Archive of Our Own

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest-

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.

—Jane Hirshfield, For What Binds Us

December 24, 2017

Patrick crosses the floor wearily to flip the sign from Open to Closed, warm fingertips brushing against the cold glass and sending a shock through his body. It’s only 6:00 but it’s already been dark for almost an hour—one of the things he really hates about the winter. He said he’d close tonight while David picked up dinner—Chinese takeout from Elmdale—before meeting him back at Ray’s. 

Initially, Patrick had assumed they’d be spending Christmas Eve with David’s family, but when Patrick mentioned something about it casually a couple weeks ago, he was instantly rebuffed with a scoffed “ absolutely not,” followed by a lengthy explanation of the huge Christmas party the Roses had thrown annually before they ended up in Schitt’s Creek. Apparently Moira had mourned its memory the past couple years by popping a few quaaludes, washing them down with vodka, and crawling into the wardrobe to have a meltdown.

“I’d like to avoid being responsible for her over the next couple days at all costs,” David sniffed as they replaced their hand-blown glass ornament stock on the trees at the front of the store. “My dad is totally incapable of dealing with her when she’s like that, so it always ends up falling on me and Alexis.” He chewed the inside of his cheek and stepped back to make sure the tree display looked balanced before his gaze shifted back to Patrick’s face. “And, frankly, I need a break from being the most emotionally mature person in my family.” 

Patrick understood; he wouldn’t wish a doped-up, irrationally distraught Moira Rose on his worst enemy.

“Besides—it’s our first Christmas together,” David added sheepishly as he turned to walk back towards the register with the now empty ornament box. Patrick’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest, but he kept his face neutral as he fluffed the branches of the tree and rotated it slightly before turning to David standing behind the register, watching him critically with his eyes slightly narrow.

“Oh, I thought you didn’t want to make a big deal out of that stuff,” Patrick responded carefully—half-teasing, half-serious, still trying not to seem as though he’s holding onto David too tightly. It’s something he’d been meticulously aware of ever since the infamous barbecue, doing his best not to let the soft, raw spot growing at his center dictate the entire way he approaches his relationship. David raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not saying that I do. I just thought it would be nice to spend it….alone...with you.” He looked down at the tray by the register, distractedly rearranging the lip balms there, avoiding Patrick’s eyes. The tone of his voice was light but Patrick could tell by the way he was carrying himself, the stiffness in his shoulders, that he was nervous to admit it. He had to consciously keep himself from rushing to David’s side to comfort him, instead counting slowly in his head, his steps measured and sure. 

1 one thousand, 2 one thousand, 3 one thousand, 4 one thousand.

With broad strides, he moved around the counter, swiftly tucking himself against David’s side.

“David, of course I’d love to spend it alone with you,” he murmured, a hand coming up gently at David’s lower back. David leaned heavily into Patrick’s palm, a demure grin appearing at the corner of his mouth as he continued to look down at the lip balms.

When Patrick got home that night, he’d immediately asked Ray about his Christmas plans, which is how they wound up here, with Patrick making the executive decision to close an hour before they had planned to, just so he could get home and maybe shower and panic about giving David a good Christmas.

After finishing a cursory sweep of the main floor and a hasty balancing of the till, Patrick gathers his jacket from the upstairs office and then hurries back down, stopping to grab one, two bottles of wine, making a mental IOU as he turns to lock the door behind him. As he’s pulling his key out of the deadbolt, his back pocket vibrates. And then again. And again. 

“Shit,” he mutters to himself, struggling to dig his phone out with the hand still holding the keys. His heart sinks when he sees the screen: Mom. It’s his first Christmas away from home in almost a decade and, understandably, she’s having a hard time with it. So is he. Mustering a fake smile so she can hear it in his voice, he answers.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi sweet boy. Merry Christmas Eve!” Her voice comes in painfully clear, wrapping around him warmly. He can hear the hum of happy conversation and the faint tinkling of Christmas music in the background.

“Thanks—you too. I miss you guys.”

“We all miss you, too—everyone says hello! The Greenes and the Chapmans came for dinner after Mass tonight, and your Aunt Claire and your cousins are here. Andrew is coming by in a bit but had to stop at the hospital first. Uncle Grant and Liz and the boys are at Liz’s parents’ house but will be coming over after.”

“Wow—sounds like a full house.”

“It doesn’t feel full without you, honey.” His mom’s voice is warm and he can tell she’s just trying to comfort him, but it makes him feel sadder as he makes his way down main street in the quiet dark.

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry; I know the store has been busy and it needs you. We’re so proud of you and David—all your hard work is paying off. We’re so happy you found something that makes you happy.” 

Someone . Patrick wants to say, needs to say, but he can’t.

“Thanks. I’m lucky.” 

“What are you doing right now? Do you want to FaceTime?”  

“Um, I actually just locked up the store and now I’m walking back to Ray’s.”

“Oh, okay. Later then. You’re walking? Isn’t it cold? I hope you have a jacket.” 

“ Yes , I have a jacket. But, yea, it is cold,” Patrick concedes, bottles of wine tucked against his chest as he starts down Main Street. He smiles to himself at his mom still trying to take care of him from so many miles away. “But it’s a short walk and it smells like snow. It reminds me of home.” 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

“David is coming over to watch a Christmas movie and bringing Chinese food. Ray’s out of town visiting family.” He tries to change the subject to avoid any questions that would put him in a precarious position. “Did you make your manicotti?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be Christmas Eve without it; it’s in the oven now. And your father is just breaking out the frozen whiskey sours.”

