"END GAME" - ᴍᴀʜᴏᴍᴇs.

060. post it

Kylie slowly opened her eyes, taking in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. She was immediately struck by the sight before her - Patrick's head rested peacefully on her chest, his body still wrapped protectively around hers as they lay tangled in the sheets. His face, usually so full of life and warmth, now wore an expression of deep sadness, even in his sleep.

Her heart ached as she recalled the emotional turmoil of the previous evening. The way Patricks whole body had shaken with his sobs, and the gentle rocking motion and hushed words she'd used to comfort him. As she carefully extracted herself from beneath Patrick's comforting weight, she pulled her phone from the nightstand, trying not to disturb him further. The faint glow of the screen illuminated her features, casting a soft light on her face etched with concern and empathy for the man she loved.

Her thumb hovered over Brittany's message, bracing herself for the inevitable details of the funeral arrangements. The date - April 29th - leapt out at her, a reminder that this somber occasion would coincide with her own birthday. A wry smile tugged at Kylie's lips as she pondered the irony. Randi had undoubtedly chosen this date intentionally to provoke a reaction from her sons girlfriend. Little did she know that Kylie rarely made a fuss over her birthday, finding it harder to get through each year, each birthday without her dad served as a reminder that she'd gone another year without him.

Gently, Kylie traced a finger along Patrick's defined jawline, her touch as soothing as a lullaby. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, revealing those mesmerizing green orbs clouded with lingering grief. He let out a soft sigh, nuzzling deeper into her palm as if seeking solace in her presence.

Kylie's heart swelled with love and compassion, her fingers continuing their tender caress across his cheekbones. She whispered softly, "Shh, it's okay, baby. Just rest for a bit longer." Her voice was a gentle melody, weaving a cocoon of tranquility around them both. Time seemed to stand still as Kylie watched Patrick gradually drift back under the veil of slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She sat perfectly still, her hand never leaving his face, providing a comforting warmth that seeped into his very soul. Minutes ticked by, marked only by the soft ticking of the clock on the bedside table. Then, ever so subtly, Patrick stirred again. His eyelashes lifted, revealing those striking emerald orbs once more, still glassy with unshed tears. Groggily, he lifted his head, his gaze locking onto Kylie's face as he blinked away the remnants of sleep.
"Hey," she murmured, her voice a gentle purr as she continued to stroke the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

With a tender touch, her thumbs brushed lightly over the creases etched into his cheeks by sorrow.
"Do you want me here with you today, or do you want some space?" she asked softly, her voice a symphony of care and understanding.
At her words, Patrick's grip on her tightened reflexively, his hold almost desperate. He shook his head against her skin, a negative response clear even without looking at her face. "Stay," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

The plea in his tone cut through Kylie like a knife, slicing straight to her heart. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in this state.
"Okay, baby," she promised, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

Moments passed in silence, punctuated only by the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they breathed in tandem. Finally, Kylie broke the quiet, her voice carrying a hint of trepidation.
"Brittany texted."
Patrick didn't respond, his face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply as if to commit her scent to his memory. Kylie waited, giving him time to process the news, before asking hesitantly, "Do you want me to talk about the funeral yet?"
A subtle nod against her skin was his only response, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Kylie's heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and lost in his grief. She swallowed hard and continued, "It's on the twenty-ninth. At St. Mary's - near your old elementary school."