Chapter Text
Bro sat on the futon, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. A deep sigh escaped him as he looked over at the two horribly burnt steaks on the counter in the kitchen. He's made steak before, how could he fuck it up so royally the night of his supposedly romantic candlelit dinner with James? He thought he was being clever, taking a "quick" shower as he left the steaks on the grill. Most of the time his showers lasted less than 10 minutes too, but because he wanted everything to be perfect he took way too long and burnt the steaks to a crisp (and the apartment building) in the process. It wasn't even both sides, one side was extra creepy and the other was so raw it could walk around on its own.
Maybe he'd order a pizza and put it on paper plates and still have a candle lit dinner and try to pull it off as ironic? Yeah, that's probably the worst idea he's ever had, he thought as he picked up the phone and ordered a large supreme pizza. He hung up with the promise that it'd be there in twenty-five minutes. Checking the clock on his phone, he saw it was 6:00; about thirty minutes till Egbert should get there.
Oh shit, Egbert's going to be there in thirty minutes and Bro's still in boxers and a t-shirt. He dashed to his closet and wasted most of his precious time picking and choosing the perfect clothes for that night. Would a tux be too formal? Probably. Maybe jeans and a button up shirt? Nah, too casual.
He finally settled for a long sleeved black button up shirt with an amber colored tie and black slacks. He stared at himself in the mirror, realizing that the cap he was wearing threw the whole outfit through a loop. He tugged it off, threw it on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. After messing with it for another moment or two, he realized he had the worst hat hair ever. Why did he think it would be a good idea to put on his cap right after he got out of the shower? Must've been force of habit.
He sighed and decided he might as well try a different colored cap. He went back out into the living room to the mountain of hats in the corner and picked up an orange one and a black one. Going back to the mirror, he tried on each of them. He decided on the orange one, even though the shade was a bit off from his tie, he figured it'd be alright and secured it on his head.
His next problem was his shades. Should he keep them on? His eyes were sensitive though. But would it really be a problem in a dimly lit room, with the only light coming from candles? Egbert did tell him he wanted to see what his eyes looked like... Maybe it'd be best if he didn't wear them. So he took them off and put them on his bed, next to his grey cap. He glanced at himself one last time in the mirror to make sure everything about himself was in order, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles in his shirt.
Then the doorbell rang.
And at the same instant, nervous butterflies flooded in his gut, as if they were caged and trying to be set free. This was it, he told himself as he walked out of his room to the door. Time to show Egbert what he's got.
He opened the door and it only took a moment's confusion to remember that, oh right, he ordered pizza like the unromantic loser that he is. The young pizza boy recited the price to him as if he rehearsed it on the way over here, with an expression of pure boredom and distaste for his job. Poor guy. Bro felt bad for him. He remembered being a pizza guy in his late teens, early twenties to pay for little Dave, living off of tips. But that was a long time ago, before he took up DJing and before his smuppet business went off the charts. And he should stop reminiscing because according to his watch he had about five minutes till Egbert got there. So he took the pizza and paid the teenager with a generous tip before shooing him away.
He set the table with paper plates, plasticware, a couple of candles and the pizza (out of the box, of course) as a centerpiece. Looking back into the kitchen he saw the half-scorched, half-raw steaks were still sitting out and he dumped them. He didn't want Egbert to find out if he could help it. Now that the two faced steaks were gone, he had to think of what to do with the expensive bottle of wine he got for the occasion. Shrugging, he put it on the table anyway, putting a plastic cup next to each plate. When else would he have an opportunity to drink expensive wine with someone other than he, himself and him? Exactly, because God knows that Egbert will probably never come back for any sort of date at his apartment.
He had to step back for a moment to admire the horrible, beautiful irony before him. If the situation wasn't as serious as it was, he'd be patting himself on the back for his efforts. A square table with a white table cloth (provided specifically for the occasion) with two paper plates and plasticware, two plastic cups, a bottle of fine wine to the side, two unlit - which he was quick to mend, lighting them with a cigarette lighter - candles, and a steaming supreme pizza smack dab in the middle of it all.
He made a few last minute touches around the living room like shoving the smuppets into small mountains next to his other small mountain of colorful caps and turning off the lights to make the effects of the candle light more pronounced. Just then, his doorbell rang for the second time that night and this time the butterflies attempting to escape his system were justified. He checked his appearance one last time in the mirror, moving his hair out of his face and checking for any food in his teeth. His heart pounded in his throat as he opened the door, making sure to maintain a cool poker face all the while. Not that it really mattered, his eyes were horribly expressive anyway.