Archive of Our Own

6-in-the-fucking-morning.

That’s when David jolts awake to the sharp, grating noise followed by a series of repetitive, pulsing beeps. It’s still dark out, meaning it’s a crime against nature for anyone to be awake at this hour. Groaning, David rolls over in the bed, shivering as the covers slip down his arm. An orange light flashes through the paper-thin curtains, reminding David of the strobe lights during his clubbing days.

Knowing he won’t get back to sleep anytime soon, and wanting to make sure that the rickety, old motel isn’t about to get mistakenly demolished, David heaves himself out of bed. He drags his comforter with him, held over his shoulders like a cape. With his free hand, David yanks back the curtain, blinking rapidly to adjust to the now even more blaring orange light.

At first, David wonders if they really are demolishing the motel. A huge, orange truck drives slowly in front of the motel road with some sort of metal scoop on the end that looks like it could easily take down a building. But it just keeps driving along, right past their room. Then, suddenly, the scoop at the front begins lifting and dumping something out. That’s when David realizes, in the dark of the night, Schitt’s Creek received its first snow of the season.

It’s not much snow, certainly much less than he’s seen in New York, but still enough to coat a fine layer atop the ground. And this fugly truck is clearing the roads of it at 6 in the morning with its stupid flashing lights and loud beeping as it reverses.

More content now that he knows the motel isn’t about to be actively destroyed, David crawls back into bed to try and fall back asleep. But it’s like that stupid orange truck refuses to leave. Every time David thinks it’s about to drive away, it reverses again (beep, beep, beep) and the gritty noise of metal scraping against asphalt and snow starts up a few seconds later. David grits his teeth, clamping a pillow around his ears to try and drown out the noise. He flops to his other side to look at Alexis, still snoozing peacefully.

The truck does leave, eventually, but it takes David forever to fall back asleep. By the time he finally drifts off, it feels like he’s been asleep only minutes when he’s once again rudely awakened by Alexis trapezing about the room.

“Ew, it snowed! Now I can’t go for my run!” Alexis whines.

“Did I hear someone say snow?” David’s father’s voice pops up, the creaking of the door between their rooms signaling his entry without David even having to open his eyes.

Exhausted and exacerbated, David props himself up in his bed on his elbows. “Yes, it snowed! I knew it snowed when that--when the stupid snow car woke me up before it was even light outside!”

“Well I didn’t hear anything, so it must’ve been a dream or something,” Alexis replies.

“You must not have been able to hear it over your own snoring.”

“Ugh Da-vid! I do not snore!”

David ignores Alexis’s complaints and his dad’s attempt at mediating, instead choosing to burrow back into the warmth of his bed while trying to ignore the sharp pain spiking at his forehead. Of course, luck doesn’t seem to be on his side, as the second his eyes shut again, his alarm sounds off.

Right, he needs to go to work. That’s a thing now.

As much as David wants to bury himself deeper into the covers, he’s almost out of under-eye cream, and he needs another paycheck before he can afford the cheapest version. Also, if David doesn’t meet Stevie in the motel lobby on time, he does not doubt that she’ll leave for Elmdale without him.

With no other choice, David groans and slaps a hand on his phone screen to shut the alarm back off. While their father retreats to his room, definitely at a loss for how to deal with the two of them, Alexis sits on the edge of her bed with crossed legs and folded arms. She catches David’s eye, boasting a smug look on her face, then sticks her tongue out at David when he flips her off.

Forty-five minutes later, David is making his way to the motel lobby. He shivers a bit as the wind blasts into his face, but otherwise, it’s not too terrible outside. The overhanging of the motel prevented the snow from building up in front of the rooms. Only a dusting covers the walkway, likely from the blowing winds. It’s cold, but not unbearably so, and certainly not any worse than New York City in the winter.

“Enjoying the weather this morning?” Stevie asks the moment David steps into the lobby.

“It’s fine, thank you,” David snips back. “I actually think it’s a…a refreshingly beautiful smattering of snow.”

“You say that now, but you’ve never experienced a Canadian winter.”

“Mmm, well I lived in New York, so I think I can handle it,” David claims, then adds on, “Although what I couldn’t handle was that stupid truck waking me up in the middle of the night to shovel snow!”

“Are you talking about the snowplow?” Stevie asks, eyebrows ticked upward.

David flicks his hand, “Yes, that! With those stupid bright lights and obnoxious beeping and loud scooping noises and all at six in the morning—”

“—I’m not sure I’d call six in the morning the middle of the night.”

Glaring, David continues, “And it took like thirty minutes! You’d think they’d hire someone who’s actually efficient at clearing snow. This person obviously doesn’t know how to do their job in the first place.”

Stevie leans forward and places a hand on his bicep, then deadpans, “I’m so sorry you’ve had such a traumatic morning.” David huffs, shrugging her hand off.

“Are you driving me to Elmadale, or are you just going to continue annoying me?”

Stevie stands up and snatches up her car keys, twirling them around her thumb. “I can multitask.”

Eight hours later, David steps out of the Blouse Barn and into what can only be described as a blizzard. The snow accumulated throughout the time he was working, growing from a thin sheet this morning to above his ankles in a few hours. Although David could see the worsening conditions through the store windows, nothing compares to stepping out into the chaotic conditions. David curses as he trudges toward Stevie’s car, which he swears Stevie parked further away than usual from the storefront, feet already getting soaked. Snowflakes continue falling at a blistering pace, creating a white haze in the darkening sky. Wind so cold that it stings slaps at his already numb face.

As if being stuck in this godforsaken town wasn’t enough, the intensity of this storm makes New York seem like paradise. When Stevie described the brutality of winters in Schitt’s Creek on the drive to Elmdale that morning, including the literal mountains of snow that get piled along the streets, David assumed she was messing with him. Now, experiencing his first big winter storm, David can safely say Stevie underexaggerated.

David clasps his frigid fingers on the door handle and tugs only to be met with resistance. He leans down and glares through the frosty window. Stevie feigns surprise that he’s there, pretending that she can’t find the unlock button for a few seconds before she finally gives in. David yanks the door open, sending a sprinkling of fresh snow onto the seat.

“Enjoying the ‘refreshingly beautiful smattering of snow?’” Stevie asks.

David is too cold and much too proud to ever admit that Stevie was right about just how awful and all at once winter hits. Instead, he shakes off some of the snow from his sweater onto her warm, coat-covered body.

“Very mature,” she drawls, dusting off her lap.

David demands more than asks, “Can you turn up the heat?”

“I’m perfectly warm.”

“Ugh!” David groans, chancing a glance down at his snow-speckled sweater. “This sweater isn’t supposed to get wet.”

“You wore a sweater that isn’t supposed to get wet when it’s snowing?”

David hisses, “It wasn’t snowing when we left!” Frantically, he attempts to pat his sweater dry against Stevie’s seats while also warming his shivering body in front of the puttering heaters.  

“Maybe not, but it is November. In Canada. And it already snowed once today.”

