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vincent-sinclair-deserved-better · 2 years

Text

Let's Be Alone, Alone Together

You're having a weird day and feeling down, your secret admirer reaches out to try and comfort you

Characters: The Patron x Reader

Words: 3038

Content warnings: Loneliness, maybe allusions to a panic attack towards the end? I was just going with the flow, the reader-insert was just doing whatever they wanted.

divider by firefly-graphics

The screen of your laptop was emitting a dim, blue-ish light, the video frozen where you’d paused it some time ago. You’d noticed your attention drifting off, constantly losing track of what was going on, so you had decided to take a moment to finish your train of thought, which had since been forgotten. Muscle memory had you reach for the mouse and move it when the screen went dark, displaying the message that it was going to shut off due to inactivity. It wasn’t like you needed it, you weren’t even looking, but force of habit didn’t care.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and started the video again, having to go back quite a bit in order to find something you remembered seeing. Yet it wasn’t long before you caught yourself staring off into space again, the video just indistinct background noise, incapable of pierce the fog in your head. Nothing seemed to get through to you, no matter what you tried. You hadn’t been able to remain focused on anything all day, instead being stuck in that weird space of mental dullness and exhaustion, with the faint sensation of some stinging emotion lingering beyond the surface.

As much as you loathed this emotional limbo you were in, you didn’t want to go down that road either. Before you’d realise what was happening, you’d find yourself falling down a rabbit hole you really did not wish to explore.

Pressing the spacebar to pause the video again happened with hardly a thought, and you absentmindedly reached for your phone as you stood up to get something to drink. You unlocked your phone and opened your go-to social media app on instinct, the action almost being a Pavlovian response to the feeling of your phone in your hand. And again, without you being consciously aware of it, your brain picked up on a small symbol in the notification bar. You’d received a text message.

For a moment you just stared at the screen in confusion. Who would send you a text? Pretty much everyone you knew used some kind of messaging app. It was most likely just some kind of spam, so you put your phone down and took a glass from the cupboard. Up until now, you hadn’t even noticed how thirsty you were, but as you were standing in the kitchen you drank a whole glass of water before getting your go-to comfort beverage.

Only when you were back at your desk you decided to check the message.

And almost drop your phone.

“Good evening, my dear muse,” the message started, immediately making apparent who had sent it. There was only one person who called you his muse. Your secret admirer. Or, “The Patron”, as he called himself. But you had no idea how he’d gotten your number. Then again, he frequently entered and left your home without leaving any traces, and seemed to know... pretty much everything there was to know about you.

You took a deep breath before looking down at your phone again, “I apologise for contacting you in such a direct manner without prior notice, but I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve appeared as if something was bothering you today. Since I care for you and your well-being, I simply wanted to inquire about how you are feeling and whether everything is alright. Yet, I am aware that I might not necessarily be your first choice of person to discuss such matters with, and will not be offended if you prefer not to respond. Respectfully, The Patron.”

In spite of yourself and the strange headspace you’d been in all day, you found yourself smiling. His choice of words was unusual for sure, but it had something endearing. At first the anonymous notes and gifts had been unsettling to right-out terrifying, there was no way to just ignore the inherent sense of vulnerability that came with knowing someone had been in your home against your will. But aside from that, he had been nothing but a gentleman. Always respectful and kind, at least in his notes. And maybe you were being naïve, but you genuinely did not feel threatened by him.

He made you feel seen.

And not just in the literal sense, though the fact that he was most certainly watching you did probably help. If there was anyone you could talk to, why not the mysterious faceless stranger who already seemed to know more about you than anyone else? Plus, he’d asked. You wondered if texting his “muses” was something he did regularly or if you were special.

“Good evening yourself,” you began, the ability to form sentences disappearing right as you began typing. Was this appropriate? To be so casual? You certainly didn’t want to write like him, it would feel pretentious and for all you knew he might take it as you mocking him. Still, did he expect you to be more respectful? What exactly did his question entail? How much did he want to know? How long had he been watching you?

While you were trying to keep up with your thoughts, your phone buzzed. Another message.

“Apologies again, you appear agitated which wasn’t my intention. Please, feel free to just forget what I said.”

You deleted what little you had written and typed without thinking, “No no, it’s alright, really. I’m just overthinking.”

“My response, I mean,” you added, “Or, well, how to respond.”

You knew that you weren’t particularly eloquent at the best of times, but right now you felt like a bumbling fool, “I’m sorry, I’m just not good with words sometimes.”

“You have nothing to feel sorry about, my love, you are doing just fine.”

Oddly enough, his response actually managed to calm you. Alright. He didn’t think you were stupid. And apparently you cared about getting his approval. Which was something to think about... later. Maybe.

