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The minute snow started to fall in Schitt’s Creek, David deemed it hot chocolate weather. Most days after they closed up the store, they’d go back to either Ray’s or the motel, put the kettle on and cuddle up with their mugs under a blanket or two. David has always chosen to embrace the hygge spirit; lighting candles, eating one too many of Ivan’s cinnamon buns… He much prefers to stay inside, where he can watch winter run its course from a safe and cozy distance.
Patrick, on the other hand, is incapable of sitting still. He’s shown David selected memories on his phone, full of skiing and snowshoeing with his cousins… and something called “taboozing” which though intriguing, sounds incredibly tacky at face value. And this is why, on an evening like this one, Patrick’s eyes are glued to the window of the motel room, watching Roland and Bob trying to hose down half of the parking lot.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” David shrugs as he shuffles back over to his and Alexis’ room. But Patrick doesn’t acknowledge his comment. He’s still gazing out over the stupid parking lot, watching Roland clumsily run the hose back and forth in response to Bob’s lackluster directions. “Seriously,” David blows gently on his Coffee Crisp hot chocolate. “The ice was so uneven last time, and it was only up for a couple days before it melted over. Wasn’t even worth it.”
But something has Patrick in a trance. Ever since the walk back from the store to the sight of Roland and Bob lining out the area around the motel, his attention has been diverted.
David clears his throat.
“Sorry,” Patrick suddenly turns back to him, “I was just thinking about something.”
David smiles fondly, “I can’t believe you actually like the After Eight one,” he shudders, trying to shut down any comments about the toothpaste-like taste as he passes Patrick his mug.
Patrick shrugs. “Would you prefer it if I stole all the other kinds from you?”
“Um, absolutely not. But don’t worry, the rink will be ready in a couple days. Frankly I have no idea if there are any hockey troupes in the area, but I’m sure you’ll be able to find other sportsy people to play with you.”
Patrick cocks his head. “Sportsy people?”
“Okay, just because I almost dated a Leafs player for a week in the off season doesn’t mean I know anything about the game. But I’m sure there will be people willing to slap a wooden stick around with you.” David brushes a careless hand through the air as he tucks himself onto his bed. Patrick hasn’t gotten the memo to come and join him quite yet.
“You never played?” Patrick asks before he takes a sip. The generous dose of whip cream wasn’t requested, but David likes to see that cute little line catch Patrick’s upper lip. Then, if they happen to be alone, licking it clean off.
Patrick smirks knowingly, the hot jerk. David clears his throat. “Imagine?! The basketball court was enough, thanks.”
After what seems like ages, Patrick finally peels himself off from the wall to join him. David watches as he makes his way around the bed to gently put his mug down on the side table before the bed dips and there’s an arm wrapping around his torso. He feels a contented sigh escape, and a kiss presses to his temple.
“You’d look pretty sexy with helmet hair though,” Patrick whispers low in his ear.
"Okay, that's enough out of you!"
A week later, when the ice is finally thick enough, and Ronnie has dug up some benches out of the church basement, the motel parking lot nearly resembles a skating rink. “I’m really glad we got the chance to do this.” Patrick squeezes his hand as they walk down the slope from the main road.
He’s bouncing up and down with excitement. And David knows that a practical and pragmatic person such as Patrick Brewer dressed for the winter, so it’s not the cold that has him vibrating at this frequency.
“Well this would be a lot more fun if there was mulled wine involved,” David resolves, eyes scanning the simple set up. Given their shop hours, the after school crowd has already come and gone. There are a couple people from town that David recognizes by face- maybe a cousin or two of Twyla’s- but for the most part, they’re alone. It’s a weeknight, so that’s kind of expected, but he can imagine come Saturday it will be flooded with people. Stevie even grumbled something about having to source a speaker to play holiday music. It could be cute… with some nice lighting and tasteful decorations for the occasion. Maybe something resembling those amazing Christmas markets in Europe.
It’s almost as if Patrick can hear his internal thoughts, because he has his thinking face on. “What if we-“
David promptly shuts him up with an, “Absolutely not.” Though David would happily listen to his boyfriend talk about alternative revenue opportunities and enriching the local economy for ages, they literally just closed the apothecary and he’d rather not talk shop on a romantic date night. “I refuse to freeze my ass off for the sake of the store. So unless you’re ready to write off a space heater and classic fur coat, I’m willing to lose out on that potential revenue.”
