Chapter Text
Patrick goes through the motions with ease, well practiced over the years. A slight increase to the temperature on tank one, a note to monitor tank two and a small tap to tank three, actions born out of habit. Three checks to the tanks, three strums of his guitar, and three taps of the bat to his cleats before staring down the pitcher. There’s a comfort in the routine, one that he often clings to, but the routine also amplifies the ache in his chest. A restlessness he isn’t quite sure how to solve.
So let’s just tuck that problem away for now, Patrick.
He forces himself to take a deep breath, lest his friends find him next to the boiling tank having a panic attack.
The smell of sawdust and cleaner hang in the air, as does the sour yeasty scent of fermentation. These scents often trigger memories, strong and vivid from the recesses of his mind but one in particular floats through today. His second semester of university and the disastrous first batch of beer he and his cousin Matt had brewed in their dorm room.
They’d held their solo cups aloft, grins and misplaced confidence in full force before taking a sip. They were both too proud to be the first to admit how terrible it was, faces tight, grimaces barely concealed.
“This tastes like shit,” Frank, their itinerant neighbour from across the hall had finally assessed, knocking the rest of his solo cup back in one go. Patrick and Matt had shared a look and in an unspoken agreement, downed their cups as well.
“Absolute garbage,” Patrick said, the back of his hand covering his mouth, holding back his laugh.
“Completely terrible,” Matt agreed.
They’d all stared at the bucket in silence.
“We should probably have at least one more to make sure?” Patrick asked, never quite ready to admit defeat.
One more had turned to two and into a painful next morning but the plans they’d made late into the night — adjustments to the brew, better equipment and more attention paid to the process — had paid off.
And they really had. Patrick couldn’t deny that, walking slowly through the brew room, large stainless tanks towering over him, all signs of how far they’d come. He stops only a moment to quietly watch the bubbling in the airlock chamber, and satisfied, he crosses the room to the bin of hops, picking up a few buds. Rubbing the hops between his fingers releases the oils and extracts a woody, earthy scent.
He and Matt had moved from that small dorm room the first year, to a small apartment and finally a house they shared with two other friends, one of whom became Matt’s wife, Sam. And with each move, their equipment and knowledge grew, and by those final days of summer and school, it was only natural to host one last party. Classmates, teammates and friends, all invited to say goodbye to their Uni days and each other.
Four pristine kegs lined the fence of the backyard, each containing a perfected brew, the artery of the party.
Patrick had sampled from each, creating a heady buzz that moved him slowly through the night. With his mind pleasantly numb, he filled his solo cup again and took a sip, watching the people around him. A hotly contested beer pong game, his best friend holding court in front of a large group, and two women cuddled close together on a hammock, soft words and softer smiles shared between them. A familiar ache, something close to longing fluttered in his chest; he took this as his cue to move on. He took a deep sip and let his feet carry him inside, finding a spot against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.
Just as his eyes drifted shut, he felt a presence beside him.
“You doing okay, Brewer?”
Patrick smiled at the voice, recognizing it immediately. Steven played outfield with him in their beer league. His constant grins and easy going nature toned down Patrick’s more competitive flair.
“Always,” Patrick said but sucked in a surprise breath when he felt a strong warm hand on his thigh. He looked down and studied the long fingers, blunt nails and dusting of blond hair.
He thought of the two women outside, so comfortable, happy.
His heart raced.
“You think I have a chance with Trish?” Steven asked, and Patrick finally glanced up. He followed Steven’s line of sight towards the woman in question; field hockey captain, sticking around to do her doctorate and play another season. Patrick dropped his eyes back to the hand on his thigh and forced out a cliche, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Way out of your league.”
Steven laughed.
“Right?”
But he gave Patrick another identity crisis thigh squeeze before hoisting himself to his feet.
“Can’t hurt to say hello. I’ll come find you later, bro.”
He left with a wink and all Patrick could do was close his eyes, head thumping back against the wall. He brushed his hand up and down his thigh where he could still feel the heat.
“Patrick!”
Patrick’s head snaps up and towards the voice. Matt stands in the doorway pulling on latex gloves, watching Patrick with raised brows.
“Sorry, I spaced out. When you get started, check tank two; the temp is at the low end.”
Matt nods but doesn’t say anything.
Patrick looks around, trying to collect his thoughts.
“You doing okay, Patty?”
Patrick almost barks out a laugh hearing those words echoed back.
Just remembering that crush I had on our center fielder back in college. No biggie.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he tosses the hops into a compost bin and smiles.
“I’m good. Anyway, it’s incorporation day. I have a meeting in…” Patrick pulls his phone from his pocket. “Shit, twenty minutes.” He shoves his phone back into his pocket and wipes his hands on his jeans.