The headache that started forming in the morning after his rude awakening now sends sharp pains from the top of his head to the base of his neck. Besides the constant chill in the air from the awful weather, everything seemed to go wrong today at the store. First, David’s latest display shipments were a rancid hot pink instead of the sleek black they were supposed to be. The lack of customers made the day extend on forever, especially since Wendy was extra chatty. And now, David’s outfit is soaked, and he can feel his hair drooping.

David rubs at his temples. “Can we just go back? I need to hang this sweater up as soon as possible. Then go to sleep for the next year.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t asking for weed.”

David sits up a bit straighter. “You have weed?”

“No, I used the rest I had. Just surprised you didn’t ask,” Stevie shrugs, earning another glare from David.

The drive back to the motel is slow going. Strong winds scatter bursts of snow directly at their window, and not even the headlights can cut through the flurries in the darkening sky. David clutches onto the handle above the window the whole time. Meanwhile, Stevie seems abnormally calm, the only thing giving her away being the slight hunch to her back and the white-knuckled grip she keeps on the wheel.

Usually, the roads from Elmdale to Schitt’s Creek are largely empty, but tonight, David spots a light in the distance that they’re coming up on fast. Stevie presses the breaks as they gain on the vehicle. Now able to see the vehicle clearer, David immediately recognizes that stupid orange light.

Groaning, David tips his head backward until it hits the headrest. At least there’s no beeping; David’s not sure his headache could handle that. Although the obnoxious noise is gone, the large truck is going at a glacial pace compared to the already slow speed they were previously driving. “You have got to be kidding me. We’re only going 10 kilometers an hour!” This stupid truck already ruined his morning, and now it seems like the truck is going to prevent him from getting his well-deserved beauty sleep.

“Less than that,” Stevie replies, “My speedometer reads a little high.”

“Can’t you pass it?!”

Stevie squints, then shakes her head. “I can’t see anything, and I don’t want to get plowed by accident or blasted with a mix of ice and gravel. Besides, at least the road will be clear now.”

“This is a fucking nightmare.”

“Trust me, I’m not too excited to be stuck for extra time in this car with your complaining either when I have weed at home.”

“You said you didn’t have any!”

Another shrug. “I just didn’t feel like sharing.”

Head still tipped backward, David shuts his eyes and takes a few breaths. “How much further do we have until we get back?”

“We’re probably a good fifteen minutes out going normal speed, so…” Stevie trails off, fingers tapping against the edge of the steering wheel. “Maybe it’ll turn off before then?”

It doesn’t. They’re forced to pitter along at a pace too slow even for the bad conditions. By the time they pull into the motel parking lot, it’s an hour later compared to the time they usually return. David’s sweater wrinkled from drying while he sat, and his headache persists at full force. Meanwhile, Stevie acts as if they didn’t just spend an entire hour stuck behind a stupid, orange snowplow.

Before they leave the protection of Stevie’s car, David asks, “How are you not more annoyed about everything?”

“I’m used to winter in Schitt’s Creek by now,” answers Stevie. “And this is only the beginning.”

Almost a week goes by, and each morning David is rudely awoken by the beep beep beep of the snowplow. Since the first appearance of snow, it hasn’t stopped. It’s like a perpetual storm landed right on top of the town The sun has all but disappeared, obscured behind the thick array of ash gray clouds. Icy wind flings snow through the air and rattles the frozen gutters above the motel rooms every night. The small piles of plowed snow have tripled in size, now mini mountains on the edges of the roads. Spiky icicles as long as David’s forearm dangle from the overhang of the motel. Worst of all is the extreme cold, chill settling deep into your bones after only a few minutes of being outdoors.

Today is finally David’s day off, meaning he can fall back asleep after his now routine early morning wake-up call. Even better, Alexis is at Mutt’s barn for the night, and his parents are who knows where. So, when the snowplow leaves, David snuggles back up in his bed and falls asleep.

He wakes a few hours later, eyes no longer stinging and body less heavy. Already, David thinks it’s going to be a good day. Content with the sleep he’s gotten, he stretches his arms above his head and rolls out his neck before making his way out of bed.

With Alexis gone, the bathroom is free for David to take his time getting ready. He takes an extra long hot shower, staying in until the water starts to turn cool. Then, he does a facemask, followed by a few bonus steps of his skincare routine. Special attention is paid to blowing out his hair, not needing to do a rush job between Alexis’s fist rapping against the door.

After getting dressed for the day, David’s gurgling stomach reminds him that he has yet to eat. He’s tempted to just stay in and eat whatever meager food they have left in their small fridge, not wanting to face the raging storm outside. Then again, he reasons, the café is only a short walk away. It can’t be that bad if he’s going such a small distance.

In the end, David follows his stomach’s wishes. Only a minute or so into the walk, however, David sincerely questions his choice. Although the streets have been plowed, the snow keeps coming, and many of the sidewalks remain snow slick. Shivers make David’s entire body vibrate, from his wet toes to his chattering teeth.

Five minutes later, he’s almost made it to the café. Freezing cold and trying to see through the opaqueness of the snow cover, David fails to notice the patch of ice in front of him. One second, he’s walking normally, but the next, his foot slides out from under him, sending him sprawling on his butt in a nearby snowbank with a gasp.

A black-gloved hand waves in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

David blinks, clearing the snowflakes from his lashes. Above him stands a man around his age, bundled up in so much winter gear that it’s hard to tell there’s a person underneath it all.

“Are you okay?” The person repeats, crouching down in front of him. The thick, poufy pants he wears crunch with the movement. “That looked like a pretty hard fall.”

The wet snow melting through his clothes brings David back to awareness again. “Fuck! My outfit is soaked.”

“Here, let me help you up,” the person says, offering a hand again. David reluctantly takes it, surprised when they effortlessly tug David to his feet.

The stranger’s lips upturn toward pinkened cheeks and stray curls fall loose from the edge of his knitted toque.

More than a bit mortified, David hastily steps back from the stranger, this time careful to avoid the patch of ice he fell prey to already.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” the person asks again.

“Besides my bruised ego and my designer clothes getting soaked with sludge, I’m doing just peachy,” David mutters, trying to assess the damage done to the back of his sweater as well as get this passerby to leave him alone. He looks back up after a few seconds and oh, the person still hasn’t left yet. Great.

“Maybe you should invest in some shoes with more traction,” they say, gesturing to their own feet which are encased in a hideous pair of tall, brown boots with crisscrossed laces. “Like snow boots. They’re better for preventing slips.”

“Thank you for the unwelcome advice, but I think I’ll be fine,” David scoffs, walking off before the stranger can get a word in. He doesn’t give them another thought, continuing to make his way to the café because he’ll be damned if this stupid trip doesn’t at least result in some food.

David shuffles the final block and into the café. As he opens the door, a warm blast of air hits him. He shivers again, but this time it’s from the drastic temperature change as he steps into the café and seals the winter outside. Thankfully, the café is relatively stagnant with only a few people milling about. This way, maybe David’s dripping rear won’t be as much of a spectacle.

The ring of the bells above the door signals another arrival. Still standing in the entryway, David twists around to move out of the way. That’s when he sees the same person from just a few moments ago lurking behind him like some sort of crazy stalker.  

