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Patrick Brewer is a romantic. He knows this about himself. Rachel got him to take the love languages quiz once, and his result was acts of service and gifts. It articulated something he always sort of knew — that he likes making the people he loves feel good, that it’s satisfying to prove he knows them well enough to give them something they need.
Patrick Brewer is also a troll. He knows this about himself, too. There wasn’t an option for that on the quiz.
And David Rose… David Rose fucking loves food.
Really, it’s all David’s fault. If he hadn’t made such a big deal over the one month cupcake, that might have been the end of it. If he’d been genuinely upset about it, that definitely would have been the end of it. But instead he’d griped and fussed and then eaten the cupcake with a small secret smile on his face, and how is Patrick meant to be able to resist getting that reaction again?
Month two was the box of heart-shaped candy that Patrick got at cost, because who buys heart-shaped candy in August? David had been appalled when he opened it, and made a big show of refusing to accept it, but by the end of the day the box was mysteriously half-empty.
Month three he’d convinced their favourite pizza place in Elmdale to make a pizza in the shape of a heart, and David had wavered between visceral disgust and… well… pizza for a solid ten minutes before he gave in and ate it, with such a ridiculous grumpy look on his face Patrick had almost said “I love you” right there.
Month four was the cookie, and the less said about that one the better.
David has been on edge all day, and Patrick knows why. Of course he knows why. The Rachel bruise is still a bit tender when pressed, and he’s sure David’s wondering if today even counts as an anniversary at all, or if the clock has reset.
It doesn’t help that it’s a pretty rough day in the store. Roland spends over an hour loitering and being very… Roland, a woman comes in demanding a refund on a bottle of sunscreen she’s used 90% of because she got sunburned on the beach — months ago — four hours after applying it, several big groups come in one after another to crowd up the store without buying anything. By the time Patrick flips the sign to closed, they’re both exhausted.
“Hey,” he says softly, kissing David in the spot between his jaw and neck and feeling him relax into it. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”
David tenses underneath his hands. “Why?” he asks, suspicious.
“Ray’s at poker night,” he wheedles, avoiding the question.
David sighs. “Fine,” he says, but there’s still an edge in his voice. “I’ll be over at seven?”
Patrick kisses him again. “Seven is perfect.”
It’s 7:10 by the time David arrives, but luckily Patrick knows his boyfriend well enough by this point to have dinner ready for 7:15. He greets David with a quick kiss and a “Make yourself at home, honey, there’s wine on the table” before he rushes back to the kitchen. He hears David step into the house, close the door behind him — and he hears the moment when David freezes.
“What,” he says with feeling, “in the fuck.”
In the middle of the table there’s a garish flower arrangement — the ugliest one Patrick could find. In the center of that there’s a ‘happy 5th birthday’ balloon, upon which Patrick has haphazardly scribbled out the ‘birthday’ and written ‘month anniversary’ in Sharpie.
Patrick pokes his head around the corner to take in the look on David’s face, a hilarious mixture of delight and abject horror.
“Sit down, David,” he says with the best poker face he can muster. “I’m bringing dinner through now.”
David all but flings himself into the chair. “You’re a monster,” he says firmly. “You’re the worst, you’re a menace, you’re— oh, my God.”
Patrick places the hot tray down on the table and smiles at him. “What were you saying?”
“Oh, my God,” David whispers again. “Oh my god, how did you—”
“Your mom gave me the recipe,” he says. “Did you know she thinks it’s hers?”
“It sure as fuck is not,” David hisses. “But, but, why—”
“You talk about Adelina all the time,” he says softly. “I just… wanted to give you a nice thing.”
David stares across the table at him, glassy-eyed.
“Happy anniversary, David,” Patrick grins, raising his glass.
The words are almost under his breath, but they’re there — the first time David’s said them back. “Happy anniversary, Patrick.”