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Night has a funny way of making even the most welcoming and familiar things seem lurking and dangerous. That same twilight has an even better way of making the unfamiliar seem positively terrifying.
You were reminded of this as you walked down the street on your way to your apartment. You had been out for dinner with some high school friends in town a few blocks away. As a cat scampered across your path and into a nearby alley, you began to regret turning down their offers to walk you home.
They were all going out for drinks after the meal, but you had declined, deciding to head to bed early in preparation for your morning classes the next day. As the streetlamps started becoming farther apart, you walked faster, aware of each and every noise you heard.
A dive bar with a flickering neon sign lay a few yards ahead of you, and you could hear shouts and the muffled noises of a fight. The shouts halted, and two figures appeared around the corner. In a panic, you dashed behind a dumpster, getting out of sight. Music from inside the bar grew louder and then faded again as the men went back inside.
Heart racing, you continued on your way, even faster. You passed the little passage they had been in and heard a voice groaning in pain. For a moment, you considered just walking by. You had no idea who this person could be. Maybe the men who had attacked them were in the right. Maybe…
No, you had to help. You were training to be a doctor for heaven’s sake. Gathering your courage, approached the stranger.
He was a young man around your age. His hair was grown out and unruly. You supposed his face was handsome, but at that moment it was marred by a bruise starting to form on his left cheek and cut just above his right eyebrow, leaking a line of blood down the side of his nose. He had a hand to his side, indicating pain in that area.
“Hey,” You said timidly, staying about a foot away. “Are you alright? I’m a medical student. I can help if you’re hurt…”
“Don’t need help.” The man grunted, revealing an Australian accent.
He tried to push himself off the ground, wincing. When he stood, he leaned back against the wall for support, still holding his side. You didn’t leave, stubborn nature revealing itself in your determination to help.
“Does your head hurt? Do you feel foggy at all? You may have a concussion.” You said.
At your last sentence, a heartbroken expression took over his face.
“I’m fine.” He said curtly.
When he tried to walk past you, he began to stumble. You moved quickly, hooking an arm under his shoulder and helping him stand. Begrudgingly, he accepted the help and the two of you moved under the light of a streetlamp.
“Can I call an ambulance? I really think you should get checked out.” You said, studying him with concern.
“No. I don’t like hospitals. Besides, those assholes took my cash.” He reasoned, pulling away from you and sitting on the curb.
Looking back, what you did next was an insane and utterly stupid thing. And yet, it may have been one of the greatest impulsive decisions of your life.
“Let me patch you up. I live close by. Please, I wouldn’t feel right just leaving you here bleeding with no money.” You offered.
The man looked up at you in disbelief and what looked like a little respect.
“Patrick Verona.” He said.
“What?”
“Look, Miss. Med School, you just invited a stranger who fights outside shitty dive bars to your apartment. It’s seems fair for you to know my name.” He explained, flashing a charming smile.
“Y/N L/N.” You said, offering your hand. He took it and you helped him get back up. With that, the two of you were on your way into the night, but together it seemed a little less frightening.
Back at your apartment, you sat Patrick down on your couch. You gave him a big glass of water to drink so that he would sober up a little bit and stay hydrated. Then you bandaged the cut above his eye, deeming it too shallow for stitches.
“Who started the fight?” You asked, doing a quick concussion check.
“Well...I did. I didn’t know he had a friend at the time though.” He said.
“Oh yeah, that makes it better,” You deadpanned, “No concussion. Keep drinking and hold this to your cheek.” You said, handing him a bag of frozen peas as an ice pack.
“Do you regularly drink your troubles away and resort to violence?” You asked.
He chuckled drily. “Maybe I do. Tonight; however, there was purpose.”
You pointed to the side of his torso. “I need to check on your side…” He didn’t say anything, but listened, pulling up the hem of his shirt.
“What purpose might that be?” You prompted, gently prodding at the area that was already beginning to bruise badly.
He inhaled sharply at the contact. “You ask a lot of questions, princess.”
“Just making conversation.” You shrugged.
“What were you doing out late and alone?” Patrick countered.
“Walking home from a dinner date with friends. I left the festivities a little early.” You said simply.
“My girlfriend...became my ex girlfriend today,” Patrick confessed after a moment of silence.
You pulled his shirt back down before backing away and looking at him. “I’m really sorry to hear that...It looks like a bruised rib to me, but I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding. Take it easy and try not to fight anyone for the next week or so.”
Patrick had lost the self assured, lone-wolf expression and now wore a more vulnerable, sad look. He was slumped slightly, the change from being all broad shoulders and strength showed a kind of pain that wasn’t just physical.
You sat down next to him on the couch, looking ahead at the wall. “Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked quietly.
“Why are you being so nice to me? Most people would be afraid.” He wondered, no venom in the question, just a kind of defeated curiosity.
“I don’t really know, Patrick. I almost left you in that alley you know. Nighttime freaks me out. But I decided that I wanted or maybe needed to help you. I helped you one way, and now I’m trying to help you another. If that means not talking to me then that’s okay too.”