Staring down at the words on your phone, you realised that you’d probably gone through more actual emotions within the last ten minutes than the entire rest of the day, which made you snort.

“Well, that’s good to know. And to be honest, the same goes for you. Nothing to apologise for, you’re only being nice, checking in on me and all,” you typed, trying to just write what you were thinking, just like you normally did. These were text messages, not some extravagant letter or formal essay, “On that note, you’re right about something bothering me. Or having bothered me? Me being weird today.”

You were still attempting to decide what to write next when he replied, “Thank you for telling me this. Making you feel uncomfortable or stressed is the last thing I want. Am I correct to assume that you do not mind conversing with me in this fashion then?”

You snorted and felt another smile form on your face.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you wrote, and then took a moment to add, “Actually, and I know this will probably sound silly, but I think it’s kind of nice to... get to talk to you, I guess? As fun and intriguing as a mystery can be, having something more substantial and real is comforting too.”

Comforting?

There it was, that stinging feeling buried under all the nothingness that had occupied your head all day, the unwanted emotions you’d tried to banish into a corner where you didn’t have to face them.

Admitting that you appreciated the comfort your secret admirer’s attention brought had left a moment of vulnerability, just a split-second of acknowledging the fact that there was a desire to be comforted. The faint stinging had found a path through the fog and grown into a sharp pain in your chest, wiping the smile off your face and leaving you with the urge to cry.

The buzzing of your phone pulled you from the vortex of emotion that was threatening to drown you, your Patron saving you once again, “My love, are you alright? What is wrong?”

“I’m just. Lonely,” you typed and hit “Send” without another thought, “I haven’t felt anything all day because I didn’t want to deal with my negative emotions but-”

You let yourself fall back in your seat, trying to calm your breathing. He replied within seconds, seemingly fully focused on the conversation and, therefore, you. Yet, his words weren’t too reassuring, “Is there no one you can contact? Surely one of your friends would agree to talk or meet up with you.”

“Yeah, it’s just... they all got lives. Work. Uni. Hobbies. Everyone who lives close by is so busy I don’t want to bother them, the rest lives at the other side of the country or halfway across the world. I don’t even want to do anything, just, I don’t know, hang out. And I can’t really demand someone to take time out of their day to do nothing with me,” you wrote, fully aware that your friends would probably call you out on your bullshit but still unable to change your attitude.

“Well, now you have this number and my explicit permission to message me whenever you feel like it, although I can’t guarantee that I will always be able to respond right away. I promise that I will get back to you as soon as possible,” came his response and you wondered for a moment what kind of stuff he got up to when he wasn’t watching you. Beyond all the secrecy he most likely was just a normal man. But then again, you didn’t really care. To you, he was The Patron. Your secret admirer. Who reached out to you when he saw you having a bad day.

“So... do you have any plans for the night?” you sent, and immediately regretted it. Way to make things awkward and make yourself seem nosy. You didn’t want the conversation to die down, but you didn’t want to inconvenience him either, “I don’t want to keep you from doing stuff or something.”

You hoped that he didn’t have anything to do though. You didn’t want him to leave yet, to be left with only your thoughts to keep you company.

The screen lit up with his response, “As of now, I do not have any plans, nor did I intent to go anywhere. However, if you ask me to leave, I will.”

“Please don’t,” you wrote, once again faster than your brain could keep up with, sending the message without second thought, “I just... I don’t want to be alone.”

It was harder to admit than you’d expected, and the real issue wasn’t even letting him know – the difficult part was to really and fully admitting this vulnerability to yourself. Wanting, needing felt like a weakness. Being this affected by a simple emotion felt like something you should be ashamed of. The judgemental nature of society was ingrained in your very being, and self-acceptance was hard.

“In that case, I will stay,” he replied and you sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” you typed, “If I could I’d hug you. To be honest, you’re probably lucky that you got some distance from me, I’m so touch-starved I’d be sticking to like a limpet.”

Another painfully honest and awkward message that you hoped wouldn’t upset him or make him feel uncomfortable.

“Considering that, so far, I have been the one to watch and follow you, I do think it has become apparent that I feel somewhat... attached to you. Even if only on a mental level. Not because I don’t want to meet you, but because I cannot bear the thought of scaring you off by becoming too overbearing. Should you wish to see me in person though... that could be arranged. The choice is yours.”

He wanted to meet you. He cared about you and felt attached. He didn’t think your comments were weird or uncomfortable. He also was a stranger and technically stalker. Yet, he had never made you feel threatened. And you were feeling quite lonely.

“Okay, um, if you don’t mind me being kind of a mess right now... could you just maybe knock on the door or something? If you just appear somewhere I might have a heart attack,” you wrote before you could overthink your way out of it. If this was how you were gonna die, so be it. Death by loneliness. Dying for a hug.

