Chapter Text
You didn’t see this every day. Or, at least, Patrick hadn’t in the two weeks he’d worked at the thrift store.
Patrick didn’t know what he was doing with his life. He’d broken up with his high school girlfriend for the umpteenth time, quit his job, and moved four hours away. He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d just had to get away from it all.
But why here? Why hadn’t he gone to a city? Ottawa, Toronto, Montreal, New York? There was nothing for him in yet another small town. Even his parents had said that. Go somewhere big. Somewhere exciting. He had insisted that change alone was exciting. But even with a change, there wasn’t much excitement to be found here.
Not until this very moment.
Patrick stared in amazement as a man whose clothes had to cost more than his rent stormed up to the counter with a black bag. An annoyed looking woman was next to him.
“I want to sell these,” the man said. Patrick noticed he was very good looking as he angrily ripped open the bag and all but threw it at Patrick.
Patrick picked up the shoes first. “Wow.”
“Those are from Paris. I had them custom-made.”
Who are you? Patrick wondered. Instead of asking, he said, “well, I’m… actually not sure we can sell these.” He put them aside and pulled out a shirt. “Or this.”
“What? Why?”
“Are they too funky?” the woman piped up.
“We’ll go with that,” Patrick said.
The man grabbed the shoes and shirt furiously, and stuffed them in a bag. “I would never want to sell my clothes here anyway.”
“That’s a little below the belt,” Patrick quipped.
“Sorry,” the woman said quietly. “He’s going through-”
“-nothing!” the man snapped. “I’m not going through anything!”
He widened his hands, and the bag fell onto the floor. The man looked down and groaned, “fuck,” which Patrick took to mean everything had spilled. A quick jog around the counter confirmed his suspicions.
“Let me help,” Patrick said as the man started frantically re-folding the clothes.
“I’m fine,” the man insisted.
“No.” Patrick helped the man fold the clothes and put them back into the bag. “Who are you, anyway?”
“David Rose.”
Oh. Oh, crap.
Patrick had heard about the Roses, of course. He should have realized David was one of them.
“I don’t need your pity,” David added.
“You know, I’m sure I could help you find somewhere else to sell them,” Patrick said as they stood up.”
“No. I’m - I’m okay.” David awkwardly tied the bag. “I’ll figure it out.”
“For what it’s worth,” Patrick added, “I’ve had a big move, too.”
David scowled. “Did your family lose all of their money? Are you living in a motel? Is your mother constantly having ‘one of her things’?”
“No,” Patrick admitted. He shouldn’t have said anything. “You’re right. I just meant that I don’t really know what I’m doing, either.”
David’s face softened. “It’s very dark.”
“It is,” Patrick agreed.
“But I know what I’m doing,” David told him.
“Of course you do,” Patrick said.
“I’m going to go home and sell them online.”
“Good luck with that.”
David pulled a face. “Thanks so much. You’re so kind.”
He stormed off with the woman, but stopped to look at Patrick. He looked… quizzical? Charmed? Hopeful?
“Anything else?” Patrick asked.
“Thanks,” David said again.
Then he left as mysteriously as he’d appeared, and Patrick knew he hadn’t seen the last of that man.