Work Text:
David fiddles with the new collection of luxury bath products, trying to find the most aesthetically pleasing arrangement for them. It’s only been a few days, but they’re selling well so far and they’ve gotten good feedback on the bath bombs from a few of their regular customers — not to mention, David learned from personal experience that the bubble bath is absolutely heavenly. He really wants to share it with Patrick soon.
And maybe Patrick’s straight-leg business sense is rubbing off on David because he’s very aware of the fact that they’ve had the new bath products a whole week and they still aren’t available on the website, which just isn’t good business. They’ll sell well, he's sure of it. And, okay, only a little of his motivation for getting the new product on the site is to deter the cute Latino guy from a few towns over (the one who always flirts with Patrick) from physically coming in for a while.
David shifts the products around. No matter how he sets them up, they don’t look right. The stupid moisturizer and the stupid bath bombs won’t stay in their correct stupid places.
Although, it’s probably not the products’ fault. Even David realizes that the annoying incorrectness of the display probably has to do more with the fact that he’s agitated than anything the products did. But Ray was supposed to be here ages ago to take the photographs for the website, and he’s still nowhere to be seen.
The bell rings, and David sighs out a relieved breath of air as he spins around.
“Oh, it’s just you,” David huffs, his face scrunching up when he realizes it’s Patrick.
“Mm, hello to you too,” Patrick greets with a note of reprimand. Still, he purposefully crosses the store and presses a kiss to David’s scowling lips. “Perhaps I should save these cake samples for a more appreciative fiancé?” Patrick teases, pointedly waving a delicious smelling box in front of David’s face.
“I thought we agreed that Ivan was making the cake?” David asks, brows furrowed, even as he snatches the box out of Patrick’s hands.
“We did, but the bank in Elm Valley is right by that little bakery you love, and I figured you might like some more, um, flavor inspiration.” Patrick’s eyes dart to the side, the thinly veiled excuse falling flat. Not that David cares. He’s happy to have the cake for pretty much any reason.
David opens the box and is pleased to find a dozen bite-sized pieces of cake. After a minute of silent scrutiny, David scoops out a piece from the middle — the one with the most frosting — and pops it into his mouth.
“It’s not polite to lead vendors on,” David manages through his mouthful of cake.
“I can really sense the moral shame,” Patrick mocks gently, his voice low with fake seriousness. The teasing is immediately followed by a kiss to David’s cheek though, Patrick’s thumb swiping at the frosting on David’s upper lip, so David lets it slide.
“I’m just going to hide — I mean store — these in the back before Ray gets here. If he ever gets here, that is.”
“Ah, is that why I was so warmly greeted today?” Patrick asks, still sounding rather teasing as he trailed after David towards their backroom.
“He was supposed to be here over an hour ago to photograph the new bath products for the website!” David huffs, his eyes still trained on the box of cake. There’s one piece with bright orange sprinkles that clashes with all the other pieces, and it really needs to go, so David plucks it out of the box. “This is the third time he’s done this. I know we’re—” David shudders, “—friends, but I don’t think I can stand this anymore.”
Patrick nods sympathetically, following David back out to the new display of products. “Maybe we should take them ourselves?”
“Ourselves?” David spits out, horrified. Patrick’s gaze follows the bright sprinkles that David flings everywhere as he gestures wildly, but doesn’t say anything. “How are we going to take website-quality pictures ourselves?” David waves his hands around again, more sprinkles showering their clean floor. “I have a fucking iPhone, Patrick. And it’s not even the X! It’s a fucking seven!”
Patrick shoves his hands deep in his front pockets, his gaze drifting to the meticulously arranged shelf behind David. “Okay, well, yeah... Even I recognize that we shouldn’t put blurry pictures on our website.”
“Exactly,” David snaps, eyebrows raised. “It's just incorrect.”
*****
A few hours pass by — during which several customers, but no Ray, come in — and David is still fussing over the new products. At one point, Patrick had been going over their inventory spreadsheets at the front desk and caught David surreptitiously trying to photograph the new products with his phone. But David hasn’t mentioned it to Patrick, and, if anything, seems more huffy now, so Patrick assumes they didn’t turn out so well.
It’s not until they’re closing up that the solution hits Patrick, and he can’t believe he didn’t think of it before.
“David,” Patrick says suddenly.
“Mmm?” David hums without looking up from the plants he’s watering.
“My cousin, Emily, is pretty into photography.”
“I know you're close with your cousins, but I hardly think asking one of them to drive five hours every time we get new product is going to be faster than Ray,” David points out sassily.
“Agreed,” Patrick quips easily, clearly unphased by David’s protests. He pushes the till drawer closed and circles the counter, leaning against it with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
David glances at Patrick, his eyes only lingering on the way Patrick’s arms look in this particular blue button down for a second before David registers the small, smug smile on Patrick’s face.
“What?!” David huffs, his head shaking and his shoulders drawing up.
The smile on Patrick’s face grows and he looks far too satisfied with himself. “Emily just bought a new camera, and is planning to sell her old one.”
An actual shiver runs down David’s spine when he imagines them buying some shitty Sony camera from the mid-2000s and trying to take crisp pictures with it. The iPhone would be better.
“Mmm, yes,” David nods dramatically, his eyes scrunching shut and his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A hand-me-down camera, that’s what our luxury local products store website needs.”
Hands land on David’s hips, the touch prompting him to reluctantly open his eyes. Patrick is standing right in front of him, his arms wrapping around David’s waist and his fingers dipping under the hem of David’s cashmere sweater.