Patrick grins to himself—he can picture his dad with the soup ladle, deep in the big tupperware of pink lemonade, sprite, and whiskey slush, digging for the cherries at the bottom.

“Tell him to save a scoop for me.” 

“Tell him yourself.”

The line goes muffled and fuzzy for a second until his dad’s voice comes booming through the speaker. It’s Patrick, he hears his mom say.

“Hi son! Merry Christmas!” 

“Thanks, Dad. I was just telling Mom that you guys should save me a scoop of whiskey sour.” 

Patrick walks up the front steps to Ray’s house, taking out his keys again and quickly unlocking the front door.

“If you come visit us, I’ll make you an entire batch.” His dad pauses and Patrick hears a laugh close by in the background; it sounds a lot like Rachel and his chest tightens. “It’s been almost a year, Patrick. Your mother misses you.”

“I know, Dad. I will.” He swallows, hanging his keys on the hook by the door. “Hey, um, was that Rachel?”

“Oh—yep! She came with her parents tonight. It’s great to see her; did you know she’s applying to law school? Smart as a whip, that one.”

Patrick did know this, because she’d told David and David had told him, but he wasn’t about to try to explain that to his dad. After the barbecue, Rachel had assured him she wouldn’t mention anything about her visit to his parents. Because, even hurt, she’s still the same painfully generous, empathetic, impossibly good Rachel—the Rachel who’d be his wife now, if he hadn’t left. 

“Wow. Good for her.”

“She seems excited. It’s nice to see her doing well.” He clears his throat. “I hope you two can reconnect someday, even just as friends; she’s a good one.”

“She really is,” Patrick agrees softly. There’s a brief, slightly awkward pause.

“Well, what are your plans tonight, son? We miss you,” his dad asks and then chuckles. “I’m sure when Andrew gets here, he’ll say you just didn’t want to have to defend your title in Pass the Trash.” 

“Yeah, well, we all know he’s just a sore loser,” Patrick scoffs. “I was telling Mom that David is bringing takeout over and we’re going to watch a Christmas movie.” He smiles softly to himself as he walks into the kitchen and flips on the light, setting the wine down on the kitchen counter. “It’s no manicotti and whiskey sours, but it’ll be good.” 

Better than good. Perfect. But he can’t say that either. 

“That sounds like a nice time; it seems like you’ve found a good friend in David.” His dad’s words don’t seem to hold any underlying implications but they still make Patrick’s stomach churn.

“Yeah, Dad. He’s a great partner.” It’s the truth. Sure, not the entire truth, but it’s at least something. Something he’s able to offer while he figures out how to give them the rest of it. Somehow. 

“Listen—it looks like your mom just pulled dinner out of the oven so I’m going to let you go, but give us a call tomorrow if you think about it.”

“Yeah, of course; I’ll talk to you then. I love you guys—tell everyone I said hi and Merry Christmas.”

“Love you too, son. Have a good night. Say hi to David for us.” 

And then the line goes dead, all the warm voices, Rachel’s laugh, the festive music gone from the other end, and the silence hits Patrick like a swift punch to the solar plexus; he suddenly feels painfully alone, wishing he was there helping his mom serve everyone, watching his dad tease the younger kids about getting coal in their stockings. Hell, he’d even play a round of Pass the Trash with Andrew.

He looks around at the empty kitchen, feeling similarly empty as he reaches into the utensil drawer to grab the wine opener. Haphazardly, he plunges the corkscrew into one of the bottles, not wasting time with the foil cutter, uncorking it messily. While he wanders towards the cabinets by the fridge to get glasses, his phone buzzes again from where it sits by the wine. Probably David letting him know he’s on his way over with dinner. Walking back over with the two glasses, Patrick sets them down next to the open bottle before picking up his phone and then his heart somersaults. 

He takes a deep breath and hurries to send a response, feeling lightheaded. His dad must have said something to her. 

Patrick’s heart is in his throat. He’s missed her so much that he can barely breathe as he hurries to type out a response. Sure, their pieces didn’t fit, no matter how hard he’d tried to force them,  but he still loves her a staggering, painful amount. Losing her, giving her space, had felt like leaving part of himself behind, a sore spot, a hole that he kept accidentally falling into when she happened to cross his mind. An ache he couldn’t find the bottom of.

Patrick’s tongue suddenly feels heavy with all the things he’d wanted to say to his mom and dad when they mentioned David. How much he wishes he was at his parents’ house, sitting around the dining room table (or the kitchen table, or the card table in the living room, depending on the guest hierarchy), holding David’s hand underneath it as he took his first bite of Patrick’s mom’s manicotti. He lets himself imagine his mom telling David about all of Patrick’s childhood ornaments on the tree and then undoubtedly pulling out the photo albums after a couple of whiskey sours, settling in on the couch with him in the sunroom. He thinks about sneaking upstairs with David and fooling around in his high school bedroom—what it would be like to erase the pain of unmet expectations that lingers there with hot mouths and groaned promises. Everything inside of him dares to hope that all these thoughts can one day, somehow, be memories they make together.

He shuts off the screen of his phone, a tingling ball of warmth glowing in the center of his chest; it’s no big reconciliation, but it’s the best gift he could ask for from her—concrete proof that the wounds are slowly, slowly, slowly healing. He hadn’t  expected things between them would resolve themselves immediately, but after the barbecue, when all of autumn passed without so much as an errant “hey” from her, Patrick had started to worry they’d never talk again. 

