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“Valentine’s blind date?”
Robert deadpanned. Visi’s exaggerated smile and thumbs-up gestures were doing absolutely nothing for the level of confidence he had in this latest harebrained scheme dreamed up by his team. Okay, it was good that they had graduated from sabotaging one another into coming up with increasingly complex plans to make one another happy, he could admit that. But meddling in other people’s love lives was a dangerous game to start playing. Especially because he was more than likely going to be the target of the worst or it.
“Come on, it’ll be funnnn!” Courtney whined, draping herself dramatically over the back of Robert’s desk divider. “Plus, I’m totally the best person to do the matchmaking. I mean, come on. I can literally spy on fuckin’ everyone when they least expect it and find out what they’re really like. And then match them with someone unexpected.”
Robert snorted, leaning his forehead into his hands. “Vis, if anything, the idea of you spying on people to do this shit makes me less excited about it.”
“Blind date? I’ve never — I don’t go on — do dating.” Herman mumbled. Alice, flanked by Courtney, folded her arms.
“Baby, we’re handing you a free date with someone. Even if you don’t like them, use them for, I dunno. Practice or some shit.” She sighed. “Would it kill you to go along with it? It’s a holiday, dammit. Live a little.”
At Herman’s lack of response, Courtney put her hands on her hips, looking serious. It was a little scary, actually. She never looked serious, ever. Her serious face kind of looked like a going-to-kill-you-and-melt-your-bones-with-acid-in-a-bathtub type of look.
“Um, okay.” Herman said, a tiny droplet of nervous sweat dripping off his nose and careening to the floor. It wasn’t exactly fair, because the entire Z-team knew two cold, hard facts: Herman was most definitely single, and that he was completely immobilised by a group ambush. Great, he thought hopelessly to himself, staring down at the two women who had cleverly seized him into a bind he definitely wouldn’t be able to extricate himself from. “I guess it couldn’t — won’t hurt. To go on a date. With someone.”
“Right!” She flashed a brilliant smile and Herman felt a little weak. He really had to work on his chronic people-pleasing, especially with Visi, who was as capricious and changeable as the wind and just as likely to be irritated at him tomorrow for taking up her time to arrange a date for him as she was to be happy about it. Note to self: speak to therapist about how to stop people-pleasing. But what if that’s a really stupid question and they find it really annoying to answer….?
“Hell-ooooo?” Visi said, impatiently. “I said, you’re obviously gay, right? Asking for the purpose of, y’know, getting you a successful date?”
“Uh…” Herman wavered, and Alice jumped in.
“Courtney, you can’t say that shit, c’mon.” She took a long pull off her vape, exhaling a strawberry-scented cloud, and for a second she also looked like a terrifying (albeit sweet-smelling) dragon. “Just because he doesn’t look like he gets any bitches doesn’t mean he’s gay. He could be bisexual.”
A pause hung between them, and then Alice snorted.
“Yeah, I’m, um, I prefer — boys. Men. I mean.” He was rapidly going red. He preferred one man in particular, but he absolutely would not mention that to Visi, because it was guaranteed to be fodder for mockery over the comms in about five minutes’ time. Oh god. What if he and Flambae got paired up because they both liked men? That was a nightmare scenario! Flambae would throw a glass of water over him. Or make him cry. Or flip the table with rage. Quick, Herman. Think how you’re going to get them off that idea. “I like small — short ones.”
Visi and Alice were staring at him with incredulous faces. “You like short guys?” Courtney asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Yee-up.” Herman gave a thumbs up, which was incredibly awkward and made no sense in the context. What was he thumbs-upping about? There was nothing thumbs-up about this. It was actually very much a thumbs-down situation. He tilted his thumb to the side. Stop doing thumb gestures! You look insane! “I like short men. A lot. In fact, them being short is my only, uhh, requirement.”
“Okay. Short guy. Got it.” Courtney gave him one last weird look and turned on her heel, presumably to go bother someone else about their preferences. Only Alice remained standing beside him, and she looked up at him from underneath her bangs with an unreadable expression that might have been amusement mixed with pity.
“She can see right through you, you know.” She raised her eyebrow. “And she won’t appreciate you trying to game the system for her to pick who you want.”
The lunchroom looked like an intervention with the way the entire Z-team were seated around the table. Herman looked at the only empty chair available, the one they were intending for him to sit in.
