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Dave was in the middle of his usual late night Thursday routine of cursing the mess customers somehow managed to leave for him on the meticulously-labelled shelves of movies that he had to straighten out before he could leave when his phone started screaming at him. He barely glanced at the screen before hitting “accept.”

"What is it, John?" he said absently as he tracked down the three The 40-Year-Old Virgin cases that had somehow wound up in different spots on the horror shelf.

"Hey, you’re non-observational, right?" John said, so incredibly nonchalant that Dave almost answered without thinking. Instead, he paused what he was doing and rolled the words over in his head again in case that helped them make any more contextual sense. It didn’t.

"What?" Dave said.

"You’re not ‘orthodox’ or whatever this other bullshit is, right? What the hell does ‘conservative’ mean, anyway? Isn’t that a political thing?"

Dave closed his eyes, opened them, and said, “Why are you asking me that, John?” A pause. “Wait, why the hell would I be orthodox? What are you doing?”

”It’s not important,” John said. “I just want to know.”

Dave sighed. “Sure, non-observational or reform or something. Not really conservative, definitely not orthodox. Whatever.”

"Cool," John said, and hung up.

Dave wasted half a minute looking at his phone and trying to figure out why John cared past the usual “Oh, cool, a Jewish holiday Dave wants to celebrate with me, that means there’ll probably be alcohol and weird food,” but nothing was coming to mind. He decided his best option was to not worry about it and get home as soon as possible, which had pretty much been his plan before John had called anyway. Still, he found himself putting a lot more focus in keeping an eye out for out-of-place DVD cases and speeding up his movements.



When he got back to his house it was silent and dark. For an average person this could have been considered somewhat ominous, but really that only meant that if there was something bad waiting for him, it would make it easier for Dave to draw it out and take care of it as quickly as possible. There was something to be said for horror movie clichés, and that something probably had to do with how much otherworldly forcesloved them.

Dave didn’t usually go straight to his laptop after shucking his jacket and shoes, but something made him skip the usual trip to his kitchen to stare forlornly at the mostly-empty fridge in the hope that it would turn up something delicious and probably expensive for him to eat. He usually wound up ordering takeout from in front of his computer anyway, it wasn’t like it was unreasonable for him to skip a step.

Dave couldn’t say he’s been expecting anything specific when he opened his computer, but there were some things he would have accepted had he opened the computer to find them sitting on his screen, and there were some things that he knew for a fact he had never had anything to do with. definitely fell into the second category.

John (because who else could it be) had at some point in the past few hours sat down and made Dave a profile on a fucking Jewish dating website.

The profile picture was terrible, obviously taken while Dave wasn’t looking, and predictably while he was making a weird face, probably mid-blink. The appearance aspects were the most accurate ones, and they were all still off by a fair bit (Dave really didn’t weigh that much).

The one thing that really caught his eye though, as he scrolled down, was the most obvious, drawn-out joke that John would never let go, no matter how much Dave pointed out his abundance of past girlfriends (well, not abundance, but abundance compared to his number of boyfriends, at least):


Damn it John.