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December 23
If one thing is for certain, David Rose is not in New York anymore.
Sure, he knew that, but when his boyfriend mentioned that he and his fellow band members, Ted and Twyla, as well as their manager Rachel, were heading back to their Canadian hometown for the annual holiday charity concert, he pictured a charming Toronto suburb, not the middle of fucking nowhere. There are cows out here.
When Patrick mentioned that his hometown was a little bit of a trek after the flight from New York to Toronto, he expected a drive like the one Adelina used to take them on to the second summer house on Lake Rousseau. He was not expecting a frankly terrifying flight to Thornbridge on what was basically a remote control plane, and now this drive through this godforsaken place where the livestock seem to outnumber the people.
“I’m starting to think you’re planning to murder me and dump my body on a pig farm,” David says, peering over the top of his sunglasses at Patrick, who laughs.
“That’s weirdly specific,” he replies.
“Mm, I may have watched a documentary on Robert Pickton last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
Patrick takes his eyes off the road briefly to smile at David. It’s one of those soft, fond smiles that makes David’s insides go all soft and squishy. It’s concerning.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
David hums, pressing his thumb into his palm to try to quell some of the anxiety that’s been rising inside him the closer they get to Patrick’s hometown.
“Just one of those nights.”
The thing is, David knows he could tell Patrick the real reason he couldn’t sleep. In all the time since Stevie first dragged him to see The Creek Waders headlining at Mercury Lounge and he couldn’t take his eyes off the guitar player with the silky voice and thighs like tree trunks, Patrick has never once made David feel bad about his anxieties. But old habits die hard, and literal decades of supremely fucked-up relationships have made it difficult for David to be open about his feelings.
“David.”
Then again, even though they’ve only been dating a handful of months, Patrick can already see through David’s defenses more skillfully than he ever thought possible.
David sighs and twists the rings on his right hand.
“It’s just…I’ve never really done the whole meeting the parents thing?” he admits. Something akin to panic flashes across Patrick’s face and David hurries to add, “I know they don’t know about us”—he gestures between them—“but I’m not exactly anyone’s first choice to bring home, even just as friends.”
“You’re my first choice.”
“Okay, you can’t just say things like that when I can’t kiss you properly.” David pouts and Patrick chuckles, but there’s still something tense in his face. “What is it?”
“I’m just…” Patrick drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “David, I know my parents are good people but I can’t shake this fear that telling them will change everything.”
“Oh, honey, no,” David murmurs, shaking his head. From everything he’s heard about the Brewers, not just from Patrick, but from the rest of the band too, he’s fairly sure that there’s nothing to worry about, but he also knows that unique terror of not knowing how someone will react. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I can be just your friend for as long as you need.”
“I’m going to tell them, David,” Patrick insists and David’s not sure if it’s for him or for Patrick himself. “I want them to know. I just…I want to wait until after Christmas. Just in case.”
If it were anyone else, David would assume that Patrick was ashamed of him. But as well as Patrick knows him, David knows Patrick just as well, and that’s not what this is. Patrick has a relationship with his parents that David will never understand.
He wants to say something else comforting to assure Patrick that it’s all fine and he understands, but he spots a sign outside the car window that pulls all of his focus.
“What the fuck is that?” he exclaims, peering out the window. There’s so much to take in. The sign welcomes them to Schitt’s Creek (that can’t be the name of the town, can it?) and proclaims that ‘everyone fits in!’ “That’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen the poorly-aged casts of several 90’s b-movies at a nude foam party!”
“Welcome home,” Patrick laughs, grinning at David in the fading light of the winter afternoon.
“This is where you live? Please tell me it’s not really called that.”
“Oh no, it really is.” Patrick seems to be deriving entirely too much pleasure from David’s horror. “It’s named after the mayor’s family.”
“What the fuck,” David mutters again.
