Work Text:
"Hey, you called out today, right?" Randal asks. Dante can hear that he has the phone under one ear.
No, it's three fifty. The price sticker is right here, somebody is saying.
"No, it's five fifty for a new release on Thursdays," Randal tells her. "Listen, Dante, who's supposed to be working the store today?"
"Why the fuck should I care?"
"Cause nobody's opened the store, that's why. I'm getting all your shitty customers."
"I'm not coming in," Dante tells him.
"That's too bad. I had to break the door off its hinges to get the keys to the video store. No, ma'am, it's five fucking fifty and you pay it or you don't get to brainwash your snotty kids with Mister Tooby and his feathered fucking friends."
"You what?" Dante sits up too fast and hits his head on the bed frame. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, that's what I said. Took me twenty fucking minutes. And now anybody could just walk in there and take anything. So who's supposed to be working today?"
"Fuck," Dante says, and buries his face in the dirty laundry pile.
"You lazy motherfucker," Jay singsongs at him as he gets out of the car. Silent Bob shakes his head disapprovingly.
Dante walks through the busted door, finds yesterday's sheet and lays it out on the floor, other side up. He gets a squeeze bottle of raspberry icecream topping. Using it as a writing implement is kind of like peeing his name into a snowdrift. It's messy, but he manages to write FUCK OFF in large hot pink letters. When he hangs it up, it starts dripping downwards like a horror movie.
It is a horror movie. He's in it.
Back inside, the floor now says FUCK OFF in large pink splotches. Dante gets himself a coke from the fridge, sticks a hot dog in the microwave, and sits down behind the counter to stare at the splotches with sullen satisfaction.
The door chimes. "Are you open?" a woman asks.
"Fuck off," Dante tells her. She comes in and picks up a newspaper and a loaf of bread.
"Kids going past might see that language," she tells him. "I'm going to complain to the owner."
"Fuck off," Dante tells her.
She gives him five dollars. He hasn't unlocked the till yet. He gives it back to her. She leaves with the newspaper and the bread.
"Nice sign," Randal tells him, coming in and jumping up to sit on the counter.
"Why did you have to break the fucking door down?" Dante asks.
"I could tell you that I was so fired with enthusiasm for opening my quality establishment and bringing joy and enlightenment to my delightful customers that I couldn't possibly wait for somebody to let me in, but the truth is I saw an opportunity for justified destruction of property that was too good to pass up. It was awesome. You should have been here."
"No, I really shouldn't have," Dante says, more to himself. After yesterday, it's not even worth saying.
Randal jumps down and slings an arm around his shoulders. "Today is going to be a good day, Dante. I can just feel it."
He shakes Dante a little. Dante shrugs him off. Randal takes Dante's Coke and a pack of gum on his way out.
He should call the hospital to check on Caitlin. He should call Veronica to explain and make up. He should call the owner and tell him about the shutters. And the door. And the fact that, after yesterday, he really fucking should not be here today.
He sits behind the counter and stares at the pink splotches on the floor.
"Are you open?" somebody asks, door still chinging.
"Fuck off," he says.
"Pack of cigarettes," the customer says.
Dante takes three packs down and tosses them in the direction of the voice. "Take them," he says, "and get the fuck out of here."
Randal comes back. "How's it going?"
Dante stares at the splotches on the floor.
With exaggerated caution, Randal tiptoes up behind him, slips his arms around Dante's waist, and digs his chin into Dante's shoulder.
"Now how's it going?" he asks.
Dante considers continuing to stare at the splotches, but after some vague reflection, stretches his neck back to stare at Randal instead.
Randal squeezes him and then lets go. "Well, it's been great talking to you, but I've got customers to help, shelves to tidy, orders to check and double-check. I'll see you at lunch, okay?"
Dante watches him walk out. Randal smiles encouragingly at him as the door swings shut behind him.
The door chimes.
"Fuck off," Dante says.
"Are you open?" the customer asks.
Dante can't be bothered saying anything more.
There are two of them, hot chicks-- hot enough for him to actually lift his eyes and follow them. They wander the store, picking up dental dams, a large jar of vaseline, shaving cream, razors, a feather duster, duct tape, Reddi-whip, and clothespins.
When they come to the counter, Dante waves them off. "Just take it."
The brunette cracks her gum. "You sure?"
Dante nods.
"Wow, thanks, man," the blonde says brightly. "You have a nice day!"
The brunette winks at him as they leave. Dante manages half a smile in return.
