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“Fuck! That was my spot, asshole!”
Patrick reaches out, grabbing David’s arm before he can flip off the soccer mom who’s just pulled into the spot David was eyeing. They’ve been circling the tiny parking lot for close to twenty minutes now, and David still isn’t any closer to parking.
“The show’s going to be starting soon,” Patrick points out, only to be met with a glare.
“I know,” David groans, tipping his head back against the headrest. “But people keep stealing my spots! What am I supposed to do?”
“There was plenty of street parking, David.” Patrick can see at least three open spots against the curb in front of the theatre. “I don’t even think I saw a meter.”
David is quiet for a moment, his face twisting into a grimace.
“Okay, it’s just,” he starts, pulling the car to a stop right in front of the exit. “I’m not the best at parallel parking? And the Lincoln is like, a beast. So that’s not exactly an option for me.”
“I can park for you.” The words come out without thinking, and then it’s too late. Fuck.
“Really? Oh my god, thank you,” David exclaims. He puts the car into park, unbuckling and hopping out of the car before Patrick can walk back the offer.
The thing is, Patrick really likes doing things for David. He’s always been like that, always been the type of person to quantify his value by his ability to be useful. Acts of service, Rachel had called it after reading a book about love languages. And now, Patrick can’t deny that acts of service are the core of his entire relationship with David. If he hadn’t offered to get the grant money, if he hadn’t wired up the lighting, maybe they wouldn’t be together at all.
And David, David’s wonderful. After a lifetime of people not bothering to think about his needs, David always looks so touched when he realizes that Patrick's quietly made a problem go away without him ever having to worry about it. When Patrick does something as simple as bringing him coffee or starting a load of laundry unasked, David gets this look on his face, stunned and so full of love. Patrick would do anything for that look.
Anything, apparently, including parallel parking for the first time since he passed his G2 road test twenty years ago.
David’s already opened the passenger door by the time Patrick unbuckles his seatbelt. Patrick does his best to smile at David as he gets out of the car. He takes a few deep breaths as he walks around to the front seat, working through a mental pep talk. Teenagers can do this. There’s no reason he can’t too.
Despite being together for nearly two years, Patrick hasn’t driven David’s car more than a handful of times. And despite all of David’s complaints about Patrick’s car—which has been going strong since he graduated college, Patrick would like to point out—its fuel economy is leagues above the Lincoln. Anytime they need to go on a drive longer than half an hour, they end up taking Patrick’s car. And of course, David still has to share his car with three other people, so Patrick’s car is often the most convenient option.
And Patrick’s always hated driving other people’s cars. He knows his car like the back of his hand, knows exactly how much pressure to give when he brakes, knows the way the handbrake sticks in the winter. But driving other people’s cars with their unknown quirks? It gives Patrick the same anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d had the first time he was allowed to drive on his own. Should I really be allowed to do this? he worries as he slips into David’s front seat.
David’s taller, so he gets to stall for a moment as he adjusts the seat. Patrick’s nothing if not responsible, so then he has to check all of his mirrors. He spends a moment adjusting the rearview, trying to focus on the task ahead instead of the way his heart is currently racing.
“Okay, I think that’s good,” David says with a teasing grin. “You’re only driving up the block.”
“Safety first,” Patrick says, his voice a little strained. David quirks an eyebrow at him, and Patrick can’t handle the weight of his gaze. He takes the car out of park, signals, and turns onto the street.
The street has been dead for the entire time they’ve been circling the parking lot, but now that Patrick needs to parallel park, there’s a line of cars behind him. It’s a two-lane road, so they can’t pass him. He feels the weight of the gaze of the SUV behind him, his knuckles tightening on the wheel.
“That one’s good,” David points out. It’s a spot at the end of the curb, so he’ll only have to navigate around the compact behind him. That seems a little less terrifying, and Patrick lets out a slow breath.
“Yep, I’ll just... Park there,” he says. He thinks back to his driving lessons, trying to remember all of the steps. He pulls up even with the crosswalk, lining things up in his mirrors. Deep breath. He indicates, shifts into reverse, and cuts the wheel. Deep breath.
But the SUV behind him is getting impatient, and they’ve started to creep up closer. Suddenly, Patrick’s not sure if he’ll have enough room to back in. David’s looking down at his phone. It would be so easy to just give up, drive off and circle the block again. David might not even notice, and even if he did, Patrick knows it wouldn’t matter.
Hell, Patrick could give up. He could say, “honestly, David, I don’t know why I offered to do this,” and then offer to drop David off at the front of the theatre while he hunts down a spot big enough to just drive straight into.
The thing is, Patrick physically can’t do that. Maybe it’s his stubbornness, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s already beating himself up for not being able to do this one simple fucking thing. And it’s not like he judges David for not being able to do it, not at all. He’s always held himself to a higher standard than the people around him, an unobtainable standard, his mother had told him once. There’s no chance Patrick’s going to give up.
Patrick taps the gas, but it’s not as sensitive as his own car. He presses a little harder, and then they’re flying back. There’s an ear-splitting crash, the horrifying sound of metal hitting metal. Patrick slams on the breaks, and they both jerk forward. David’s phone slips through his fingers and onto the floorboards.
“What the fuck!” he exclaims, his head whipping back to see what they’d hit. No, what Patrick had hit.
The SUV honks loudly, shooting past them entirely too quickly for such a quiet road. Patrick’s frozen, his head staring straight ahead. He can’t turn to look, can’t risk seeing the fury that must be rising on David’s face.
“I think we hit the bike rack,” David says. He rolls down his window, sticking his head out further to see. “Damn, it must be sturdy. Looks like the trunk got the worst of the damage.”