Patrick’s pleased smirk lasts until they pull into the driveway of a charming, if rustic, home with a “welcome to the Brewers’!” sign out front. There’s a wreath on the front door and Christmas lights framing the house, and it warms David’s cold, cynical heart. It’s no Christmas party at the Rose mansion, but he wonders if this just might be better somehow..
Patrick, though, is frozen in the driver’s seat, looking at the house with a level of fear David isn’t used to seeing on his face.
“What if they don’t react the way I think they will?” he asks, voice so small and terrified that it cracks David’s chest wide open. He wants to kiss Patrick, to wrap him in his arms and protect him, but he’s not sure who’s watching, so he just reaches over to squeeze Patrick’s knee.
“Then I will be here, and we’ll get through it together.”
This whole being supportive thing is new to David, but it seems to work, because some of the tension seems to ease out of Patrick’s shoulders as he offers David a shaky smile. David gives his leg one final squeeze before unbuckling his seatbelt and clambering out of the car.
David is sure he’s dreaming, or at least has somehow mistakenly ended up on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie. Mrs. Brewer—Marcy, he corrects himself—welcomed him with open arms. Literally—he was treated to the same warm hug that Patrick was, and if he’s honest, he didn’t hate it. Marcy asked no questions about why Patrick was bringing home a friend from New York, she just happily showed David to the guest room which, he noted, was directly across the hall from Patrick’s bedroom.
The whole house smells like cinnamon and vanilla and nearly as soon as his bags were out of his hands, Marcy was pressing a plate of cookies and a mug of mulled cider into his grasp. If this is what Christmas with other families is like, he could get used to it. He doesn’t even miss the reindeer room.
Now, they’re all settled in the Brewers’ cozy living room in front of a roaring fire watching White Christmas. Well, everyone else is watching the movie. David is too busy watching Patrick while trying to look like he’s not doing exactly that. Patrick looks happy, but there’s a tension in the line of his back and the way he’s absently drumming his fingers on his thigh. David wishes he could tuck himself into Patrick’s side and wrap those arms around him, the way they always do when they’re watching movies at home. He can’t do that, though, not yet, so he distracts himself by taking in the details in the room.
There’s a tree in the corner, tiny compared to the picture of the twenty-foot Norwegian pine Alexis sent him earlier, but it’s decorated with a mix of tasteful and sentimental ornaments; he spots at least two that clearly feature a tiny Patrick’s handprint. There’s a line of stockings on the mantle, each labeled with a name. Across the room, Marcy is curled into Clint’s side, exactly the way David wishes could be right now. It’s miles from holidays of David’s past, which while they had their benefits, they were far from cozy. It’s nice in a way David never expected.
By the time the movie ends, David’s eyes are heavy and none of the Brewers seem to be faring much better. Marcy gently rouses Clint from where he’s dozed off while Patrick gathers the mugs and watches them with a fond smile. David hovers, wondering if he should offer to help with the dishes or something (isn’t that what nice people do? He truly has no idea.) but Marcy shoos him off to bed.
As close to drifting off as he was on while watching the movie, once David is actually in bed, sleep proves elusive. He’s always found it hard to sleep in strange beds, at least when he’s sober enough to know better, and it’s even stranger to be so close to Patrick and not sharing the same bed. He knows it had to be this way; the Brewers would certainly raise an eyebrow at two “friends” sharing a bed, but David still misses the comforting warmth of having Patrick next to him.
A creaking sound outside his door makes him jump and clutch the blankets to his chin like a child. He’s just about to grab for his phone and text Patrick that there’s someone in the house when the door opens and David lets out an extremely undignified noise.
“Hey,” says the voice from the doorway, the voice that David would know anywhere.
“Patrick, what are you doing here?” David whispers. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Patrick pad softly across the carpet in his socked feet. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, shrugging. “Missed you.”
David shifts over in the bed and lifts up the blankets so Patrick can slide in next to him. With Patrick next to him in the bed, the anxiety that had been keeping him awake starts to ebb. Patrick opens his arms, and David tucks himself into them, nuzzling into his neck. Patrick plants a kiss on the top of his head and runs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of David’s neck. David purrs, tilting his head back, silently asking for a kiss that Patrick is more than happy to bestow.