“I’ll see you back here after?”
“Absolutely. We’ll sample some of the new batch and see what it needs.”
Patrick hurries from the brew room, leaving its scents and memories behind.
xx
Patrick doesn’t think twice about sitting down on the step. He simply gives the worn wood a quick wipe with his hand and settles down. He briefly listens to the awkward photoshoot directions happening inside and resigns himself to the inevitable wait. He flips through his incorporation papers, but having reviewed them multiple times already, it’s a cursory look at best before tucking them back into their folder. He tosses it to the side and kicks his legs out, taking a moment to people watch on Main Street, Schitt’s Creek.
A couple across the street are unloading their truck, baskets of geraniums in pinks and reds peeking out from behind the bags of earth. His attention jumps to the right when he hears a frustrated cry and spies a young girl on her bike. She’s stuck on the small incline of the sidewalk, multicolored handlebar tassels blowing in the wind. Her father hurries over, encouraging her to try one more time and a grin breaks out across her face when she makes it to the other side.
Patrick smiles and watches her progress down the street. He is so focused on the young girl that he doesn’t notice the footsteps until they are right before him. A shadow falls over his feet and he follows it up, taking in stark white soled sneakers, stylish black pants, and a face that makes Patrick swallow back any greeting he thought to use.
A contrast of black lines against the summer heat, of expressive brown eyes and thick dark brows. Patrick’s heart trips in his chest.
There’s an aloof confidence in this man’s presence and yet Patrick catches a hint of nerves in the way his silver ringed fingers tighten on the roll of paper in his hands.
Patrick knows he’s staring but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop until he has memorized every detail so he can picture him later, when he is alone with his thoughts at home. Patrick lets his lips tick up in a smile and enjoys the swoop in his belly when those expressive eyes briefly stray to his. He watches as the man twists his papers, and he quickly recognizes the heading on the documents.
“Incorporating your business?” Patrick asks.
The man eyes him carefully, his gaze sweeping down his chest and back up. Patrick pushes himself to maintain an easy demeanor, hoping his pounding heart doesn’t show.
“Yes.”
“Patrick Brewer,” Patrick says, filling in the silence and extending a hand.
It seems to catch the man off guard, as if he doesn’t even realize his hand is in Patrick’s until his dark eyebrows shoot up at the warm contact. Patrick is pleased to see the corner of the stranger’s mouth fight to not give into the smile.
“David Rose,” the man finally offers softly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. Patrick tightens his grip for just a moment, enjoying the squeeze he gets in return before dropping his hand.
David’s eyes drop from Patrick’s and move to the screen door. Patrick scrambles to keep the conversation going.
“I don’t think we should go in there just yet,” he says just as Ray offers more inane directions inside.
“Um, okay. It’s just I had an—”
“An appointment,” Patrick finishes for David, who again looks like he can’t decide between intrigued or annoyed.
He might be leaning towards annoyed and Patrick sort of loves it.
“Sorry. I just think we probably want to avoid the photoshoot going on in there.”
“Look at her, but look at me.” Ray’s voice drifts through the open door.
David lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just, I had some questions about the papers and I have another engagement soon, so I hope it’s not a long wait.”
Patrick holds up his hands.
“I’m sure I can help you with all that out here, I’m pretty good at this stuff, and then it’ll just be a matter of dropping the papers off with Ray, no need to stay to ask him anything. Do you want to have a seat?”
Patrick gestures to the step as if welcoming David to his office.
David eyebrows jump up as he looks down at the dusty step beside Patrick.
“Um, these are Rick Owens, they aren’t made for whatever it is you’re suggesting.”
Patrick can’t help his delighted smile. He has no idea who Rick Owens is but can sort of appreciate the sentiment.
“One sec.”
Patrick reaches over for his folder, tucks his papers away and lays it out flat on the step, hand sweeping out as if to say, what do you think?
David visibly balks at the suggestion but after some hesitation, carefully lowers himself to the step, casting a quick look over to Patrick. Patrick wants to tease him a little more but David’s clearly out of his comfort zone, so instead he opts for sincere.
He nudges David with his knee and taps a finger against the papers David is now clutching tightly.
“So what are your questions?”
It takes David a second to collect his thoughts but he finally unrolls his papers, revealing a patchwork of words, scribbles and sketches.
Patrick bites his lip to keep from saying anything but unfortunately he can’t help the mirth dancing in his eyes. David immediately picks up on it.
“What?” David asks, with a little shake to his shoulders and an eye roll.
“Nothing, nothing. It’s just ah, maybe we should start fresh,” Patrick offers, leaning back and reaching into his bag. Always prepared, he pulls out blank forms and a pen, poised to write.
“Okay, David. Name of the business?”
