Chapter Text
"Isaac," Charlie says, exasperated, "no one in the history of bad dates has ever met the love of their life at a speed dating event."
"Good thing you're just looking for someone to get a leg over, then," Isaac says tartly from his usual post-close perch behind the till. "Besides, it's a queer literary speed dating event. Right up your alley."
Charlie gives him a flat look as he aggressively straightens the books displayed on the front table. "Right, so instead of the usual selection of shallow, self-obsessed twats, it'll be an evening of pretentious knobs with opinions about Faulkner."
Isaac raises an eyebrow. "You once got drunk and ranted for a solid thirty-four minutes about As I Lay Dying."
"It was not—"
"Thirty-four minutes," Isaac repeats, with emphasis. "I literally timed it. And will you please stop abusing the display? No one will notice if one book is half a centimeter further apart from the next."
Charlie scowls and steps away from the display. "Since when do you have any interest in running speed dating events, anyway?"
"I'm not running anything," Isaac says. "It's called a space rental. You know, a commercial transaction in which I provide the use of the bookshop's space in exchange for money, which I very much need in order to keep this place afloat."
Since Charlie is the person who handles the bookkeeping, he does have to grudgingly concede the point. "Fine, but I still don't know why my participation is required."
"Building relationships with local community organizations," Isaac says promptly. "And I have a conference that weekend, so I need someone on staff to supervise."
"I'm not your only employee!" Charlie realizes the problem as soon as he says it, though.
"Naomi can't work Friday evenings, and I'm not subjecting little Alfie to the horny homosexuals of Hackney," Isaac confirms.
Alfie's their token baby gay, just finishing up his first year of uni, and yeah, Charlie will in fact take this particular bullet for him. He sighs. "I can supervise without sitting through a bunch of vacuous five-minute 'dates,' though."
Isaac grins. "But where's the fun in that? I need my secondhand entertainment, you know."
"I hate you, you know."
Isaac just blows him a kiss.
This right here is the problem with your best friend also being your part time employer slash landlord slash flatmate, Charlie thinks grumpily. Isaac knows Charlie will never actually say no to him.
He is so going to regret everything about this.
Charlie already has a burgeoning headache by the time the event actually starts on Friday evening. He'd sacked off his other job early that afternoon to help Alfie clear all the books off the ground floor displays so that they could rearrange the tables into one long table in the middle of the shop, grabbing stacks of folding chairs from the storage cupboard to set up on either side. But then of course when the event organizers arrived, they decided they wanted to try a completely different setup, which led to another hour of dragging tables and chairs around into four different possible configurations before settling on something nearly identical to where they'd started. Then there was an issue with the QR code for the event, which Charlie somehow got roped into troubleshooting despite not being any kind of tech expert; apparently his ability to look up error messages and follow the resultant instructions made him some kind of wizard in their eyes. And then there was—and he can't believe he's putting these particular words together in this order—a Pride sticker emergency. Because that's a thing that any adult could justifiably get het up about.
Anyway, point being, by the time other people begin to arrive, Charlie is ready to lock himself in Isaac's tiny back office and only emerge if something literally catches fire. Even then, it would only be to protect the books.
But instead he gets cajoled back into participating by the organizers, because apparently a disproportionate amount of the participants are female-identified and they want to balance out the numbers for his fellow queer men. Which means that Charlie's own odds of matching with someone he's sexually compatible with are similarly slim. Fantastic.
Then the participant setup feels needlessly complicated; it takes the organizers a good fifteen minutes just to explain the rules. Half the participants will sit on one side of the tables, and stay put throughout the event; the other half will rotate down the line at the end of every five-minute "date." Everyone gets a name tag, but they aren't suppose to write their name on it; just their pronouns, and then they can select a sticker or multiple stickers to represent their queer identity.
The only "name" they have to go by is the title of their favorite book, which they should have brought with them. If they didn't, they can purchase it from the shop—so Charlie has to hastily run back to the register to assist the folks who need to do so. Then they all have to scan in the QR code, which takes them to a form they can fill out with their actual name, email, phone number, and book title. As the speed dating progresses, they can list the "names" of the people they'd be interested in matching with. After the event, they should get a notification with the contact info of any mutual matches, and can decide if they want to reach out from there.