“Why are you following me?!” David accuses, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m not following you!” The person exclaims, removing the toque on their head and unwinding the scarf around their neck. David’s mouth dries up as light brown hair, just long enough that it’s starting to curl on the ends, springs down from its confinement. “It’s my lunch break, and this is the only place to eat in Schitt’s Creek.”

David regains his bearings, about to respond when Twyla appears from the back and interrupts them with a chipper greeting, “Hi David! Good to see you!” Her eyes drift to the side. “Oh, and Patrick too! How’s work treating you today?”

The person, apparently named Patrick, steps forward with a half-smile. “Hi Twyla. Busy as always. By the time I finish plowing the snow, it’s built right back up.”

“Well, I’ll let both you get settled then head over to take your orders. Remind me to tell you about my great uncle who lived in a snow cave for a while.”

David barely hears what Twyla says, brain temporarily malfunctioning as he tries to piece together their conversation. It only takes a split second for David to understand, and in that split second, his mouth decides to act without further input from his brain as he blurts out, “Wait—you’re the person who drives that fugly orange truck that drives me insane on a daily basis?!”

“I’m sorry, does me clearing the roads so people can drive on them bother you?” Patrick asks with his bottom lip jutting out a bit extra.

“I just think it’s rude to be up at the crack of dawn making way too much noise and waking everyone up with your little truck.”

“You know, some people have to get up at the 'crack of dawn' for work, and they need the roads clear,” Patrick points out. "No one's ever complained about having clear roads."

David sputters, “Well consider this a complaint! A-a formal complaint. In fact, I want to speak to your manager.”

“Oh sure thing, he’s right over there,” Patrick points to a corner booth. David follows his finger, grimacing as he spots the familiar figure. Before he can protest, Patrick cups his hands, places them around his lips, and hollers out, “Hey Ray! Can you come ‘ere for a sec?”

Ray beams, waving enthusiastically with both hands as he joins them near the door. “Patrick, hello! And David, what a wonderful surprise to see you here! I figured you’d be holed up in the motel, what with the weather.”

“Hi Ray. David here wanted to file a formal complaint with you,” Patrick states brazenly. His eyes flicker over to David, eyes alight and eyebrows quirked up a tick.  

“A complaint? Such a jokester, our David,” Ray laughs.

David swallows back the numerous comments he has about the situation. Instead, he nods rapidly and fakes a smile, humming “Mmhm” while begging that the excruciating interaction that Patrick forced him into ends soon.

“You know, Patrick, David and I first met when—”

Annnnd that’s enough of that. David refuses to listen to one of Ray’s rambling stories with tangents that don’t make any sense “—Sorry Ray, but I need to get back to the motel. Alexis isn’t feeling well.”

Ray cocks his head. “How strange! I just saw her earlier and she seemed fine.”

“Well, you know how fast some illnesses can come on…”

“No worries, we can catch up later!” Ray hitches a thumb toward Patrick. “And I better let Patrick eat so he can get back to work! You boys have a great lunch.”

Ray exits the café, sending a cold gush of air blowing right on them. Chills spike up David’s body from the slow-drying wet spot on his back and down his legs. It will be a miracle if David can salvage these clothes.

“Well, David—” David doesn’t appreciate the way Patrick lingers on his name like a word that’s never been formed “—Ray didn’t seem too worried about your formal complaint against me.”

“You know, I’m not sure I like the whole attitude you have going on here.”

“Really? Because I’m enjoying it.”

 “Just do me a favor and wait until after 6 in the morning next time you want to drive that stupid truck in front of my room!”

“Well for the sake of preventing more formal complaints…”

“You, you j-just…UGH!” David gives up, hands whooshing through the air. Patrick smirks, edges of his lips downturned, and David chooses to chalk up the increase in his heart rate as a sign of the frustration he feels.

David stomps toward the counter, and by some miracle, Patrick doesn’t follow him. From the corner of his eye, he watches Patrick head over to a table in the opposite corner of the café, back toward David. Twyla arrives at that point, and David can finally order his stupid sandwich.

Walking back to the motel is torturous. The instant David heads outdoors again, the wind and snow combination whittle away any last vestiges of warmth gained from the café. Thankfully, David makes it back to the motel without another fall, although there are a few close calls. Each time David’s foot slides, it gives him a mini-heart attack, and Patrick’s annoying voice telling him to invest in winter boots niggles at the back of his mind.

By the time David shuffles back into his room, he and his sandwich are both frozen. Alexis has returned, lounging on her bed and donning a pink toque with a large pom-pom on top. “David, you’re a mess. Why are your clothes all wet? And what is going on with your hair?”

“Fuck off, Alexis.”

Beep, beep, beep.

David groans. No. No, no, no, no. Not again! Does he dare pry his eyes open to check the time? Just outside the window, the plow gnashes against the snow and ice, and David already knows he’s awake for the day. He struggles to open his eyes, fingers scrabbling to reach his phone.

6:02 A.M.

That asshole.

Somehow, the noise is even worse this morning, truck going back and forth between beeping and scraping, beeping and scraping, over and over and over. David grits his teeth through it all, refusing to let himself get more worked up than he already has about this jerk, Patrick. Who does this guy think he is, going out of his way to bother David even after politely asking him to wait until later?

Two hours later, David launches his complaints at Stevie during their drive to Elmdale (minus the part where he fell in the snow because he refuses to give Stevie unnecessary blackmail material).

“…And then this morning, he came at 6:02, being twice as loud as usual!” By the time David finishes his tirade, they’re almost to Elmdale. Getting everything off his chest is relieving in and of itself, but of course, Stevie isn’t the type of friend you go to for unconditional support. David has a feeling the only reason Stevie let him rant in the first place is because she didn’t have to say anything.

“Wow, this guy is really getting on your nerves,” Stevie finally interjects.

“Um, it’s not my fault this random townie decided to bully me after I politely asked him to be more considerate!”

“When you say you asked him politely…” she trails off.

“Okay whose side are you on?”

“Probably not yours,” she replies. “But if you want my advice—”

“—Did I say that—?”

“—Invest in some earplugs and deal with it.”

“I can’t wear earplugs at night. What if a murderer breaks in, but I can’t hear it because I’m wearing earplugs?!” He leans his cheek against one hand, staring out the side window. “Can’t you like, fire him or something?”

“Why would I be able to fire him?”

David shifts positions again, this time slanting toward Stevie. “You work at the motel. Can’t you just…ban him from driving his snow truck through?”

“You want me to ban the snowplow?” Stevie asks as she pulls up to the curb across from the Blouse Barn.

His back arches and he exhales a puff of air. “I don’t know! Yes, maybe!”

“Okay, let’s say I could even do that. Would you then be willing to clear out the entire parking lot and road around the motel so guests can get in and out?”

“…Fine. I guess that isn’t a perfect option.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like it. Especially the second part,” Stevie adds. She unlocks the doors, staring expectantly at him.

David curls his lips, easily catching on to her not-so-subtle hint. He opens the door, a tug of war match ensuing between himself and the unforgiving wind. Before heading into the Blouse Barn, he braces a hand at the top of the car and ducks his head back down. “You’re not very helpful.”