Patrick’s eyes are stinging, his breathing coming faster and faster. He wants to open the door and bolt out, wants to sink into his seat until he disappears.
“Patrick?” David says, and then a gentle hand is tilting Patrick’s head. Patrick can’t bear to look at David. He squeezes his eyes shut, a few hot tears slipping through and sliding down his cheeks. “Oh my god, Patrick, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?”
“I’m so sorry, David,” Patrick says, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I can’t believe—Oh my god, David, I—”
“Patrick, breathe,” David says. His thumb slides against Patrick’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “It’s fine, okay?”
“It’s not fine,” Patrick says. His voice hitches, and then he’s crying full out. His shoulders shake, pulling away from David to hide his face in his hands. “I’ll pay for the damage. And, and your insurance will go up, fuck. I’ll pay the difference, I promise. I’m so sorry, David, I’ve—”
“Patrick!” David says, his voice sharp enough to force Patrick’s eyes open. He reaches over, putting the car in park, still half on the sidewalk. “I think there’s just a dent in the bumper. This isn’t a big deal, okay? Alexis totalled the Aston she got for her sweet sixteen, like, fifteen minutes after my dad handed her the keys. This is nothing compared to that.”
Patrick can hear the words that David’s saying, can see the earnestness in his face. He doesn't look angry, doesn’t even look annoyed. His eyes are wide with concern, his palm gentle where he’s rubbing soothing circles on Patrick’s knee.
“You shouldn’t—” Patrick’s voice is cut off with another sob, and god, that’s only adding more humiliation to this entire thing. He’s never cried in front of David before. He can’t remember the last time he cried this hard in front of anyone, maybe not since he broke his arm climbing trees as a kid. He takes a few shaky breaths, trying his hardest to pull himself together. “You shouldn’t be trying to make me feel better, David. I’m the one who fucked up.”
“This is barely a fuck up,” David says. “Like, you only think this is a fuck up because you’ve never been so strung out that you accidentally posted a dick pic on your Insta story. And not even my own dick pic, mind you! It was from a random, and like, maybe he learned a valuable lesson about not sending unsolicited nudes, but still!”
That gets a weak laugh out of Patrick.
“I really am sorry, David,” he repeats. “I’ve never—god, I’ve never gotten a parking ticket, let alone been in an accident.”
“Okay, well, that is very irritating to know,” David says with a teasing smile. “Like, I could probably buy myself a new car with all of the money I’ve spent on parking tickets.”
“Have you ever dented your boyfriend’s car and had to tell his entire family that you’re the reason the trunk won’t open?”
“Well, first off, I’m pretty sure the trunk still opens,” David says with a roll of his eyes. “And second, don’t worry about that. We’ll say I was the one driving.”
“What? No!” Patrick protests. “We can’t do that. That’s not fair to you.”
“I mean, I should’ve been the one driving,” David shrugs. “And if I had been, I’m sure the damage would be a lot worse than a tiny dent. Miniscule, one might even say.”
“I don’t want you to take the fall for me,” Patrick says, shaking his head. The tears are starting to slow down enough that he can see the road in front of him. He glances over his shoulder, and then he slowly drives off of the curb. He’s angled a little funny, but it’s good enough for him to shut off the car and go check on the damage.
“I told you so,” David says with a smug smile when Patrick pops the trunk open. “I bet we can pop the dent out and no one will ever have to know. It’ll be like brand new. Or, as close to brand new as a car from the fifties can look, I guess.”
“I think it’s a ‘78,” Patrick says, and David rolls his eyes.
“There’s a mechanic seven minutes away,” David says, glancing down at his phone. “Why don’t we go see if they do walk-ins? Because no offense, but I don’t want to involve Bob in this.”
“You don’t want to involve the entirety of Schitt’s Creek in this, you mean,” Patrick jokes.
David goes back to the passenger side, reaching for the door.
“Wait, no,” Patrick protests, following behind him. “I shouldn’t drive after that!”
David pauses, turning to look at Patrick. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “If you’re shaken up, I’ll drive. But I still trust you, you know? This didn’t change anything.”
“It should,” Patrick says in a quiet voice.
“Mm, nope.” David reaches out, his arms hooking around Patrick’s neck in the same easy way they always have. Patrick steps forward, burying his head in David’s shoulder. His face is still wet and gross from crying, but David doesn’t even flinch. He wraps his arms around Patrick, holding him close. Patrick can feel the slight pressure as David presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
Patrick soaks up David’s warmth for a few long moments. He might not be ready to forgive himself yet, but David doesn’t seem to have any problems with it. He doesn’t seem to think Patrick even needs forgiveness. David’s had a lifetime learning not to trust people, but he’s still standing here with Patrick in his arms. He’s still loving him, even when Patrick isn’t loving himself very much. He’s been so wrapped up in wanting to be David’s support system that he’s ignored just how much David has become his.
Something settles in Patrick’s chest, and he’s able to get back into the car. David drives them to the mechanic, and they find themselves spending date night drinking lukewarm coffee on hard plastic chairs in the lobby.
“Well, we officially missed the show,” Patrick says with a sigh, glancing down at his watch. “I’m so sorry, David.”
“So, that’s maybe something you really don’t need to apologize for?” David says with a wince. “I didn’t want to say this when you were all excited, but… Look, I’d sit through a lot of things for you, but there are no words to explain how much I didn’t want to watch a gaggle of high schoolers perform Rent when they weren’t even alive in the 90s.”
“So, on a scale of improv to beat poetry…”
“I would like to personally request you get in a fender bender the next time either of those things is happening in a fifty-kilometre radius, please and thank you.”
Patrick lets out a laugh, a real smile blooming on his face for the first time since this whole mess started.