They seemed kind of nice.
The cat materialises from wherever its been, whining for food. Dante opens a tin of Dine and empties it out on the floor next to the splotches.
When the cat finishes the cat food, it sniffs at the raspberry ice cream topping, licks experimentally, and then wanders off to sleep next to the milk fridge.
Dante stares at the line the cat's tongue has made in the splotches.
Jay comes sauntering in, Silent Bob in tow.
"What's up, motherfucker? Nice sign."
"Thanks," Dante says. "Want some cigarettes?"
"What I want," Jay says, "is a dozen hot bitches all lined up with their legs apart and I'm gonna fuck all their pussies and then I'm going to eat 'em all out and then I'm going to fuck all their asses and come on their tits. Yeah. How do you like that, Silent Bob?"
Silent Bob doesn't say anything.
"Give me some fucking cigarettes, Dante, how many fucking times do I have to ask?"
Dante gives him two packs. "Here, take them. And have some gum. Help yourself to drinks if you want some."
"Yeah?" Jay says. "Maybe you're not the cocksucking pussy I thought you were." He goes to the fridge and gets out four Jolt colas and a quart of milk. "Hey, can I get something to eat too?"
"Go for it," Dante says. "What do I care?"
Jay helps himself to Twinkies, and Ho Hos, and Hostess cupcakes and chili cheese Pringles and a bottle of ketchup. Then he walks all the way to the back of the store and takes an apple. "I gotta maintain my slender figure, yo," he says, brandishing it and then taking a bite. "Silent Bob won't do chubby guys, even though he is one fat motherfucker."
"Fuck off," Dante says when the door chimes.
"Fuck you," a woman says. "How come the video store's closed? It's supposed to be open from eleven till ten thirty. I want to rent a video."
"How the fuck would I know," Dante tells her. "Fuck off."
An ant has found the pink splotches on the floor. It gets trapped in the goo, and slowly goes all crooked and funny the way dying ants do.
Another ant finds the pink splotches. It sniffs around it carefully, finds its dead comrade, sniffs around a bit more, then heads off again in a little anty zig zag, all the way to the door.
Randal comes back again, laden with shopping bags.
"Your customers are looking for you," Dante tells him.
"Fuck them," Randal says, coming behind the counter and dumping his bags on it. He pulls out a checked blanket and lays it on the floor, then takes Dante's chair from underneath him.
"Hey!" Dante says.
"Shut up," Randal says. He closes the door, wedges the chair under it, then moves the newsstands behind the chair as a barricade.
Dante looks in the bags. "What the fuck, Randal? Is this a picnic?"
"My friend," Randal says, gallantly indicating for Dante to sit down on the blanket, "this is your much needed break from reality. I feel somewhat responsible for your having to be here. Not because I am in any way in fact responsible for your being here, you understand, because that's entirely your pathetic and predictable response to a situation in which you perceive that you could have some importance, however pitiful, and that your life could have some significance in a larger scheme of things, when it fact it doesn't. However, I did determine exactly what it would take to get you here today, and then proceeded to do it. So I will accept some culpability in the matter, although I'm reserving the majority of the blame for you."
"Thanks," Dante says. "I think."
"I've got chicken, bread rolls, salad, cheesecake and champagne," he announces, taking them out. "And Star Wars." It's from Big Choice Video. He's also bought plastic cutlery, plastic wine glasses, paper plates, paper napkins, and after dinner mints.
"You could have taken half this stuff from here," Dante tells him. "I haven't even unlocked the till yet."
Randal shrugs. "That would have ruined the surprise."
He puts the video on and sits down. They watch and eat. It's tasty chicken, and the bread rolls are fresh and soft. Even the salad tastes pretty good.
"I love this bit," Randal says, as R2-D2 begins to beat Chewbacca at battle chess. He holds up his plastic glass of champagne.
Dante clunks his own glass to it, feeling almost human for the first time today. He's safe and cozy and a little giddy in Randal's little check-blanketed nest of geekiness and uncivil disobedience. The hammering on the door is of no significance. He settles back against the shelving, wraps his arms around his knees, and zones out gratefully as C3P0 says, "Let the Wookie win!"
They watch all the way through to the end of the credits. When the screen goes black, Dante tips his head to look at Randal, who's sprawled on the floor beside him with his hands behind his head.
"Thanks," he says.
"No problem," Randal tells him, smiling like sunshine.
They pack up languorously, as the banging on the door gets louder, and the shouting gets increasingly strident.