A knock from around the corner disrupts his thoughts, and he slips his phone back into his pocket and heads towards the front door. The knock is followed by the sounds of the door creaking open and footsteps on the hardwood.

“Um. Hello?” Patrick hears his boyfriend before he sees him, heart thrumming at just the sound of his voice as he makes his way around the corner. David stands in the foyer holding their takeout in one hand and his overnight bag in the other, looking apprehensive and beautiful, his cheeks and lips red from the cold; the breath catches in Patrick’s throat as David’s eyes find his. 

“Oh thank god,” David says, widening his eyes and exhaling heavily as he sets his bag down, “my brain knew it was you but the animal instinct part of me half-expected Ray to pop around the corner and make a joke about mistletoe or something.” 

Patrick’s smile spreads wide and easy on his face as he picks up David’s bag and grabs the food from David’s other hand before leaning in for a kiss, David’s cold nose sliding against his warm one, the tip brushing his cheek, the smell of the cold still hovering in the air around them. When they break apart, David smiles and grabs a belt loop of Patrick’s jeans, pulling  him in for another.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs, his still cold lips against Patrick’s hot mouth, and Patrick wishes his hands were free, needs to touch him, half-tempted to drop both bags and forget about dinner altogether. But then David lets go of the belt loop and pulls back, smiling. 

Patrick jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen, raising the hand holding the takeout and then turns to set David’s bag on the stairs.

“I’m going to go put this down, and then do you want to get comfortable before we eat?”

David nods enthusiastically and makes his way towards the foot of the stairs.

“Yes, yes. I am freezing and would like to not be. Is it okay if I get in the shower to warm up?” 

“Of course, David.” He turns towards the kitchen and then stops. “Want company?” 

David turns to look back at him, crooked grin on his face. 

“Um. Yes please.”

“So how was the rest of the day?” David asks when Patrick steps into the shower and Patrick’s chest tightens, suddenly overwhelmed by the moment, the steam, David’s heady scent surrounding him, the crippling expanse of David’s skin. He swallows hard, trying to center himself while David watches him expectantly, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his dark hair.  

“It was...okay. My, uh, my parents called earlier while I was locking up.” Patrick cringes at his strangled attempt at nonchalance as David passes him the body wash. David’s face softens slightly.

“Oh.” His voice is light, careful as he continues running his fingers through his hair. It’s distracting, really. Patrick can’t help but let his eyes wander over David’s body as he turns under the shower stream. “Um. How was—how was that?”

“It was good. You know—typical family holiday.” He clears his throat. 

“Honey, you of all people should be aware that I have no idea what a Typical Family Holiday even remotely resembles. You’ve seen The Routine.” David gives him a pointed look. 

“You’re right, David; you’ve never celebrated Christmas in reality.” Patrick teases, trying to loosen the knot in his stomach. David seems to sense Patrick’s vulnerability. 

“Um. Why don’t you...tell me about it?” David asks carefully as he lathers his chest, his hands ghosting over his dark pink, hard nipples. It’s distracting for Patrick, who swallows and has to tear his eyes away, chest tightening in affection at David’s gentle, genuinely curious tone.

“Well. My parents always have people over on Christmas Eve for dinner so everyone was there when they called. My mom makes her infamous manicotti, which is this dish—”

“I know what manicotti is, Patrick. Pasta is one of my greatest passions.” David chirps brusquely, interrupting with a playful grin. Patrick smiles back, shaking his head at the floor of the shower and then continues. 

“Okay, so, my dad also makes whiskey sours and freezes them the night before, and they’re dangerous so everyone gets a little tipsy and loud. The younger kids each open a gift. There’s always Christmas music on and after we eat dessert, we all pack into the living room and family room, and my mom makes each person talk about the happiest day of their year.”

Patrick blushes because he can hear his voice getting thicker with emotion. David’s suspiciously glossy eyes are watching him thoughtfully, which isn’t helping as he tries to detach from the feeling. Every time David looks at him that way, Patrick feels like David is the only person in the world who’s ever really seen him before, completely laid bare. 

“Wow, um—” David’s voice cracks and he tries again, “wow, that sounds really nice.” Patrick’s heart feels like it’s going to explode as he nods, trying to keep some of his composure. “It’s kind of crazy that you all like each other enough to care about sharing that stuff.” 

“Well. It’s not like, exactly—it’s more...respect.” Patrick corrects, gently. “But yeah. I guess when your family is this big and this close together, you’re not always going to like or get along with everyone, but you can at least respect them. Or even, if not them, the moment and what it means, I guess.”

David nods, looking thoughtful again and then gives a demure grin.

“So, what was your answer last year? You were there, right?”

Patrick’s heart skips a beat.

“Um. Yeah. Yeah. I was there.”  He swallows. “Um. I told everyone it was the day I...proposed.” 

“Oh. Oh my god . To Rachel. Duh.” David’s eyes widen and his eyebrows jump so quickly they practically shoot off his forehead. “I...feel like shit.”

“David, it’s fine. Don’t.” Patrick turns away from him, chest contracting. This isn’t how he wants to remember their first Christmas—crying in front of David in the shower because he’s homesick and feels guilty about it.

