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The sky is black. Raindrops look like falling stars as they reflect streetlight. Randal, clutching his jacket to his chest, approaches a small diner. It’s a small and humble place, warm light from inside stretching out, an oasis from the wind and rain. But that’s not why Randal is here.
He’s aware that this behavior is kind of… weird. This is why the thought came up as dismissed hypotheticals when this happened in the past. He can’t creep in on all of Dante’s dates. But he had such a foreboding feeling about this one, worse than the usual pit in his stomach when he saw such plans being made. Something about the way that the girl moved and spoke, the mischievous way she smirked and laughed when Dante agreed to a date, like he fell into a trap. So dismissive when he said where and when, too, like it couldn’t possibly matter less to her. Malice. Not seeing Dante’s value. This girl was out to break a heart.
And so, Randal is here. Dante told him about the date, as Randal passively glanced at a porno magazine, feigning disinterest at his words. Dante said monday, 9 PM, on the dot. It’s now around 9:15 PM, by Randal’s guess.
Just a quick check. That’s all he has to do.
He steps in the door, and it feels like a portal to another world, the way sudden warmth and the scent of long-gone breakfasts wash over him. Is it really 9:15 PM, emphasis on PM? It smells too much like syrup and hash browns.
But lo and behold, he spots Dante at a table on the right side, hunched over, arms crossed, ignoring the rain pounding the window beside him.
The girl is not there.
It’s a correct guess, but not one Randal’s all too proud of.
He thinks to do his silly Berserker walk, the one that always makes Dante crack a smile, but he hasn’t been noticed yet, so there’s no use.
Each step, punctuated with rain escaping the soles of his shoes, feels a bit too loud as he takes a stroll to the table. Hands in pockets. Keep it casual.
Dante glances up at him. Stares with furrowed eyebrows. His hair, clearly done before the date but now tousled on the side. His clothes, an overshirt Randal knew was only brought out for dates. His face. God, his face. Randal’s all too aware of his own hands, his desire to reach out and--
Dante sighs, loosening his grip on his own sleeves. Even when he wallows in his misery, he's beautiful. Not that either of them could ever admit such a thing.
Randal shoots a look at the empty chair. “Is this seat taken?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Can I sit down?”
“Knock yourself out.”
As Randal settles in, Dante's eyes drift back down to the granite tabletop, sharply exhaling out of his nose. Rain taps on the window. Dishes clatter far away. The table is just barely reflective, the smears of wiped-up sanitizer fluid clouding an outline of his face. There’s a thin smudge of something on it. Dante scratches it with his fingernail.
Randal takes his hat off and shakes some surface raindrops off of it. His other hand ruffles some loose from his hair. Dante look up, briefly, face softening, humid eyes absorbing the details of his messy hair before snapping back down when he’s noticed. Outside doesn't matter when this attention feels so warm. He wonders how blazing hot it would feel if he were asked to be here. Or supposed to be here, one would say. Is it too risky to pretend?
Randal speaks. “Hate to say I told you so, pal.”
“I find it hard to believe there’s anything you love saying more than that.”
“Context is important. I wish I wasn’t saying it in this instance.”
The fabric of Dante’s overshirt bunches up under his fingers. His lips go tight, he blinks a few times. Are those tears forming? Oh...
“Hey, at least now you have me, I gotta be better than no one. At least you don’t need to worry about impressing me.”
Dante doesn't look up. Quietly, bitterly, he laughs, then goes blank.
“You know, that’s something that's always bothered me about dating. You have to put on this show for people. Now here I am, watching you grovel in your misery like a total sad-sack, and guess what? I wouldn’t say no to coming back here tomorrow.”
Dante glances to the side, the slightest bit of tension leaving his body. Fingers run along the fabric of his shirt. No other response.
“I know I give you shit all the time, but I’m not gonna say this one was your fault.” Randal leans back in his chair, the chair’s front legs lifting off the ground. He rocks himself back and forth slightly with his foot. “Y’know, I don't get the logic behind setting up a date you won't go to. It’s way easier to just say no. You think there’s some psychological benefit to making a guy spend his night in a shitty diner?”
“She’s not doing it to be nice.”
“She’s doing you a favor, man. You could’ve wasted your time on her for months, but she's letting you know right out the gate, she's not someone you should be getting attached to. Certainly not as a romantic option, you think the right girl for you is gonna bail on you like this? On the first date, no less? She’s not even letting you fuck her before she shows you her true colors. That’s altruistic in my book.”
