Chapter Text
While he’s curled up on the sofa watching a dubbed version of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, David’s phone chirps on the cushion next to him happily. He almost ignores the message. It’s only Tinder, and he’s not exactly in the mood to field abrupt requests for anonymous hookups. However, his hand moves for the phone on autopilot when he registers the notification is longer than four words.
Patrick12: The world really is a small place. I can’t believe a guy I met at a gallery in NYC here in Russia.
Confusion and mild intrigue pique David’s interest when he reads the message. At any rate, it’s the most interesting opening gambit he’s received in a long while. It’s enough to have him tapping on the little icon by the man’s name.
Patrick12’s profile is sparse. No real bio to speak of, only listing his first name, age, and his interest in males and females. David flips through the photos, curious to know how their paths have apparently crossed.
The first photo is Patrick’s profile picture, which is a decent shot of a guy with slightly curly brown-possibly-auburn hair and almost zero eyebrows. Nothing in his pleasant smile and soft brown eyes looks familiar to David. The second photo is selfie taken in a nondescript bathroom of Patrick wearing a dark blazer and khaki colored dress pants. Lastly, Patrick has chosen a photo of himself standing on a mountainous overlook, sweaty and grinning openly.
David has no fucking clue what this guy is talking about. He taps back to the DM, reads it again, and hesitates. Curiosity gets the best of him less than thirty seconds later.
TinderDavidR: Hi, sorry, but I am having a hard time placing you.
Patrick12: It’s alright. You probably meet new people everyday. I was at one of your shows last month.
He sends a second message. This one is an image attachment of an installment David ran back in January. It sold two days after it premiered, bringing in a nice little lump sum for the gallery. Patrick’s shot is uneven and it’s clearly something he sent to a friend via Snapchat. The little black bar across the bottom asks: “Do you know what this is supposed to be?” David rolls his eyes at the message. Not everyone understands high art, and the fact can be exhausting when his life literally deals with it every day.
TinderDavidR: That is a piece on the concept of jealousy. The artist did a whole series on virtues and sins.
TinderDavidR: Do you save all your snaps?
Patrick seems to type and retype a few times judging by the thinking bubbles that pop up at the bottom of the DM. Finally, he sends—
Patrick12: I didn’t save it. My cousin took a screenshot and sent it to our group chat to make fun of me. She’s an art major and gave me and the rest of our cousins a short art lesson then sent me a private message asking why I didn’t invite her to the city more often.
Patrick12: I don’t know why I told you that. Whoops.
David suppresses a smile at that “whoops.”
TinderDavidR: I’m glad it’s not falling on me to educate you on the intricacies and gravity of art.
His attention, which has been on this little conversation for several minutes while Holly Golightly’s party swings along on the television, is tugged away when the door to his suite opens. Startled, he watches Alexis sashay inside, skirt flowing behind her.
“David,” she cries out when her eyes land on him. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you ready?”
David sits up. “Why aren’t I ready for what ?” He panics, trying to remember what she’s talking about. They didn’t have plans, and he’d been enjoying the movie.
Alexis doesn’t stop walking and heads straight for the washroom so she can inspect her reflection. She’s got her hair braided back and she fiddles with some of the wisps hanging by her face. “For dinner. Ernesto is here now, and we’re all going to dinner.”
David sighs to himself when he imagines having to play third wheel to his sister’s reunion with this month’s boyfriend. Dinner sounds good though. And he doesn’t think he’s in the mood for room service. It always takes so long to get the food after ordering it.
Alexis turns around with one of those little twisted, plotty smiles on her lips as she walks back into the living area. Pointing at him, she says, “There are some people I want you to meet.”
Not just Alexis and Earnesto tonight, but a gaggle of some of her friends too. David doesn’t know why he’s feeling so blasé about the thought of entertaining company lately. Maybe because he doesn’t know any of them, and because Alexis has decided to make him her project for the next week.