“Look David, I know working with Ray frustrates you,” Patrick’s voice is low and his fingers are tracing small circles on David’s back, and it feels nice. Really nice. It's all making David calm down way more than he actually wants to.
He wants Patrick to understand how tacky 2006-quality photos would be on their website.
“Mhmmm,” David hums, a bit of sass lacing the non-committing agreement.
Patrick offers David a small grimace, his gaze flitting towards the till for a brief second. “And paying him for a new shoot every time we stock new merchandise definitely isn’t an efficient use of our profits.”
“Hot,” David says flatly, even as his hands land on Patrick’s shoulders and his thumbs immediately dip inside the collar. “Profit efficiency. Sexy.”
Patrick rolls his eyes but doesn’t seem to let David derail him. “I know neither of us are exactly professional photographers — although, to be fair, Ray is only a professional in the sense that he charges money for aiming an expensive camera at whatever people want pictures of…”
David winces as he’s forced to remember some of Ray’s more ridiculous attempts at photography. And Patrick worked with Ray; he’d probably seen so much worse during his time managing Ray’s businesses.
“I think I’m still scarred from when he took photos of us in front of the store for the site.” David scrunches his eyes closed. “No one needs that many props.” Shaking his head, David tries to pull himself out of the nightmare memory and look back at Patrick. “It’s like I always told Jennifer, minimalist aesthetics are always more chic.”
Patrick quirks an eyebrow. “Garner?”
David balks, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open as he dramatically shakes his head. “Um, no, she can do no wrong!” David shrieks, rolling his eyes. “I was talking about Lawrence, obviously.”
“Oh yes, obviously,” Patrick repeats seriously — far too seriously to actually be serious. “I think getting our own camera makes sense, David. My cousin is selling hers and I’m sure it’s less than a few sessions with Ray.”
Shoulders drawn up tight, David squeals out a frustrated noise as he considers it. On the one hand, working with Ray is super frustrating and slow. And on the other hand… well, on the other hand, they’d be responsible for taking acceptable pictures.
“Ugh, fine,” David finally relents, his shoulders dropping back down. “But you’re in charge of learning how to use it, Mr. Profit Efficiency. And I get veto power over any pictures that go online.”
“Of course, David.” Smiling softly, Patrick presses a gentle kiss to the crook of David’s neck and David finds himself having to bite back a smile at the how much this man does just to make him happy. Even when it’s insane ideas like acquiring a hand-me-down camera and trying to learn photography.
*****
A week later, David walks into the store at his normal time — a bit after ten, give or take — only to find Patrick standing by the till with a modest package in front of him.
“Well, that’s way too small to be from any of our suppliers,” David says in lieu of a greeting, scowling at the box as he sets a tea down in front of Patrick.
“Good morning to you too, fiancé,” Patrick teases, his weight balanced on his hands as he leans across the counter, clearly angling for a kiss.
“Mmm, yes, hello fiancé,” David mutters distractedly, ignoring the unsubtle request for a kiss. Instead, David pokes and prods at the box, trying to inspect it from every angle without calling too much attention to his actions.
After a minute of failed inspection, David caves. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of this little number?” he asks, tapping the sides of the box dramatically. When he looks up, Patrick’s sporting an amused smile but his eyes are soft and fond.
Patrick clears his throat, grabbing the sides of the box and pulling it towards himself. “This,” he says meaningfully as he takes a box cutter out of their drawer. “This is from my cousin Emily, the one whose into photography?”
Fuck, right, that was a thing David had agreed to.
David’s hands instantly recoil from the box, his eyes narrowing slightly at Patrick. “So I guess we have to… open it, then,” he mumbles apprehensively.
“Well she did give it to us as a gift,” Patrick points out. And — right, Emily had insisted on just giving them the camera when Patrick explained why he wanted to buy it. That detail makes David feel even worse about the sheer dread that’s taking residence in his veins right now.
Without waiting for further approval from David, Patrick lowers the box cutter to the seam of the box. “It’s usually considered polite to open gifts, ya know.”
“I know, I know,” David relents — he knows they can’t just ignore the package. But still. “I just don’t know how to thank someone for a camera from two thousand and something that is capable of, like, zooming in on literally nothing.”
Patrick doesn’t seem to be paying attention to David’s concerns — although Patrick might argue it’s just whining, though he would be wrong. Instead, he’s slicing the box cutter along the tape, and before David can fully prepare himself, he’s pulling out a bulky black camera from layers of protective wrapping.
“Holy fuck,” David mutters before he can stop himself.
“What?” Patrick asks, slightly distracted as he turns the new camera over in his hands and inspects it from every angle.
“That’s a Nikon D850 DSLR.” David reaches out for the camera, carefully pulling it out of Patrick's hands and lifting it up to his face so he can get a proper look at it.
“A Nikon what, now?” Patrick asks, sounding both surprised that David knows anything about cameras and pleased by the shift in David’s attitude.
“This is, like, not a shitty camera,” David explains, even though he can tell by the smirk on Patrick’s face that he’s already deduced David’s opinion.
“I’ll be sure to send Emily a thank-you smoke signal for the free camera then,” Patrick smirks.
“Shut up, we’re sending her flowers and booze — does she like booze? — at the very least,” David says indignantly. “Do you realize how amazing this camera is for taking close-ups of objects?” David continues, barely listening to Patrick’s response.
