Work Text:
As he did every Monday, Dottore checked the weekly Crumbl menu. He didn't always go, but he had to know. He had to know the weekly Crumbl menu every week. If they brought back the Cannoli cookie and he missed it, he would never forgive himself.
So, it being Monday, he checked the menu. None of his favorites were there, but something else caught his eye–
The Dubai Chocolate brownie.
Now, Dottore considered himself above Dubai Chocolate Labubu Matcha listening to Clairo while reading feminist literature. He was a man of science after all; however, he was of the opinion that any true scientist ought to keep in touch with pop culture lest they lose sight of what normal people care about. So yes, he did own a Labubu, and yes, he was counting down the days until The Life Of A Showgirl released. It was all in the name of science.
Needless to say, he had to try this brownie. He considered himself critical of the non cookie desserts at Crumbl, it seemed against the spirit of things, but he ate them so who was he to talk.
His mind made up, he got in his red Fiat 500 and drove to his local Crumbl. Unfortunately, he had to park in the back– the Dubai Chocolate brownie, it seemed, was popular.
The second he entered, the employee behind the counter locked eyes with him. It was the same one he'd encountered previously– Phainon. His blue eyes unsettled him. Dottore wished that he would get brown contacts.
“They descended upon us like the plague,” Phainon said.
“What?”
“The Labubu Dubai Chocolate performative white boys,” Phainon clarified, which didn't clarify anything at all. “They ate all the brownies.”
“... The Dubai Chocolate brownies?” Dottore asked.
“The Dubai Chocolate Brownies,” Phainon said. “We're out.”
“How did you know that's what I wanted?”
“In every cycle, you would always get the Dubai Chocolate brownie. That has never changed.”
“... Okay, cool,” Dottore said. “Do you know where I can get one?”
“The entire state’s out,” Phainon said. “We called around to see if anyone else had extra ingredients, but nope. You have to go to the next state over if you want one.”
Dottore nodded, and left the store. Quietly, he pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps.
It would appear, he found, that there was a Crumbl just across the state line. Unfortunately, that was three hours away. A six hour round trip for a brownie did seem somewhat extreme.
As he stared at his phone, a notification popped up– he was getting a call from Pantalone.
Pantalone was, all things considered, probably his best friend. Unfortunately, the man was of a strange sort who still actually called people in 2025, which meant Dottore had to put up with talking on the phone for the sake of staying close. This in mind, he hit accept.
“Heyy,” Pantalone said. “Have you seen this week's Crumbl menu?”
“I've looked at it,” Dottore said. “If you want the Dubai Chocolate brownie, don't bother. It's sold out in the entire state.”
“When you say the entire state– does that mean it's available in the next state over?”
“Indeed, but that's three hours away.”
Pantalone was quiet for a moment. Dottore stood in the Crumbl parking lot and listened to the sound of him exist on the other end of the line. It was somewhat comforting.
“We should go,” Pantalone said.
“Excuse me?”
“The um, sales tax,” Pantalone said quickly. “It's cheaper if we buy it there. And there's probably cheap gas along the way, so that cancels out.”
That almost made sense to Dottore. If Pantalone was saying it, he'd choose to believe it was true. The man was certainly obsessed with economics, and besides, he'd never done him wrong before.
“Okay. Do you want me to come pick you up?”
“I'd love that– I mean, sure, that works. I'll see you in a couple minutes.”
With that, Pantalone hung up the phone, and Dottore was left alone in the Crumbl cookie parking lot. It seemed very quiet, suddenly, though it was still completely full.
Confused with his own feelings– which, upon reflection, happened to him rather often when dealing with Pantalone– he headed to the back and got in his red Fiat 500.
~
He arrived at Pantalone’s house a few minutes later. Fortunately, he lived minutes away from both the Crumbl and the highway, so it wouldn't take long for them to get started on their trip.
Pantalone was waiting outside, and ran over as soon as he pulled up. Dottore reached over to unlock the door, and Pantalone slid into the passenger seat.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly, and smiled.
Something about him was– was– Dottore didn't know what, but it made his heart beat faster. It was some kind of anxiety attack, probably.
“Why can't we just print more money?” He asked, panicking.
Pantalone's eyes instantly narrowed.
“I must have explained this to you a hundred times by now. I won't stop, by the way, even if you're joking, because despite your inept attempt to provoke me I do actually like talking about this. So, you see–”
~
Their discussion lasted for three hours, and soon they arrived at Crumbl. This location had a spacious parking lot, much to Dottore's delight, and he pulled into a spot without issue. His parking job was kind of shit, but he was in the lines, so he decided it was fine.
Filled with determination from the thought of finally getting the Dubai Chocolate brownie– and at a reduced price, given the difference in tax– he got out of the car and entered the store, with Pantalone right behind him.
He glanced at the menu and, finding the Dubai Chocolate brownie not sold out, let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he could indulge himself.
Unfortunately, Crumbl didn't have an option for a two pack of large cookies, so after a moment’s deliberation he selected the four pack and got two Dubai Chocolate brownies, a Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookie, and a Pink Velvet Cake cookie.
“Oh, are you bringing some home?”
“Yeah, but the second brownie is for you,” he said.
Pantalone looked away quickly, heat rising to his face. He hadn't even thought about it, but yeah, he supposed he was more than willing to buy Pantalone the Crumbl Dubai Chocolate brownie.
“It's easier to just do one transaction,” he muttered as he tapped his card.
Once again he found something about Pantalone– indescribable. He looked– he looked– Dottore didn't really want to stop looking at him–
“Oh, I see you actually came,” said the employee. Dottore turned abruptly, and found that they looked like Phainon back at home, but blonde.
“Do you know–”
“My name's Khaslana,” he said. “I also work at that other store. Phainon is my nickname.”
That left Dottore with many, many questions. Namely, how did he beat them here while also dying his hair? Surely, there was no way that was possible. Dottore almost wanted to ask him for his method, as it wasn't easy keeping his own hair blue, but it didn't seem like the time for that.
“How is Phainon a nickname for Khaslana?” Pantalone questioned.
“It makes sense in Chinese.”
“Are you Chinese?”
“No.”
“Then why do you have a nickname that only makes sense in Chinese?”
“Be grateful that you do not know the true state of the world,” said Khaslana. “It would drive you insane. The only reason I work customer service is to foster enough rage so that one day I may become powerful enough to kill God. Anyways, your order is ready.”
Dottore quickly grabbed his cookies and exited the store.
“Is he always like that?” Pantalone asked.
“Don't worry about it.”
“Okay. Yay! I'm looking forward to this.”
They reached his red Fiat 500 and opened the box. The two Dubai Chocolate brownies looked tantalizing.
He reached for the brownie. Dottore's hand knocked against Pantalone’s by accident, which definitely did not make him feel any kind of way. Only blushing slightly, he reached out again and managed to actually grab a brownie this time.
“Cheers?” Pantalone said, and the two of them proceeded to jokingly knock their brownies together. Silly ritual over, Dottore bit into the Dubai Chocolate brownie.
It was good, and certainly much better than the Benson Boone Moonbeam Ice Cream cookie. The chocolate was rich and delicious and the pistachio was– nostalgic.
His mother, he thought, might have liked this. She is still alive, he thinks. They don't speak anymore. He thinks he wishes they did.
“Hey, Dottore?” Pantalone asked.
Then again, perhaps he was better off without his family. The things he had gained since they last spoke were remarkably precious to him. He cannot name what it was that made him feel this way, but he didn't think he would trade Pantalone for the world.
“Why is there a Labubu in your back seat?”