Randal tops up his own glass and Dante's, and leaves the champagne bottle on the counter. "You need it more than me," he says. He presses his palm into the small of Dante's back and presses his lips to Dante's neck. "See you later, man."
He pulls back the newspaper stands and Dante's chair on his way out.
Dante's still kind of in the zone, post-lunch languor, overwork stupor, and probably a bit drunk.
"Just take what you want and get out," he tells the customers storming in. He gets his chair back behind the counter and sits on it.
Footprints have now obscured the pink splotches of the FUCK OFF, which during lunch has become host to hundreds of little black ants. Some of them have been crushed in the stampede but the others crowd around the spatters, working busily. It's kind of nice.
"Were you fucking in here?" Jay wants to know. "How many times did you fuck him? Most I ever did it was seven times-- this bitch, she couldn't get enough. My dick hurt like you wouldn't fucking believe, after. I couldn't even masturbate; I was a crippled man. So did you do it? What did you do? Tell me everything, you assfucking slut."
"We didn't do anything," Dante says. He suspects it would be prudent not to mention Randal kissing him. Or even thinking about Randal kissing him.
"What, you were just cuddling or some shit? This fat bitch likes to cuddle. I don't mind blowing him if he begs for it, but hugs and shit? That's just gay. You're a fucking faggot, Silent Bob."
Silent Bob doesn't say anything.
"Anyway, I brought you this." Jay puts a joint on the counter. "Best shit I've got. This'll blow your dick off, if your cocksucking friend didn't already."
"Um," Dante says. "Thanks."
"Thanks for the apple and the milk," Jay says. "Silent Bob says thanks for the Jolt and the Twinkies."
Dante looks at them, mildly surprised. "Okay," he says. "No problem."
The door chimes. "Fuck off!" Dante calls out. He's got it so that it kind of harmonises. CHING-cha CHING-CHING! FUU-uck O-OFFFF!
"I hear you're letting people take shit without paying," a kid says.
"Sure," Dante says. "Help yourself." He tops up his champagne; three quarters of the bottle is gone.
The kid takes batteries, a flashlight, a towel, chocolate, shampoo, conditioner, toilet paper, toothpaste and six cans of sour cream and onion Pringles, then comes up to the counter.
"Can I get a bag?" he asks.
"No," Dante says. "Fuck off."
"Well, can I have some cigarettes and some pornos?" he asks.
"No," Dante says. "You're underage. Now, seriously, fuck off."
The FUCK OFF sign suddenly starts working. He gets no customers for over an hour.
The ants come in steady black trickles, attacking the edges of the pink splotches and then trickling away again. A few more drown in artificially coloured and flavoured sugar. It's probably a good way to go, if you're an ant.
Still, Dante feels kind of bad for them.
Door chime.
"Fuck off."
"Pack of cigarettes."
"Here. Now fuck off."
Three flies have discovered the pink patches, which aren't looking quite so pink any more. They've darkened to a kind of magenta with white spots in it. It's really unattractive.
One of the flies gets stuck. Another one buzzes in. Two of them start mating, and then fall into a pink splatter. The one on top gets away. The one on the bottom can't escape.
It's getting towards dinner time. He packs up the blanket and the leftovers from the picnic, and throws in ice cream, the rest of the raspberry ice cream topping, pizza pockets and some choc chip Mrs Field's cookies. He gets another bag from behind the counter and throws in a few good porno mags, the champagne bottle, his glass, the joint, and a box of matches. He puts a JUST FUCKING HELP YOURSELF sign on the counter and carries his loot outside.
His sheet is still there, a hot pink FUCK OFF that has run, dried, congealed, and is now covered in ants and flies. More has been added in congealed, fly-covered red, so that it reads:
FUCK OFF
COCK SUCKERS &
CUNT LICKERS.
And then smaller and less legibly:
& FRIGGID BITCH'S THAT WONT PUT OUT.
AND DIKES & FAGGOTS YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!
By the end it barely fits on the sheet. Down one side it says:
FOR A GREAT FUCK THE LINE STATS HERE ALL YOU HONRY HOS
Then there's an arrow pointing to the right, and picture of a dick, and something that might be face or a vagina. It's hard to tell.
So that's what the ketchup was for.
Randal looks up as he comes in the door. "Good evening, Sir," he says sardonically, "and welcome to my humble video rental establishment. How may I help you?"
Dante locks the door and flips the sign to Closed. "Need a break?"