“I — no. But clearly you do.” Patrick’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, baffled by David’s surprising knowledge on the topic. From the way David had talked when Patrick had suggested getting a camera, it sounded like he had no interest in photography. But now, Patrick wonders if it’s maybe an old, abandoned hobby.
“Patrick,” David says haltingly. “This camera is worth more than double your rent. Why did your cousin have it? Why did she just give it to us?” Patrick can tell David’s itching to flail his arms about as he talks, can see the tiny aborted movements of his wrists. But he’s still holding the camera — the camera that apparently retails for more than… two thousand dollars? — and David must care enough about it to favor caution over dramatics.
Still, David’s penchant for waving his arms around makes Patrick concerned for the camera, which he is beginning to feel increasingly guilty about accepting without any form of payment. He didn’t even think to ask Emily how much it was worth. He knows she’s a photographer — as in she makes actual money from selling her prints to strangers — so he should have realized that her old camera would be worth a decent amount of money.
Carefully, Patrick pries the massive black object out of David’s hand, wanting to put it safely on the counter.
“Oh god,” David balks loudly. He hands immediately fly back towards the camera, one hand landing on Patrick’s and the other grabbing the main part of the camera.
“Wha—?” Patrick starts to ask, but David cuts him off.
“Never pick it up from just the lens like that,” David corrects sternly and — okay, that tone is an unfair weapon outside of the bedroom.
David must either not notice or not be phased by Patrick’s small, sharp inhale (and his growing confusion), because he’s still concentrated on the camera.
“You have to support the base, otherwise you risk hurting the lens,” David explains. Gently, he moves Patrick’s free hand to the underside of the bulky part of the camera. “And to be safe, and to make your pictures less shaky, it’s good to hold the lens, too — like this.” David slides Patrick’s hand down so that it’s not gripping the edge of what he deduces must be the lens, their hands instead coming to rest beneath the long cylinder.
Patrick has to admit that the camera’s weight does feel less awkward this way, so David must have some clue what he’s talking about. But…
“How do you know so much about all this?” Patrick asks, unable to keep the surprise and awe out of his voice.
“I did own an art gallery!” David snaps, his tone bordering on offended.
“Last I checked, gallerists aren’t traditionally responsible for creating the art they show, though,” Patrick retorts. A teasing smile is creeping onto his face, but Patrick can’t contain it.
“Okay, fine, maybe there’s more to the story, god.” David rolls his eyes, his head cringing back.
A few seconds of silence go by before Patrick prompts, “... So are you going to tell me the rest of the story, David?”
“Ugh, alright,” David huffs. “So maybe I dated a photographer for a while. I thought I told you about that.”
“Ah, Sebastien Reed,” Patrick hums, remembering the man David had complained about being in town to photograph his mother shortly before they got together.
“Raine,” David corrects, his voice dripping with disdain. “Otherwise known as the manipulative monster I dated for three — well, four if you count the last one — months.”
“I remember. So did this relationship come with a crash course in photography or something?”
David purses his lips, debating his next words and choosing them carefully. “Not… quite,” he says slowly. “More like, I used to do maybe a bit too much to… connect with my old partners, and maybe sometimes, I got a little too… wrapped up… in their interests,” David confesses.
Patrick frowns. He always hates hearing David talk about his previous relationships — not because Patrick’s jealous or judging or anything like that, but because it always breaks his heart a little to realize just how much David used to crave love and stability, and how far he’d gone to try to get it.
“Plus,” David adds quickly, effectively derailing a sympathetic response from Patrick. “Photography was basically all Sebastien knew how to talk about, so learning about it was kind of unavoidable.”
“Ah,” Patrick hums. He twists around to finally set the camera down before turning back to David. “Does this mean you’re willing to play teacher and help your fiancé learn how to actually work the fancy camera?” For good measure (and maybe to push David’s buttons a little), Patrick coyly ducks his head and looks up at David through his eyelashes, hands tucked into his front pockets. It’s a look he used to naturally pull when he felt bashful, but ever since he realized the effect it has on David, he’s been careful to use it a lot more.
“I’m sure I can be persuaded.” David trails his fingers up Patrick’s arms, his hands coming to rest on Patrick’s shoulders. “Maybe I can play teacher in the bedroom too, hmm?” David’s tone is low and sultry, and Patrick is confident he’s succeeded in getting what he was vying for.
“I think we can manage that,” Patrick agrees. Before he can say anything else, though, the bell over the door chimes and David is already stepping back to help the customer.
The sudden loss of David’s touch, his body heat, his closeness, is a disappointment. But, Patrick takes a little bit of satisfaction in the nearly-inaudible groan that David lets out as he pulls back — not to mention the entirely unsubtle way that David stands on the opposite side of the table as the customer.
Patrick spends the rest of the day, and a good portion of the subsequent days, in the back room, watching YouTube video after YouTube video, reading endless how-to’s and insider-tips articles, and taking practice shots of various products. David, for his part, takes care of the front of the store, popping into the back whenever there’s a lull to pepper Patrick with soft kisses and counterintuitive tips.
It’s infuriating — not that David is trying to help, but that the tips go against everything Patrick has read on the internet, and yet, they consistently make his pictures better.
“Try turning your aperture up a few notches,” David suggests.
“All the websites say to put it on this size for close-ups, though,” Patrick pushes back.
“Mhmm and I wonder if your new wiki-how bff also dated someone who has shot multiple spreads for Vogue and Vanity Fair…”
Patrick tries it. It works.