Stevie flips her hair over one shoulder. “Thank you.”

He slams the door shut as hard as he can, but due to the force of the wind, it shuts normally. Before David can cross the street, Stevie pulls out in front of him, saluting him through the window as she drives off. The tires spew flecks of snow at his legs as they spin past.

For once, David is looking forward to working at the Blouse Barn. At least this way he can’t run into Patrick again at the Café Tropical. Plus, he finally got his new shipment of ostriches, now the correct color.

But this morning must have been a bad omen, as his luck continues to go downhill when Wendy comes out from her office and presses a snow shovel into his arms. David, who already holds hangers full of sweaters in both hands, clings around the shovel’s handle with both arms like an awkward hug.

“David, we’ve been getting complaints about the sidewalk outside the store being too icy,” Wendy says. “And with my back being all out of sorts, so the job falls to you.”

“But I have to run the store!”

“I’ll hold down the fort while you’re doing that,” Wendy promises, ushering David toward the front door. She gathers the clothes in her arms, and David cringes as the fabric wrinkles.

With that, David has no choice but to venture back out into the freezing wind and pellet snow. David frowns at the shovel, lifting it to inspect the plastic scooper. He slips the fabric of his sweater over his hands without stretching it out too much. He adjusts and readjusts his hands, starting with both together, then one over the other, then switching so his right hand is above his left. The shovel is heavy, and the adjusted grip still feels clunky. Does he just…push it out of the way? David attempts to copy what the truck does, jamming his shovel underneath the layer of snow and ice. The shovel struggles to break through more than a few centimeters no matter how much David tries. The icy layer underneath starts to crack, and David adds just a bit more pressure. Almost there…

And then David’s foot slips. He manages to use the shovel as leverage for a moment, but it’s not enough to keep him up after already losing his balance. Once again, like a dramatic reliving of yesterday, David crashes to the ground.

“I see you didn’t take my advice about the shoes.”

At this point, David’s certain that the universe is screwing with him.

“You again?”

“Awe, not happy to see me, David?”

“Considering you woke me up at 6 in the morning again after I asked you to wait until later? Not really.”

“Actually, it was 6:02,” Patrick corrects with a shrug, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You just said to wait until after six, and it was after six.”

“You knew what I meant! You know what—I don’t have time for this. I need to finish this so I don’t have to spend any longer than necessary out in this freezing tundra.”

Once again, Patrick offers his hand. David ignores it. Honestly, a helping hand would have been nice, David realizes as he wobbles to his feet, but his pride outweighs ease.

“Do you not have a coat or gloves either?” Patrick asks, eyebrows wrinkling. So much for hoping he’ll just go away.

“Do you not know how to mind your own business?” It’s probably a bit harsh, but David’s lack of sleep combined with the biting cold enveloping his ass, he thinks he has the right to be grumpy.

“I didn’t mean…” he trails off and looks away. “You just seemed cold.”

“Wha—why would you care?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t want you to freeze.”

“But you’re okay with torturing me every morning?!”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Patrick answers. “Besides, if you froze, I’d have nobody to tease.”

“Bully,” David corrects under his breath, then louder, “What are you even doing here?”

“I come to Elmdale in the morning after plowing the roads in Schitt’s Creek. Then I go back and forth all day because of how quick the snow piles back up.”

“Shouldn’t you be working right now then?”

He chuckles. “I needed a hot tea before making the slow drive back to Schitt’s Creek again. Guess it was lucky we happened to run into each other.”

“Mm, I’m not sure lucky is the word I’d use…”

“Have a good day, David. Also, just a note, next time don’t brace all your body weight on top of the shovel, or you’ll slip again. Use those strong arms.”

With a wink and a wiggle of gloved fingers, Patrick heads off in the direction of the nearby coffee shop. David gapes at the audacity of this man, yet again giving David unwanted advice. He can figure out how to shovel this by himself. He goes back to where he left off, scooping under the snow slowly. As he goes to brace himself on the shovel again, though, he hesitates. He glances to his right, then to his left. No one in sight. With that, David adjusts his grip, using his arms and shoulders to heave the snow up and pat it down with the other piles on the side of the road.

He hates how well it works.

Later that day, Stevie turns into the motel parking lot, back from picking David up. The radio plays loudly through the car due to Stevie turning it up to try and block out David (which didn’t work because David just talked louder to make up for it). As they pull in, David is ready to decompress from the day and not think any more about snow or winter or Patrick when he notices something in front of his room.

“What the—” David rubs his eyes, hoping that this is some sleep-deprived illusion. As soon as Stevie parks, he gets out of the car to investigate. It’s still there.

Stevie follows behind him, hand flying to her mouth as it comes into full view. “This is amazing.”

All David wanted to do was have a noneventful evening, but then, the moment he gets back, he’s accosted with this, this…atrocity.

It’s a snowman. A life-size snowman with an actual carrot nose and stick arms. David opens and closes his mouth as he tries to ascertain what to say about this. Before he can voice any concerns, though, the door to their room opens, revealing his family. Stevie laughs, covering it with a cough when David elbows her side.

“David’s returned, so now we can dine at the café,” the familiar voice of his mother rings.

David drops his head in his open palms, rubbing them across his cheeks. This cannot be happening. He shuffles in front of the snowman but knows any attempt to hide it from his family is a futile effort. Sure enough, Alexis’s eyes immediately drift to it, and she nudges David out of the way to get a better look.

“Oh em gee, David, it’s you!” Alexis coos, pointing to the crooked letters that he failed to notice before which spell out DAVID across the chest with bits of asphalt.

“No, this—this is not supposed to be me. It must be for some other David.”

“Oh please, it’s right outside our room, and it definitely looks like you! With the little scowl and crossed arms…and look, it even has your eyebrows!”

Sure enough, right above the two large, brown rocks for eyes are thick twigs in a downturned position.

David’s hands fly to his face. “Stop it! That, that thing looks nothing like me!” His parents share a telling glance, and David crosses his arms. “It doesn’t!”

“Well, it does have your name on it…” his dad says, then gestures toward David. “And the scowl does seem…to…match.” His voice tapers off after David sends him a targeted glare.

Suddenly, Alexis has her phone out and holds it up to David, who’s currently standing beside the snowman as he faces his family in indignation.

“Alexis! Delete that!” David shouts at her.

“Aw but David, look, you’re like twins.” Alexis moves her phone in front of David to show him the picture in which he’s side by side with the snowman. Okay, so maybe they both have crossed arms and slightly similar expressions, but it could be anyone without that stupid name on the chest.

Stevie pushes her way over, grinning as she looks at the photo. “Send this to me.”

David attempts to snatch Alexis’s phone, but her quick reflexes win out. She shoves it back in her purse just as David lunges for it. He mouths ‘bitch’ at her, and she mouths ‘eat asphalt’ back.

“Now who would have created this frozen statue of your visage?” his mother chimes.

“Oh, I think David knows exactly who did this,” Stevie answers for him with a pleased smirk.