“Oh, um, I’m oscillating between two names at the moment so if we could just leave that one blank it would be great.”
The second question doesn’t get them any further, nor do Patrick’s sports metaphors.
“Batting a thousand here, David,” Patrick says when they come up with another non-answer. If anything it puts David further on edge and when they go three for three David almost gets up to leave.
“You’re right, this is pointless. I’ll just go, ah, go home and do this in another life.”
But Patrick grips his arm and holds him in place, losing his words when David’s eyes fly to his. He clears his throat, buying time.
“No, no. I’m sorry, let’s try this again. Can I see your documents? Please?”
David’s eyes drop down to his lap where the papers are rolling in on themselves and Patrick can now see that the indecision isn’t from aloofness but from care. He sees for a moment, a small bit of himself in David, in the intense desire to get it right. And Patrick really wants to help David get it right.
He doesn’t take the papers away but helps open them up on David’s lap. He tries to make sense of it all, rereading the buzzwords David had just listed, picking up a few other notes David hadn’t thought to mention.
Rebranding. Consignment. Local.
Patrick taps the words with his index finger.
“This is good, really good, David. This is what we have to put down here.”
He looks up and finally sees a genuine smile grace David’s face. He grins in return and nudges David’s shoulder. David is quick to try and school his reaction.
“Obviously,” David says quietly but the slight flush of pride gives him away.
Patrick hurries to fill in the brief description of the business.
“And you have Rose Apothecary written several times across your forms. David, you even have what looks to be a logo sketched out. I think you know what name you want.”
Patrick watches David’s ringed fingers tap a rhythm against his thigh.
“I like it,” Patrick hedges and when David still doesn’t speak up, “It’s just pretentious enough.”
David’s fidgeting stops.
“Would we call that pretentious, or timeless?”
Patrick’s smile is his only answer.
He fills the name into the appropriate line and reaches for his phone in his pocket.
“We can look up the address of your store and fill that in as the business address. If you want to change it to the motel later that’s always a possibility. At least we’ll have something and I think I can easily answer the rest of the questions for you.”
Patrick unlocks his phone, opens his maps app and hands it to David. He takes it but Patrick continues to feel David’s eyes on him. He cuts a look over and gets caught in expressive dark brown eyes.
This is it, Patrick thinks. This is why he blew up his old life and escaped. This feeling he’s been chasing his whole goddamn life but could never really put into words. And sure, maybe he’s being a little dramatic but he knows it in his gut.
Patrick has to look away, because the words he’d only let himself say aloud twice before, were now ringing loudly in his ears.
I’m gay.
He’d whispered it to Rachel in the fading light, as they sat on the cool metal bleachers by the dusty softball field. It had been a few months since they’d called off their engagement but being there for each other was the one constant in their relationship. And so when Patrick called, Rachel showed up.
He hadn’t realized how bad his hands were shaking until she’d taken them in her small but strong ones and squeezed him tightly. Effectively holding him together.
Okay, Patty. It’s going to be okay. Better even.
He was so grateful for her words and understanding and love. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it but he was forever indebted.
He had said it in a rush to his parents the night before he left for Schitt’s Creek. The words catching in his throat as he tried to explain why he had to leave, why he had to get away from what felt like everything that tied him to who he wasn’t.
His mother had finally quieted him with a hug, only letting go so his father could embrace him in turn.
But now what? It was all mostly abstract then. But now there is a very real, very beautiful man sitting impossibly close to him. Before Patrick can muster up a clever comment, an astute observation, anything really, David’s phone chimes from his pocket and interrupts Patrick’s thoughts.
“Um, sorry. Here, I found the address.”
David hands Patrick back his phone, fumbling for his own and cursing at whatever he sees on the screen.
“That’s my contractor. The other engagement I have this afternoon. What should I…” David says, words trailing off as he looks over his shoulder to the door of the building.
Well, Patrick doesn’t know what to do about the beautiful boy, but he does know how to incorporate a business.
“I can give your forms to Ray and then bring the confirmation by your store later,” Patrick offers, holding up his phone displaying a pin on the map. “Only if that’s alright with you, of course,” he adds quickly, cursing himself for being pushy.
David glances at his phone and back to Patrick, eyes narrowing just a little before coming to a decision.
“You’re sure?” David asks, but the words sound cautious.
“Absolutely. It’s what I do.” It’s what I do. Who talks like that? Patrick could kick himself.
David’s phone chimes again and it seems to make the decision for him.
“Okay, I guess. Um, thank you.”
Patrick nods and watches David rise and make his way down the walk. He glances back once and Patrick offers him his most reassuring smile. David doesn’t look completely assured but he also doesn’t demand his papers back so Patrick counts it as a win.