*
“Ew, turn your flash off,” David whines, pawing at Patrick and the camera. “You’re going to make the product look all white and washed out.”
“I read an article about how to edit the pictures so that the flash looks less glaring, David, don’t worry.”
“I don’t care what you do to that picture in photoshop, it’s going to look flat and boring and off-brand. Turn off the flash and — here, turn this I-whatever setting up some. It’ll help, I promise.”
Patrick changes the ISO to what David suggests, turns the flash off, and retakes the photo. It’s better.
*****
Slowly, Patrick’s pictures improve. He blends the technical techniques he’s read on the internet with David’s (he refuses to think of them as Sebastien’s) tips and begins to develop his own style. By the time he presents David with options for the website, Patrick has already taken hundreds of pictures.
As it turns out, he kind of enjoys it. A lot. He likes the challenge of learning what each little setting does, and he loves the thrill of managing to capture a picture just how he imagines it.
So even after David uploads the new product to the website, Patrick keeps messing with the camera. During lulls at the store, he takes pictures of David’s displays, their produce, anything really. He tells himself that they can update the website or try to build a more active social media presence. The excuse sounds weak, even in his own head.
The truth of it all is, he likes it.
On Sunday afternoon, Patrick turns his attention on the succulents they keep in the front window. The sun is shining in, making some of the small plants look almost yellow and the shadows give everything so much dimension, and he really wants to capture it.
“Ya know,” David says suddenly, his voice coming from somewhere behind Patrick.
The abrupt interruption breaks Patrick’s focus and causes him to jump in the middle of snapping a picture, surely turning it into a blurry mess. Patrick lowers the camera and turns around to face David.
In front of the till, David is leaning his back against the counter, his arms crossed in front of him and his lips tipped up in a hint of a smirk.
“Do I know what?” Patrick asks, a bit wary of the amused expression on David’s face.
David pushes off the counter and crosses the store, coming to a stop in front of Patrick. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s this whole world out there,” David pointedly waves his arms at the window, “that’s just waiting to be photographed.”
Patrick freezes, feeling caught. He’s tried not to call too much attention to his new hobby. A few nights ago, he’d secretly googled Sebastien Raine’s work while David was in the shower. And though the man may have been a terrible boyfriend to David, he is an incredible photographer. A bit pretentious, perhaps, but talented nonetheless.
David values art — and Patrick knows that regardless of David’s feelings about Sebastien, David considers Sebastien’s work to be art. David had seen something special in Sebastien’s pictures before the world had, and had curated his early work for his gallery. David was, and always will be, a man with excellent, and his appreciation of Sebastien’s photography is no exception.
Patrick’s attempts at learning to use the new camera are nothing in comparison, and Patrick can’t help feel silly. Inferior.
Bashfully, Patrick sets the camera down on the table next to the planters. He clears his throat, preparing to give David the excuse he has told himself dozens of times.
“Actually,” Patrick says, and damn, his voice sounds so unsure. “I was, uh, thinking we could set up an, um, instagram account for the store, and, uh…” Patrick trails off.
The excuse sounds even thinner out loud.
David eyes him carefully, scrutinizing his face and taking in his posture.
“Okay,” he finally says, his gaze returning to Patrick’s. “While I definitely like the sound of that, I get the feeling there might be more going on here.” David loops his hands around Patrick’s shoulders, his wrists loosely crossing behind Patrick’s neck. “So, if you wanted to practice on something new, say animals or your boyfriend or actual plants, I’d be, like, open to that.”
Now David is the one looking shy; his eyes have shifted from Patrick’s, focusing on something over his shoulder. Behind his neck, Patrick can feel David wringing his hands together, a sure sign that he’s feeling self conscious.
Patrick raises his eyebrows, a warm flush fighting its way up his neck. He really did want to try new subjects and experiment with new settings and David — he really wanted to try photographing David.
Of everything and everyone Patrick has seen, David is easily the most beautiful.
And for that reason, Patrick swallows his pride — or, embarrassment, rather. “I’d like that, David,” Patrick says softly.
David smiles widely, his fingers brushing the short hairs at the nape of Patrick’s neck. “How about we use our day off to go on our —” David winces, “— hike, then? You can take as many pictures as you want. Ya know, of the view and the trees and… whatever.”
Patrick tries to bite back his surprise at David suggesting a hike, but it’s impossible. “You’d do that — willingly go on another hike? For me?” Patrick asks incredulously.
“Obviously!” David huffs. He rolls his eyes but turns his gaze back to Patrick, his voice suddenly much sweeter. “Plus, they’re showing Pretty in Pink at the Elmdale drive-in this week, and you're going to take me to it afterward. It can be a… compromise.”
Smilingly widely, Patrick winds his arms around David’s waist and tugs him closer. “Deal,” he agrees softly before leaning in for a kiss.
*****
On Tuesday, the one day a week where they close the store for the whole day (thanks to Patrick’s careful tracking that determined it is their lowest sales volume day), Patrick and David make the half hour drive to the trailhead. As they were getting ready that morning, Patrick had offered to lend David something to wear, a t-shirt or hoodie so that David didn’t have to risk nature destroying any of his beautiful sweaters — unlike the last time they did this hike together, today it’s not supposed to be a surprise.
David, of course, refused to accept the sportsy clothing, instead pulling on a grey and black Dior sweater that he swears is so old that it doesn’t matter.
