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Shane slid into the familiar corner booth at The Harvest with a contented sigh, the warm lighting and soft chatter of the restaurant already easing the long week from his shoulders. Their favorite double date spot never disappointed. It was elegant enough for white tablecloths and proper wine glasses, yet cozy enough that the staff tolerated their nonsense. Ilya sat beside him, already scanning the menu trying to find something rich and homely.
When the waiter arrived, notebook ready, their chaotic energy had already reached a high level and was waiting for the inevitable explosion. Ilya was the first to order the thick goulash with a massive slice of European style craft bread. A meal that would always remind him of Russian winter evenings. He also ordered two large jugs of his favorite sangria to share with others. Harris went for the classic ribeye steak with Caesar salad. Shane kept it simple and effective- braised chicken breast, Brussels sprouts, and carrot puree.
Then Troy spoke up. “I’ll have the baked salmon, please,” he said, all business. “With the side salad, the one with mixed lettuces and blueberries. I can’t find it in the menu. Is it still available?” He sounded a little bit worried.
“Yes, we still serve it. You can find it on the fourth page.” The waiter was polite and professional.
“Perfect. But can I swap the yogurt dressing for honey dressing instead?” Troy skimmed through the menu pages nervously.
The waiter didn’t even blink. “Of course, no problem.”
Ilya’s head snapped up so fast Shane was surprised he didn’t pull a muscle. A slow, evil grin spread across his face as he stared at his husband like he’d just been gifted front row seats to a comedy show. Shane already knew he was doomed.
By the time the food arrived, the trap had been set. Troy’s salmon looked beautifully beside the vibrant salad, now glistening with the requested honey dressing that caught the candlelight like liquid gold. Ilya’s goulash looked like a meaty masterpiece, Harris’ steak smelled delicious, and Shane’s plate was a picture of tasty elegance.
Ilya didn’t even wait for everyone to pick up their forks. “Shane,” he began, voice dripping with mock betrayal as he turned to his partner. “My own husband. Boring chicken, too many vegetables…” He shook his head in disapproval. “Switching from rabbit food to robot food. Boring!”
Shane chuckled, cutting into his chicken. “It has a high level of protein and it tastes great. Unlike that heart-attack-in-a-bowl you ordered. Besides, there is no such thing as too many vegetables.”
Ilya waved his spoon dismissively. “A high level of protein? You don’t say. At least mine has soul. Yours looks like it was meal prepped by an Excel accountant.” Then Ilya’s gaze locked onto Troy’s plate like a heat seeking missile. “And Troy,” he said, voice rising with pure delight. “Salmon and honey dressing? Fuck! Even blueberries. You specifically asked them to change the yogurt to honey? Does Harris know you’re a fucking grizzly bear? Be honest. Do you have a secret picnic basket hidden under the table?”
Harris immediately piled on, leaning toward Troy with a massive grin. “Buddy, for real. You out here requesting honey... You planning to raid a campsite after dessert?”
Troy just laughed and forked up a piece of salmon, completely unbothered. “It’s fuel, man. Tastes good, keeps me going.”
“Fuel,” Ilya echoed, practically vibrating with joy. He gestured dramatically with his oversized slice of bread. “This is worse than Shane’s robot meal! Salmon, blueberries, and honey dressing? Are you getting ready for hibernation? I thought Shane was boring, but you, my friend, are next level.”
Shane tried to defend his friend. “He eats clean and it works for-”
“Clean?” Ilya interrupted, eyes sparkling. “You won't claim ‘clean’ when you have to pepper spray him to kill the wilderness mode. Barrett, maybe you want to get closer to my bear?” Ilya turned to his friend and patted his chest, then grabbed Troy's neck and tried to pull his face to his tattoo.
Troy wriggled out of his grip and growled. "If you don't want me to bite off your nipple, leave me alone.”
“Kinky." Ilya licked his lips suggestively, winked at Troy, and then started cackling maniacally. “Did you hear him growling a moment ago? I'm telling you- grizzly.” Shane was already facepalming, and Harris couldn't help but burst out laughing.
The teasing hit critical mass when Ilya suddenly straightened, struck by divine comedic inspiration. “Wait. Wait a minute. He’s not just any grizzly. He’s Yogi Bear. Smarter than the average bear!” He jabbed the bread toward Troy like a conductor’s baton. “And that-” the bread swung dramatically to Harris, “-makes you Boo-Boo.”
Harris clutched his chest in fake outrage. “Excuse me? I’m clearly Yogi. I’ve got the rizz and the master plans. Troy’s the loyal sidekick.”
“Excuse me?” Troy fired back, grinning. “I’m the one actually catching salmon out here, Boo-Boo.”
Ilya was thriving, waving his bread while analyzing them like a nature documentary. “This needs serious study. Harris has wild prankster picnic stealing energy. Troy’s the reluctant one trying to stop him, at least soberly. Or wait- Troy’s too tall to be Boo-Boo. Harris, do the worried little voice.”
Harris delivered a flawless squeaky “But Yogi, the ranger’s gonna get us!”
Their poor waiter returned to refill waters and walked straight into the bear convention. He paused, eyes widening slightly as he took in Ilya conducting with carb artillery, Harris doing cartoon voices, and Troy playfully growling at his honey-dressed salad. “Everything tasting okay, gentlemen?” the waiter asked, maintaining heroic professionalism.
“Outstanding,” Ilya declared. “We’re just helping Troy accept his true grizzly identity. Very important anthropological work.”
The waiter nodded slowly, the face of a man who had accepted his fate in return for a generous tip. “Take your time.” As the ridiculous debate raged on.
Ilya still flipping between who was the scheming Yogi and who was the anxious Boo-Boo with increasingly absurd comparisons. Shane sat back and watched the three lunatics descend into pure absurdity. Their double dates were never normal. And secretly, Shane wouldn’t trade the chaos for anything.
Shane was curious to see how the situation would develop when the waiter brought the dessert menus.