The kiss starts sweet and slow, just a tender press of their lips together, but it’s not long before Patrick’s tongue is pressing for entry at the seam of David’s lips and ratchets up the heat exponentially. He swallows the moan that Patrick lets out when he presses their hips together.
“Honey, we can’t,” David gasps. “Your parents.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Patrick murmurs, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck. “Plus they’re on the other side of the house.”
David knows he should protest, he should say that the house isn’t that big and that neither of them have yet managed to be quiet, but he can’t manage to find the words, not when Patrick’s mouth has found his collarbone and is sucking and nipping at it like that. He can feel Patrick’s hard cock through the fabric of his pajama pants, and when he reaches down to cup him, he can’t help but smirk a little at the damp patch that’s already appeared on the front.
“David,” Patrick moans, pressing into his hand. “Please.”
“Shhh,” David admonishes, but gets a hand under his waistband anyway.
As keyed up as they both are, it doesn’t take long. Pajamas are discarded in a quiet flurry and David has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle the groan that gets punched out of him when Patrick takes him in his mouth. But not even his hand can muffle the sound he makes when Patrick does that thing with his tongue that always drives him crazy. He comes down Patrick’s throat with a gasp, his vision going grey around the edges.
When he’s regained some control over his sex-drunk body, he pulls Patrick up and kisses him hard, chasing his own taste with his tongue.
“I need–” Patrick gasps, but can’t seem to get the words out. “David.”
David shifts so he’s hovering over Patrick instead. “I know, honey. I’ve got you.”
He kisses his way down Patrick’s body, pausing to pay special attention to his sensitive nipples, laving first one then the other as Patrick writhes beneath him before continuing on. Patrick is clearly trying his best to be quiet, little whimpers and moans escaping out from between clenched teeth, but he can’t stop the cry he lets out when David takes him down to the root.
“David!” Patrick pants. “Please, I’m so close.”
And he clearly is, because it’s only a matter of minutes before he’s slapping both hands over his mouth to muffle the way David’s name bursts out of him as he comes.
“Can’t move,” Patrick murmurs after David works him through the aftershocks and climbs back up the bed into Patrick’s waiting arms.
In his blissed-out state, it doesn’t occur to David why Patrick would need to move.
December 24
“Shit.”
The word cuts through David’s sleep and he slowly blinks his eyes open to see his very naked boyfriend scrambling to untangle himself from the sheets and locate his clothes.
“Whashappening?” David slurs.
“I didn’t mean to sleep in here last night,” Patrick replies. He pulls his shirt on and leans over to press a kiss to David’s forehead. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’m sorry I woke you.”
When David wakes again, it’s to the smell of coffee and cinnamon and a sense of dread in his stomach. It takes a few minutes before he’s conscious enough to place exactly why he’s feeling that way, but when he does, he bites down hard on his lip as the mixture of shame and fear bubbles up inside him because Patrick’s parents don’t know yet. They couldn’t even manage to keep their hands off of each other for one night.
A soft knock at his door interrupts his anxiety spiral and he looks frantically around the room for his pajamas before he hears Patrick’s voice through the door.
“It’s me,” he says, and David relaxes, just a little bit. He doesn’t sound upset, so maybe it’s okay.
“Come in,” David replies, grabbing for his shirt where it’s draped over the headboard, tugging it over his head as Patrick pads into the room.
“Morning, sunshine.” Patrick gives David a terrible wink as he passes over a coffee mug. David rolls his eyes fondly but takes the mug.
“Good morning.” He hesitates, studying Patrick’s face for any signs of distress. Patrick is, in general, pretty good at hiding when something is bothering him, but David has gotten pretty good at reading him in the time they’ve been together. Still, he has to ask. “Is everything… okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” Patrick answers easily. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Um, last night?” David raises an eyebrow and gestures in what he thinks to be the direction of Patrick’s parents’ bedroom.