As they are walking up the mountain, David a few steps ahead, Patrick couldn’t be happier that David is obstinate and picky. Patrick knows he wants to try photographing David, and he can already tell that the monochrome colors of David’s clothes contrast beautifully with the bright greens of the mountain.
Plus, Patrick wants to photograph David — and David wouldn’t be David without his bold, soft sweaters.
The hike to the top takes longer than Patrick is used to, but this time it’s not David’s whining or Patrick’s minor injuries slowing them down. This time, their walk is made longer because every few minutes, Patrick makes them stop so that he can aim his camera at something and try to capture its beauty. Every now and then, David pipes up to offer a small tip or genuine compliment, but other than that, David quietly walks alongside Patrick.
It might be the quietest David’s ever been (and certainly the longest, outside of that one time Channing Tatum gagged him while he was tied to that bedpost in Amsterdam), but Patrick is wrapped up in fully exploring this new hobby; it reminds David of the way Patrick first approached sex with him — slow, fastidious, and careful, but intensely passionate and tenaciously determined.
David doesn’t mind; not once does he feel aggravated by the hot weather or the fact that their morning plans will definitely creep into their afternoon at this point. Once, Patrick develops a fascination with a single pink flower peeking out between two massive rocks and, according to David’s count, he spends seventeen minutes trying to capture the perfect picture of it.
And when Patrick shows the final shot to David, David is positive that the picture is approximately four hundred times more beautiful than the small flower could ever hope to be.
By the time they reach the overlook, Patrick has dozens of pictures of small animals, flowers, and the running water of the nearby creek. Patrick loves the process of taking the pictures, but he’s only marginally satisfied with the results. David, on the other hand, deeply loves every single picture, and almost wishes he still had a gallery so that he could share them with the world.
It’s not until they reach the clearing that Patrick finally tries to work up the courage to ask to focus his camera on David.
Sure, when David offered to go on this hike with Patrick, he’d mentioned himself as a potential subject. But still, Patrick isn’t sure if David would actually enjoy being photographed — both because at the root of everything, David is deeply self-conscious, and because Patrick has now heard enough about Sebastien to know that Sebastien wasn’t just a monster to David’s heart, but to his body and image as well.
By now, Patrick has learned how Sebastien used to spend hours photographing David. The results of those photos, however, were never what David hoped they’d be, were never pictures that David felt captured him. Sebastien, David asserts, was manipulative with his art, and played with lighting and angles to make his pictures depict what Sebastien wanted to show, not what was really there.
Once, late at night with David asleep next to him, Patrick googled Sebastien Raine David Rose, morbid curiosity gnawing at his stomach. Patrick sorted through three pages of google results, all stories from magazines and celebrity blogs chronicling the rise and fall of their relationship. It wasn’t until Patrick clicked on the images tab that he found a link to Sebastien’s numerous series of David.
Standing on the mountain, staring at his fiancé grinning softly at the open view, Patrick remembers having to bite back a gasp when he saw Sebastien’s pictures.
They looked nothing like the David he knows. And, fine, maybe that’s partially because David is a different David than he was seven years ago. Today, David is happy and less afraid to be vulnerable and less hesitant to share his love.
But the David Sebastien captured was hopeless and desperate. Angry and cruel. Spoiled and flippant. Uncaring. Slutty. Self-centered.
And now, camera poised in his hands, Patrick is determined to photograph David — to capture the David he knows, the David that the world deserves to know, the David that’s always been locked away inside his fiancé.
But, as Patrick struggles to ask David to turn around, to look at the camera so he can click the shutter, Patrick realizes that he’s terrified that he won’t be able to do it.
He’s not scared that he’ll be like Sebastien, that he’ll somehow capture some aesthetically pretty but ultimately ugly and inaccurate version of David. Patrick has no intentions — or fears — of taking a picture that’s false. He is, however, profoundly aware that the complexity of David isn’t something that will easily be captured — and Patrick is desperate to be able to show the rich intricacies of David’s beauty, David’s personality, David’s soul, in his pictures, and he’s terrified that he won’t be able to do it.
Finally, Patrick manages to croak out his request, and David complies, turning around and smiling at Patrick. The smile isn’t completely staged — it’s not the forced grin David gives to the customers he doesn’t like, nor is it the shallow smirk Patrick has seen in photos of David from his old life. But it’s also not the lopsided smile Patrick is accustomed to seeing, and nor is it the soft grin David was just wearing as he took in the familiar view of the valley.
It’s just… a smile.
Not in a position to complain, though, Patrick adjusts the settings and takes a picture. He can tell instantly that he hates it, so he shifts angles, moving so the light hits David from a different direction, and tries again.
The second attempt isn’t much better.
Patrick tinkers with the settings, and makes a third and a fourth and a fifth attempt. David holds still, smiling at him the entire time, but it doesn’t matter.
The sixth try is just as disappointing as the rest. The picture is fine, objectively speaking. And maybe that’s part of Patrick’s problem with it. Playing with different settings doesn’t help, because there’s no technical fault in the photograph. It just feels… off. The man smiling up at Patrick from the small camera screen is a pale imitation of David, and Patrick is frustrated that it’s not right.
After another half dozen unsuccessful attempts, Patrick tells David that he can go back to enjoying the view and thanks him for posing. With a soft grin — the one that’s a true David smile — David turns back to face the cliff’s edge. If he notices anything seems off with Patrick, he doesn’t say anything.