Charlie, resigned, scribbles a quick "he/him" on his name tag, slaps on a gay pride sticker, and grabs his well-worn copy of The Song of Achilles from behind the register before taking a seat at one of the tables. He's on the side that will keep moving down the row between dates. Yay.
His evening doesn't improve much from there.
Date #1 is a weedy guy with neon green hair roughly the hue of nuclear waste, which is definitely a choice. So is his book selection, some cyberpunk dystopian novel that could be interesting, maybe, but the guy is openly disdainful that Charlie has never heard of the author, and the "conversation" veers into a rant about closed-minded sheeple mindlessly gorging at the troughs of capitalistic slop…yeah, Charlie tunes him out for the remaining three minutes, and is exceedingly grateful when the timer goes to signal the end of the date.
Dates #2 through 4 are all female-identified. At least the pressure of forcing chemistry is off the table, so they can have brief, pleasant chats about their respective books and then move on. Well, #2 and #3 are pleasant enough, anyway; #4 gives him one look, sighs heavily, and spends the full five minutes scrolling through Tik Tok on her phone instead of engaging with him in any way. Fair enough, Charlie supposes.
Date #5 starts out promisingly enough; they're pan and non-binary, wearing a fabulous sparkly romper, and while Charlie's not a huge fan of James Joyce's Ulysses, he has to respect a good Odyssey adaptation. But they clearly have zero interest in discussing the Homeric connection between their chosen books, and turn snobbish when Charlie mentions preferring Dubliners, implying that he's clearly not literate enough to appreciate the density and complexity of Joyce's superior work.
Charlie once wrote an entire fucking paper analyzing the use of language in Finnegan's Wake, and got full marks for it. He knows exactly as much about the complexity of Joyce as he ever bloody well wants to, thanks.
Date #6 is probably the most fun Charlie will have all evening. She's a perky lesbian who proudly displays a dog-eared copy of that gay hockey romance, and spends their five minutes enthusiastically describing every single change made between the books and TV series. It makes for a refreshing change from the highbrow literary selections of Charlie's previous dates, and while there's obviously no romantic connection here, Charlie wonders if he can still match with her on a friendship basis. She seems like a riot.
Date #7 is cute enough, and Charlie can't fault his choice of book—Tolkien is a classic for a reason, though he's never read The Silmarillion himself—but he's dull as dishwater once you get him talking. Sure, Charlie wouldn't mind getting him in bed, but mostly as a cure for his insomnia. Five more minutes with this guy's monotonous droning would knock him right out.
Date #8 brought Nietzsche and thinks it makes him deep. Hard pass.
Date #9 is a bit of an anomaly. He's got he/him pronouns and a bi flag sticker on his name tag, so at least they match in terms of gender and sexual orientation, and on the most shallow, superficial level, he's definitely the hottest guy Charlie's seen here tonight. But far more interesting than his floppy auburn hair or broad shoulders is his literary selection for the evening: a children's picture book. It has a cute illustration of a family of penguins on the cover and a vaguely familiar title: And Tango Makes Three.
"Oh!" Charlie says, in belated recognition. "The gay penguin book, right?"
"Yeah," the guy says in a resigned tone. He stares down at Charlie's copy of The Song of Achilles with a tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Let's just get this out of the way. Yes, I brought in a children's book. No, it's not because I can only read books with pictures in. I teach primary and this is one of my favorite books to share with the kids, and I stupidly thought that would make a cute jumping-off point for a five-minute conversation. Obviously I am absolute crap at this, though, so no hard feelings if you'd rather just spend our remaining four minutes playing with your phone instead of continuing this incredibly awkward chat."
Charlie nods slowly, taking this all in. Then he remarks, "Tango's cute and all, but if I worked with little kids, I'd probably have brought in Go the Fuck to Sleep."
The other man barks out a surprised laugh, and his eyes meet Charlie's properly for the first time. His are a warm honey-brown. Charlie likes the way they crinkle at the corners when he laughs.
