LOVE is DEAD [RARL]

7

"So, you were serious when you said your dad had a gun," Ron said, closing the front door behind him as he made his way into the dining room where Carl stared at the handgun that was in it's holster on the kitchen table.

"He's a cop. Did you think he ran around after you with just a taser?"

"Yeah," Ron laughed, dawning his usually sarcastic demeanor. "Why are you looking at it like that?"

"Like what," Carl snapped, eyes unwavering.

"Like you're hungry and it's a nice, fat ass burger."

"Because I want to take it on your next deal."

Ron blinked, smile fading. "Seriously? A little overkill, don't you think? I only deal with kids."

"Yeah, asshole kids. If you keep upping the prices, someone's gonna get pissy, and then you're in REAL trouble." Carl tore his gaze away, looking Ron up and down. "I'm not going to let it happen."

"Do you even know how to use it?" Ron argued, brow furrowing, but Carl snatched the handgun off the table, effortlessly ejecting the clip before tossing it to the blond, who clumsily caught it, eyes wide.
"School shooter, much?"

"This thing could save our lives in a sticky situation," Carl ignored him, setting the unloaded weapon back down on the wooden table, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, sorry, but I really don't think threatening customers at gunpoint will be good for business," Ron scoffed, handing the clip back to Carl, shaking his head.
"No thanks."

"Ron, just listen-"

"I said no, Carl! I've gotta go." Ron turned, rushing from the house as quickly as he'd come.

...

Working in retail, Carl thought, was his biggest mistake yet. His manager was a dick, the customers were rude, and his coworkers were complete idiots. Everything about the part-time job made Carl angsty and snappish, which wasn't enjoyable for anyone involved except, for maybe, Ron.

"Why are you here," Carl hissed softly as Anderson sauntered up to the register. The blond brandished a bottle of soda, mischievous smile present in all it's glory.

"Soda."

"You drove 15 minutes for a soda when there's a gas station that's literally a 5 minute walk from your house?" Carl was feisty, that was for sure. His shoulders were hunched forward and his hands were braced against the counter as he glared daggers at his supposed friend/fuck-buddy.

"Yes?" Ron said, setting the Pepsi on the counter, biting his lower lip.

"You're a pain in my ass, Ron."

"In more ways than one, but is that anyway to talk to a customer?"

Carl ignored him, ringing up the drink.

"A dollar, twenty five."

"Wait," Ron reached over, snatching a pack of gum from the stand, slapping it down.

Carl stiffly rang the gum up as well, adding another dollar to the original bill.

"Is that all?" He asked through grit teeth.

"Uh," Ron began, but Carl practically slammed the "print receipt" button, staring pointedly at Ron as he fished change out of his pocket.

After an exaggerated struggle with his wallet, he put down two ones and two dimes down. Carl already knew where this was going.

"Ah, shit," Ron laughed cooly. "I'm short 5 cents."

"There's a quarter in your fucking wallet," Carl pointed out, but Ron pocketed it quickly, smile remaining.

"Is there any other way I could pay you?"

Carl simply scooped up the money,
dishing it into the cash register without blinking. He handed the receipt to Ron without batting an eye.

"Yeah, you can get lost. Do you need a bag?"

Ron poked at the inside of his cheek his tongue casually, eyeing the drink and gum.

"Nah," he said after a tense moment, snatching the purchased items off the counter before swaggering for the door, making sure to walk with his hips.

Carl rubbed his face harshly, sighing heavily.