Annoyed with himself, Patrick sits on a rock behind David and flips through the pictures, carefully analyzing each one and trying to figure out what’s so wrong about them. He loses himself in his study, and he’s not sure how much time passes. But when he looks up again, David has turned on a smooth playlist and the sun has shifted, casting a warm glow over David and the valley below.
Hesitantly, Patrick raises the camera again, leans to the side to frame both David and the view in the shot, and takes a picture.
It’s a full thirty seconds before Patrick can bring himself to check how the image looks, and when he does, he’s shocked.
It’s not perfect, not by any means. There’s glare, and not the artistic kind. The shadows of the nearby trees are definitely a little too intense. The background is slightly out of focus, but not in a way that makes the foreground look sharper.
But David — David looks amazing. David looks like David. He’s bathed in warm, summer afternoon light, and he’s not existing for the purposes of anyone else, and he’s just so unbelievably David.
The small victory is empowering, and Patrick is suddenly eager to try again. He shifts a few feet to the right, just far enough that he can catch David’s profile, but not so far that he’s at real risk of David noticing what he’s doing. Patrick steadies the camera and clicks the shutter, this time greedily looking at the result as soon as the camera flashes the preview on the screen.
It’s gorgeous. It’s everything he hoped for when he imagined photographing David.
The success is addicting, and Patrick spends the next hour taking picture after picture of David. Occasionally, he carelessly snaps a few pictures of their surroundings — the view, the trees, whatever — so that he has something to show for all of the clicking and time later, but he always comes back to David.
And, Patrick quickly realizes, he always will.
“It’s one thing to make a picture of what a person looks like, it’s another thing to make a portrait of who they are.” – Paul Caponigro
*****
After the hike, the camera becomes a permanent fixture on Patrick. He buys a nice case for it, a compact one he can carry in a backpack or add to David’s bag without being too much of an imposition. He takes pictures of everything — of the town, of nature, of the Roses. Those he shares; Alexis instagrams a few, Johnny asks for copies of a couple, and Moira tuts nearly incomprehensible comments that he thinks might be compliments.
But mostly, Patrick takes pictures of David.
There are posed ones, and even though Patrick never feels satisfied with them, never feels like he’s truly captured David, he takes them. They are something to show David, something to keep him from becoming suspicious of Patrick. The posed pictures save Patrick from having nothing to show despite nearly always has a camera in his hand.
David’s favorite is actually one of him and Alexis.
Johnny had decided to host another barbeque, and insisted on “teaching his children some basic life skills”. As a result, David and Alexis were stationed at the grill, supposedly learning how to cook hamburgers. There wasn’t much learning happening; Johnny had no idea what he was talking about. In fact, just moments after “showing” David and Alexis how to tell when to flip the meat, Johnny had run off to get a beer — only to never return.
In a rare moment of practicality over fashion, David wasn’t wearing a black sweater. Apparently, the summer day combined with the heat of the grill made even David think twice about wearing knits in July. Not wanting to risk getting grease or flames or god knows what on any of his designer t-shirts, David had stolen Patrick’s (clean) baseball jersey from his gym bag that lives in the trunk of his car. Patrick took a lot of pleasure in reading his last name on David’s back.
David, in Patrick’s baseball jersey and fancy looking jeans, and Alexis, makeup perfectly done and wearing heels, looked too cute by the grill. Patrick remembers how clueless they had looked. Successful cooking turned out to be inevitable, but Alexis had tried to hold the spatula as if she had some clue what she was doing. David had peered over her shoulder, using her as a human shield from any grease splatter.
Patrick hadn’t been able to resist photographing the moment. He told them to smile, and David slipped out from behind Alexis, probably to attempt to appear useful in the picture. But at the last second, David had said something snarky, and Alexis had rounded on him. David had spun around, trying to protect himself, but Alexis had still managed to whack him on the arm with the spatula.
In the picture, David has his back mostly the camera, Brewer prominently stamped across his upper back. He’s curled in on himself, fruitlessly trying to defend himself. Alexis is midswing, the spatula just centimeters from contact. Despite the small amount of sibling violence, they both look happy.
It’s a perfect snapshot of their relationship, of the joy they have found together in Schitt’s Creek.
“Taking an image, freezing a moment, reveals how rich reality truly is.” – Anon
_____
Patrick’s favorite — of the ones he has the courage to show David, anyway — is unsurprisingly one of him and David.
They’d decided to retake their picture in front of the store that they had on their website. The one Ray had taken was borderline ridiculous, with David holding roses and Patrick holding old-timey medicine bottles.
They (David) wanted something more simple, something more on brand. So Patrick learned how to use the timer feature on the camera, dragged the ladder to the sidewalk, and set it to take their picture.
Simpler turned out to be much more simple that Patrick had thought David would want. It was just the two of them, standing on the steps to the store with their arms around each other, Rose Apothecary visible above their heads. They’d both smiled wide, proud of their store and their life, eager to show it off to the world.
Apparently, Patrick didn’t have a good concept of how long ten seconds was. He had been confident that the camera had already snapped the picture when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to David’s cheek.
He had been a second too early, though, and the camera captured the sweet gesture.
In the picture, Patrick’s lips are pressed to David’s cheek, and his hand is tightly wrapped around David’s waist, tugging him in closer so that Patrick’s chest is flush against David’s side. The proud grin on David’s face is melted into a soft smile, and his eyes sparkle with happiness.
It’s a soft picture, sweet and tender, and shows just how enamored they are with each other.