“Waterboy.” Malevola looked stern, patted the chair with a red hand. “Come sit down. Take a load off.”
He took a seat, his stomach sinking. Was this a giant prank? Some excuse to humiliate him all over again, just when he thought he’d made friends?
“It’s come to our attention as a collective,” Sonar began, sounding somehow exactly like a politician loading up a soundbite. “That you’ve never even flirted with anyone before. So this is an official intervention. We all decided that I’m the best person, obviously, to help you get your game on. Mainly ‘cause I was subscribed to this guy’s substack and he was part of this pickup artist seduction course and it was really aweso — that’s beside the point, but, you get me. Anyway, I’m going to train you to have game.”
“Game. Right. Uh, yes, I’d like to have, uh… game.” Herman tried his very best to look willing to learn, which made him look a little bit like he had a frog trapped in his mouth in front of the entire team, who were staring at him like the audience at a standup show would look at the comedian who happened to be absolutely bombing.
Sonar stuck out a pale hand and smiled. At least he appeared to be smiling, though it could have been him baring his freaky bat teeth. Like all cheesy and sleazy businessmen, he wanted to shake on it.
“It’s a deal. You’re making the right decision, buddy.”
“Hey, Waterboy.” Invisigal’s face had an impish look upon it, as if she was getting away with some mischief or another. “I got your date set up, and I think you’re gonna be really surprised.”
She waved a little slip of paper in her fingers and placed it on his palm, where it sat like a little swan, snow-white and innocent. After all, it just held the ‘lucky’ participant on his first date ever. No biggie.
She was watching him, face craned upwards and her pupils scanning every millimetre of his face for a reaction. He unfolded the paper with a pit in his stomach; Alice’s words rung in his ears about Courtney not taking well to the fact he was trying to steer her towards who to pick. Please, God, not Flambae, anyone but Flambae, anyone at all…
His prayer was granted. But like the story of the monkey’s paw, Herman should have been careful what he wished for, because in his palm burned the one name he had secretly wanted. Lain awake at night with a stomachache worrying about getting, soothing himself back to sleep with the thought that she would never put the two of them together in a billion years.
Robert Robertson was etched onto the paper with a smiley-face beside the name that even Herman could feel the sarcasm radiating off.
“Sorry, but Colm was already taken,” Visi smirked at him, an eyebrow raised in a cocky expression. “Hope you’re not too disappointed. Oh well.”
Herman didn’t know whether to feel reassured or sad that Courtney didn’t know him or his desires at all.
Robert looked incredibly uncomfortable. Actually, that was an understatement, because it looked like in about ten seconds he would have steam coming out of his ears. Over the past fifteen minutes he’d grown steadily more furious-looking, shooting mutinous glances around the office that had been done up to look like a romantic restaurant.
The cubicles had been covered with red paper stuck all over with white hearts. Office chairs had white ruffles stapled around the sides of them. Little heart-shaped garlands descended from the ceiling like a mad Tunnel of Love ride had been stuck in the middle of the building and exploded everywhere. Herman half-expected tiny painted Cupids and animatronic puppets of lovers to be lurking around the corner every time he dashed off to go to the bathroom, which due to his incredibly nervous disposition was about every five minutes.
Courtney — the architect of the very creative decor, presumably — scooted by, dressed in a very flouncy, fussy maid costume. Herman had wanted to point out the difference between a maid and a waitress when they’d first sat down, but was a little too apprehensive of receiving a wine bottle to the face that she had been holding at the time. She laid the plateful of oysters between the two men and the bivalves shone slimy and marine in the candlelight.
Stupid wet things, Herman thought, watching Robert’s nauseated-looking glance at their appetiser. Stupid wet slimy things, like him, were an object of disgust. Imagine he tried to reach across the table to Robert only to have his clammy hand met with a similarly sickened look.
“Jesus.” Robert said. “She’s kind of gone all-out on this, huh? Oysters. In the fucking office.”
Oysters were said to be an aphrodisiac for thousands of years, Herman’s fact-loving brain chimed in. But maybe he shouldn’t say that. What if Robert thought it was a come-on and was freaked out by how forward he was being?
Herm actually liked oysters, in all their salty snotty grossness. Maybe it was the feeling of eating something whole, making him feel like a fairytale monster absorbing something’s life-force; a grown-up version of pretending to be a dinosaur munching trees when he ate broccoli as a kid. He also couldn’t say that. Why couldn’t he just be normal? And think about normal things to talk about on a date, like the news or movies he’d seen?