"Good choice," he says with a lopsided grin. "I teach Year 3, so the kids are a bit too old for naptime at school, unfortunately. Though God knows I could use a kip after lunch most days."
"I'd be shattered, honestly," Charlie says. "Frankly, I'm amazed you've enough energy left at the end of the week for any kind of social activity, let alone this speed dating nonsense."
The other man—who Charlie is now referring to as Tango in his head—shrugs. "I've learned how to just power on through when I need to, I guess. Honestly, coming here tonight was not my idea. My friend dragged me along for moral support. And because she thinks I need to get out more." He winces, ducking his head. "Not that I don't have a social life of my own! I just—it's been—this isn't really my scene, I guess?"
"Hey, no judgment from me, I'm here under duress as well." Charlie gives him a wry smile. "My friend owns this bookshop, and I was the only employee he could wheedle into working tonight."
Tango tilts his head curiously. "That doesn't mean you had to go through with the dating part, surely?"
"Apparently there was too much of a gender disparity in their sign-ups, so they roped me in."
"Well, on behalf of the other queer men in the room tonight, we thank you for your service."
Charlie shakes his head, but he can't help the smile tugging at his lips. "Hey, you're only here because your friend dragged you into it as well!"
"Yeah, and I hope she's having a better time tonight than I am," Tango says. "She's just a few seats over, you've probably had your 'date' with her already—Imogen?" At Charlie's pointedly blank look, he shakes his head with a sigh. "Oh, right, no names. This is so ridiculous. Uh, she's the bubbly blonde girl with—"
"Hockey smut!"
Tango laughs again, his cheeks tinted a little pink. "That would be the one."
"She was a fucking delight," Charlie says, grinning. "Definitely the only enjoyable date I've had so far, and I'm saying that as an absolute homosexual."
"Yeah, this has been a wash for me as well. I mean, I don't think I'm any good at dating in general, but this…" Tango sighs. "Not really selling me on speed dating as a concept. Like, isn't the whole point of dating that you actually get to know the other person?"
Charlie snorts. "Not in my experience. You're just selling the version of yourself you think the other person might like best. It's basically a job interview, except in pursuit of romance instead of a paycheck. Although honestly, romance is a financial incentive as well—who the hell can afford to live alone anymore?"
"Well, that's a bleak way to look at it."
"Am I wrong, though?"
Tango smiles ruefully. "I wish you were, but my bank account says otherwise. I had to move into a shitty flat an hour's commute from my school with three other guys when my ex and I split last autumn, and I'm still barely scraping rent every month now."
"What, primary teachers aren't rolling in it?" Charlie teases.
"Sorry to disillusion you," Tango says with a soft laugh. He shakes his head. "Wow, I'm really doing a fantastic job of talking myself up tonight. Skint shut-in whose taste in literature isn't even at the chapter book level." He gestures ruefully down at the colorful penguin illustration on the cover of his children's picture book.
"You're doing fine!" At Tango's skeptical look, Charlie offers him a gentle smile. Sure, the guy's clearly a bit out of his element, and the awkward mention of his ex at this point in the conversation was a low-key red flag, but compared to the rest of the crowd here tonight, he's doing great. At least this five-minute interlude hasn't actively felt like torture, and it's not like Charlie's actually interested in dating him—or anyone else. He barely has the energy for random hookups these days, let alone a real relationship. "Seriously, this is, like, an inherently awkward way to meet anyone. And I'm guessing no one else has given you much of a chance to just, like, relax into a bit of chat."
"There was one nice lesbian," Tango sighs. "But yeah, I've felt pretty fucking stupid all night. I'm clearly not cut out for the literary crowd."
Charlie shrugs. "Going by most of the people I've met tonight, neither am I, and I literally work in publishing."
"Oh, wow, that sounds really cool!"
"I mean, I'm like, a junior assistant editor, so don't get too impressed," Charlie says wryly. "Which is why I'm also working in my best friend's bookshop. Rent in London is actually insane."