They’d retaken the portrait, and gotten a picture where they were standing in the pose David had picked for them.
But, a few days later, when Patrick went to their website, he saw that David had uploaded the original, the one where David’s smile is genuine and Patrick’s lips are kissing the side of David’s face.
“There is one thing the photograph must contain – the humanity of the moment.” – Robert Frank
_____
Patrick’s true favorite is a candid picture of David that David doesn’t know about. It’s just one out of hundreds of candids featuring David that Patrick has no intentions of David finding out about, but it’s his favorite.
The picture is from early fall. One of their produce suppliers had invited them to their farm, offering to let David and Patrick go apple picking before the mass of tourists and locals swept in an overwhelmed the orchard.
It was a perfect day, cool and crisp but still sunny. More than that, they were entirely alone and surrounded by beautiful trees and sweet fruit, and they’d had the best time together.
David isn’t doing anything particularly special in the photo. It’s just a picture of David being David, a pretty backdrop fading in comparison to his beauty. David’s back is to the camera, no idea that Patrick’s viewfinder is focused on him and not the nearby rows trees. There’s a basket of apples at David’s feet, and he’s staring up at a tall tree, looking at a squirrel picking at a rotten apple.
Hand raised near his shoulder, David is holding a fruit of his own, seconds away from taking the first bite from it. The fingers of his left hand are wrapped around the apple, and the gold of his four rings contrast the red brilliantly, the sun shining off them. Patrick had been fiddling with the camera settings some, and, as a result, the rings flash bright flashes of light at the camera. Patrick remembers feeling so, so in love with this man. And so, so grateful that this man had agreed to marry him.
If it didn’t mean he’d have to confess his habit of taking clandestine candids of David, Patrick would probably make it his lock screen on his phone.
“Photography is an art of observation. It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.” – Elliott Erwitt
*****
It’s a Tuesday morning in early November, and Patrick wakes up well before David, like always. The first thing Patrick sees when he opens his eyes is David’s sleeping face, his eyes softly shut, his lips slightly parted.
David is lying on his side, facing Patrick. It’s an unusual position for David, partially because he secretly prefers being little spoon, and partially because he hates sleeping with his face to the window because it’s too harsh when he wakes up.
But this morning, the gentle light of dawn washes across David. David had fallen asleep with a button down flannel on, but at some point during the night, Patrick had unbuttoned it, just wanting to touch his fiancé more. Now, the morning light shines across down David’s face, his neck, all the way down the sliver of bare chest. Dark hair peeks out where the shirt is parted, and Patrick has to stop himself from reaching out and carding his fingers through it.
It’s a beautiful image, one that Patrick can’t wait to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life. He’s fine with switching up the details — maybe wake up to the pale back of David’s neck instead of his face, or a completely bare chest instead of the soft frame of flannel — but this, David here in his bed — their bed, is everything he needs for the rest of forever.
The moment is too perfect for Patrick to resist trying to capture it.
Quietly, careful not to disturb David, Patrick crawls out of bed and snags his camera off the dresser. He settles into the armchair they’ve put beneath the window, the one David likes to drink his coffee in on mornings when Patrick has already gotten out of bed.
Patrick turns the camera on and angles it at David. He doesn’t mess with the settings, the moment doesn’t need any fancy tricks, doesn’t need added depth or warmth. Everything about David, about the picture Patrick sees before him, is perfect, and that’s what he wants to capture, not some fabricated alteration of it. Patrick’s clicks the shutter.
The picture is beautiful. David is beautiful.
Patrick wants another, wants a picture that’s closer up and really shows David’s face, so he zooms in and clicks the button again.
Unsurprisingly, that picture is gorgeous, too.
He wants every aspect of this moment captured — he wants a shot where he can see every individual hair on David’s chest, wants a shot where he can see his entire apartment around David, wants a shot that pointedly includes the half-empty bottle of lube and David’s glasses that sit on the nightstand.
Patrick is five or six pictures in when David’s eyes bat open. For a moment, he stares blearily at Patrick, and everything is calm and quiet and lovely.
Until, suddenly, it isn’t.
Before Patrick can properly react to David waking up, David is shooting up in bed, sitting upright and drawing back against the headboard. His hands claw at the sides of his flannel, wrapping the shirt around his torso like a protective layer.
“Are you taking pictures of me?” David spits, much louder than he’s normally capable of being at seven in the morning — or any time before ten for that matter.
“I — yes,” Patrick confesses, chagrinned. He keeps talking, trying to explain himself. “You just looked so pretty laying there and the lighting was perfect and it was irresistible.”
The color drains out of David’s face, and he seems to be getting smaller by the second. His legs draw up in front of him, and his hands loop around his ankles.
“Um, do you have any idea how violating it is to take pictures of someone when they’re asleep and practically naked?” David screeches.
“David, I’d hardly say you’re—” Patrick stops short. Practically naked, he was going to argue, but the words die on his tongue.
Quickly, but definitely too late, Patrick realizes that David’s reaction stems from a different situation, albeit one similar in appearance.
A situation where someone David trusted, someone he cared about, snuck out of bed to take pictures of him. A situation where someone exploited how little clothing David had slept in, and photographed him when he was vulnerable and unable to protest.
A situation where the someone behind the camera was Sebastien Raine, not Patrick.
“Fuck,” Patrick murmurs, horrified at his own behavior. “David… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Patrick apologizes, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “I shouldn’t have taken them.”
“You think?” David snaps, still curled on the bed.