“Nope, we’re all good.” And Patrick’s soft smile is reassurance enough for David to take a sigh of relief. “I have to head to rehearsal, though. We need to run through the set before the concert tonight.”
“Oh,” David says, running his hands through his hair. He hasn’t even looked in a mirror and he already knows it’s going to take a minute to make that bird’s nest presentable. “How much time do I have?”
“Um, well, about five minutes.” Patrick looks sheepish. “But you can stay here with my parents!”
David groans. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“Not at all! I know they’d love to get to know you.” Patrick sidles up to David with that look on his face that says he’s about to say something that will inevitably get David to give in. “Plus, my mom is making cookies. If you stay, you can have them right out of the oven.”
“Fine,” David says, rolling his eyes fondly. “As long as there’s cookies.”
Patrick grins widely and presses a kiss to David’s temple.
“See you after?” he asks, and David nods, waving him away as he sips his coffee.
“See you after.”
He doesn’t ask about what happens if he slips up, though he wants to, because he’s never been all that good at keeping secrets. Patrick doesn’t need that added pressure when he’s about to perform.
By the time David showers and gets his hair into something resembling his usual style, his coffee is long gone and his stomach is growling. Already there are delicious smells drifting in from the kitchen and he follows his nose down the hall.
In the kitchen, Marcy is dressed in a red and green apron that says We Whisk You a Merry Christmas and the sleeves of her sweater are pushed up to her elbows as she stirs something in a saucepan.
“David! Good morning!” she says brightly, kindly not mentioning that it’s well past noon. “I hope you slept well!”
“I did, thank you, Mrs.—um, Marcy.” He doesn’t add better once your son was in my bed, but he thinks it.
“You must be starving. Can I get you something to eat? I made cinnamon rolls this morning.”
David only just stops the indecent groan that threatens to slip out. “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”
Once she has David seated at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and a truly massive cinnamon roll, she turns back to the stove, stirring while humming what sounds like the third song off of The Creek Waders’ album. It’s so sweet that David thinks he might burst into tears.
Finally remembering his manners, he clears his throat.
“So um, what are you making?” he asks.
“Rugelach!”
“I’m sorry, did you say rugelach?” David asks, nearly choking on his cinnamon roll.
“You’ve heard of it?” Marcy stops stirring and carefully pours the contents of the pan into a small bowl. “I’m sure you know Rachel?” David nods; he’s well-acquainted with Patrick’s ex since she’s the band’s manager. “She practically lived at our house growing up and I made it for her one year when her parents were out of town over Hanukkah. It sort of became a tradition after that.”
Fuck, now David is really in danger of crying. That might be the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.
“I’ve never had it homemade before,” David says softly. “I’m Jewish—well, a delightful half-half situation, but my family isn’t really the cooking type.”
“Would you like to learn?” Marcy asks, like it’s really that easy.
And maybe it is.
They spend most of the afternoon rolling out dough and layering it with the filling—apricot jam and pecans in some and chocolate and raspberry jam in the rest. David is surprised to find that it’s actually quite meditative shaping each rugelach and listening to Marcy tell stories about Patrick’s childhood. When they pull the trays of golden brown pastry out of the oven, David can’t help but feel a sense of pride.
David sits in the backseat of the Brewers’ SUV, hyperaware of the distance between his and Patrick’s pinkies where they are laying on the seat between them as he watches the tiny town go by, Clint narrating from the driver’s seat.
“And on your right we have the Cafe Tropical,” he says.
“The only restaurant in town,” Patrick adds with a wry smile.
“And on your left, we have the general store.”
“Let me guess,” David says with a grimace; even from the outside the store looks like a mess. “The only store in town?”
“You got it!” Clint replies cheerfully. “It’s not New York, but it’s home.”
And the weird thing is that, as much as David loves New York, something about this place does give him a feeling of home.
Patrick smiles at him as they pull into the parking lot of the high school, and strangely, that feels like home, too.
