Chapter Text
Dwight sets his round-framed glasses on the neon pink tablecloth-covered table in front of him with an exasperated groaning sigh. No one told him that speed dating would be like this.
The only reason he has a moment to breathe is because of the strange men-to-women ratio. He’s actually glad that he was late, he’s the reason there’s an odd-number of participants in the first place. He literally is able to give himself a break because of it.
He wipes his sweaty palms on his charcoal gray slacks, trying to prepare himself for the next woman to whom he’ll be talking. He even adjusts his hand-threaded maroon cardigan, trying to push the sleeves up to his elbows, only to realize how stupid it looks and push them back down. He would’ve vastly preferred something more vest-like, but most of his “good” clothes were dirty. They weren’t just the “worn once and could be passable with some cologne” kind of dirty either. They were dirty -dirty, some of them having been at the bottom of his hamper for the better part of a week. Probably best to dress his best anyway, considering that this is all about first impressions, and he has no shortage of them to make today.
He has thirty seconds until the next person will be talking to him. He stares down at the little white card on the table. The hastily written responses to the spaces cause his face to flush with remembered embarrassment. Having been so late, he barely had time to scribble down much of anything. Pushing his palms against his clenched eyelids, he tries to breathe and steady himself. The anxiety hiding in his chest threatens to pounce at any moment and send him spiraling, as it does, and he can’t have that. He needs to look like he has his shit together, even though he certainly doesn’t.
Realizing the edge of his nametag is peeling up, he tries to press it back down as the timer sounds and everyone on the opposite side of him begins to shift. Fuck , he thinks, eyes wide as he replaces his glasses back to his face by pushing on the bridge. Here we go again.
A petite, blond woman sits in front of him with an amiable smile, sliding her card towards him. Dwight chuckles lightly, sliding his card out halfway. They each take the other’s card and quickly glance over it.
“Oh,” the woman, Lana, according to her name tag, says with an intrigued sound as she presses a hand to her chest. “My cousin works at Peak 22!”
Dwight’s worked there for almost three years but he’s not done much beyond the occasional watercooler-talk. He can barely remember the CEO’s name, but he does only because it’s so strange and unusual; Lazar Bucinschi. There have been plenty of chances to go out after work and get to know people, but his anxiety typically keeps him shackled to wherever people aren’t; which is his apartment, most of the time.
“Oh, r-really? Your cousin, huh? Small world.” Dwight forces a smile and a chuckle. He prays that she has no follow-up questions.
“Yeah,” she nods, beaming with a wide grin, placing her hands flat on the table and leaning forward slightly. “Do you know James Corrigan?”
“Um…” Dwight pauses, glancing down at the table. He knows he should keep eye-contact. That’s one of the few tips he managed to find on speed dating, but his limbs feel like they’re filled with lead. It’s almost like someone’s grabbing the back of his head and forcing it down. He racks his brain trying to recall anyone’s last name at his workplace, but he can’t. He could just lie and say he does know him, but the idea of her having another follow-up question would make this feel more like an interrogation than a casual chat. He finally squeaks out, “I-I don’t think I know him, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Lana smiles and shrugs lightly while she glances back down at Dwight’s card, scanning for something else to talk about. “You like watching Netflix on the weekends?”
“Mhm,” Dwight nods, managing to lift his head again. He's glad she could tell what he meant, as he only had the time to write "Netflix" instead of "watching Netflix" on the "Spare Time Activities" line. He feels like he could still redeem this one.
“Crime documentaries are what I usually go for,” she says. “Y’know, the real stuff. What about you?”
“Oh, I, uh, don’t do well with blood,” Dwight admits breathily. Just talking about the idea of cadavers, corpses, and police-taped crime scenes makes his empty stomach twist. He should’ve eaten a proper meal before coming out to this thing. Then again, if he had, that ‘proper meal’ would’ve ended up splattered all over the table at the mere mention of gore. “I-I prefer animated stuff.”
“Oh,” she replies, eyebrows falling with a half-smile, her shoulders slumping. “That’s cool.”
Dwight can tell from her reaction that it actually isn’t “cool.” He can tell that she’s judging him, even as her eyes quickly flit back to the card, and then behind him, likely at the clock. Their time will be up soon, then Dwight will be free to rinse and repeat this process with several other women until he's free to go back to his below-average, overpriced apartment in Redmond to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. He should’ve done more research on this speed dating thing, then he might’ve realized it’s not for him.
Then again, it wasn’t even really his idea to begin with. His mom, bless her heart, thought it would be good for her twenty-six year old son to “put himself out there,” whatever that means. Apparently, to her, that meant putting himself on display to random women, complete strangers, and making first impressions over and over and over again. Dwight’s not even a first impression kind of guy. He’s more of a fourth or fifth, if one’s lucky enough to interact with him enough. He doesn’t even know if he likes women, but his mom went out of her way to send the information for the event to him. He feels like he owes her this much, at least trying.
The next woman, Marie, Dwight feels a slight connection with, and they spend most of their time talking about how much they both hated high school. When she asks if Dwight would ever want to have kids, he freezes. He doesn’t even keep plants or have any pets out of fear of not taking care of them properly. It's not that he never wants to have children, it's just not something he's heavily considered, and probably wouldn’t for several years; and that’s if he decides it’s for him. But the hesitation is enough for Marie to tell him that "being unsure about wanting kids is a deal breaker."
