Chapter Text
When Skeppy began his new job a few months ago, everything had started off great. He found the office community surprisingly fun, especially since there were so many people his own age in the department. Hannah, Sam, and Ant had quickly befriended him, and though he’d been a little intimidated by Dream, George, and Sapnap at first, they turned out to be really nice too—or at least mostly nice. George could be kind of mean sometimes, but that was just part of his charm.
(Dream certainly thought so, since he had an extremely obvious crush on the man. The prolonged will-they-won’t-they between the two of them made up 95 percent of the office gossip.)
At the start of his third month there, however, someone new showed up. He wasn’t actually new to the company—apparently he’d been working there longer than any of the rest of them—but he’d been transferred to a different office for a year, and was just transferred back. Everyone else knew him, and Skeppy had heard his name a few times, always said in a positive light.
He expected this “Bad” to be a nice guy.
Instead, he was the most standoffish asshole for absolutely no reason.
Skeppy came into work one Monday to find everyone crowded around him, chatting and catching up. He asked what was going on, and Sam took the lead in introducing them, explaining where Bad had been and how they all knew him.
Skeppy smiled and offered his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Bad!” Skeppy said.
Bad didn’t look him in the eye, didn’t say anything besides a non-committal hum as he shook his hand.
Now that was weird and a little rude, but Skeppy would have looked past it if it hadn’t continued.
Every time Skeppy tried to talk to Bad, he found some excuse and scampered away. Every time Skeppy tried to look at Bad, he averted his eyes and even left the room, if he could. If he needed to give Skeppy a report to look over or ask him for some numbers, he always sent Sam or Ant to do it for him. Then there was the time Skeppy came back from the bathroom to find a sticky note on his computer, informing him that Bad needed to borrow a highlighter from him—everyone lost theirs all the time, but Skeppy hardly used them, so he had plenty. He imagined Bad waiting for hours just to pounce the second Skeppy got up from his chair, as if the idea of talking to him was so repulsive, he’d rather waste half his work day than ask even a single question to his face.
Skeppy had no idea what he could have possibly done to deserve such treatment. He’d been nothing but nice to him! And the worst part was, no one else thought a single negative thing about Bad, besides some occasional light-hearted ribbing about his refusal to swear and his proclivity for Mike’s Hard Lemonade, so he had no one to complain to. In fact, he was worried if any of his coworkers caught wind of his one-sided (but quickly becoming reciprocated) rivalry with Bad, they’d all side against him, because they’d known Bad way longer than they’d known him.
It all came to a head one Thursday evening, when Skeppy was staying late to finish a report and went into the breakroom to brew himself a cup of coffee. The office was quiet, half the lights turned out, just the occasional section of cubicles aglow, reflecting against the wide, glass window panes. The sky dark and city spotted with street lamps below. Somewhere, a keyboard tapped in the distance.
Skeppy put his chosen flavor cup into the Keurig and set his mug below, pressing down hard on the start button to get it humming to life.
The smell of coffee hit his nose, and he breathed in deep, calm for the moment.
Then the door to the breakroom creaked open, and he looked over to see Bad frozen in the doorway. His eyes were wide, like he was horrified to see Skeppy was in there. Without a word, he averted his gaze and sprinted over to the fridge, shrinking his shoulders to hide behind the door while he rooted around for his things.
“Just getting my lunchbox…” he mumbled, hardly audible over the hissing coffeemaker. Skeppy crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter, his peaceful night soured by the sudden presence of the other man.
The fridge door closed, and Bad tried to run right out of there, but Skeppy stopped him.
“Hey, wait. I need to talk to you.”
Bad froze, glanced over his shoulder, then away.
“To me?” he asked.
“Who else is here?” Skeppy said.
Bad gulped.
“Um… okay. What—what is it?” he said. Skeppy clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
“Do you have a problem with me?”
“Do I… what?” Bad turned more towards him, but still didn’t look up. Skeppy stepped forward, hands on his hips.
“Why won’t you look at me? Do you hate me, or something?” he said. “I mean, what did I ever do to you?”