"No. It's my policy that whenever I need a break, I take one. Still, I also make it a policy never to look a gift break in the mouth."
They spread the blanket on the floor and pour the last of the champagne. It's warm and flat now, but Dante couldn't give a shit. Randal raises his plastic glass in a toast. "To Dante! Long may the rebellion reign!" Dante clunks his own glass against Randal's and then drains it. For the mother of all shitty days from hell, it's been kind of good. He's not happy, but he's happy.
They eat all of the chicken, then graze on the rest the food. Randal holds up the joint and raises an eyebrow.
"A present from our friendly neighbourhood drug dealers," Dante tells him. "You want to?"
"You know I don't feel that my consciousness needs altering. Who needs drugs when you've got customers? But today is clearly a special day. If Dante Hicks wants to get stoned at work, Randal Graves will be right by his side." He lights it and sucks hard, cherry glowing bright orange. Dante takes his turn, holds it until his chest tightens, and lets it out slowly, feeling the world start to spin. A few more tokes each, and then Randal stubs it out with a chicken bone and puts it in his pocket.
Dante lies back on the blanket and closes his eyes against the fluorescent lights, ready to float. A thought occurs to him.
"New releases aren't five fifty on Thursday," he says.
"Nope," Randal agrees.
"And if a movie says it's three fifty, then it's not a new release anyway."
"Nope," Randal says again.
"When you called me, you were charging that woman five fifty for a weekly."
"Yup," Randal says, and starts giggling
Dante snorts and then starts giggling too. "How many people did you do that to?"
Randal's voice gets high pitched. "All of them," he chokes out, and then rolls on the blanket, gurgling with laughter. "I decided to implement a Stupid Tax on anybody stupid enough to pay it. So far I've raised two hundred and twelve dollars."
Dante thinks about how much merchandise he's given away in the last eight hours while Randal has been ripping them off, and laughs himself sick, rolling on the blanket next to Randal.
Eventually a customer starts bashing on the door. "Fuck off!" Randal yells at her, but she's waving at them with some alarm, mouthing something exaggeratedly, and pointing next door. Rolling his eyes, Dante gets up, wobbles, snorts with laughter, steadies himself on the counter, and then weaves over to unlock the door.
"Excuse me," the lady says. "I couldn't help noticing that there's nobody staffing the convenience store. I think you should know that people are taking things without paying!"
"Oh," Dante says, as Randal howls with laughter on the floor behind him. "Well, thank you for letting us know. I'll head right over to check it out."
She gives him five dollars. "Can you give that to the clerk when he gets back? It's for one of those big apple juices and a box of cereal."
"I, uh, sure," Dante tells her. "Thanks."
Randal leaves the video store closed and follows him back. It's about as bad as can be expected. Some of the shelves are nearly empty, merchandise is scattered all over the floor, and a dozen people are carrying armfuls of stuff to their cars. There's somebody behind the counter, looking through the cabinets.
The microwave's on fire. Somebody put a can of soup in it. Dante's always wondered what would happen if he did that. Now he knows.
Randal jumps up onto the icecream fridge and shouts, "SURPRISE, ASSHOLES! YOU'RE ALL ON CANDID SECURITY CAMERA!" Then he falls down laughing. With astonishing speed, people drop their stuff and run. Cars squeal out of the parking lot.
One girl, white in the face, tiptoes up to the counter with her armful of hairspray, makeup, and socks. "Um," she says, voice wobbling with terror. "Do you have lay-away?"
"No," Dante tells her.
"Oh," she squeaks. "Um. Well, I better put all this back. Sorry!"
He's about to tell her not to worry about it, but Randal jumps up from behind the counter and yells "BOO!" She screams, drops everything, and runs. The bell keeps chinging for thirty seconds after she's gone.
Dante glares at Randal. "Was that really necessary?" he demands.
Randal presses him up against the counter and kisses him hard on the mouth.
The pink splotches on the floor have been completely demolished by footprints, scuff marks, spilt flour, and a large puddle of something green and sticky. Dead ants lie everywhere, sad little crooked black specks. Some few traumatised survivors are poking cautiously around the edges of the pink, but their comrades have all left the war zone.
Dante stares at the mess, drunk, stoned, tired, and very, very puzzled.
After a while, it occurs him to try putting other things in the microwave to see what happens. He starts with the shoe polish. Unfortunately for him, the microwave doesn't work any more.