"Tell me about it," Tango says, with feeling. "So what—"
And that's when the now-familiar buzzer goes, signaling that their five minutes are up. Charlie rolls his eyes and drags himself back up to his feet. "Well, best of luck with the rest of your dates tonight, Tango."
Tango blinks, then laughs. "Oh, right. Book titles. Well, um, it was really nice meeting you…" He glances down at Charlie's book. "Achilles?"
Charlie gives him a cheeky wink before moving on down the table to his next five minutes in hell.
Dates #10 and 11 are both women, and #12 waxes rhapsodic about Ayn bloody Rand. Fortunately, to Charlie's immense relief, that's the end of the event. Well, for everyone else, anyway. He, of course, needs to dash back behind the register to ring up a few more folks who want to buy books—which is a good thing, he reminds himself through gritted teeth, because it's business for the shop—and then pointedly starts folding up the chairs in an effort to encourage people to actually leave.
None of the event organizers offer to help Charlie reset the space. Tossers. Instead, they make one last announcement to the remaining participants that everyone is welcome to convene at the gay bar just up the street, and remind folks one more time to scan the QR code if they haven't already sent in their potential matches.
As Charlie continues folding chairs, though, he's surprised to notice Tango break off his conversation with Hockey Smut Lesbian, grabbing a few chairs of his own as he approaches Charlie. He manages to carry four under each arm, which is frankly ridiculous, and abruptly draws Charlie's attention to the bulge of his biceps in his blue T-shirt. He's not even breaking a sweat. "Hi again! Can I help you put these anywhere, or do you just want them all folded up against the wall here?"
"Um," Charlie says, brain briefly going offline as he processes. "Oh! Uh, right here is fine, I'll make Alfie deal with them in the morning. I just wanted to clear space to move the tables back to where they belong."
"I can help with that, too," Tango offers. "It's not fair that you have to do this all on your own."
"It's really okay—"
"Seriously, it's no trouble." Tango stacks his armloads of chairs neatly against the wall, gives Charlie a crooked smile, and goes back to grab some more.
And, really, who is Charlie to turn down the opportunity to watch a fit man do a spot of manual labor?
They've just about got the main floor sorted when the last of the event folks finally trickle out the door, and Hockey Smut Lesbian calls across the shop to them. "Nick! Come on, we're all going to the bar!"
Tango—or Nick, apparently—pulls a face. "Do I have to?" he calls back.
"You absolutely do!"
"All right, all right." He glances hesitantly over at Charlie. "Um, were you planning on heading over as well, or…?"
"Probably not, honestly," Charlie says. He definitely hadn't planned on it—apart from Nick and his friend, there's not a single person he met tonight that he has any interest spending more time with, and his social battery is rapidly running out as is. Yes, Nick is attractive, but all Charlie really wants right now is to curl up in his bed with his Netflix and not interact with another human being until he drags himself back down to the shop tomorrow. Plus, in all the chaos of event setup, he'd totally forgotten to eat dinner, and skipping meals isn't a good habit for him to fall into. "I need to take care of a few things in here still, and then I need to pop back to my flat for a bit, so…you should go on ahead."
"Oh, yeah, of course." Nick rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe another time, then."
Charlie offers him a smile. "Thanks for helping me move furniture around, seriously, I really appreciate it."
"Anytime," Nick says, with a small smile of his own. His friend shouts for him again, and he sighs. "Um…okay, I'll get out of your way now. It was really nice meeting you, again."
"You too," Charlie tells him, surprised to realize that he even means it.
Not enough to drag his arse back out to the bar tonight, of course, but still.
It's not until he's back at work in the quiet bookshop the next morning that he realizes—he never actually finished filling out the stupid speed dating form. When he tries to pull it up on his phone, apparently the link has expired, and he can't get back into it. Nick is the only person he would have bothered submitting as a match, of course—well, and maybe Hockey Smut Lesbian, just for funsies—but now he has no way to get in touch with either of them, assuming they matched with him as well. Hell, he never even told Nick his real name. Nick's really going to think Charlie gave him the brush-off now. Oops.
Oh, well. Charlie's not looking for a relationship, anyway.