They leave the Brewers to find seats in the auditorium while David follows Patrick backstage under the guise of advising on wardrobe. Really, he just wants a moment alone with his boyfriend so he can kiss him properly. As soon as Marcy and Clint are out of sight, David tugs Patrick down a deserted hallway and presses him against the lockers, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. When he pulls back, Patrick looks dazed.
“What was that for?”
“No reason.” David shrugs, tucking a smile into his cheek.
“You know, I always wanted to be kissed up against the lockers by the hottest boy in school.” Patrick raises a scant eyebrow and David just chuckles and kisses him again, soft and tender this time.
“Come on, you’re supposed to be backstage.”
Patrick pouts, and it’s so unfairly adorable that David can’t help but kiss him one more time before pulling him back down the hall.
When Patrick invited David to come along to this concert, he neglected to mention that the Creek Waders weren’t the only act performing. Furthermore, and perhaps most upsettingly, he failed to mention that a children’s choir would be performing.
“Aw, come on, David! It’s cute!” Patrick says, a teasing smirk playing across his lips.
“Nothing about this is cute.” David shudders as the mob of tackily-dressed toddlers sing their way through their third verse of ‘Santa Buddy,’ even more off-key than that time his mother decided to experiment with atonal singing.
“This is better than when I was in the choir,” Twyla says brightly. “We sang ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas’ but my cousin fell in the hippo enclosure at the Elm Grove Zoo and was crushed, so we stopped singing that.”
“Oh my god,” David mutters. No matter how much time he spends with Twyla, her stories never get any less dark.
Thankfully for the sake of his sanity and his eardrums, the children’s choir finally finishes and files offstage. Ted and Patrick offer high-fives to several of them as they pass, and as much as the thought of all those germy child hands horrifies David, even he has to admit it’s kind of cute.
Once they’re gone, Patrick picks up his guitar and kisses David quickly on the cheek, clearly pleased that backstage, there’s no secrets to keep, not when Ted and Twyla already know.
“Good luck, honey,” David murmurs.
“It’s break a leg,” Patrick shoots back with a grin and leads Ted and Twyla out onto the stage.
Patrick refused to tell him anything about the content of their set, so David is honestly a little relieved when Twyla starts strumming the bass riff from their first single. As much as he complained about the song when he first heard them play back at the Mercury Lounge, it’s grown on him a lot. And definitely not just because of the way Patrick’s voice goes low and growly on the chorus.
Their second song is one of David’s favorites. It’s a slower song with Twyla and Patrick harmonizing over a delicate guitar riff and lyrics that make David swoon. Patrick promised they’d put it on the next album, but David actually likes that there isn’t a recording out there (aside from the videos on YouTube, which he can’t deny that he’s watched). It makes it seem more special.
He’s so caught up in cheering at the end of the song that he almost misses the familiar xylophone intro. He didn’t even know Ted played the xylophone. But then Patrick’s voice starts up and there’s no mistaking it.
I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There’s just one thing I need
I don’t care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you
And as the band picks up the instrumental, Patrick catches David’s eye where he watching from the wings and fucking winks.
David’s a fucking goner.
Their arrangement is more toned down and less poppy than the original, but David doesn’t even mind. It’s gorgeous and he’s in tears before they even get to the end of the first verse. Because he knows that while Patrick may be singing to a school auditorium full of people, all of it is really for David.
When they finish playing, all three of them bound off the stage full of post-show energy. Patrick’s grin falters when he sees David’s tear stained cheeks.
“David? Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m good. I’m so good.” Even though Patrick is still holding his guitar, David tries to hug him anyway because he can’t stand not touching him any longer. It’s too awkward, though, and Patrick laughs as he pulls his guitar off of his shoulder.
“Let’s just…” He hands his guitar off to Twyla and tugs David deeper backstage, away from prying eyes. “Was it okay?”
“Okay? Jesus, Patrick. It was perfect.” David swipes at his eyes, nearly tripping over what looks like a papier-mâché lobster.