His phone dings with a new message, and is a good excuse to ignore his sister. David holds the phone up, feigning intense interest in the Twitter alert he just got. Alexis isn’t deterred.
She tugs him up off the couch and pushes him towards the bedroom. “Get dressed!”
David whines, “Don’t touch me!” But he does get changed, and he does go to dinner with Alexis, her boyfriend, and a group of people who end up being fun and loud, but all together not very interesting.
Later, after he’s stripped out of his Givenchy sweater and folded up his pants so he could change into sleep clothes, David remembers to check Tinder again. He settles back against the pillows on his bed and opens the app.
Patrick12: I could have worse teachers than you.
Okay, so maybe there’s something to Patrick after all. David is smiling at the flirtatious message. It’s practically adorable.
David assumes Patrick must be asleep at this time of night, and it has been several hours since the message was sent. He doesn’t know what Patrick does, but he looks like the kind of guy who goes to bed and wakes up early regularly. Whatever it is, David can’t help but imagine it involves numbers or formulae of some kind—something boring and steady.
He sends Patrick a message anyway, even though he should let the conversation die its natural death. Surely, there’s nothing for the two of them here. Patrick hasn’t even asked for a selfie yet.
TinderDavidR: Any art questions can be sent my way, but I retain the right to redirect you to Google.
When he wakes up the next morning, he has a message waiting that was sent hours earlier, at six-forty. So fucking early.
Patrick12: Sounds like a deal.
David is cold as fuck, even with the down filled coat he has on and the heaters blowing warm air at the feet of the people in his booth. He’s got a soft alpaca scarf wrapped around his neck and over his chin. David is cold . He doesn’t want to be here, breath puffing and disappearing in front of his face as he watches a whole lot of nothing while commentators keep the audience up with who is in the lead and who has had bad luck in the race. He adjusts his toque so both ears are covered, and frowns at the snowy slopes.
Next to him, Alexis talks animatedly with one of her friends—Amber or Elise or something like that—and she looks warm . She looks like she belongs and is immune to the cold of the winter air around them.
At least it isn’t snowing anymore. The snow had subsided an hour before the race began, and David had been hoping to use that as an excuse to skip it all together. Alexis had been threatening to make him go, snow or not. Now that he’s here, David is just as miserable as he knew he would be.
“Excuse me,” he says to Alexis, bumping his shoulder against hers in a way that makes her nose wrinkle. “I’ll be back.”
Alexis’s expression clears, but her voice is sharp when she asks, “Where are you going? The race is almost over.”
David knows it is. He can hear the excited voices of the commentators just as well as she can. He huffs.
“I will be back.” He insists, eyebrows climbing. Explaining he needs to relieve himself isn’t something he thinks should be expected of him. He doesn’t need permission, and definitely not from his sister of all people.
“David!” She stomps her foot once, but doesn’t press the issue. When David just gives her a flat look, she lifts her chin and turns back to the slopes in front of them.
Inside, David tugs his gloves off and fishes his phone out of a pocket. The warmth of the building makes his cheeks and nose sting.
TinderDavidR: I’m so sick of the cold. It’s cold everywhere.
He doesn’t expect a response, but it feels nice to vent. He could have tweeted and gotten at least a few replies and retweets. That’s not what he wants though. He wants to pout and to whine without worrying about looking like a jerk. He has much less invested in Patrick than he does in his followers.
There’s a response waiting for him after he’s finished in the washroom.
Patrick12: You do know you’re at the Winter Olympics, right? Or were you kidnapped and held hostage?
David finds a seat by a bank of televisions broadcasting the ski race. He tucks his free hand beneath his right arm to help it regain some feeling. Why couldn’t they have stayed inside to watch? Alexis’s boyfriend wouldn’t have known the difference.
TinderDavidR: I might as well have been. I think my sister has been held hostage enough that she has picked up a few tricks of her own.
Patrick12: Should I be concerned for your wellbeing? Or for your sister’s, for that matter?
David’s stomach does a pointless little flip when he reads the words. He can’t even place why , because it’s not a come-on.