Alexis frowns. “Who—”

“Nope, nope, nope, we’re not doing this. It’s no one.” David says. “Let’s just go eat, please. We all know how hangry Alexis can get.”

It’s a distraction tactic, of course, and a good one at that. Alexis’s face twists. “I don’t get hangry! You’re the one who gets hangry!”

When they arrive at the café, David finds himself searching for the familiar, impish face, and refuses to think about the disappointed pang in his chest when he doesn’t spot him.

Wendy rents him a car.

It’s a long time coming, in David’s opinion. No longer will he have to deal with Stevie driving him to and from work every day and almost abandoning him when he’s two minutes late. When he tells Stevie the news, she mutters, “Thank god” like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Unfortunately, there’s something David fails to account for when he picks up his fancy new rental in Elmdale that evening. The snow. David’s never driven in snow before.

The stupid snow ruined everything ever since it blew in a few weeks ago. David likes the idea of snow, or at least of looking at snow from inside a luxury cabin in front of a crackling fireplace with endless amounts of hot chocolate. David Rose is not made for venturing out in these constant snowstorms like some yeti adventurer, yet here he is stuck in the middle of nowhere in Canada, forced to endure it.

Now, David sits in the driver’s seat, engine running, as he stares at the icy lot ahead. It can be too difficult to drive in the snow, can it? Millions of people do it every year. He can just avoid any patches of ice, and if Patrick did his job right, there shouldn’t be snow on the streets. Yeah, it will be perfectly fine. David shifts the car into drive and goes to turn the corner out of the lot. This is fine, not a big deal at all—

The back of the car slides as he finishes the turn. David grapples at the wheel, a sharp panic bursting forth. He frantically breaks and tries to right the vehicle, but it doesn’t help. The car merely keeps sliding until it bumps into a nearby snowbank on the edge of the road. At that point, the car finally stops completely, leaving David cursing inside.

God, David is not cut out for this. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any other way to get home, and the roads don’t look too bad. After taking a few calming breaths, David starts to reverse out of the snow pile, but there’s a problem; his car won’t go anywhere. David adds a bit more power to the gas, and the engine revs but otherwise, nothing. He’s stuck.

David debates calling Stevie, but he knows she’ll outright refuse to rescue him on her first day not having to pick him up from Elmdale. His family is useless, and even if they weren’t, they don’t have a car. Maybe Wendy could rescue him if she wasn’t at her weekly Mahjong night yet…

Tap, tap, tap.

David lowers his sunglasses to the end of his nose.

Outside his window, Patrick smiles and waves, knocking on the glass again. David sighs and opens it.

It’s been nearly a week since David last saw Patrick, not even getting a chance to berate him for the appalling snowman left outside his room. With the constant cold weather, it hasn’t even melted, only solidified into balls of pure ice. David would know; he tried to shove it down only to end up with stinging hands.

“Need some help?”

David scowls, refusing to fully look at him. As insane as Patrick drives him, David needs to get unstuck somehow, and there currently aren’t any other options. Between gritted teeth, David replies, “…the car slid, and now it’s stuck.”

“Didn’t even make it out of the lot, huh?” Patrick asks, but David ignores him, refusing to answer such a stupid and demeaning question.

“Luckily for you, I’m an expert at getting cars unstuck. It just needs a bit of a push I think.”

“I’ve been pushing on the pedal.”

“No, I mean it needs to be physically pushed from the back. By a person.”

“You expect me to get out and manually push my car out of this snow?! Nuh-uh, that won’t be happening.”

“I can do the pushing, David,” Patrick reassures him. “I’ll need you to press the gas gently when I tell you.”

“Oh. I guess I can do that.”

“I’ll give you the signal when,” Patrick flashes him a thumbs up in demonstration.

David watches him through the rearview mirror. He walks toward the back of the car, inspecting it and nodding to himself. After clearing a bit of snow away with his feet, he braces both hands against the back of the car and pushes. The car rocks in an obscene manner with every shove from Patrick. David’s face heats and his pulse picks up as he watches Patrick’s muscles strain against the car, noticeable even under his jacket. He’s so entranced by Patrick’s movements and the occasional grunt that he completely misses the signal, only coming back when he hears Patrick shouting, “Go!”

The tires spin, and Patrick keeps pushing. Finally, David can feel the tires start to crunch over the snow, and all the sudden, the car jolts forward. David slams on the breaks before he can zoom too far ahead. Behind him, Patrick must’ve fallen, now sprawled in the snowdrift. David laughs out loud, hand cupping over his mouth to try and stifle the noise.

Patrick stands, brushing the snow off his clothes as David’s laughter dies down. He tromps up to the car like before. “You got a kick out of that one, didn’t you?”

“It was pretty enjoyable, yes,” David affirms with his lips pressed together.

“Well, at least the car’s unstuck now. Although because I helped you, I now have to spend the rest of my workday like this.” Patrick gestures toward the snow that soaked through parts of his jacket and pants.

“I would apologize, but you get what you deserve after that hideous ‘present’ you left outside my room, which—how did you even know my room number? Are you sure you’re not a stalker? Was helping me get my car unstuck just a ruse to kidnap me?”

“I thought that Snowman David was a wonderful tribute. And for the second time, no I’m not a stalker. I got your room number from Ray. And why would I help you get the car unstuck if I was a kidnapper? Wouldn’t I just kidnap you from the get-go?”

“You might’ve been trying to fool me into a false sense of security,” David answers.

“Or maybe you were luring me here to kidnap.”

David waves his hand. “Please, if anyone was going to kidnap anyone in this town, it would be Alexis. She can be surprisingly intimidating. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Although I think you owe me a favor or two, now.”

“I don’t owe you! If anything, you still owe me for the constant torment you put me through!” David exclaims.

“Are you gonna be able to make it out of here this time, though?” Patrick pouts with a mocking edge. He leans down until he’s at David’s level, hands gripping the barrier of the open window.

“I think I can manage.” Initially, David considered chickening out and calling someone to pick him up. Now, there’s no way he won’t be driving out of here.

David starts rolling the windows up the second Patrick moves his hands. He’ll show Patrick. He can do this without getting stuck again. David shifts the car back into drive, carefully maneuvering into the road. This time, the car remains in his control, and David grins smugly to himself. Take that.

For the next week, David grows used to driving in the snow. It helps that the constant barrage of snow has lessened a bit, meaning the roads stay clear almost all day long. The snowplow still wakes him up in the morning, of course, but with less snow to clear, he’s usually gone in only a few minutes.

With Stevie not forced to drive him to work, she’s more pleasant to be around than normal. Then again, when it comes to Stevie ‘being pleasant’, it mostly just means she’s not glaring at him every few seconds.

The only problem with the newfound break in the constant blizzard is Patrick. It’s like he appeared with winter, but now that the winter storm has calmed, he’s left with too much free time to annoy David.

When the David snowman finally collapsed, David mistakenly told his good news to Patrick, thinking there was no way he could rebuild it with the small amount of snow on the ground. The next morning, there’s a miniature snowman that goes up to David’s knee made mostly out of gravely snow and muck. It’s disgusting, and David kicks it over after a few minutes.