Out of nostalgia for what might have been, Dante puts other things in the microwave anyway. Washing powder. Candles. Steel wool. Latex gloves. A bar of soap. A can of flyspray. A tub of yogurt. Five Pez dispensers. A keyring. A jar of pasta sauce. When the microwave is finally crammed full, he can't look at it without doubling over laughing.
He goes and sits behind the counter again, but the microwave keeps catching his eye. It's so funny it's killing him, until it's suddenly not.
The microwave is broken. He can't do what he wants, which is to nuke all its contents for twenty minutes on HIGH. He's sick of not getting what he wants.
He goes back to staring at the floor.
He ignores the phone the first four times it rings, but then Randal pokes his head through the door with a loud CHING. "Fuck, Dante, pick up the fucking phone!"
He disappears, and ten seconds later it starts ringing again.
Dante picks up it up. "Hello?"
"We need to talk," Randal says.
"Oh," Dante says. "Okay."
"In case you haven't noticed, Dante, I made you come in to work this morning."
"I thought you weren't taking responsibility for that."
"I made you come in because I knew I only had a small window of opportunity between this morning and later today, when you would have either been back together with Caitlin or back together with Veronica."
Dante blinks. "So you are taking responsibility for that?"
"No, I am not! You're a sucker, Dante. I suckered you. But that's not my point. My point is, oh, hang on. So that's five movies at five fifty each, that's twenty seven fifty altogether. ... No, new releases are all five fifty on Thursdays. ... I think if you check the pricing schedule, you'll find that I'm telling the truth! ... Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but if you didn't read the fine print on the membership form when you signed up, that's not my problem. ... Yeah, twenty-seven fifty. Thanks. And two fifty makes thirty. Do you want a bag? Okay, well, have a nice night!"
Dante finds himself leaning into the phone and smiling stupidly.
"Sorry," Randal says. "Where was I?"
"You were telling me you love me," Dante says.
"Love is such a strong word! Better to say, I am trying to get into your pants."
Dante thinks for a minute. "And how do I know that letting you in my pants won't end up even worse than Caitlin and Veronica?"
"Because you know I'm right for you."
"How do I know you're right for me?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"From here? Not exactly."
"Well, if you really need it spelled out for you: A) I won't cheat on you because I don't lust after anything I don't already have, B) I won't try to change you because I like you the way you are, C) I'm part of your comfort zone so being with me will make change easier for you, D) despite no shortage of encouragement to the contrary I've been crazy about you since high school, and E) I've only sucked three dicks. You'd be number four."
Dante is suddenly feeling a bit flushed and dizzy. "I'd be number four?"
"That's your current window of opportunity. Number four. You missed the last three windows of opportunity, but I suppose the future may hold others."
He thinks a bit more, thoughts weaving and stumbling. "But what if I want to go back to school?"
"If you want to go back to school, go back to school! And if you need money, my shitty salary is your shitty salary."
"But what if I don't want to go back to school?"
"Then don't go back to school. I don't give a fuck. I like working next door to you."
"But should I go back to school?"
Randal sighs loudly. "Dante, I want you to do whatever you'll whine about the least. I really won't give a crap what that is, especially if you finally start responding in a reciprocal fashion to my long-unrequited teenaged crush."
"Oh," Dante says.
"Maybe I should be telling you to do something you'll whine about a lot that will also make you happy, but I'm not sure I can be that selfless. I suppose I could put up with a lot of whining if it's about something that makes you happy, but I'd need some kind of guarantee that I'm allowed to tape your mouth shut at least twice a week."
An old man has come in, and is opening all the toilet paper packaging to feel the paper. "How do I know that this isn't all some asshole prank of yours?"
Randal sighs in his ear, gently this time. "Dante," he says, "you're a sucker, but you're not stupid." The phone clicks quietly back to the dial tone.
The door chings. "Are you open?" a guy asks.
"OH FUCK OFF!" Dante screams at him. "Can't you see I'm busy!?!"
The guy pulls back quickly and shuts the door with another ching.
Dante goes back to staring at the floor.
"Hey motherfucker," Jay says. "Can I have some more cigarettes?"
"Sure," Dante says, and gives him a few packs. There aren't many left.
"And Silent Bob wants some too."
Dante gives another handful to Silent Bob.
"Man, that faggot Randal is all over you today," Jay says. "He's all, smoochy smoochy! Gay motherfucker. I always knew you were gay, Dante. You break up with that hot chick Veronica, your other girlfriend can't tell you from a dead guy when she's fucking you, you wear those fuck-ass ugly sweaters and think you look hot, you know what that spells? That spells H-O-M- oh fuck it, I'm not spelling the whole thing. But the first time I saw you, I said, 'Look at that fucking cocksucker!' Isn't that right, Silent Bob?"