TinderDavidR: That’s supposedly why my sister roped me into coming here. She thinks I’ve been moping since my last break-up and she’s concerned.
David regrets sending the message almost as soon as he hits enter. Oddly, it feels equally good to lay it all out like that. Patrick doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t know Patrick. There’s a freedom in being honest without worrying about his image.
Patrick12: How long has that been?
TinderDavidR: A few months.
Mentioning an ex is a pretty solid deathknell for any burgeoning relationships. But this doesn’t feel like that , David tells himself. It’s a simple conversation with a pleasant person.
Patrick12: It must have been a rough one. I’m sorry.
Why was Patrick apologizing? It wasn’t his fault, and there wasn’t anything Patrick could do about it. Before David can decide what to say, Patrick sends another message.
Patrick12: Is being here helping distract you?
The people around David erupt in noise—cheers of elation and some groans of despair—and he has to turn to the side to keep from getting stepped on by a nearby group of enthusiastic fans. He pushes to his feet and heads back outside, slipping his phone into his pocket and pulling on his gloves once more. With the race finished, he needs to make sure his sister doesn’t get swept away somehow.
Alexis grabs him as soon as he is within reach, squealing “He won!” David wraps her into a hug and grins at the way she wiggles in his arms.
Talking with Patrick has quickly become something David looks forward to, despite how short of a time they’ve been interacting. He can’t help dwelling on it as he picks out his outfit and gets ready for lunch with Alexis and her friends. David can admit to himself he is lonely—as lonely (but not as depressing) as Alexis insists he is. While he has friends of his own, they’re all busy and elsewhere. Most text exchanges feel forced and distant, a fact that he’s been ignoring for some time. He doesn’t know what most of his friends are up to, and isn’t that a little clarifying?
He sighs.
This isn’t what Alexis had in mind when she talked him into dropping everything for the Olympics. All this time alone in his suite and shuffling from event to event with people he can’t even pretend to care about (besides Alexis—he will always care about her) has given him too much time to think .
Somehow, over the past three days, talking with Patrick has become the highlight of his time here. Patrick’s a stranger, but maybe most of the people in David’s life are strangers. At least he knows where he stands with Patrick.
David flexes his fingers and counts through a few breaths until his mind is clear. This is ridiculous. He’s standing in his hotel suite, getting ready for lunch. There’s no reason to be so melancholic.
The next time he’s stuck in a corridor next to Alexis as she flirts with a flock of...speed skaters, maybe? The next time he’s forced to entertain himself and look busy so he doesn’t look pathetic , David finds himself opening up Tinder and clicking on Patrick’s profile. Looking at the same three boring photos that he saw less than three days ago. He backreads their conversations and thinks about how warm he’d gotten at points during their interactions. The words hadn’t even been very overt or even sexual. And yet David had been affected, still finds himself affected. His heart beats faster as he flips back to the photos and he tries to see something there that would explain it.
Patrick was objectively boring at first glance. David remembers the impression he’d gotten with that opening DM Patrick had sent. He hadn’t been impressed, though he’d been intrigued. He’s not impressed now. Except. Except Patrick has wide shoulders and in that formalwear selfie, his neck is exposed thanks to a lack of tie and two undone buttons. David flips to the mountaineering photo, looks at Patrick’s happy, wide smile, and promptly gets stuck on a small scar on his eyebrow where it’s underscored by the sunset backlighting him. It seems the more he interacts with Patrick and the more he looks at these simple selfies, the more David feels . It’s like Patrick is a Photomosaic. To see all the details, one has to study closer.
They haven’t even seen each other in person since this started.
Pulled from his reverie, David makes an undignified squeak when his phone chirps happily. A new message notification pops up at the side of his screen. It’s Patrick.
Patrick12: Big day for Canada!
Alexis has bored of entertaining the ice skaters. She turns to David and expectantly says, “Well?” Her gaze narrows momentarily before she slinks a half step closer to him and hums, asking, “Is there, like, something going on here with you?”
