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“So. Are you actively trying to disturb me, or does it just come naturally to you?”
Patrick glances up owlishly from his lunch. David has been theoretically minding the store while Patrick takes his break; but it hasn’t taken long for him to mosey on back, peering disapprovingly around the curtain at the contents of Patrick’s tupperware.
“What?”
“‘What?’” David repeats incredulously. “That. That - abomination you’ve brought into my store.”
“Our store.”
“Semantics!”
Patrick crunches his next mouthful and swallows carefully. “It’s just some kale chips, David.”
“And?”
Patrick blinks. “Hummus?”
“And?”
Patrick grabs the large plastic bottle and shakes it for emphasis, the thick, dark green liquid inside sloshing up the sides. “Protein shake.”
David’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “I’m sorry, did I unwittingly attach myself to Schitt’s Creek’s local gym bro? Through legally binding contracts, no less.”
Patrick feels his ears start to warm, just a little. He knows David’s mocking him, but there’s still a hopeful flutter of… pride, perhaps, at being compared to someone who goes to the gym. “Not exactly. Just… trying to stay healthy. Y’know, there are lunch choices out there other than muffins.”
“Mm. Inferior choices.”
“It’s actually surprisingly tasty.” Patrick takes a gulp of the shake to demonstrate, and just about manages to disguise his grimace at the taste. Far too much spinach in this one.
David gapes at him. "I can’t believe we’re friends sometimes.”
Until now, Patrick has been steadily surfing a confident wave of teasing, one that ebbs and flows easily between the two of them. But suddenly, he’s unbalanced.
Friends. The word settles in his chest, almost too big to fit there, but slowly sinking into place.
It’s not as if the concept itself is unfamiliar. Patrick naturally picks up friends wherever he goes, and has never found himself devoting any particular thought to it.
But… since meeting David, he’s harboured an inexplicable admiration. If he’s honest, he’s been living in a sort of wonderment of this man draped in designer sweaters, who sees the world from a unique, inconceivable angle.
They transitioned from acquaintances to business partners smoothly, but since then, Patrick has wanted - something else. He doesn’t understand this novel feeling: a desire so strong that he feels clumsy and ill-equipped to navigate it. It’s pathetic, really. He’s never wanted to be someone’s friend so desperately, while all at once never daring to consider the possibility of it.
Yet there it is, presented by David himself, in one simple word.
And maybe ‘friends’ is enough to settle the racing of his heart when David arrives thirty minutes late every morning, clutching his coffee like a lifeline. Perhaps it’ll be enough to dissipate those half-formed dreams of strong eyebrows and soft dimples that linger behind his eyelids when he wakes.
It must be enough.
Patrick’s nonplussed expression must linger for too long, because David looks pained, as if he’s said something wrong. Patrick blurts something out at the same time as David backtracks in a panic:
“We’re friends now–?”
“I mean, not like friends–”
They pause, embarrassed. Patrick ventures forth into the silence first, takes a brave step for both of them.
“David, of course we’re friends. If you’ll accept my obvious flaws, that is,” he said, gesturing to the organic components of his lunch.
David feigns a disapproving expression, but the pleased little dimple on his left cheek gives him away. “I suppose.”
“Okay, then.”
They linger a moment, sharing mirrored shy smiles, rolling over this newfound label on the backs of their tongues.
“And friends share, so…” Patrick offers out the green shake to David enticingly. “Please, by all means.”
David really does look disgusted, then, flapping his arms at Patrick as if to ward away the nutrients. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
The curtain flaps closed dramatically behind him, and Patrick can’t finish the rest of his food for smiling.