DirkJohn + Restaurant

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Dirk says. He’s sat on the curb, waiting for John’s dad to come pick them up. John takes a bite of the breadstick in his hand.

“I can’t—” Dirk starts again. “This is the fifth one you’ve gotten us kicked out of,” Dirk says. “Five Pizza Huts, John. Five. In two weeks.”

“I ‘unno why i’s so unbe'eevable ‘en,” John says with a mouth full of carbs.

Dirk lowers his face into his hands. “Fuck,” he says. “Oh my fucking god. Someone’s going to call the police on us. It’s only a matter of time.”

John swallows. “The only illegal thing you did was put olives on pizza.”

“You threw the slice across the fucking dining area. It almost hit the hostess.”

“Mmm. Yep.” John takes another bite. “Technically that was intended for you, though, so the only thing I’m guilty of is attempted assault on my boyfriend with an olive-adorned weapon which is—hey, you’re not going to press charges, right?”

Dirk pulls his head up to look at him. His right eye twitches.

“Uh. I’ll make you dinner at my place to make up for it?” John attempts.

Dirk sighs. Looks away. “Fine.”

“But if you even think about olives I’m throwing your skinny ass on the street.”