By the end, Dwight has talked to fourteen women, and none of them wanted to exchange information. While the person on the microphone thanks everyone for attending, he rushes away from his seat, leaving his information card behind. Bursting through the single-stall bathroom door just across the hall from the room the speed dating was held in, he slams it shut.
Setting his glasses on the edge of the sink, he leans down into the sink, scooping the cold water into his palms and rubbing it over his embarrassment-reddened face. He's desperate to calm himself down. The knot in his throat that formed while he was saying goodbye to the last woman he talked to is still threatening to choke him. A few quiet sobs try to push their way out of his lungs, and he’s tempted to let it happen. He’s already shown any potential partners here how lame he is, why not add ‘crybaby’ to the growing list of reasons they shouldn’t date him?
As the tears begin to drip out of his umber brown eyes, his head whips up to the door and he spins towards it as it swings open. A man wearing a raspberry-colored suit fumbles in, the matching tie sloppily being undone by his large hands.
Dwight just stands there, staring at the man who entered. He must’ve forgotten to lock the door to the single-stall bathroom. The man looks up at Dwight as the door slowly closes on its own behind him, his tie falling loose but still draped around the back of his neck. For a moment, they can only stare at each other, confused as to how this happened.
“Oh, uh, ‘pologizes, mate," the man says. His accent is thick, but it sounds like he’s from some part of England. “Didn’t know someone was in here.”
“My fault,” Dwight sniffles, using the sleeve of his cardigan to hastily wipe any water and tears away from his face. “I’m the idiot who forgot to lock it. I was just leaving anyway.”
“Y’were?” The man replies, his tone dripping with disbelief as his eyebrows slump. It’s almost as if he’s disappointed. “Got a date to be off to or…?”
“Pfft, yeah,” Dwight shrugs, his gaze falling to the side as he sarcastically chuckles, “I have so many dates lined up, it’s crazy .”
“Good for you, pal,” the man nods, giving two solid pats on Dwight’s shoulder while he walks by, towards the urinal. “That makes one of us.”
Dwight’s face heats as he turns away from the urinal, stepping further away and pressing one shoulder against the door. This guy doesn’t seem to care if someone else is in the room. Dwight could die just thinking about being so carefree in front of someone he just met.
Dwight knows he should just leave, but he gets a strange feeling. The look that was on this man’s face when he entered is ingrained in his mind; his hazel eyes, thick eyebrows, his square chin and the various scars. Not to mention the accent, which Dwight would assume would drive most ladies wild. It's certainly getting him flustered.
The man taking a piss not five feet from him couldn’t land a date either? At least, that’s how he made it sound, and Dwight’s curiosity is enough to keep him leaning against the painted metal door for a moment longer.
“Really?” Dwight huffs, his voice echoing off of the white tiles of the floor and walls. “Are you, like, a felon or something?”
“Huh?” The guy says, the sound of the urinal flushing seeming to have drowned out Dwight’s question. Dwight takes the lucky chance to backpedal and not say something so stupid.
“Sorry,” Dwight sputters. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I just mean,” he continues, turning back towards the guy after he hears him re-buckling his belt. “How did an attractive guy like you not get the info of every single lady in this place?”
The man’s eyes narrow as his head tilts, seemingly confused about the statement that left Dwight’s lips. Dwight stammers out another apology, holding his open palms up to his chest. The man barks out a laugh.
“How could I be offended? You just said I’m ‘attractive’.”
Dwight feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. He did say that. Whether he meant to or not, he did really say that.
“I mean, I-I guess I did," Dwight stammers.
The man glances Dwight up and down as he stands there pathetically, shoulders slumped and hands fidgeting over one another. Dwight takes a nervous half-step away from the guy.
“What’s your story, ‘uh?” The man crosses his arms, continuing to study the slightly shorter man in front of him.
“My, uh, my…” Dwight falters as he realizes how bad it’ll sound if he admits that his mom told him to go. This guy looks like the guys who would beat Dwight up in high school, the ones who called him a “fag.” The last thing he wants to do is die in a community center bathroom because he said the wrong thing.
“Your what?” The man echoes insistently, patting Dwight’s shoulder again as he steps closer. “Tell me, indulge me.”
“I saw a flier downtown,” Dwight fibs with a tense throat. “I haven’t tried dating s-since high school, so I thought that I’d—”
“Come and get disappointed.”
“Y-yeah,” Dwight sighs, his nerves beginning to melt. The man, whether he meant to or not, took the words right out of his mouth. This speed dating thing sucks, and he seems to know it too.
“Look,” the man says, standing tall and brushing off the breast of his suit. “It’s been great chattin’ with ya…” his gaze falls to the other man’s chest before his eyes snap back up. “Dwight. I need to step outside and have a smoke. You wouldn’t wanna join me for a drink down at the Three Lions Pub near the Redmond mall, would ya?”
“I-I, I’d uh, I’d love to, um…” he searches the man’s suit for the name tag that should be there, but he can’t find it.
“David,” the man smiles.
“David,” Dwight returns the smile cautiously, enjoying how the man’s name sounds on his lips. “Sure, I’d like that.”
“Right, it’s a date then,” David says casually, reaching for the bathroom door handle.
Dwight manages to take the hint and step aside for the man to leave. Locking the door behind him, Dwight rips off his glasses again and they clatter to the sink again as he presses a cold, damp paper towel to his face to muffle an overwhelmed scream.
Dwight just got a date because he went to a speed dating event. He’ll never live this one down.