Patrick’s heart is in his stomach; he hates when David is upset, especially the kind of upset that brings up scars from his past, and he really hates being the one to dredge up the painful memories.
“I’m sorry, David,” Patrick says again. Desperate to make this right, he continues. “I’ll delete them right now. They’re nothing to me, I promise.”
“Good,” David huffs from the comfort of the covers, distrust and anger sparkling in his eyes.
Patrick switches to the preview mode on the camera and navigates to delete the picture. Before he can do it though, he remembers another detail of the story, a detail David had shared with Patrick late at night, under the soft protection of darkness.
David had woken up the morning that Sebastien had taken those risqué pictures, too. He’d told Sebastien to delete them all, and Sebastien had promised he did. It wasn’t until a few weeks later than David discovered a several-picture spread of himself in an art magazine. Sebastien had sold the pictures he’d assured David were destroyed.
“Come watch so you know,” Patrick offers softly.
Wearily, David crawls out of bed and trudges across the room. Even though he looks like he’d rather be a million miles away from Patrick, David perches on the armrest of Patrick’s chair.
Patrick waits until David’s settled, his side leaning into Patrick’s shoulder to prop himself up, before lifting the camera up, planning to delete the pictures..
But now that David is so near, Patrick feels like he needs to try to smooth things over again, to make David understand that his intentions were good, that he’s nothing like Sebastien Raine.
So Patrick hesitates, another apology flooding out. “I’m so sorry, David. I promise, I wasn’t going to show them to anyone.” The words tumble from his mouth in a rush. “I just wanted to preserve the moment, for me, but I shouldn’t have done it. I had no right to take the pictures, and I’ll delete them now. They’re nothing, I promise.”
David doesn’t say anything, which Patrick is pretty certain is a bad sign, so Patrick turns his attention back to deleting the photographs. His finger is millimeters away from the trash icon when he hears, “Manhattan.”
Patrick freezes.
Manhattan — a place David has gone a million times before (things David may have done with dozens of other people), and a place David never wants to go to again (things David finally feels comfortable saying he doesn’t want to do).
It’s their safeword — a word they established to mean stop in the bedroom, but a word they almost never actually use during sex. They have, however, developed a habit of using it outside of bedroom activities, a kind of strong don’t you fucking dare warning to make each other understand the gravity of their opinions.
So Patrick waits, breath caught in his throat, finger shaking with nerves above the delete button. He’s not sure what David is Manhattan-ing — not until David reaches out and grabs Patrick’s hand, forcing it down and away from the camera, that is.
“You took this? Just now?” David breathes. Patrick gets the sense it’s not a real question — obviously it’s from just now; obviously, Patrick was the one to take it. More than that, Patrick gets the sense it’s not even a question David meant to say out loud, that it’s a part of some undeveloped thought.
So Patrick waits, breath coming heavily, hand in his lap. He waits for David to elaborate, to say something, anything, to give Patrick some insight into his thoughts.
“Patrick, this… this is not nothing,” David murmurs, one hand fingering over the small screen on the camera.
And suddenly, Patrick is pulled back — pulled back to a night years ago, a night where David thumbed over something else Patrick had put a lot of work into and assured him that it wasn’t nothing.
“I — it —uh,” Patrick struggles for words. He swallows thickly and forces himself to tilt his head back so he can evaluate David’s expression.
David doesn’t look panicked. He doesn’t look worried or violated or angry. He looks… calm. Soft. Happy.
“Why?” Patrick finally manages, his voice hoarse. “Why is it not nothing?”
“Because,” David says softly, his gaze finally tearing away from the picture on the screen to meet Patrick’s eye. “This picture…” His gaze drifts back to the camera. “This picture looks like love. Our love. There’s nothing manipulative or self-serving or crude about it. It’s just… nice.”
“I love you,” Patrick says simply, as if that explains everything. “I would never want to take advantage of you. You’re gorgeous, though, and I’ve spent months trying to capture that and do you justice.”
“You have?” David asks breathlessly.
Patrick weighs the risks of confessing, of telling David about the hundreds of pictures he’s taken of David, and he knows that David has a right to know. He wants David to know. He wants David to understand that, to Patrick, David is art and deserves to be cherished as such. Not by the world, but by those who love him.
“Here,” Patrick says softly, handing the camera to David. “Look through them.”
David takes the camera and clicks to the right, bringing them back to the beginning of the camera roll.
There’s a picture of David at the store, his attention intensely focused on arranging a display of fall merchandise. There’s a picture of David at the cafe, a fluffy croissant half in his mouth and a sparkle in his eye. A picture of David at the motel, animatedly talking to Stevie. David at Patrick’s, wearing Patrick’s boxers and t-shirt as he applies his nightly skin care regimen.
There are other pictures interspersed, pictures of Alexis and Stevie, pictures of town events, pictures of nature.
But mainly, it’s David.
“I’m speechless,” David finally murmurs, his voice barely audible.
“In a good way or a bad way?” Patrick asks tentatively.
For the first time since taking the camera, David looks up and meets Patrick’s gaze. Patrick is startled to find that he’s crying, but there’s a hint of a soft smile, too, so it must not be entirely bad.
“You, like, really love me Patrick Brewer,” David says simply. His voice is full of awe, like he’s just made an unbelievable discovery.
“I really do, David Rose.” Patrick wraps an arm around David and pulls him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You’re my everything.”
“Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever… It remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything.” – Aaron Siskind