His boss was looking at him over the untouched seafood, his eyes dark and unreadable in the romantic lighting, obviously waiting for a response from Herman. He was so beautiful that it made Herman feel nauseous and heat-stricken, like he’d been standing out in the full sunlight facing directly into its blinding, blazing face for a day.
I need to save this date. Desperately. My one chance with him is slipping away. Herman fumbled in his damp suit pocket for the list of pick-up lines for flirtation purposes Victor had given him. Helpfully specifically tailored towards men, Victor had said. He’d spent a long time compiling suitable ones. Allegedly.
“Robert?” Herman began, voice wobbly. The cocktail he’d been given sweated in front of him like even it was deeply embarrassed by the whole debacle. “Ummm, I have a, well, question to ask you?” His voice trailed upwards at the end, making it sound unsure, more of a question than a statement.
Robert nodded grimly, holding the handle of his beer glass so hard that it looked as though it were about to shatter at any second. “Uh-huh?”
“What — uh, what’s the difference between jam and, and, um, jelly?” Herman paused, then hurried into his punchline, because anxiety made him talk faster and he was terrified to mess this up, his first real proper flirt with Robert Robertson of all people. “You can’t jelly your…”
His hurried voice died in the back of his throat at Robert’s completely and utterly horrified expression.
“Never mind.” Herman said weakly. “It’s actually that jam is made out of chunks — kind of, more like pieces of fruit, and jelly is just, eh, juice. And animal parts.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Okay...” Robert replied, still looking as alarmed as though one of the pieces of cutlery had gotten up off the table and started to talk. “Herman, listen. Did one of them put you up to this? I’m gonna fucking kill Courtney when I get my hands on her. Jesus, kid.”
“She paired us up for the date!” Herman interjected hurriedly. God, he could feel that his new shirt collar was soaked through now with nervous sweat. How unattractive. “She thought that I — you — uhh, we, we would make a good couple…”
The look of pity on Robert’s face was somehow worse than if it had been an insult.
Herman’s grandmother was asleep, having taken her medication. She’d been so tired and in pain when he got home that she hadn’t even noticed the tears in his eyes that were threatening to spill over his lashes. It was dumb of him, anyway. Dumb to expect that he would have a good date with Robert, who was so beautiful and untouchable that he might as well have been displayed behind glass. Herman in all his wet, visceral humanity couldn’t go well with somebody so pristine.
His own water pooled in the ice cream pint that he held between his legs precariously as he laid up on the couch. Ice-cream, a stupid movie, and comfy clothes would soothe his bruised heart, surely. He was in his oldest mecha-man shirt, the one that had a hole under one arm and a mysterious stain near the collar, and a pair of ancient sweatpants that were soft with age. Thank God that nobody except the doordasher would see him in such a state.
The movie sat on pause as he stood, hearing the rapping on the door that signalled his long-awaited shitty fast food had arrived. He raked his hair back, kicking the door open with the side of his foot, and came face-to-face with who he’d assumed was his Dasher.
“Hi,” said a voice. One he knew as well and fondly as his favourite song.
Robert stood stiffly on his doorstep, a bunch of wilting flowers in hand. Herman had actually seen him less stiff and scared-looking after a fight with some dreadfully powerful villain. His voice was light and breezy, but his posture betrayed him as someone who was mentally going into battle.
“I was thinking we deserved a do-over.” Robert said quickly, not meeting Herman’s eyes. “Not in front of everyone. Just us.”
“You — you wanted another date with me?” Herman blinked, bewildered. “But it was — even for me, it was so — weird and awkward, and you brought flowers with you…?”
Robert’s cheeks glowed pink under the porch light. “I’m not saying I think you’re effeminate or anything, Jesus. Men can get flowers too, you know.”
“I know. I think it’s really sweet of you. You’re really, uh, super-cute.” Herman cringed, teeth gritted at himself. He was so incredibly embarrassing; no grown man wanted to be called super-cute.
But despite that, the corner of Robert’s lip quirked upwards, and his irises darted under his lashes to finally meet Herman’s. “Super-cute? I’ll take that. So, can I come inside?”
The doordasher peeked around Robert’s head, a bored expression on their face. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got another delivery, so can you take this now, or…?”