Patrick grins, looking so utterly pleased with himself as David gets his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in for an urgent kiss. Patrick leans into it, settling his hands on David’s waist like they were made to fit there.
Suddenly, a blinding light in front of them makes them pull apart, blinking. It takes a minute to register that the curtains have opened to display the Nativity scene set up on the stage and a wide-eyed audience is staring back at them. Someone in the back wolf-whistles.
“Right,” David says, keeping hold of Patrick’s arm because he can feel the tension in it. “So, uh, not quite as secret as we hoped.”
“What do we do?” Patrick asks, panic clear in his voice. But he’s David fucking Rose and his mother trained him to be in spotlight from the time he could stand.
“Smile,” he says and waits while Patrick does so. “And take a bow.” They incline their heads, and the audience starts to cheer. “And wave.” He keeps his left arm around Patrick and gives his best queen wave with the right. Patrick waves too, a little less dramatic and more sheepish, but he does it and the crowd cheers louder. “And now we exit.”
“Pursued by a bear?” Patrick asks, somewhat hysterically, as David steers him off to stage left.
“What?”
“Nevermind.”
David gets a grip on both of Patrick’s shoulders and directs him past a concerned-looking Ted and a sympathetic Twyla and out into the hall. He’s not entirely sure Patrick is actually breathing anymore. Not that he can blame him; his own heart is rabbiting in his chest. But he’s not the one who just got accidentally outed in front of an auditorium full of people. His own panic can wait, Patrick needs him now.
David finds a bench in the hallway, pushes Patrick down to a seated position, and then slides down next to him.
“Patrick, honey, look at me.”
Patrick does look up, but his eyes are wide and his skin is paler than usual and his breaths are coming in shaky gasps that seem to be doing little to actually get oxygen into his lungs. David recognizes the signs of a panic attack; Patrick has had to guide him through enough of them by now. It’s only fair that David should return the favor.
He gently takes Patrick’s hand and places it on his chest, inhaling deeply.
“Honey, I need you to breathe. Match my breathing, okay? In and out.” David takes several slow and even breaths and Patrick does his best to match him. Under his hand, David can feel Patrick’s heart rate start to slow, and some of the color starts to come back to his cheeks.
David’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he tries to pull it out, but Patrick whines and grabs at David’s hand, pinning it to his chest.
“I’m just getting my phone,” he chuckles, but leaves his right hand where it is, fumbling with his left to get his phone out of his pocket. He hums as he reads the text from Twyla assuring him that she and Ted have everything handled.
“What is it?” Patrick’s voice sounds wrecked, and David rubs his thumb against his sternum in sympathy.
“Don’t worry about it right now.” David pockets his phone again and reaches up to push a stray curl off of Patrick’s forehead. “How are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Patrick shakes his head and slumps back against the bench. “Everyone knows now.”
“Well, not everyone.” The Schitt’s Creek High School auditorium is hardly, say, Madison Square Garden, and while the Creek Waders have amassed a fairly large cult following, neither of them is famous enough that this is likely to be front page news. Still, there were enough people with phone cameras and data plans that it’s probably on the internet already. Twyla’s text mentioned that Rachel was already in touch with Alexis to handle the social media spin, which is a frightening thought, but considering that she’s been handling her own headline-making exploits even before she got her PR degree, it’s probably the right call.
“I know I said I was ready for people to know, but this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
“We could spin it. Say it wasn’t real, like that time I was photographed with that senator’s son’s tongue down my throat at Le Diplomate.”
Patrick stares at him incredulously, like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.
“I don’t want that,” he says, quietly, but with so much conviction that it warms something deep inside David’s chest. “Maybe…maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”
David leans forward and gets his arms around Patrick and presses a kiss to his temple. So few people in his life have been willing to stick around, disappearing faster than the ink could dry on Page Six. But then again, none of those people are Patrick Brewer.
“My parents, though. What am I going to tell them?”