David drops his hand to the side, phone screen pressed against his hip in an unconscious effort to protect the conversation between himself and Patrick. He rolls his shoulders one way and his head the other, voice louder than he meant for it to be when he says, “Just that I’m possibly dying of hunger while you flirt with every male member of every Olympic team here after promising me food.”
Alexis hums again, narrows her eyes again before shrugging off the skeptical look altogether for a bright, “I want a green smoothie.”
After he’s ordered his meal, David asks Alexis what she is planning to do for the rest of the day. He knows her boyfriend has to practice at some point. He’s been thinking about getting out of the hotel, but there doesn’t seem to be very much to do around here unless it’s related to the Games.
“Shopping after this with Klaire, Windsor, and Grayson. Ernesto’s thing is at three this afternoon.” Alexis keeps her eyes on her phone, frowning at something she sees there. Her gaze flicks up at David as she asks, “Will you be able to entertain yourself?”
“Uh, yes?” He says incredulously. “I have plans of my own!”
Alexis has a tiny little smirk on her mouth, though part of David clings to the warmth of her eyes as she sharply asks, “Ooh, fun! What are your plans, David?”
He seethes, crossing his legs, sitting back in his chair, and flexing his fingers in front of him as he defends his statement. “Yes, fun. I’m meeting up with some friends later and going to get-together at Alex’s.”
His phone buzzes across the tabletop, an easy excuse to look pointedly at it as if proof that he is busy .
It’s just a twitter notification, but he snatches his phone quickly enough that Alexis can’t tell. He pulls open the Safari window and the open page of the Olympics schedule that he keeps tucked in the background of his phone so he can pretend to know what’s going on around him. He scans the schedule for anything Canadian going on, vaguely guilty feeling that he doesn’t know his own country’s game schedule. Some events have already happened, but he knew he would be missing several, if not most, of them because they have such fucking weird start times thanks to wanting to broadcast worldwide live. Some of these events will be airing at seven in the morning for God’s sake. He can’t imagine anyone caring about any sport enough to be awake that early to watch.
He messages Patrick back.
TinderDavidR: Got a lot going on today, huh?
The response is quick, gratifying.
Patrick12: Yeah kinda lol. What about you?
Why is everyone interrogating him about his plans for the day? David frowns and shifts in his seat.
TinderDavidR: My agenda is pretty full. There’s this sports thing going on today.
Their breakfast is served, and he’s halfway through his French toast before he gets another message from Patrick. It’s a photo—the second one he’s sent David now—and it’s of the entrance to an ice hockey rink.
Patrick12: I hadn’t noticed.
That pulls a confused huff of a laugh out of David. The photo looks like it was taken from the walkway leading to the ice , not from the stands. He frowns again at his phone, before raising his eyebrows when he realizes why Patrick would have access like that.
TinderDavidR: You're with the press?
He doesn’t know how he feels about that prospect. Like, it makes some sense. Patrick certainly looks like a junior reporter type—earnest and practical with his close-cut hairstyle and generic Nice Guy look. Well, the press isn’t nice . It’s never nice. But Patrick seems to be. And he’s young and probably fresh out of college. This might even be his first major assignment.
David decides it’s cute. Sports is far enough removed from entertainment that David doesn’t think he is grossed out about associating Patrick with the people who literally make it their business to ruin the lives of his friends.
On their way back to the hotel, Alexis makes an attempt to invite David along with his friends to go shopping, but he doesn’t want to do that. He, embarrassingly enough, wants to be alone when Patrick messages him next.
He might be a little bit invested in this whole....flirtation? If it can even be called that considering they’ve been talking for barely more than four days and not a single nude has been exchanged. The word “cock” hasn’t been used once .
But it still feels like...something to David. He’s invested , whatever it is.