“Wh-what?” Bad finally looked up, his eyes wide. “No! No, no, no, I never meant—it’s not like that at all!”
“Really? Then what is it like? Because all I see is you being a jerk for no reason.”
Bad made a noise of distress, his eyes falling to the floor and hands reaching for each other, fiddling nervously.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to—I mean—I didn’t mean to—I just…” he gulped, his hands clenching each other tight. “You’re so beautiful, I don’t know how to talk to you!”
Skeppy froze, completely incapable of processing that.
“You… what?” he said.
“I’m sorry. I’m so shy—I’ve always been terribly shy—and I just can’t… I mean, I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I couldn’t get a word out. I’m already bad at… talking. To people. But with you?” Bad lifted his eyes, managing to catch Skeppy’s gaze for a moment, and it made his heart start to beat a little faster. “I’m just at a loss for words.”
“Oh. Oh wow. I… did not expect that.” Skeppy laughed a little, just a few breathless chuckles as the gears in his brain started to turn. “Wait, seriously? You’re not, like… pranking me, are you?”
“No, no, I swear. I’m a terrible liar, anyways,” Bad said.
“Wow. Wow!” Skeppy started to smile, a lightness growing in his chest, excitement making him feel jumpy all over. “So you were actually just avoiding me because you’re—what?—attracted to me?”
“Um, well… pretty much, yeah.” Bad nodded. He was still toying with his own fingers, his eyes flicking up to Skeppy’s then back down. His cheeks were thoroughly red, and his glasses had slipped down on his nose, so he had to push them back up.
Something about that made Skeppy think he was cute.
“Dude,” he said. “That’s, like… the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me?”
“Wha—really? Surely you must be used to it?” Bad looked up in shock.
“Not really, no.” Skeppy laughed, shaking his head. “Well—wait! Hey, we should, like, go out sometime! You like me, right?”
“Go out?” Bad’s face grew even redder. “As in… go out , go out?”
“Yeah, like a date! That’d be fun, right?” Skeppy said.
“But—no, no, no. You don’t have to do that. You’re so out of my league.”
“Psh, come on! You’re a handsome guy. You gotta have more confidence!”
“I—I—” Bad didn’t seem to know how to respond to that.
“So… are you free Saturday?” Skeppy pressed on regardless. “Here, put your number in my phone and I’ll text you!”
He handed it over, the contacts app open, and Bad hesitantly took it, looking from the screen to Skeppy’s face and back again a few times, like he needed to be sure this was real before he typed out his name and number.
“Um. What would… I mean, if we really go on a—you know. What would we… do?” Bad asked.
“How about lunch?” Skeppy suggested. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Pizza?”
“Great! I’ll take you to my favorite pizza place.” Skeppy took the phone back and typed out a message to Bad to make sure he had his number too. Hi! It’s Skeppy! Duh. He paused, erased the Duh and replaced it with the blue heart emoji, then sent it before he could second guess himself.
Bad’s phone pinged in his back pocket, and Skeppy giggled as he reached for it.
“That’s just me,” he said, watching as Bad flushed further just from reading the message.
“Oh my goodness. Oh my gosh.” He looked up at Skeppy again. “You’re really being for real?”
“Hell yeah, man! I’ll see you Saturday!” Skeppy picked up his steaming mug of coffee and gave Bad a flirty, over-the-shoulder wave as he headed out of the break room, leaving Bad flustered and gasping like a fish out of water.
He giggled to himself as went back to his desk, setting the mug on a coaster and tucking his rolly-chair in, a glowing smile on his lips and his chest full of pride. He’d had absolutely no luck picking up girls on dating apps, and finally, in the most unexpected place possible, he’d scored a date! How great was that?
It wasn’t until he turned his computer back on and started reading through the report he still had to finish, that the excitement deflated enough for his mind to remember a crucial detail.
Bad was a guy. Skeppy was also a guy, and—Skeppy was pretty sure he knew at least this much about himself—he wasn’t gay .