“Patrick.” David’s voice is gentle and Patrick feels a large hand on his side, slowly turning him back. “It’s good to have things to miss.”

“She texted me.” Patrick almost blurts as he faces David again, anxious—for no reason at all, really. David’s eyebrows rise just slightly, but he doesn’t seem surprised.

“Rachel?” His voice is measured, smooth, even, his thumb tracing a soothing circle on Patrick’s hip.

“Yeah. She and her family were at my parents’ tonight. She texted me after I got off the phone with my dad.”

“That’s really good, Patrick.” David’s tone and words remind Patrick that it is , in fact, an amazing thing that Rachel texted at all. “Um, what did she say?” 

“She told me she misses me. And that I shouldn’t make you watch Die Hard because she doesn’t think it’s a Christmas movie.”

“A wise and generous woman.” David nods reverently and Patrick gives a small smile. 

“Oh and she said to tell you hi.”

David grins then, and the warmth in his eyes has Patrick’s knees buckling. 

“I like her.” He states simply, throwing his long arms around Patrick’s neck and stepping closer. Patrick inhales sharply, the heat of David’s body smothering him with a sharp pang of need. 

“The feeling is mutual.” Patrick responds, voice hoarse.

They’d love him.

After their shower, Patrick and David curl up on the couch downstairs with the takeout and the wine and watch Elf . David originally had his heart set on Love Actually but made the concession suspiciously quickly; Patrick knows this means David senses something is off. Every so often, he feels David’s eyes on him in the low light of the room, but they’re gone when he turns his head to meet them.

When the credits roll, David sits up from where he’s laying on Patrick’s chest, looking groggy, and Patrick’s heart flutters. 

“Mmm. How late is it? Bedtime?” 

Patrick chuckles. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s only, like, 9:30, David.”

David grunts sleepily and then flops back down against Patrick’s shoulder and chest. 

“Mmm. Grandpa’s tired.” 

A smile still on his face, Patrick brings his hand from between David’s shoulderblades to the back of his head, weaving his fingers into David’s dark hair, momentarily burying his face in the wild curls, pressing the lightest of kisses there. David sighs, softening slightly.

“We should get ready for bed.” Patrick murmurs, jostling David gently. “Santa, you know.” 

David snorts. 

“Unless he’s bringing me a case of Cr è me de la Mer, I’m not interested.” He sniffs, reluctantly sitting up again. Patrick infers that Cr è me de la Mer is either some sort of insanely expensive skincare product or a luxury dessert from a patisserie in New York, but he’s honestly too afraid to ask which. He gingerly pushes himself up into a seated position next to David and begins to gather the take out containers, boxing the leftovers again and wiping down the coffee table in front of the couch with a napkin. 

“If you get the glasses and set them on the counter in the kitchen, I’ll clean up the rest and then see you upstairs…?” Patrick trails off hesitantly, but David is already nodding, standing and sweeping up the glasses in his hands in one fluid motion.

“I’ll warm the bed up for you.” He says, grinning as he rounds the corner of the couch, headed to the kitchen. Patrick smiles to himself, slowly collecting the utensils from the table and stacking the takeout boxes haphazardly, pinching the dirty napkins under his arm. He carefully makes his way to the kitchen, still balancing the boxes and utensils in the other hand. Setting the food down next to the wine glasses, he opens the dishwasher to drop in the forks and then pivots to put the used napkins in the trash. After he tucks away the remainders of their dinner in the fridge, he turns to place both palms flat on the cool granite counter and takes a deep breath.

His first Christmas with David—that’s all Patrick wants tonight to be about, but his brain is still circling endings far more than beginnings as he stands at the counter and stares down at the stone beneath his hands. 

It’s his first Christmas with David but it’s also his first Christmas away from home, his first Christmas knowing he’s gay. The first Christmas in almost 15 years he won’t be spending with Rachel in some capacity; this was supposed to be their first Christmas as newlyweds. 

If he’d stayed, they would probably just have gotten back from their honeymoon, where Rachel would probably have joked about making a baby just enough to keep Patrick from being able to relax in bed at all; his mouth feels dry imagining the pressure. He thinks about what he’d feel like instead, sitting at the table next to his wife, Rachel, while his cousin jokes about them already having a kid on the way. His dad would’ve welcomed the Chapmans to the family again in the prayer before dinner and that would’ve been...it, really. Patrick’s entire life. Decided.

But he’s here. He gets to be here instead. And he has to somehow stop feeling guilty about that so he can actually enjoy it. 

He pictures Rachel’s face the day he proposed, the night he left, that afternoon in the motel just a few months ago; her pain by the end of it all had been so palpable. The memory lives in Patrick’s throat, suffocating him slowly in the silence of the clean, quiet kitchen. He thinks of Christmas last year, just a couple weeks before he left—Rachel laughing quietly with his mom in the living room as they mused over mistletoe boutonnieres and tartan tuxes. 

“Patrick? Honey?”

David’s voice echoes faintly around the corner from the top of the stairs, a spark of warmth in the icy pit of Patrick’s stomach. He clears his throat.

“Hey. Yeah.”  He calls hoarsely. ‘Yeah I’m coming. Sorry.” 

With a deep breath, he turns away from the counter again and flicks off the light switch, the darkness of the downstairs swallowing him up as he leaves the kitchen and makes his way to the stairwell and up the stairs. David is hovering anxiously at the top of them, brow furrowed, looking ridiculously handsome in his thin, impossibly soft sleep tee and joggers.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. I, um, I was just thinking about...Rachel.” He winces apologetically.