“You have an interesting perspective.”
“It's called looking on the bright side. It might do you good to try it sometime.”
A waiter shows up. “We’re closing--”
Randal nearly tips over in his chair, and shoots forward, chair legs smacking the hard wood floor. Dante snickers at Randal’s shocked expression. Any embarrassment he might've felt now feels worth it.
The waiter, smiling cheekily, continues. “We’re closing in ten minutes, sirs, but I could get you some drinks in a to-go cup if you'd like.”
Randal takes a dollar out of his pocket and hands it to him. “I’ll take a soda, no ice. You want anything, Dante?”
“Just water. Thank you.”
“I’ll get those for you right away.”
The waiter walks off.
Randal checks out at the menus stacked on the side of the table, behind a gathering of condiments.
“Have you ever noticed how big the menus are at some places? It'd be a lot easier if they just added more pages instead of doing everything on one. It's not like we're using these as umbrellas.”
“If you’re trying to distract me, it’s not working.”
“C’mon, man, don’t be such a downer about it. So you got stood up, big whoop, it’s not like that chick even meant anything to you. You have the whole rest of your life to find someone.”
“Really?”
“Did you think otherwise?”
“I think God is sabotaging me.”
Randal can't help but smile. Oh, Dante, you pathetic loser. “On the off chance that God exists, I think he’d have better things to do then ruin the love life of some random New Jersey resident. Unless you've committed some act of blasphemy I don’t know about."
“Of course I haven't.”
“Exactly. So you gotta look inwards and find out what the actual problem is.”
The waiter walks by, setting two drinks down without speaking. Randal takes a sip of his.
Dante watches. Looks down at his own drink. "I'm starting to lose hope there’s anyone out there.”
"Nonsense. Statistically speaking, you have to find someone after attempting a wide enough variety. You’ve already found many women in the past. But the matter of keeping them is another story.”
“But I want to keep someone, I don’t wanna date all these different people and not have it last. I’m dating because I want to get married. Do you think there's someone out there who would do that with me?”
Randal's chest tightens. It feels like a trap, like Dante knows something and is daring Randal to admit it. And Randal's blood runs hot, because how dare this girl make Dante feel like there’s no one out there for him. How dare she hurt his Dante. And how dare he feel relief that Dante missed another chance at a relationship, Christ, it shouldn’t make him feel good, what kind of friend is he? And how dare Dante be so oblivious, that he can’t see the guy right in front of him is… no, Randal can say many things aloud, but not that.
Dante sighs. “I knew it.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“If the answer’s yes, you’re taking an awfully long time to say it.”
“Can’t a guy get lost in thought without having his opinions dismissed over it? Jesus.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Don’t worry about it. Maybe you just need to broaden your horizons a little. You know what they say about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I think you can find someone. And even if you don’t, you always got me."
Before Dante can respond, Randal sets his hand to the middle of the table.
Dante stares at his hand, then up at him. Oh, those eyes, shining and unable to mask his curiosity despite that confused squint. Randal's heart softens at the sight.
Dante places his hand on top of his, and Randal moves his hand above Dante’s, and gently squeezes. A smile tugs at the corners of Dante's lips. Randal feels his heart, his soul, whatever it is, melt into pure affection.
“Feeling better now?” Randal asks.
“It’s better than nothing.”
“Jeez, if you talk to your dates like that, no wonder you can’t keep any of them. You're lucky I don't plan on leaving you anytime soon.”
Dante's smile saddens. “Too bad I can't marry you.”
Oh.
Randal, calm the explosion in your chest. Do all you can to offset the urge to grab him, kiss him, yell at him for being so stupid.
Randal drags his thumb back and forth against his hand, and Dante watches, his gaze soft and relaxed. Comfortable, above all else. Like drifting to sleep in the arms of someone you love… yeah, it’s a lot like that.
Dante lets out a breath. “I should head home now.”
“You want me to come with? At least you’ll be able to take someone home with you tonight.”
“I think I’ll just go to bed.”
“You need someone to drive you?”
The answer is no, and Randal knows this. He doesn’t “need” someone to, and Dante will tell him to back off, if that's what he wants. Dante pulls his hand away and gets up, and Randal’s hand tries to follow for the briefest of moments.
Standing, Dante looks down at him. “You pick the movie this time. I’m falling asleep in the next half-hour anyway.”
Randal giggles, and gets up, grabbing both of their drinks. Like an obedient lapdog, he follows him back into the rain.