…
Skeppy came to work the next day with a sense of dread looming over him. He felt stuck, no idea what to do or how to tell Bad. He’d been so, so excited when Skeppy asked him out, if he backed out of the date now, he’d just break the poor guy’s heart. But if he went on the date with him anyways, he’d just be leading him on.
There was also the question of how Skeppy somehow forgot that he was straight long enough to ask a guy out on a date, but that was even scarier to think about, so Skeppy elected not to ponder it too hard.
He slunk to his desk when he got to the office, worried as well that Bad would have told everyone by then, which would make it ten times harder to weasel his way out of this date, since all his coworkers would be invested in it, too. Luckily, as everyone said hi that morning, it seemed no one was acting any different, and certainly none of them mentioned anything about a date.
Good. That helped, at least.
When Bad saw him, though, instead of the usual look-down-and-shuffle-away maneuver he pulled, he looked Skeppy in the eye, smiled giddily and waved, the movement short and cute, bubbling over with excitement. Skeppy smiled nervously and waved back, and Bad’s smile only grew, his cheeks burning red before he disappeared into his own cubicle.
Skeppy turned back to his computer and took a deep breath. His heart was pounding, and he didn’t know why. What he did know, however, was that there was no way he was going to be able to say it to Bad’s face that he didn’t want to go out with him anymore.
He hung his head in his hands and groaned, trying to keep the sound quiet so no one else heard. How did he get himself into this situation? And why did he still think Bad was cute?
…
Spending his Friday night getting drunk on his own couch was not exactly what Skeppy hoped to be doing, but apparently he had no control over himself anymore, and that’s where he was.
He felt lost in his own head, swimming in a pool of questions. Did he actually like Bad? Was he not as straight as he thought? Or was it just the guilt trying to convince him he should go on this date, even if he could never truly be attracted to him?
To find answers to his dumb questions, Skeppy decided to do something even dumber.
He opened one of the many dating apps on his phone, went into the settings, and changed it to looking for men.
He nursed another beer, curled up in the corner of the couch as he scrolled. These guys didn’t do much for him, mostly posed with their shirts off, or even vulgarly gripping their underwear. Skeppy rolled his eyes and swiped left. He wasn’t actually looking to match with someone, after all. He was just curious.
The more normal profiles kept his interest longer. Guys who were fully clothed in their photos and actually wrote descriptions about their personalities and interests. Guys who were looking for dates, not a quick fuck. Some of them were kind of cute. Skeppy could admit when they had a nice face and even nicer hair—especially if it was long like Bad’s. Skeppy liked long hair, liked how it fell over shoulders in curls and waves, how it caught the light and moved in the wind or bounced when one walked. He’d never really noticed that he had this preference when it came to women, since most women just had long hair anyways, but now he was realizing what a difference it made with guys. When he found a man with long hair, he’d stare at their pictures and feel a little warm inside.
And then he’d start to imagine Bad, his long, brown locks falling into his face, stuttering and shy, cheeks rosy and glasses slipping down his nose. Cute was the only word to describe him.
Skeppy was startled from one such reverie by the ping of a text.
From Bad: Hi Skeppy! Are we still on for tomorrow? What time were you thinking? And where would you want to meet?
Skeppy stared at the text for a long while, feeling more and more guilty as he imagined poor, shy Bad having to work up the courage to send him that text after waiting hours for Skeppy to reach out to him and clarify the details of their date. He was probably curled up at home too, nervously biting his fingernails, dreading any sign of rejection.
Fine. He’d take Bad out on a date. That didn’t mean they had to do anything—he doubted Bad would make any “first moves” anyways. And the guy deserved a confidence boost. Maybe Skeppy could convince him to put himself out there, become his hype man instead of his boyfriend.
Noon? He texted back. I can pick u up from ur place. K?
Less than ten seconds later, Bad sent back: Great! ^w^ Here’s my address… and Skeppy’s heart exploded in his chest when he saw the emoticon.
Why did Bad have to be so cute? It made it so much harder to imagine rejecting him, even if he did let him down gently.