When he checks the schedule again, he realizes the Canadian men’s ice hockey game is in full swing. David is lying across is bed, and almost considers turning the television on even though everything will be in Russian. Watching a sporting event that he doesn’t care about, and in fact has semi negative memories associated with, just for the sake of hoping to catch a glimpse of Patrick’s face in the press pit of a cameras swings by, is simply too pathetic for even him.
He takes a nap instead.
Patrick replied not too long before David woke up feeling groggy and cold from sleeping on top of the covers.
Patrick12: Definitely not the press.
There’s a grimacing emoji next to it.
David reads the little square notification on his lock screen, blinking blearily at it as he sits up. While he unlocks his phone, another message comes through.
Another photo.
“Um, what the fuck?” David practically shouts into the empty hotel room. His other hand has twisted up in the comforter below him.
It’s a selfie.
It’s a selfie of Patrick with a flushed, sweaty face, and his hair is a little longer—it’s got some wave to it now—than in the photos from his profile. Patrick is in a very tight, black shirt that hugs his shoulders and is almost enough to distract David from seeing the locker behind where Patrick is sitting. There are little cubbies above his head with sneakers and a pair of skates stuffed in them. Hanging on the wall of the locker behind Patrick is a rumpled white jersey. David can see the edges of the red Maple Leaf.
David stands up suddenly, phone clutched in one hand, the other flung out to the side as he repeats, “What the actual fuck?”
He drops the phone to the bed then, and covers his face with both hands so he can muffle the very loud groan he lets out. He feels marginally better afterwards, and immensely grateful he had been alone when he found out. David thinks about deleting the app from his phone, but after he flops back down and actually picks up the phone to do just that, David purses his lips and doesn’t .
He opens the messages, looks at Patrick’s splotchy face (like this, his poor, pale eyebrows are practically invisible). Something ugly twists inside his gut, and he goes hot and cold all down his back as a thought hits him.
Before he can think better of it, he shoots off a message to Patrick.
TinderDavidR: Please tell me Sebastien Raine isn’t there.
He doesn’t get a reply. Patrick probably went straight to shower after sending that selfie. He probably reaked from playing. Because Patrick is a hockey player. Because Patrick is playing for Team Canada.
David does what he should have done before sending that message. He googles the men’s hockey team roster. Sebastien Raine is the fucking captain.
Fuck. Of course he is. Of course David would run into his past halfway around the world. It’s the fucking Olympics, what did he really expect? It’s been several years since they dated, but even back then, Sebastien had been kind of a big deal. David didn’t need to pay very close attention to sports to recognize the fanfare Sebastien drew whenever he was out in the city. He’d told David he wanted to protect him from the craziness of it all.
Later, David had figured out that wasn’t Sebastien’s main reason for sparing David the limelight.
David fiddles with the rings on his right hand for a few minutes as he stares at the black screen of his phone where it’s gone into idle. He opens Safari and scrolls back up the roster list until he sees Patrick Brewer , number 12—Jesus, fuck, this boy’s username was as unoriginal as it gets.
He googles Patrick next and feels gross about it. That doesn’t keep him from skimming over the Wikipedia article. It doesn’t tell him very much, except Patrick is apparently a defenseman for the Newark Wolves and was drafted fourth overall by Newark five years ago. He’s twenty-three.
David grimaces. Twenty-three feels like a fucking long time ago to him.
He swipes up through the articles below the Wikipedia link on Google. Most of them are about Newark’s progress, some are injury reports. David hesitates when he sees an article from Deadspin with Patrick’s name highlighted as a keyword. He clenches his teeth and clicks the link. Patrick is mentioned once and only because he is in the photo of two other players that the article is actually about. There had been a skirmish of some sort between a group of players and some fans. In the photo, Patrick is holding a teammate back, head tucked down with a frown on his face as he says something.
Since he’s already on this road, David types in Sebastien’s name. He hasn’t done this is years —hasn’t actually thought about Sebastien very much in half that time. When he clicks “search,” there are at least three times the results that Patrick got. David doesn’t look at the image search results, but one of the top five links includes a thumbnail of a magazine cover where Sebastien is nude, the angles of his body position covering any private area revelations. His eyes bounce from the thumbnail up to the top result which announced Sebastien had been named the captain of Team Canada for the men’s ice hockey team.