Another time, Ray accosts David outside the motel, claiming that Patrick told him just how much David wanted a one-man photoshoot. David spent forever trying to get rid of Ray, who couldn’t take the hint.

They also run into each other at the café often, with it being the only place to eat in town. If David’s alone, Patrick comes up to him and says something that always finds some way to grate on David’s nerves. Just the other day, he offered David a sip of his nasty leaf water after calling David’s drink a sugar abomination.  

“First of all, my order is the perfect level balance of coffee. Second I don’t normally share beverages with people…”

“Really? That is shocking news.”

“You know, it’s just some people have nice, clean mouths, while other people have sloppy mouths.”

Patrick takes his offered cup back himself at that point. “Ah, good point. I’d better not share then. You have a sloppy mouth.”

Needless to say, Patrick drives him crazy with his little taunts and self-satisfied expressions and mischievous brown eyes. When David’s not thinking about Mariah, improvements to the Blouse Barn, or the fact that he’s still stuck living in a motel room with his family, he’s thinking about Patrick. And no matter what David tries, Patrick’s dumb, downturned smiles and teasing barbs stick in his brain.

“I can’t stand him!” David complains one night to Stevie. They’re hanging out in the motel office, David leaning against the wall and Stevie lying across the floor. “He’s..he just, he constantly bothers me. Like he goes out of his way to bother me.”

“Sounds like we’d get along,” Stevie responds, flicking a piece of lint at David.

“Stevie! This is serious.”

She heaves out a sigh, then pushes herself into a sitting position. “Okay, look, you have been obsessing over Patrick since you met him.”

David crosses his arms. “I’m not obsessing over him!”

“Are you kidding? He’s all you talk about now. Patrick left me a rude note today. Patrick won’t stop taunting me. Patrick looked at me weird—”

“Fine, I get your point! But I can’t help how much he gets on my nerves.”

“Roland gets on your nerves, but you don’t care nearly as much about that.”

“Roland,” David shudders at the name, “May be annoying and inappropriate, but he doesn’t go out of his way to drive me crazy like Patrick does!”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? You like him. You like Patrick.”

“No I don’t.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not! Because I don’t like Patrick.”

Stevie raises her eyebrows. “Okay, fine. If you don’t like Patrick, then you should have no issue ignoring him and not complaining about everything he does for once.”

“I do ignore him, he just pushes his way in. And that’s why I complain about it.”

“Really? Because you could always get dinner in Elmdale to avoid him, or go to the café later, but you always seem to go at the same time he’s there…”

“That’s a coincidence,” David spits out. “I can ignore Patrick, no problem.”

It will be easy to ignore Patrick, the person who’s bothered him ever since they met. If anything, Stevie telling David to ignore Patrick is a blessing in disguise. This way, David won’t have to wonder what taunt Patrick will dish out the next day or what snowman may be waiting for him outside the door or getting unsolicited advice.

For a few days, David avoids the café, instead choosing to get takeout in Elmdale where Patrick frequents less often, especially with the lack of snow. One day, the snowplow doesn’t even need to come by the motel. David wakes up at the usual six A.M., surprised by the complete silence of the room (aside from Alexis’s snoring). He can for once fall back asleep without listening to the noises outside.

On his days off, however, going to the café is inevitable. He tries to go at less popular times. Still, he sometimes runs into Patrick, but instead of gravitating toward him before, David reminds himself that he’s ignoring Patrick. This is good. Why wouldn’t he want to ignore someone who teases him constantly? When Patrick tries to make eye contact, David stares at the floor. If Patrick tries to head over to him, David makes up some flimsy excuse to Twyla about needing to meet his mom.

The first morning there’s no new snowman outside his door, even with the thin, fresh layer of snow on the ground, David stares at the empty spot and swallows hard. He drops his head and slinks away, pretending not to feel the clenching in his stomach.

Over the following days, Patrick mostly keeps to himself. One night, when David enters the café, Patrick is hunched over at a nearby table. With the sound of the door opening, Patrick turns. Upon seeing David, he offers a reluctant smile before turning back toward his plate. The whole thing feels wrong.

Ignoring Patrick was supposed to force David to stop thinking about him, but if anything, David’s thinking about Patrick even more now. He curses at his brain multiple times for it. He shouldn’t care that Patrick looks more tired than normal or be worried because Patrick isn’t teasing him anymore. Patrick finally left him alone. That’s what David wanted since the beginning.

Isn’t it?

The winter storm rolls in overnight. Heavy gusts rattle the gutters of the motel, making sleep impossible, even for the rest of his family. Snow falls fast and hard, churning in endless spirals that fling against their window. By morning, Patrick is out in his truck at full force. David plods up to the window that morning. The sun has yet to rise, but David has a feeling it will be a dark day anyway. David peels back the edge of the curtain to watch.

He can’t see Patrick through the snow, but you could see that orange beast anywhere. It’s plowing so much snow that the piles on the edge of the road are taller than David. Watching the snowplow is not at all exciting, just a series of backing and plowing, and backing, and dumping. Yet for some reason, David is entranced. He pictures Patrick inside, probably listening to some classic rock station or, God forbid, Christmas music. He’ll have some of that nasty leaf juice since coffee is too good for him. David wonders what he thinks about all day, as he plows. It seems like a mindless task. Did Patrick ever think about him, how he wanted to tease David next?

David shakes his head and drops the curtain. With Alexis tossing and turning once more, he figures neither of them will get back to sleep. He focuses on getting ready for the day, for once wishing that he took Patrick’s advice to at least get a warmer coat for the blizzard outside.

The drive to work is treacherous. David slides a few times but slows down enough to get back on track. Hardly anyone else is on the roads, and if they are, they’re driving just as slow. If David didn’t know Patrick plowed the roads earlier, he would’ve thought they hadn’t been plowed at all.

Things only get worse once he arrives. After taking a moment to decompress in his car, finally releasing his tight grip on the wheel, he trudges across the street to Blouse Barn. It only takes him about twenty seconds, but in those twenty seconds, it feels like his body temperature has significantly dropped. He enters the store shivering, grateful to be back in the heat again. With that, he starts to get to work, rearranging shelves and keeping an eye on the door in case any customers come in (which he highly, highly doubts).

Then, Wendy comes out of her office. “I’ll need you on shovel duty this morning, David. We need to keep that path clear for potential customers.”

“Um, I’m not sure any customers will be coming in out with this weather,” David argues.

“Well, they definitely won’t be if our sidewalk isn’t clear!” Wendy sticks her nose up. And that’s that.

David shovels and shovels, cursing the whole time. He snagged a few items from the store to prevent him from freezing, including a few extra sweater layers and some leather gloves. They don’t help much against the cold wind, which for some reason burns his face as it blows. David’s shoes and socks are soaked through by the time he finishes, and his limbs are tight.

He gets a reprieve from shoveling for a while. The heat of the store takes a while to set in completely, and the wet clothes don’t help. David wishes more of the sweaters in this store would fit him. Aside from the few he found, nothing else would come close. Therefore, he’s stuck with chattering teeth and numb toes.