Silent Bob doesn't say anything.
"So did you smoke my shit? It's fucking good shit. It'll fuck you up real good. Come to this club with us tonight, I'll give you some more. We're going to some fag place Silent Bob likes. I don't care, I'll get down with the homos. YMCA and all that shit. I'm going as the cop. Silent Bob's gonna be the Indian. I don't know how the fuck he's supposed to look like the Indian but he likes the feathers. I'll go along, I'll fuck some fat faggot ass if he wants me to. So are you coming or what?"
"No," Dante says. "I think I have plans."
"Yeah, whatever," Jay says, leaving. "You fucking fag. Come on, Silent Bob. We're over this fucking hole."
Silent Bob just stands there, looking at him. And stands there. And stands there.
"What?" Dante says finally, exasperated. "Give me your words of wisdom! I know you have them! So what is it? Sleep with my best friend? Jump the fence and see if the grass is greener? Stick with the girl who brings lasagne?"
Silent Bob doesn't say anything. Dante throws up his hands.
"Oh, and what do you know anyway? Look at your relationship! Man, that's so fucking fucked up!"
Silent Bob looks at him some more.
The door clangs loudly, and Jay sticks his head through. "Fuckin' hurry up, Silent Bob, you fat, lazy motherfucker! Let's get out of here, go fuck some bitches, come on their tits and shit."
Silent Bob ambles out the door, but as he closes it, he turns back to Dante and smiles.
Dante storms next door, shoves a customer out of the way, and kisses Randal.
It's not bad. It's kind of nice, actually. It's familiar, and comfortable, but he's definitely getting turned on. In fact, it's really nice, and as Randal starts kissing him back, he's getting really turned on.
"Hey!" the woman yells, and shoves him away. "Don't cut in the fucking line, asshole."
Dante steps back and takes a breath. He needs one.
"That's five fifty," Randal tells the woman, lips quirking. He winks at Dante.
"It says three fifty on the cover," the woman tells him, holding it up.
"I'll see you in a bit," Dante says, and leaves him to it.
He calls the hospital and asks after Caitlin. She's been sent home. He calls her at home. The Asian Design Major drove here overnight to pick her up and he's driving her back tonight.
He calls Veronica. They talk. "I'm sorry," he says, "I never wanted us to break up, but I think it might have been for the best."
"You mean it might have been just in time for Caitlin to fuck you over again," she snaps.
"No, Caitlin and I are done. But now that we're broken up, I feel like I have a window of opportunity. To get some direction, I think. I'm not sure." He leans his head against the wall and thinks about how to say it without hurting her and without ruining his future chances with her and, of particular importance, without letting on that he's about to start screwing around with a whole other gender. "I would love for us to get back together," he says, "but the fucked up thing is, I think you were right. I do need to sort my life out. But if I'm with you, things will be just good enough that I won't want anything to change."
She sighs. "Oh, Dante."
"I love you, Veronica. Just-- let me go for a little while, okay? I might be back. I don't know. I just know I have to do this."
"You're a son of a bitch, Dante Hicks," she tells him, and then sighs again. "Good luck, I guess."
"Thanks. For everything," he says, and they hang up.
He calls with a message for the owner. "Here's how it is. While he's been gone, the store's been broken into, robbed, vandalised, and trashed. I won't accept any responsibility for that, and I'm not cleaning it up. I'm also taking an extra hundred bucks from the till for every day I have to work while he's in Vermont. If he doesn't like that, he can get the fuck back here and do this job himself. Any questions?" Then he hangs up.
"Mmm," Randal says. Dante looks up-- he's lounging against the counter, but then straightens up and saunters over. "That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard you say."
"I should have guessed disrespect for authority figures would turn you on."
"That, and chicks with dicks. And dicks. And you. God, I'm so fucked up." Randal tosses the video store keys under the counter and then puts his arms around Dante's waist and pulls him close. "So... you ready to close?"
Dante checks the clock. "It's only quarter to ten!"
"Oh, Dante, come on!" Randal throws his hands up. "You opened five hours late, you've greeted every customer with profanity, you haven't charged for a single item, and the store's a fucking pigsty, but you can't close early?"
"Sorry," Dante tells him. "Reflex. I can close early."
Randal kisses him. "That's what I like to hear. So barricade the door, and let's get out of here."