“Mmm.” David hums, face softening as he reaches out to slide a hand onto Patrick’s lower back, comfortingly, gently guiding him towards his room, where the warm light of the bedside lamp is pouring out of the doorway and down the otherwise dark and quiet hall. Patrick lets himself be steered, wearily walking around to his side of the bed before tugging his t-shirt off and draping it over his desk chair as he lets himself peel back the sheets before collapsing onto the mattress. When he comes to rest with his head propped on the pillow, David is watching him carefully from the doorway.

“It might help to say it. Out loud.” David’s voice is soft and even and it pours over Patrick like warm water. He slowly approaches the opposite side of the bed and pulls down the sheets, slipping gracefully underneath them and giving a small smile as he stretches out, propping himself up on one elbow to face Patrick. He lets his hand rest heavily on Patrick’s stomach, just below his belly button. Patrick echoes his smile weakly and then turns his head to look back up at the ceiling. 

“It’s like...I don’t even know how I feel.” Patrick responds haltingly and David narrows his eyes like he’s considering something.

“Okay. Well. Just tell me more about Christmas, then.”

Patrick’s eyes dart to David’s face and then back to the ceiling. No more whiskey sours and warm togetherness—it’s time for something real in a harder way. Something closer to the brittle shame encasing his heart. He swallows.

“Um. Okay. Well. Last year, it started snowing after dinner.” He starts slowly, looking over at David. “I was already, um, drinking a lot by that point, and my cousins and my uncle and I thought it would be fun to go sledding on the big hill at the entrance to my parents’ neighborhood. It was like 11:30 at night so it was obviously a very safe, well-informed decision. We didn’t even have enough sleds so most of us used old cardboard boxes and, as a result, got pretty banged up. But, honestly, I couldn’t even really feel it between the booze and the cold.” Patrick smiles and then looks back up at the ceiling again. “Rachel was an incredible sport about it. She took care of my busted lip and the gash on my arm, but I bruised my tailbone so badly I had to sit on a pillow until New Year’s.” 

David watches Patrick tell his story with an alarmed expression on his face. 

“My god .” He gasps when Patrick finishes, his eyes wild and eyebrows dangerously high on his forehead. “You were practically feral .” 

“Yeah. Well. That wasn’t exactly the most... stable version of me.” Patrick looks at David pointedly with a resigned grimace on his face, and David pulls his lips between his teeth, nodding in acknowledgment. “I’m pretty sure I have a picture somewhere. I know Rachel does. Or did.”

“Well that’s something I’ll be asking her about.” David confirms, biting back a smile. His fingers dance lightly across Patrick’s stomach and he clears his throat. “Alexis and I weren’t allowed to go sledding, especially after I had my nose fixed. Honestly, it was probably for the best.”

“Not even when you were little?” Patrick asks, turning onto his side to face David, heart humming as he imagines David as a little boy, watching the snowfall from a non descript mansion window with big, dark eyes. David rolls his tongue in his mouth thoughtfully and then the dimple in his left cheek deepens, hand wandering across Patrick’s body to hold his side, pulling them closer together. Patrick’s stomach flips and David smiles at him.

“There was one time when I was five and my parents went to Greece for a couple weeks at the beginning of December and left me and Alexis with Adelina at home. I guess Adelina borrowed a sled from her neighbor and took us out on the Great Lawn; she made me promise not to tell my mom and dad.” David rolls his eyes and shakes his head, cheek still resting on his palm. “Alexis was, like, two, so she screamed the whole time, but it’s probably one of my earliest memories.”

Patrick grins and slips a hand up under the hem of David’s soft sleep tee, fingers grazing the warm skin, soft hair on his stomach. The vice in his chest loosens just slightly.

“Well, now it’s my responsibility to take you sledding the next time we get a decent snow.” Patrick teases, his hand resting gently on David’s side underneath his shirt.

“Um. Absolutely not.” David shakes his head when he says absolutely for emphasis. “That rule was put into effect for a very good reason.”

“I would never let anything happen to you, David. Or your face.” 

“You say that now.” David sniffs. “But Dr. DiFrancesco made this nose what it is, and somehow I doubt that the caliber of plastic surgeons around here will measure up.”

“Fair enough. Hey—maybe Ray can corner that market next.”

David’s face falls completely flat.

“Don’t even joke about that.” 

Patrick leans in to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s unamused mouth and David reluctantly kisses him back, still looking wary as they pull apart again. Chest swelling with fondness, Patrick sighs and rolls slightly inward towards David, taking the moment to tuck his face into David’s neck and inhale his smell. He doesn’t often retreat into David like this—soften, let himself become small—but right now, all he needs is to disappear, to melt into David’s skin, become his breath.

“I miss them.” He says against David’s throat, lips brushing the rough stubble just below his chin, before he rolls away again, back to his own pillow, eyes closed. He can feel David watching him.

“I know you do, honey.” David’s voice is quiet and gentle, hand finding its home on Patrick’s stomach again. There’s nothing but the sound of quiet breathing between them for a moment and Patrick becomes aware of how heavy the weight on his chest is. “Even though I’ve yet to experience it, I’m aware that it’s apparently common to occasionally enjoy spending time with your family.” 

Patrick chuckles weakly. 