David hums thoughtfully. He may not have known the Brewers long, but he thinks about the pride and the love in their voices when they told stories of Patrick’s childhood embarrassments and his adult successes. He thinks about Marcy learning to make a specific cookie just because a teenage Rachel couldn’t be with her family for Hanukkah, and then her teaching David to make the same because it was part of his heritage that he never got to learn. There’s no way to predict how someone will react to a coming out, but David has a feeling that Patrick has nothing to worry about.
“Your parents seem like wonderful people,” he says. “I think it’s going to be fine. But if it’s not, I will be here. Because I love you.”
He doesn’t mean to say it, though it’s not that much of a surprise. It’s been threatening to spill out of him for weeks now. Longer, if he’s honest. They’ve both been through the emotional wringer already today, and there’ll be time to talk about it later, but he thinks maybe Patrick needs to hear it right now.
If the way his face lights up brighter than the stage lights that just blinded them is any indication, he definitely did.
“David,” Patrick breathes, staring up at him with damp eyes. Not that David’s are exactly dry. “I love you.”
He brings their lips together in a kiss so tender that David thinks he might break apart right here in this hallway. He could live here in this moment and never want for anything.
Unfortunately, the buzzing of his phone from his pocket interrupts them and he groans as he pulls out of the kiss.
“Ted has your parents,” he says, frowning down at his phone. “Are you ready to talk to them?”
To tell the truth, David isn’t sure he’s quite ready to see the Brewers. Now that Patrick’s panic is receding, his is starting to bubble back up and he can’t help but think this is all his fault.
“Yeah,” Patrick replies, though his voice is still a little shaky. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Okay, um, I’ll send them over and wait outside?” He doesn’t know if Patrick wants him here for this and he might just go have his own panic attack in the bathroom.
But Patrick looks up at him sharply and grabs his hand. “What? No, David, stay.”
He doesn’t say I need you, but David hears it anyway.
They find the Brewers hovering anxiously near the entrance to the stage with Ted and Twyla nearby. Rachel is off to the side, nose buried in her phone, texting furiously. When Marcy spots them, she hurries over and, to David’s immense surprise, wraps them both in a tight hug.
“My sweet boys,” she murmurs, and David has to bite back a sob.
“Mom.” By how broken Patrick sounds, it’s clear he’s not doing much better. “Dad. I’m sorry, this is not how I wanted you to find out.”
Marcy lets go of them, but cups Patrick’s cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, we already knew. We were just waiting for you to tell us.”
“Wait, you knew? How?” Patrick asks.
“Well, whenever you talked about David on the phone, you just sounded so happy!” Marcy says, sharing a glance with her husband. “We hadn’t heard you sound like that in a long time.”
“But we really figured it out when you snuck into David’s room last night,” Clint adds with a cheeky grin. Patrick blushes scarlet as David mutters, “oh my god!” Maybe they weren’t as discreet as they thought.
“Oh god,” Patrick says, scrubbing his hands across his face. “I didn’t know how I was going to tell you guys.”
Clint looks proud and a little teary-eyed as he claps Patrick on the shoulder.
“You are the only thing in the world that matters to us,” Marcy says. “So as long as you’re happy, that’s all we care about.”
“I am, Mom. David makes me so happy.” Patrick interlaces his fingers with David, and David looks over at him, so overwhelmed with emotions for this beautiful, wonderful, brave man that he loves.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
December 25
David wakes up on Christmas morning feeling warmer and more content than he has in quite some time. It’s chilly in the room, but Patrick is plastered to his side under one of Marcy’s handmade quilts. Bright winter sunlight is streaming through the windows. He searches his memory, trying to think if he’s ever had a Christmas morning like this one, but nothing quite this perfect comes to mind.
They have things to talk about, and though most of the internet response he’s seen so far has been positive, they still have to deal with being thrust so suddenly into the spotlight, but for now, David just lets himself enjoy the peace of the morning.
Patrick looks over at him with a sleepy smile and presses a kiss to David’s forehead.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas, Patrick.”