Gathering himself, Patrick checks the pinned address on his phone. Then checks it again. Unbelievable. Rose Apothecary is the storefront right beside the brewery. He had hope yet for Summer in Schitt’s Creek.
xx
“Oof, Patty. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you play this bad. What’s going on?”
Patrick leans down, palms spread wide against the weathered wood long table and stares down his cousin at the opposite end. Two red solo cups remain in front of Matt, while one lonely cup stands on Patrick’s side.
“You never could finish, Matt. Throw the ball and we'll see who wins,” Patrick says with an eyeroll, knowing he’s being a little testy but he doesn’t like losing and his mind isn’t really on the game tonight.
Instead, it keeps drifting to the dark storefront next door and the man he’d been on the lookout for but hasn’t spotted.
But instead of throwing, Matt rolls the ping pong ball between his palms, studying Patrick, head tilted to the side.
“So explain to me again how you left here to drop off our incorporation papers, and come back with not one but two businesses? For someone who isn’t even sure they want to be here, you sure are adapting pretty well.”
“Matt!”
Patrick turns at the sound and sees his cousin’s wife Sam return, beer bottles dangling from her fingers. She lays one down in front of him and gives his back a familiar rub. Patrick leans into it and gives Matt an indulgent smile. Matt waves the look away, the banter familiar between the three of them.
“Patty wants to be here with us, even if it’s just for the summer, right?” Sam asks.
Patrick wraps an arm around her shoulders and feels himself relax.
“Of course.”
Patrick is just about to reach for his new bottle when Matt takes the shot. Patrick just manages to drop his bottle back to the table without spilling, before swatting the bounced ball away. He doesn’t watch where it rolls, instead crosses his arms over his chest and stares his cousin down, his confidence returning.
“Why would you even do that? I only have one cup?” Patrick asks.
Matt shrugs, not seeming too concerned about the missed shot and offers, “Style points?”
Patrick picks up his bottle and points it across the table with a laugh.
“That’s why you always lose, and are going to lose again as soon as I find that ball.”
Patrick glances down to follow the ball’s trajectory only to pull up short for the second time today. And for the second time today, he sees the white soled sneakers and black jeans. Except this time they are crouched down, picking up the ping pong ball.
“David,” Patrick almost sighs his name and David’s head shoots up. “What— what are you doing here?”
“The door was open. I heard voices.”
Patrick can see David’s eyes bouncing around the room, brows furrowing, distaste and confusion warring for prominence on his face.
Patrick takes a step in his direction, not sure where to start but knowing he needs to say something soon. Before David can jump to the wrong conclusions, before his cousins say anything, but as he is about to open his mouth David’s eyes land on the chalk sign on the back wall
COMING SOON: CREEKSIDE BREWERY.
David reads the words and then turns to Patrick and reads the same slogan on Patrick’s tee shirt.
“Oh my god,” David whispers, and then again louder, “OH MY GOD.”
“David.”
David shakes his head and Patrick says a silent oh my god to himself.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Patrick pleads.
“What does it look like?” David asks with a snark.
“Well like I, um,”
“I thought you worked for Ray.”
“No, I told you I was filing my own papers.”
“That is NOT what you said.”
Before Patrick can defend himself David is off on another tangent.
“Was this a way to get your hands on my space before I could incorporate? Pretty convenient, you being right next door. I already signed a lease, you can’t take this from me. What did you do with my papers? Throw them out?”
Dammit.
“David, hold on. Your confirmation is right here. I swear,” Patrick says, hoping David listens and points towards the bar where his folder lies. “I tried to bring it by, but it didn’t seem like anyone was at the store and I wasn’t sure if I should go by the motel.”
Patrick takes a tentative step towards the bar and grabs the documents. He quickly brings them over to David who scans everything. Patrick breathes out a very small sigh when David’s eyes fall to the stamp at the bottom.
“It’s all been filed, you just need to send payment with your case number and you’re all set,” Patrick says softly, like that will help. “I wrote down the address on the post-it note, here.” He taps the yellow square at the top center of the page.
David doesn’t say anything.
“I just wanted to help,” Patrick whispers, only loud enough for David to hear but Patrick can see it isn’t enough.
And in the same moment, David realizes he is still holding on to the ping pong ball.
“Ugh. Maybe next time don’t lie. I’ve had enough of that for a fucking lifetime.”
David tosses the ball towards the table and leaves without another word. Patrick watches him, helpless.
Neither of them see the ball bounce once and land in Patrick’s remaining cup.
“Well, I don’t know what just happened but I do know you just finally lost a game. What was his name? David?” Matt asks, absolutely no help, hand already poised at the chalkboard where they’ve been keeping score.
Patrick hangs his head. Sam joins him, saying nothing but giving his arm a friendly squeeze.
Patrick 0, David 1.