“You missing them doesn’t take anything from me.” Patrick sees David’s eyes widen in his periphery. “You didn’t secretly want to go home for Christmas but stayed for my sake, did you?” 

“No, David.” Patrick shakes his head and turns to meet David’s eyes. “No, of course not. I’m so happy to be here with you. I just...didn’t expect to miss home like this.”

David tips his head back and forth thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes and looking past Patrick for a moment. The statement hangs in the silence, honest and aching. After a long, considerate  pause, David finds Patrick’s gaze again and wets his lips. 

“I think, maybe, you’re...grieving?” David offers, studying Patrick’s face carefully. “Like—the life you had there isn’t what you want now,” David’s eyes are gentle, “but there was a time when you thought it was.”

The accuracy is a gut punch Patrick isn’t prepared for—that home is what he knows, not what he needs. 

“I just did this, you know—” David continues simply, and Patrick’s heart swells again, guilt reigniting in his chest, “left one life for another. You have to figure out how to consciously and actively choose the parts you carry with you. And then you have to choose to release yourself from the rest, or else you’ll be living in the shadow of your past perpetually. My therapist always told me to acknowledge what it taught you, give it grace, and then let it go.”

Patrick looks over at David again feeling sheepish, but David’s face is kind. 

“But how do you know what to let go of?”

David snorts.

“Well, I’m far from the right person to ask this question seeing as I still carry like 87% percent of my baggage from life in New York, but I focus on mostly keeping the things that let light in.”

Patrick nods and quietly wonders what that means for him, what parts he wants to keep—definitely Rachel’s laugh and the way his dad can’t drink coffee without reading some kind of newspaper, his mom’s smile every time he’d walk in the door when he came for dinner and the baseball field at the high school that he spent so many hours on—a place that taught him so much about discipline, about himself. 

But he thinks he’ll leave behind the park he proposed at and the parking lot he left Rachel in that night in January. He’ll leave behind the memory of sleeping on the bathroom floor of their apartment when he was too drunk to drag himself to the bed. He’ll leave behind the disappointment she tried to hide on her face each time he let her down, each time she went to a party alone because he wasn’t feeling up for it, each quiet sigh as he pretended to be asleep when she came home. 

“Hey.” David leans in slightly, his smell heavy and warm, pulling Patrick’s hand away from his metaphorical wounds. He smiles softly, and Patrick’s heart starts to race, overcome with the urge to kiss him, and to maybe put his mouth on a few other choice places. “It’s okay to look back if you use it to move forward.”

“You’re being very wise, tonight, David.” 

“Yes, well—consider this me getting in the Christmas spirit.” David’s smile gradually slides to the side of his face as he leans down for a kiss. His lips are impossibly soft and Patrick relaxes into it. Relaxes into the moment, into the fact that it won’t feel like this forever, but that, right now, he’s right where he’s supposed to be. When they break apart, David’s grin gets bigger. 

“So tell me about this pillow.” 

Patrick blushes and rolls his eyes, huffing embarrassedly. He makes a marginal attempt at getting up but David’s hand is surprisingly firm on his stomach and he feels a familiar heat pooling low in his belly.

“David, I need to brush my teeth.” He says, trying to sound exasperated, but failing impressively as he reluctantly untangles himself from David’s long limbs and pushes up to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Okay, but I’m just curious.”

“David.” He stands and turns towards his boyfriend, who is still laying in the bed, looking very pleased with himself.

“You know, if you ever break your ass again, I’d be happy to help make it feel better.” The smile on David’s face could bring Patrick to his knees.

“David.” 

“Patrick, it’s Christmas.”  David whines playfully, turning over as he watches Patrick move around the room, eyes resting on him as he stops in the doorway. 

“Ho, ho, ho.” Patrick grins and then winks, impulsively pulling his pajama pants down just enough to flash a glimpse of his bare ass at David, who looks thrilled.

“ Oh my god. ” David breathes, a bright, gorgeous smiling spreading across his face. “You’re very cheeky .”

“Well, Ray’s gone. It’s just us.” 

And with that, he pushes his pants the rest of the way down and then pulls off his shirt in one fluid motion, stepping out of his pants and tossing the shirt in the cocky way that he knows drives David insane. David basically leaps out of bed from a reclining position as the shirt hits the ground—Patrick’s not sure he’s ever moved faster—crowding up against Patrick with warm, eager hands, a mouth open against Patrick’s neck. Patrick grins as he reaches behind to wrap an arm around David and then spins to meet his face, his mouth. His perfect mouth. 

Bedtime can wait.

Speaking of perfect mouth. 

The first thing Patrick’s consciousness is aware of in the morning is wet heat on the crease of his ass cheek. He’s laying on his stomach on the bed, half-hard as his hips reflexively roll down into the mattress at the sensation. The wet heat travels up towards the cleft of his ass, joined by the weight of David’s torso moving Patrick’s legs apart gently as he nudges himself between them. Patrick inhales sharply at both the stretch and the thrill of being exposed, David’s tongue now dipping between his cheeks, exploring, hands spreading Patrick carefully. Patrick clenches in anticipation and David breathes a laugh, his tongue still teasing the edges, the sensitive skin around it firmly. After a tantalizing minute, David pulls away and Patrick gives a small huff of protest, shifting his hips restlessly, painfully aroused. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” David purrs, voice partially muffled by the comforter that’s over his head, hands squeezing Patrick’s ass. And then, without warning, he dives between Patrick’s cheeks again, sealing his mouth around his hole, tongue pressing into him, slow, firm, and relentless. Patrick bites the pillow but still lets out a low groan of surprise mixed with pleasure, the wet heat almost too much with his body still adjusting to consciousness, clinging to the last broken fragments of sleep. His hips are torn between chasing David’s mouth behind him and the friction with the mattress below, shifting erratically between the two with choked whimpers. David’s hands on Patrick’s ass move around to hold the front of his hips, pulling Patrick’s ass against his face even harder, tongue fucking even slower, deeper as Patrick lets out another wounded moan. 

