriends. But it didn't prevent me from dreaming about falling in love, and thinking about what I wanted." Suddenly the intense blue eyes were back on Patrick's face, and the heated gaze made his mouth go dry.

A small bubble of hope grew inside him, getting larger at every word from Peter. "I want a man who is faithful and devoted, the way I intend to be. Someone who needs me, who cares about me and Michael, and who'll let me care for him. A partner I can share my life with, both the joys and burdens, but also the daily stuff like cooking and washing the dishes. A sweet, clever, beautiful man who laughs at my silly jokes, likes the same things I do, and who tells me interesting facts about people and the world around him."

Before Patrick could react, Peter was kneeling next to him and had taken hold of his hands. "So tell me, Patrick. If I wanted you to make me a personal card that asked you to be my Valentine, would you take on the job?"