“Of course, my dear. I would never want to risk that.”

You felt like, if he were the type to use emojis, this message would have some kind of smiling or laughing one behind it. It probably wouldn’t be long before he’d arrive so you rushed to at least brush your hair and wash your face, but that was all you managed. The knocking sounded firm and strong, but still measured. Taking one more calming breath, you reached for the door and opened it.

The person before you certainly was a sight to behold, and you couldn’t help but stare in amazement. The first thing you noticed was that he was tall enough to almost hit his head on the doorframe, which you then discovered was due to the quite unique boots he was wearing. Shiny, black leather reached past his knees, though you did not allow your gaze to linger too long, that matched his equally shiny gloves which went halfway up his upper arm. His white shirt was buttoned up all the way, and silky, waist-length black hair fell over a green coat.

“It’s really you,” you said, internally cringing at the profundity of the statement.

He chuckled in response, the sound alone making you want to squeal, and replied, “I would certainly hope so. I don’t know who else I would be.”

You realised that you couldn’t make out his face, it seemingly being covered by some kind of dark material, but you decided not to care, “Uh, well then, come in.”

The scent sandalwood lingered in the air as he walked past you, and every fibre of your being wanted to just throw yourself into his arms. As if it wasn��t enough for him to be kind and attentive, he also had to have a nice voice and smell good. Obviously.

Closing the door behind him took less time than you would have wanted it to because now you were faced with the decision of what to do. Sure, you’d “threatened” to hug him, but he probably did not actually want that to just happened. You’d at least have to ask. Which would be awkward. What were you even doing?

“My love, are you feeling okay? You seem tense. If you changed your mind-”, he began but you interrupted him before you could stop yourself, “No no, it’s okay I’m alright, just nervous because I guess I kind of didn’t expect this to even happen and I’m not good with people and I don’t know what to do because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or regret having come here or get annoyed or end up feeling disappointed because I’m just. I’m just... me.”

You felt him look at you despite being unable to see his eyes and watched him slowly extend a hand towards you, like he was approaching a scared animal and trying not to scare it, “I think that it could help you to sit down for a moment, if that is alright with you?”

You just nodded, grabbing his hand like a lifeline, and let him lead you to the living room. Maybe it should have been disconcerting how well he knew the layout of your home, but at this moment you were relieved. Breathing was hard and your heart was racing while your mind refused to focus. The softness of the sofa cushions barely registered to your brain, and it was only when you felt the cool leather of his gloves clasping your hands that you were able to somewhat centre yourself.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what- I mean why, or-”, you started, voice shaky and rough, but the Patron – your Patron – stopped you, “There is nothing to apologise for, you just got a little overwhelmed, it happens. What matters is that you are back here now, alright? I’ve got you; you are safe.”

He handed you a glass filled with water and steadied your still shaking hand while you emptied the whole thing, but when he offered to refill it, you shook your head. Instead, you hesitantly reached for his hand and gently tugged, trying to get him to sit next to you. He watched you for a moment, seeming to be thinking, before lowering himself onto the sofa next to you. Without another thought you let yourself fall against him, clinging to his arm before he gently removed it to put it around you instead, allowing you to rest against his chest.

The fabric of his shirt was soft under your hand, and the heat of his body along with his steady heartbeat were slowly calming your nerves. His hair tickled your cheek but you didn’t mind, just closing your eyes and trying to focus on the different sensations. The weight of his arm holding you, the way his soft breath brushed over the hair on your head. The scent of sandalwood, more prominent on him than in the air, but also a hint of something citrusy, plus the smell and coffee and books. It was comforting on such a deep level, you wanted to just sink into the feeling, let his warmth envelope you, melt against him and don’t think anymore.

You felt yourself dozing off and sat up lightly and were about to apologise but the Patron was faster, “It’s alright, my sweet muse, you can sleep. You need rest.”

He was right, and you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you just returned to your previous position.

“Will you wake me so I can go to bed before you leave?” you managed to mumble, already half asleep.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” was his only response and you drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling a sense of safety and calm you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The Patron is @solmints-messyocdiary's OC

taggedy tag-tag: @bluecoolr @ace-of-hearts-and-spades @visceravalentines @probably-a-plant-thing @rottent33th @the-pinstriped-hood @cyanide-latte @goldrose-star @myers-meadow @immortal-velociraptor @devil-doll13 @shonkgobonk @darklylucid

#cylas writes #me: oh yeah I'm just gonna finish this thing from yesterday #also me: writes another 1673 words #*inhumane screeching*#i am tired now so if the ending/last third or fourth sucks - that's why #almost 12 am is late for lil ol me #i am already the ripe age of 24 after all

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