He closes Safari and puts his phone on airplane mode in a last ditch effort to save himself from a nice little anxiety spiral.
David takes a long shower where he conditions his hair and exfoliates his body. As he air-dries, sitting at the vanity in his washroom, David uses every piece from the pared down selection he keeps in his travel case. He’s stalling, making himself busy to keep from snatching his phone up and texting his friend Julie for her assistant to find him Sebastien’s number.
After close to two hours, his stomach is growling for food and he takes a breath. He feels calmer now that his skin has been properly hydrated and cared for. Every hair is in place and his rings are shiny and smudge free where he’s arranged them on his index and middle finger.
His phone chirps several times after he takes it off airplane mode, a few text messages rolling in, a missed FaceTime with Alexis, and two Tinder notifications.
The texts are from Alexis as well. She’d been trying to get his opinion on a few pieces from one of the boutiques she and her friends had stopped to peruse. He doesn’t reply to her snippy texts.
Patrick12: Fraid so.
Patrick12: You there still, David?
He wonders if this isn’t a sign from the universe that he should give up dating altogether. This thing with Patrick isn’t anything substantial. Knowing Patrick is on a team playing with Sebastien should be enough of a reason to block Patrick and forget all about him.
Still, David finds himself responding to Patrick.
TinderDavidR: Yep. I was busy.
TinderDavidR: I didn’t realize you are here for work.
A thought bubble pops up at the bottom of the message, goes away, comes back. That cycle repeats for almost a minute. Each second that ticks by drives David a little bit crazy.
Patrick12: That’s one way to put it, I guess. Maybe I should have been clear about it. We never discussed what we are doing in Sochi.
TinderDavidR: Why are you on Tinder?
David can’t help asking the question. Since he realized who Patrick is, he’s been mulling over the fact that Patrick has himself listed publicly as interested in both women and men. He almost wishes he had searched “ Patrick Brewer boyfriend ” before he’d sworn himself off Google. Anyone could find Patrick on Tinder, and David thinks if the right reporter got that information it would cause at least a little trouble for Patrick. Unless Patrick was out. Which maybe he was? Because he has himself listed openly for anyone with an account to see. It didn’t seem very prudent to be so obvious.
David remembers how this sort of thing typically goes in the sports community.
Patrick cuts his thoughts short with a vague reply.
Patrick12: My friend told me I should give it a shot.
David frowns.
TinderDavid12: And how is that going for you?
Patrick12: Not bad. I don’t have a whole lot of time to chit chat. I’ve only met the one person, and they’ve been holding my attention pretty well.
David warms at that, frowning harder. This is all so confusing.
Patrick12: Why are you on Tinder?
That’s fair. It also makes David roll his eyes.
TinderDavidR: First of all, I forgot I left it turned on before leaving NYC. Secondly, because have you tried meeting people IRL? Total nightmare. Not that dating apps are a wealth of prospects either at least I can filter this way.
There’s a pause for a couple minutes. David opens his text messages and finds Nautia’s last message. Distraction is probably a good idea. He types out a quick invitation to dinner if she’s in the area, just for something to do. He thinks she was in Russia last week for a modeling gig. Maybe she’s still here.
Patrick12: Nice to know I passed your screening process
Except Patrick hadn’t. The only reason David had responded was because Patrick mentioned their previous meeting. David wouldn’t have swiped right on Patrick on his own.
TinderDavidR: Well, you’re still in the preliminary screening process.
Patrick12: Oh, so there’s a whole process to getting your stamp of approval
David huffs. He lies, because he wishes it were the truth. Because he thinks Patrick will like it better this way, even if David should be cutting everything off between the two of them. He lies because he doesn’t want to stop. Sebastien was a shitty chapter amongst many shitty chapters of his life, and David has been attempting to write a happier one for himself (even if Alexis has very loud doubts about it).