Fortunately, Wendy gives up on the idea of customers, instructing David to work on any other arrangements needed for the store. At least he doesn’t have to go back out in that chaos to shovel again. Wendy decides to head home early, but for some reason wants David to stay until five to lock up. David gives her a fake smile. Only a few more hours, then he can go home.

The power goes out an hour before he’s supposed to leave. With no heater, the temperature plunges. The flickering streetlights, along with the flashlight on David’s phone, are the only sources of light against the dark storm outside.

Ten minutes go by, then ten more. David can see his breath.

That’s it, he decides, I’m out of here. Wendy will get over it.

Outside, he stumbles to his car, one hand shielding his face and the other grappling for the door handle. His car is covered in snow and ice, meaning he has to clear it off. He sets the defrosters as high as they’ll go, hoping it will melt everything enough that he can use the windshield wipers to take care of the front window. For the back one, he has to get back out of the car and use his arm to swipe the pileup away. At least the store sweaters are getting the brunt of the damage instead of his sweater underneath.

The window defrosts enough to use the wipers, and David can finally get out of there. But as David starts driving, he realizes the conditions were even worse than he initially assumed. He figured the car could make it back. After all, Wendy made it back to her house in her junky car. But as he leaves Elmdale, and the lights of the town no longer illuminate the roads for him, he can’t see more than a few meters in front of him.

David’s ribs tighten, restricting his breath. He mentally berates himself. He should’ve known better than to attempt driving in this after Alexis got stuck while skiing in the Alps with Bradley Cooper.

A deer darts out in front of him.

“Fuck!” David swears, slamming his breaks. He wasn’t going fast to begin with, but the sudden stopping makes the car slide off the side of the road and into a shallow ditch.

David’s shaking, and he can’t get his hands to move from the steering wheel. Tears gather in the corner of his eyes because today has been a shitty day. This whole week has been shitty. And now he’s going to potentially die in a snowstorm. He has his phone, but there’s no way anyone would pick him up in this weather. His heartbeat races as all the worst scenarios pop into his head.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, there’s light, like a beacon of hope shining at him from his rearview mirror. And he would recognize that blinding light anywhere. Patrick.

The snowplow stops behind him, breaks squealing. David wants to sob in relief, but for now, he focuses on steadying his breaths and removing his clenching fingers from the wheel. There’s a rapping noise on his window, just like the last time Patrick helped him out of the snow. This time, David turns off the car, unbuckles his seat belt, and grabs his wallet before moving to get out. The car is tilted from the position in the ditch, and David struggles against the wind. A thick, gloved hand reaches out, and David takes it.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks, clutching at David’s arm nearly as tight as David clutched at the steering wheel.

David flashes back to their first meeting almost a month ago. The first time he saw the curly-haired man with the witty remarks and butter-brown eyes. The first time Patrick rudely suggested he invest in some hideous snow boots. The chance meeting that led to the weeks of banter and teasing that David thought he hated but now realizes he craved.

“I am now.”

Patrick leads them back to the snowplow, helping David into the passenger’s seat when his shaking limbs won’t cooperate. Patrick closes the enormous door for him, then hops in on the other side, sealing them off from the blizzard once more. For a moment, they just breathe.

“I don’t think we’ll be making it back to Schitt’s Creek tonight,” admits Patrick, breaking through the awkward quiet.

“What? But weren’t you driving back when you found me?”

“I thought I could make it too, I guess. But the visibility is too bad, and the storm doesn’t seem to be quitting. I was just about to turn around when I saw your car.”

“What are we going to do, then? We can just stay in this thing all night. I never thought I’d have to even see the inside, let alone ride in it.”

Patrick cracks a bitter smile. “I mean, I’ve done it before, but I wouldn’t like to repeat it. There’s a motel back not far down the street. I’m thinking we should camp out there, at least for the night.”

“I guess it can’t be much worse than the motel I actively live in. Anything to get out of this thing faster.”

David expects a teasing response. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s purposefully trying for one. But Patrick just chuckles lightly and mutters something along the lines of “sounds good,” before carefully turning the giant snowplow around.

The radio, all fuzzy from the bad reception, plays a barely recognizable tune. But David would recognize a powerhouse like Tina Turner anywhere.

“Not what I expected you to listen to,” David says.

At first, Patrick doesn’t say anything. David starts to doubt that he ever will, when suddenly, Patrick asks, “What did you expect?”

“Classic rock, maybe. Or Christmas music, but Christmas music this far before Christmas should be illegal.” David twists the rings on his fingers. “This is a classic, though.”

“Simply the best,” Patrick adds with a secret smirk, and oh, there’s that stupid sense of humor coming back.

They descend into quiet again, aside from the muddled songs. David chews on his finger. Everything between them before was so natural. Now, Patrick seems like a stranger which is weird because really, Patrick is a stranger. David doesn’t even know his last name. But in a sense, he’s come to know Patrick enough that he knows how wrong this behavior is.

David is notoriously bad at conversation, especially any type of conversation that involves emotions. He mentally rehearses what he could say to Patrick. Are you okay? Too basic and unoriginal. What happened? Not specific enough. I’m not sure why, but I’ve missed your teasing, and I think I like you a lot for some reason, so will you just talk to me? Definitely, definitely not.

They arrive at the motel before David thinks of what to say. The motel is reminiscent of the one he lives in but is laid out in a squarer format rather than a straight line. The lot is almost all full (which is way different than their motel), so Patrick parks on the street. The little office is right off to the side, and the two of them make a beeline for it through the snow.

As David walks through the door, he half-expects to see Stevie lounging there. Instead, a perky, young woman that seems opposite of Stevie in all ways is cleaning off her desk. She beams at them as they walk in, and the hospitality makes David shrink in on himself.

Patrick steps forward and takes charge. “Hi, we got caught in the storm and were wondering if you had two rooms available for the night?”

“Everyone else got caught up here, too,” she replies, flicking her blonde hair over one shoulder. “Let me check what we got left…” she clicks her tongue and looks at the computer. “Yeah, I thought so. We only have a queen-bed room left for tonight.”

Patrick swallows and sends a desperate glance toward David. “I-I mean, I guess we don’t have any other options. Is, does that work for you, David?”

A single room with a single bed. With Patrick. All night. David’s mouth moistens, and his body trembles for a completely different reason. Realizing Patrick is waiting on an answer, David bobs his head. “Mmm that’s—that works.”

Patrick books them the room, and when David offers to pay, he shrugs him off. “I got this one. No worries.”

Patrick keeps a distance between them as they find the room. When they arrive at the door, Patrick unlocks it and slinks away to turn on the lamps as David follows behind. It’s a little nicer than David’s room, less outdated with more modest colors, but cramped. Patrick scratches his head as he looks at the bed.

“Um…” Patrick starts. “Do you…uh, wanna take a shower? You’re still shivering.”

David chews on the inside of his lip, watching Patrick play with a stray string at the end of his jacket. His gaze meets David’s for a split second before retreating to the opposite wall.