They make their way over to the benches, skating bags in hand. Patrick pokes him, half serious, half teasing. “But think about the holiday markup, David!” He grins, bending down to take his skates out of a simple and classic navy blue bag.
“No. I draw the line when it comes to my basic human-” David still wants to continue this back and forth, but the contents of Patrick’s skating bag grinds everything to a halt. “What is that?”
“What’s what?” Patrick frowns, tone casual.
David points an accusatory finger at the black leather and silver blade in Patrick’s gloved hand. “Those! Those are skates!” Beautiful skates.
“I know David, we’re at a skating rink. On a date. Going skating.” Patrick’s face is blank but he’s back to classic teasing.
Of course David knows they’re going skating… It’s just… “But those are-“
“Skates, I know.” Patrick smirks as he unlaces loosens up his snow boots and quickly rips them off. Upon closer inspection, these skates he has, these figure skating skates- toe pick and all- seem quite well-loved. Like they’ve been worn for more than just an annual winter skate. Almost like they’re… lived in.
“Did you have to rent these? Are your real ones collecting dust in Rachel’s closet?” That has to be it. Patrick probably borrowed these from somebody.
But Patrick now seems just as confused as David. “My real ones?”
“You know, the ones you play hockey with,” David insists, watching as Patrick expertly tightens the black laces, pink fingertips making quick work.
Patrick quints back at him. “But I don’t play hockey,” he states simply, tying bows without even looking down.
David is having a hard time moving his mouth. “Then wh-why do you go over to Ted’s all the time to watch Impact games?” Patrick plays hockey. He could’ve sworn it. Baseball is for spring and summer, and winter is for...
“Right city, wrong team. Thought still counts.” He winks back at David. Winks.
“You’re not answering my question!” David’s voice pitches, hands flying in the air while he forgets there are other people skating slow laps around this makeshift ice slab.
“David, I don’t play hockey,” Patrick shrugs, voice softening. “I just like watching games because I get to spend time with Ted.”
That can’t be it though. “You and your dad-“
“Went to Habs games all the time when I was growing up, but I didn’t really play,” Patrick busies himself with getting David’s own skates out of his tote bag, because apparently his brain isn’t moving fast enough to do the job himself.
“But why?” David sputters while Patrick kindly peels off his boots for him. “You’re… you know”
Patrick is now kneeling in front of him, putting on David’s skates for him as if he’s a child. But the sparkle in his eyes tells David it doesn’t feel like a chore. “Do I look like a hockey player to you?” In fact, it feels like Patrick is trying to hold in a laugh.
“Yes!”
“Well I hate to say it, but you would be wrong.”
“Did you borrow these from someone then?”
“No, they’re mine.” Patrick pats the tops of David’s now laced up skates before jumping up and making his way onto the ice.
“ What?! ” There must be more of an explanation here. “Patrick, wait!” David picks himself off of the bench, calling out to him. Patrick skates in easy, confident strides… maybe that’s what getting back on a bicycle looks and feels like.
Patrick isn’t just a confident skater. He’s a graceful one- a word he’d never previously thought to use as an adjective for him. David wonders how long is too long to longingly watch your boyfriend skate in public. That ass is-
“Keep up, David!” Patrick calls out, seamlessly twisting his body as his feet begin to make backwards crossovers.
“Fucking hell…” David manages to mumble. He shakes it off, trying to keep his eyes on the small snowbank in front of him so he can safely climb onto the ice. Patrick is becoming even more distracting than usual.
When he finally makes it on, Patrick slowly glides up to him with a stop. His cheeks and ears are pink with the cold, but he’s grinning like a child.
“What are you- how-“
“I saw Stars on Ice at a very impressionable age,” Patrick shrugs, immediately picking up on what David has been trying to articulate. “Mom put me in lessons the minute I tried to pull a Kurt Browning in the kitchen.”
The idea of a tiny boy with brown curls, jumping and sliding around a tile floor in socked feet, makes David’s insides melt. His face probably shows it, because Patrick’s gaze becomes impossibly more fond. David wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, kissing him softly. “I’m sorry I assumed-”
Patrick shakes his head, squeezing David closer. “You wouldn’t be the first. It’s okay.” It sounds like there's a lot more to that statement, but maybe they can put that back in the box for another day.
“Were you really able to land a quadruple axel though?”
Patrick’s smile is daring as he takes David’s hands and starts to skate backwards, pulling him gently with him. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask my mom.”