TinderDavid12: Of course there is.
Patrick12: Is it a point system? Do I get a gold star for every benchmark I pass?
TinderDavidR: Gold stars, because I like pretty things.
Patrick12: And not because were at the Olympics and you want to match the theme?
David feels like Patrick is teasing him, and he clears his throat in an attempt to expel the overwhelming warmth building up inside. The easy way Patrick talks about why he’s in Sochi and how he keeps being just slightly flirty makes something unclench in David’s chest.
TinderDavidR: Coincidence.
Patrick12: How many gold stars do I have then?
TinderDavidR: I’ll let you know when you’ve earned one.
Patrick12: This isn’t a fair scoring system. I want to make a complaint to the board
TinderDavidR: Sorry, the board isn’t accepting feedback.
Patrick12: Guess I’m going to have to try harder then.
Patrick12: Does my goal in the game count for anything?
He can’t help it, the way Patrick was flirting makes David feel wanted and liked. He shouldn’t encourage it. He wants to though. He likes the way Patrick’s flirting has just enough edge in it to feel genuine, complementary to David’s own prickliness.
TinderDavidR: I’m not into sports, so no.
Patrick12: Why on earth are you at the Olympics if you don’t like sports?
TinderDavid: My sister is dating a sports guy. It’s a whole...thing.
Patrick12: Sports guy?
TinderDavidR: He skis. He’s French. She came to watch him ski, and she insisted I accompany her. My sister hasn’t had the best luck when traveling abroad.
Patrick12: I remember something about hostage situations. It's good that you tagged along.
TinderDavidR: Yes, I’m very giving like that.
Patrick12: lol
Patrick12: I’ve gotta go. Sports stuff to do. You know how it is.
TinderDavidR: Not really, but okay. Ttyl
David still doesn’t know what to do with this new information about Patrick. The loudest emotion he has is embarrassment for not even considering that Patrick might be an athlete here. While there are hundreds of thousands of spectators and press and support people here for the Olympics, there are also at least a thousand people here who are actually competing too. The odds can’t be that astronomical that he would end up matching with a very fit, kind of dorky hockey player.
Ugh, but then he’s back to remembering Sebastien and the humiliation of that whole thing.
David spends too much time reliving the very special humiliation of trying to love someone like Sebastien. Looking back, David knew he hadn’t been in love. It had just been the current vehicle he was taking down an avenue looking for validation and desire. David wanted to be loved. He wanted to love , but he was always falling for the next person who said two nice things about him. He’d done anything to keep the praise coming back then.
He knew he wasn’t as far away from that mindset these days as he liked to pretend he was. But, damn it, he was making a fucking attempt.
It really was shitty how things were being messed up all over again.
Flinging himself across his bed again, David holds his phone in hand and debates what to do.
God, does Patrick know about him and Sebastien?
Cold creeps down his back at the thought of Sebastien gossiping about him. But. Surely that wouldn’t be the case. Even David isn’t as self-involved as to think Sebastien cares about what David is doing these days.
Patrick doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would work this hard for a cheap joke or a hookup. David ignores the doubt niggling at the back of his head which snidely says, “ You have a terrible track record with gauging the intentions of others. ” It’s a loud voice, and too familiar, but he decides to stop letting his ingrained negativity dictate things.
It’s getting late. He can’t decide if Patrick’s silence over the past few hours has been out of necessity—David knows the life of a professional athlete is busy—or if it is Patrick’s way of giving David space to adjust his perception of who he’s been talking to. Maybe that’s a bit too generous.
He scrolls through their messages again and flips to Patrick’s profile to look at the same three photos he has practically memorized.
Patrick is nice .
There’s no reason David should let his demons and past stand in the way of some fun with a nice guy. It doesn’t have to go anywhere, but it doesn’t have to be this angst heavy dilemma either.
He switches back to their conversation.
TinderDavidR: How is your night going?