“That-that would be good, thank you,” David stammers. Patrick continues standing there, posture rigid, as David slips into the bathroom.

Now separated from Patrick, David exhales a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He hates how guarded Patrick is around him now, the awkwardness in place of confidence, politeness in place of taunts. He missed Patrick, missed seeing him all the time, missed his stupid teasing and jokes, missed how he made David feel like he mattered.

He sucks in a few more breaths before turning the shower on hot.

With no proper skincare or hair products, David merely stands under the stream of water, fully warming his chilled body. Despite the lack of routine, he stays in there as long as he can, until his fingers prune and the water burns.

As he steps out, he realizes that he has nothing to wear aside from his damp clothes from earlier. A knock on the door interrupts him. David panics and clutches the towel around his waist, despite the door being locked.

“Sorry for, um, sorry for bothering you,” Patrick clears his throat. “But I noticed your clothes were pretty wet earlier? And I always have some extras in the truck. If you want.”

His mind blanks. Patrick’s clothes. He’s going to wear Patrick’s clothes.

David’s voice cracks as he responds, “You-you’re sure? I don’t want to take your clothes.”

“My clothes I’m wearing are still dry. It’s fine, I promise.”

And well, David can’t say no to fresh, dry clothes. He agrees, unlocking the door and opening it a crack, one hand clenching the towel tight around his waist. Patrick is already handing him a bundle of clothes (which when did he go and get them?), and David can make out the pink tinge of his cheeks as his eyes hastily land on the ground. David blushes, too, although hopefully the steam and warmth from the shower make it less noticeable.

Their hands momentarily touch as Patrick passes the clothes to him. David rears back, as if burned, when he feels the touch of Patrick’s skin against his own. They’ve never actually had skin-to-skin contact. Patrick has pulled him up with a gloved hand, but never this, never them with no barriers between. David also notices that Patrick has shed his other outer layers, including his iconic puffy jacket and toque, revealing his short curls in full glory as well as a tight white t-shirt that accentuates the outline of his arms.

David slams the door shut before he says something stupid. The clothes resting in his arms don’t help. They smell like Patrick, like basic detergent and a hint of cedarwood. David clucks at the cheap poly-cotton blend of the sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt (both in different, but not complementary, shades of blue). Of course Patrick’s love of blue extends outside his winter coat and hat.

David exits the bathroom a few minutes later, tugging at the shirt that’s just a bit too short on him. Patrick is perched on the edge of the bed further from the door, staring at his phone. When David pads over, Patrick offers a strained smile in his direction.

“Do you want a shower?” David asks, not knowing what else to say.

“I think I’m okay. I’ll wait until tomorrow morning when we get home. I’m kind of tired. Besides, I think you used all the hot water.”

A flicker of hope.

“I’ve had a rough day, I think I deserved it,” David replies snidely, just like old times. “Also, um, do you mind if I get that side of the bed? I don’t like sleeping by the door.”

“Oh, you thought we were going to share? I just figured you’d take the floor,” Patrick teases. It’s hesitant at first, but the past twinkle in his eyes has returned.

“You can take the floor if you want, but there’s no way I’m not sleeping on this bed.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make do with sharing, then.”

“I guess so.”

Patrick finally moves, rolling across the bed instead of going and walking around like a normal person, which why is David even surprised at this point? David tugs back the covers on his side, adjusting the pillows before slipping under. Patrick copies him silently, and David feels the bed move.

He hasn’t shared a bed with anyone in years. Sebastian was one of the last, although often he left in the night once David fell asleep, not to return without the promise of sex. His former partners, if you could call them that, were the same, not wanting to share a bed with him for anything other than sex acts. He remembers being kicked out a few times, pumped full of drugs and confused. This is different. He’s going to be sleeping, just sleeping, next to Patrick, and for some reason, it seems more intimate than any sex act.

“Are you ready to turn out the lights?”

“Yes.” David fiddles with the lamp on his bedside table, and darkness covers the room.

David tries to close his eyes and get some sleep, but all he can focus on is the warmth centimeters away from him. He isn’t sure how long he lies there in the quiet, listening to the muted sounds of the storm raging in the background along with Patrick’s steady breaths.

Suddenly, Patrick shifts, and his leg accidentally brushes David’s leg, making them both flinch. “Sorry,” he whispers, readjusting his position again.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t asleep.”

Patrick huffs. “Some night, am I right?”

“That’s an understatement.” Something about the cover of darkness must make David brave, as he continues, “Thank you, by the way. For stopping.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Of course I stopped for you. Why wouldn’t I?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“I just thought…you seemed like you were mad at me.”

Patrick fully turns toward David, propping his head on his elbow. David can just barely make out his features in the dark. His lips are settled in a straight line, forehead wrinkled. “What? I thought you were mad at me. You started ignoring me. I didn't want to make things worse, so I gave you some space.”

“I was never mad at you,” David sighs, running a hand through his hair that’s already a mess from lack of styling. “You may drive me insane, but I was never mad. You just, you were so, so infuriating, but for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you or talking about you, and it scared me. I thought if I pulled back, then maybe, maybe I would forget about you, but I couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either, David,” Patrick whispers, and the way Patrick looks at him in that moment, with half-lidded eyes and a slack jaw, lips barely parted, makes David’s heart skip a beat.

Then Patrick’s eyes slide down toward his lips, and they lean in at the same time. They end up misjudging the distance, though, as their foreheads smack into each other. David groans, hand shooting up to clasp at his head. Beside him, Patrick is also rubbing his head, but giggles push their way out of his throat.

“You didn’t do that on purpose, did you?” David wonders, because he wouldn’t put it past Patrick.

“Even I wouldn’t be mean enough to interrupt our first kiss.” He cups David’s cheek tenderly, thumb stroking across the skin in small circles. “Can we try that again?”

“Please,” David practically whines. This time, their lips slot together without issue. David’s toes curl, and his hand lands on Patrick’s hipbone to bring him impossibly closer. Patrick just barely slips his tongue into David’s pliable mouth, a single swipe before retreating. He’s a tease even when they kiss. David pinches Patrick’s skin gently, calling him out. He feels Patrick smile against his lips before pulling off with a soft smack.

“I…that was, wow,” Patrick stammers. David hums in agreement, hand running up Patrick’s side briefly before reluctantly retreating.

“Would you possibly…be open to doing…that again?” David murmurs.

“Very, very interested.” Just then, David yawns widely. Patrick chuckles. “But maybe we hold off until tomorrow? I think we both need some sleep.”

“Yes, we’ll address that again tomorrow. Just preferably, not before ten A.M. I think I deserve to sleep in after so many mornings of being rudely woken at six.”

“What kind of person would do that?” Patrick teases.

“A mean, annoying one that I’ll guess I’ll have to put up with for a while now.” Breathy laughter escapes from Patrick.

“Can I…?” Patrick trails off, scootching closer to David and tentatively settling an arm across his waist.

David whispers, “Yes.” The arm relaxes against his body. David’s own hands curl toward Patrick, fingers just barely brushing against his bicep.

“Goodnight, David.”

David closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Patrick.”