He was quiet.
“I was about to make some tea if you want any,” You said, moving to the attached kitchen, giving him time to decide whether or not to open up.
When you returned with two cups of steaming peppermint tea, Patrick made more room for you on the couch and gave you a soft smile. It made you open up to the idea of friendship with the rough and tumble acquaintance.
“My ex’s name is Kat. We started dating about a year and a half ago at our high school…” Patrick began.
For the next few hours, you sat and listened as he explained their, frankly romantic comedy worthy, story. Unfortunately, as most high school love stories do, theirs was broken up by distance and a need for self-discovery. Kat had gone off to Sarah Lawrence while Patrick was stuck in Seattle. His mom had made the decision to move his grandfather to Seattle with them permanently.
You learned that when Patrick’s grandfather passed away the spring before, Kat had been less than a soothing presence. For the few hours that you’d known him, you were discovering that despite his bad boy attitude, Patrick was also fiercely protective and caring with those he loved. As her absence progressed, Kat had seemed to forget that.
She had called him and ended it quickly, no explanations or apologies. Patrick was heartbroken, but not entirely surprised. The more you discussed it with him, the more he seemed to become content with the break up. He still loved her. No one gets over first love that fast, but he knew that he had been unhappy for a long few months at the end.
Eventually the conversation moved on to other things. The two of you talked about what it was like for you as a med student, and your respective childhoods, him in Australia and yours in Y/H/T. You had discussed movies, music, deep questions about life, when eventually you both drifted off, sleeping (slightly tangled together) straight through your morning classes.
That long, emotionally intimate night was the start of one of the strangest, and yet most important friendships you’d ever experienced. Patrick would appear at all hours of the day or night at your doorstep. A lot of the time you opened the door to find him bleeding, but with a huge, “can’t say no to me” smile. Some of the time he’d arrive with a bag of greasy takeout and a few free hours to hang out and quiz you for an exam or proofread your papers even though he had absolutely no clue what anything meant.
As time went on, sometimes you would appear at his apartment with a box of freshly made baked goods and a request for him to put together a new bookshelf for your bedroom or a bottle of wine and a need to sit and vent about your classes.
Cameron, who had returned from his first year of college to visit his family and Patrick (they had become close after the events of Patrick’s senior year), witnessed interactions between you two. One night you turned up, not even knocking before letting yourself in with the spare key. After introductions were made you left Patrick and Cameron to talk and went into the rarely used kitchenette to make dinner.
Throughout the evening, Cameron got to know you a little bit and watched with a sly smile as Patrick watched you talk like he could listen to no one else for all eternity. Once you had said goodnight and were on your way back to your own place, Cameron grilled his friend.
“So Verona, how long have you guys been together?” He asked casually.
Patrick practically spat out his drink. “What?”
“You and Y/N.” Cameron stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Are you crazy mate? We’re just friends.” Patrick denied, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever you say. You don’t look at her like ‘just friends’ though.” Cameron pointed out under his breath.
“What do you mean?” Patrick scoffed, trying to hide his interest.
“I mean I’ve been here for less than 24 hours but to me it seems like you’re basically married.” Cameron said.
Patrick sat on the couch, thinking. He’d known that he loved you, but up until that moment he had thought of it as the love that comes between close friends. Doubt began to grow in his subconscious about whether or not those feelings ran deeper. For the moment though, Patrick pushed those thoughts aside and steered the conversation to other topics.
Weeks later, the changing of his affection for you came to a head. He opened the door to your apartment with his key, a box of your favorite pizza in his other hand. To his unpleasant surprise, you were sitting and laughing with some other guy. His mood instantly soured, and his jaw clenched as you looked over to him with a sweet smile.
“Patrick! This is James-” You began, getting up to take the box off his hands.
He kept his grip on it, glaring at James. “Hey.” He said coldly.
The idea of you being with someone else, made painful jealousy flare up somewhere inside him. James seemed to sense that his life might be in immediate danger, made some half-hearted excuse and bolted as quickly as possible.
“Patrick what is going on-” You halted, turning to find the tall Australian mere inches away from you.
You looked up at him, annoyed. “James is in my infection symposium. We were meeting to go over notes I missed last week when I was sick. I don’t see why you had to be so rude to him.”
Patrick didn’t reply, his gaze merely flicked from your eyes to your lips and back. You fell silent, becoming more aware of the warmth he radiated in such close proximity. You’d fallen in love with him from the practically the night you met, and right then a flicker of hope that he felt the same was blossoming in your chest.
His hand moved up to brush some hair away from your face as he stared at you with a gaze of love you’d never seen before. Unable to stand it any longer, you grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull him down while you pushed up on the balls of your feet. Your lips met in a long overdue kiss that made you feel lightheaded.
That kiss was followed by another. And then another, and the two of you continued on, only pausing to breathe. Somehow you found yourself backed against the wall, legs wrapped around Patrick’s torso while he held you securely in his arms.
“The pizza will get cold…” You whispered.
“I don’t care,” He replied with a wolfish grin, holding you tighter and carrying you into the next room.