Title: Four-eyes
Author: Chris F.
Rating: PG-13 for language and a m/m kiss. I am so lame. 
Disclaimer: Kevin Smith owns the characters. I own the frustration. 

"Fuck." Just one word seemed to sum up all of Bob's feelings as he
stared down at the mangled piece of what used to be a contact lens that
was sitting on his finger. He carefully replaced the torn lens back
into its solution, although he wasn't sure why he didn't give into his
urge to toss it across the room, and sighed. *Ok, now what?* 

He bent down to dig through a drawer, coming up with a plastic
container. He opened it, only to find two very dried-up contacts
staring back at him. *Ok, I can fix this.* He squirted some of the
solution onto the contacts, waited, swished them around a little,
pronounced them wearable again, and tried to put them in his eyes. 
Then, he tried again. And again. Finally, he got in one of the
contacts, but there was a slight problem. He couldn't see. 

He stumbled around the room for a bit before deciding that no, his
vision was not going to improve in the next few minutes. So, he took
out the contact. And realized that the reason he was so blind was
because he had put in the contact in over the undamaged contact he still
had left. *Wonnnnnnnderful.* 

Five minutes later, he had a set of contacts in his eyes. And he STILL
couldn't see. He flopped back down on his bed, did a little mental
math, and figured out the formerly dried contacts had to be over two
years old and therefore a pretty ancient prescription. He spent about
ten more minutes pouting before removing the contracts and staring at
the blurry objects that had once made up his room. 

And then, he had an idea. As soon as he had this idea, he begged it to
go away, because it was a really horrible idea. It involved using an
object so horrible, so terrifying, that Bob's poor mind couldn't
comprehend it. But as he lay there, trying to figure out how he could
deal pot and kick ass without being able to see, he realized it was, in
fact, the only way.

Bob slowly approached the drawer. He opened it. He rummaged though
it. He found the Dreaded Case. With shaking hands, he opened the lid,
and had to turn away. They were so big! So thick! So crooked! Bob
forced himself to put them on, then looked in the mirror. His face was
hidden by two circles of glass connected with a metal frame. He let out
a tiny squeak of horror and slid to the floor. 

It was at that moment that Jay decided to start pounding on the door. 
"Hey you tubby bitch! Are you gonna get the fuck up, or do I have to
drink all this fucking beer by myself?" 

Bob shook his head, then realized Jay couldn't see him though through
the door. "I'm not coming out," he mumbled.

"Why the fuck not?" Jay yelled. "You expect me to go out and deal by
myself? Fuck dude, I'm not dong that." 

"Go away!" Bob yelled back. 

"Lunchbox, are you on the fucking rag or something?" Jay paused. "OK,
I'm coming the fuck in there, so you better be dressed and shit, cuz I
don't wanna see your big gay ass." And with that, the door swung open. 
Bob tried to cover his face, but it was too late. Jay started
laughing. "Lunchbox, I didn't know yous was a fucking four-eyes! 
Fuck! If all those people whose asses you kicked could see you now..."

Bob didn't speak, just stood up and shoved Jay. Jay shoved back. The
shoving match went on until Bob tripped and fell backwards onto the
bed. "Ha! I win!" Jay declared. He leaned over Bob, and the bigger
man shut his eyes. He didn't want to see what Jay was planning to do
next. 

When a minute passed without Jay doing anything, Bob risked opening his
eyes. What he saw made him wonder if the prescription for his glasses
was indeed correct. Jay looked...thoughtful?! Finally, Jay smiled. 
"You know Silent Bob, you look kinda cute with glasses." And Jay
pressed a quick kiss to Bob's forehead and scampered off, presumably to
drink beer.

Bob decided he might never wear contacts again.