David is sure to take his time, making certain Patrick is almost too hard before he pulls back with a kiss to the inside of Patrick’s left ass cheek, finally throwing the comforter off his head. Patrick sneaks a glimpse of his boyfriend over his shoulder, still sleep soft, his dark hair wild, mouth red and glistening. When Patrick hears the lube click open, he sighs in relief, anticipating what comes next as he waits for David to slick his fingers. His whole body shudders as David passes the soft pad of a fingertip lightly over his spit-slick, sensitive entrance and he feels David shift his weight as he kneels between Patrick’s knees. Patrick wiggles impatiently and then a long, graceful finger is sinking swiftly, purposefully into him. It catches Patrick by surprise, forcing a breathless groan out of his chest, a hand fisting the sheets at his side where David had laid.

“How’s that?” David asks, voice low and smooth, quiet and controlled. The hair at the back of Patrick’s neck stands up in anticipation as David’s hand begins to move against him. It’s perfect.  David laughs softly when Patrick’s hips thrust reflexively as he curls his finger inside Patrick’s heat. “You like that, don’t you, honey?” Patrick nods against the pillow. David is watching him with his mouth slightly open, eyes glazed with desire. “You love it when I do this too.” A second slick finger slips in next to the first as David pulls his hand back, twisting his wrist simultaneously as he reenters Patrick.

“ Fuck yes.” Patrick groans in affirmation.”I do.”

David works Patrick open carefully, tenderly, thoroughly with his hands, his mouth, until Patrick is so turned on but also somehow so pliable that he’s melting into the mattress. And then David walks his knees up to nudge the back of Patrick’s thighs. Hooking his hands under both hips, he gives a couple light taps and Patrick hurries to raise them, ass now shamelessly in the air. He would be embarrassed at his desperation, how exposed he is, if he wasn’t so turned on.

“God, you’re pretty.” David murmurs, and when Patrick looks back over his shoulder, David is staring at his ass, left hand guiding his slick cock across it, rubbing the flushed head gently over Patrick’s entrance, slapping wetly against the soft flesh of one cheek. It’s too much. Patrick’s belly is on fire and then David’s right hand is hooked around his right hip and finally, finally David is pushing into him with this beautiful moan of relief that echoes in Patrick’s body. Patrick swallows a whimper high in his throat as David grabs his other hip. David’s hands are firm, holding him steady, fingertips biting into Parick’s skin in the most perfect way. Wet heat trickles down Patrick’s spine as David fully seats himself and Patrick reaches down to grab David’s wrist, mouth falling open. David tears his dark, hungry eyes away from their flush hips to meet Patrick’s gaze.

“Everything okay, honey?” He asks, voice smooth and deep and soft, and Patrick swallows, closing his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes. Yeah. It’s—”His voice cracks and he pauses, hums as David shifts his weight from knee to knee, sensations inside him changing with David’s movement. “Yes, David. Fuck.” 

David’s hand on Patrick’s left hip wanders up to Patrick’s shoulder, bending over slightly and bracing Patrick against him as he slowly, so slowly, begins to move his hips, the tension between their bodies blooming almost suffocatingly into friction. 

When Patrick opens his eyes again, he turns his head towards the window, catching a glimpse of David’s strong hand on his shoulder, white light sending shocks of brightness around the corner of the curtains in the otherwise dark and sleepy room. Patrick wonders vaguely if it snowed, but that thought is driven from his mind when David leans forward even more, pressing his chest against Patrick’s back, forcing Patrick’s hips down beneath him. He feels David’s breath on the back of his neck and he reaches a hand up to weave into the curls on the back of David’s head, pulling him closer. 

“I love you,” he manages to rasp, raising his chin off the pillow and turning his head to get a glimpse of the gorgeous man on top of him. “David, I love you.”

David answers with a choked sigh, hands slowly moving one by one to tuck underneath Patrick’s body, sliding palm up under Patricks pecs and wrapping up and around his  shoulders until David has encircled them completely with his arms, holding Patrick somehow still closer to him, holding him steady, their bodies molded together, and thrusting so deeply Patrick feels the force and urgency echoing in his diaphragm; he’d happily spend an eternity on his belly with David between his thighs. 

“Honey.” David pants, releasing Patrick’s right shoulder, his hand instead finding Patrick’s where it’s clutching at the mattress under his pillow, overlapping it and lacing their fingers together. He’s found his pace now, and Patrick does his best to brace himself as David’s hips roll down and into him with a steady, powerful cadence. Every part of him is covered in David, overwhelmed, enveloped by him and Patrick finds it so intoxicating; some of his deepest, most primal desires involve losing himself in this man who brings him the freedom and hope he’d never had before. He loves David’s breath on his neck, David’s hand on top of his, the obscenely hot sound of their bodies meeting, of David’s balls slapping against him, the feeling of David’s cum dribbling out of him—things he’d still be too embarrassed to name out loud right now but thinks about constantly when he’s alone. Maybe one day. 

David groans but it tapers off into a rather inelegant grunt, which Patrick somehow finds even  hotter—the fact that David lets him see this, is relaxed enough to lose himself between them without shame. Patrick’s body is almost flat against the bed now, thighs spread wide and hips stretched perfectly, held there by David’s weight as David’s hips roll into him relentlessly, every thrust driving the air out of his chest as David holds them together.

“Patrick.” David hisses in a low, strangled voice from somewhere behind Patrick’s right ear and then his fingertips are digging into the tops of Patrick’s shoulders, squeezing him, holding him still tighter somehow and Patrick whimpers as he feels an incredible wet heat spreading at his center. He’s dying to follow David over the edge, unabashedly grinding down into the mattress, his neglected cock impossibly hard and weeping, David’s heavy, spent body spread on top of him like a debaucherous weighted blanket. After a second of labored breathing, David braces himself against the bed with one hand and reaches to the nightstand with his long arm to get the damp washcloth he’d apparently gathered before he’d woken Patrick up.

“Mm. Hold on honey—I’m going to pull out.” 

Patrick nods into the pillow, hips still lazily moving against the sheets underneath him, and then David is withdrawing his hips and he’s gone and Patrick is empty, so empty. He whimpers as David pushes himself up to a kneeling position before sitting back on his heels behind Patrick, cleaning himself carefully and then dabbing at Patrick’s tender, swollen entrance. Patrick’s hips jump again and when he looks over his shoulder, David has a self-satisfied smirk on his face, his cock still heavy between his legs.

“How do you want to come, baby?” He purrs, a fingertip tracing up the back of Patrick’s thigh, into the crease of his ass cheek, lightly brushing over his balls. Patrick moans through clenched teeth, face half buried in the pillow. “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Patrick nods and David lets his fingertip circle Patrick’s hole, causing Patrick’s hips to twitch uncontrollably. David gives a low chuckle.

“Turn over for me, baby; I want to watch.” 

Patrick flips stiffly onto his back, muscles still unlearning the position David had compressed them into. His cock slaps against his belly, hard, flushed, and needy and David looks at Patrick naked in front of him like a man starved.

“Jesus you’re sexy.” David breathes, running his hand up Patrick’s thighs. “Look at you. You’re so fucking hard. Fucking the bed because you wanted me. Fuck.”

“Lube?” Patrick is able to mumble the request, face burning, brain clouded with need, and body so far beyond it that he can barely make sense of anything. David obliges, grabbing the bottle from where it was abandoned next to them and flipping open the lid, pouring some onto Patrick’s outstretched hand. Patrick wastes no time, bringing the slick hand down to his throbbing cock and giving himself a long, firm stroke, hips jumping up towards his hand. He moans at the contact—it’s a lot better than the mattress. His other hand joins his first and then he’s thrusting his hips up and into the slick double grip he’s made for himself, eyes locked on David’s.

“Yeah baby. Fuck your hands like that. God. Do you wish it was me?” David is watching him with heavy-lidded eyes and Patrick bites his lip and nods once, muscles in his thighs tensing. He was already so close but his orgasm comes on so suddenly and powerfully that he shouts in surprise, cum coating his hands and belly, David’s fingers digging into the soft flesh above his knees as he watches Patrick fall apart. 

Merry Christmas, indeed.

After further cursory clean up, they lay in a content pile in bed, dozing on and off for the better part of the morning. At some point, Patrick gets up to make coffee and brings a couple mugs back to his room, pressing a soft kiss to David’s bare freckled shoulder as he climbs back in bed. David hums sleepily and turns over to face Patrick.

“Mm. So how is your Christmas so far?” He asks, a coy grin tucked into his cheek.

“Well, last Christmas, I woke up in my parent’s basement very sore with a broken ass and also very hungover. This has already been a much better morning.”

“Yes, well. I’d hope so.” David purses his lips playfully. “I’m guessing you didn’t wake up because you were having your ass eaten either.”

No, Patrick had woken at almost noon to Rachel’s weight on the bed, her small hand tentatively on his shoulder.

“Hey.” She’d said. “Everyone is wondering where you are. Are you okay?”

And he hadn’t been.

“You’re right.” He grins and leans in for a kiss, feeling David smile against his lips. When they break apart, David rests the side of his face on his palm, propped up on an elbow, and watches Patrick thoughtfully.

“So. What would be your best day this year, then? If we’re keeping tradition.”

Patrick’s eyes burn with appreciation and he has to swallow hard to choke back the tears. It’s not an easy question, but he knows the answer.

“The next one.” He says and David looks understandably confused, beautiful brow furrowed, a few messy curls falling animatedly to one side of his forehead. 

“Um.” David responds and then shakes his head in confusion again.

“You make every day something to look forward to, David.” Patrick manages to hold David’s gaze for a few seconds longer before he looks away. “So—thank you.”

It’s David’s turn to choke up as he reaches out and rests a hand on Patrick’s hip, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly to keep more tears from forming.

“Well it’s way too early for this level of sincerity.” He rasps haughtily after a brief moment of collecting himself. “But, that’s very sweet.”

“Do you think you’re gonna make it?” Patrick teases softly, leaning in for a kiss that he feels at the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet.

“Unclear.” David says against Patrick’s lips.

But, honestly, things have never been clearer.