Chapter Text
I absolutely cannot fucking believe that I agreed to this.
You lie on your bed wrapped in a towel, freshly showered, staring up at the ceiling. After so much time spent getting used to overworking yourself, having the evening off felt less relaxing and more nerve-wracking. Or maybe it was just the fact that you were supposed to meet your boss for dinner in a little over an hour.
You can feel your heart rate quickening as that fact dawns on you again, and let out a loud, long sigh. What was the nature of this meeting, exactly? No… there’s no use trying to second-guess it. This was a date. You had agreed to go on a date with him in exchange for getting the rest of the day off, there’s no way around it; the two of you were already far past the point of having a strictly professional outing. These days, every time he asks something of you, your gut tells you that you shouldn’t, and yet you agree to it anyway.
You rub your forehead, trying to suppress a growing headache. “Ugh… I’m getting too soft on him,” you murmur to yourself. You already knew that you were treading into dangerous waters when you first agreed to have sex with him, and now you were getting more spineless with every passing day. An unpleasant shiver spreads through your body as you’re suddenly faced with a thought that had never previously occurred to you. Oh my god, am I falling for him?
You shake your head aggressively, as if trying to physically cast the thought away. No. No, absolutely not. You’re better than that. You’re smarter than that. The risk of one of you catching feelings was always on his side, and his alone. He’s an entitled, self-obsessed, insecure loser. You’re the diligent employee, and he’s the shitty, over-demanding boss. He’s the has-been old man, and you’re the hot, young piece of ass with far better prospects… right?
You only put up with him because he’s such a great lay. Such an incredibly great lay that you’re not sure if anyone could ever satisfy you like he could. And because he’s so attractive. And funny, and charismatic. And because he’s so sweet and gentle and considerate with you when the two of you are alone together. And because of that warm, fluttery feeling in your stomach whenever he kisses you.
“What is wrong with me!?” you cry out, interrupting that thought process as you bury your face in your hands. You sit up with a pained groan. Clearly just sitting alone with your thoughts is not the best way to spend your time, so you decide to turn your attention to getting ready.
I bet he’ll really like it if I do my hair like this, you catch yourself thinking. And then, He always seems to love it when I wear this shirt, you think as you’re pulling out a fresh set of clothes. This fragrance is definitely his favorite, you think as you dab it onto your neck. When you finally notice his opinions influencing what shoes you chose to wear, you double over and fall onto your hands and knees. “Why!? Why, why, why, why am I doing this!?” you shout at yourself, internally well-aware of the answer, but fully unwilling to admit it.
—
You arrive at your previously-established meeting spot, the patio of a somewhat swanky restaurant just beyond of the north edge of the studio campus. You look around; he’s nowhere in sight. You check your watch, and it’s almost exactly the time that the two of you had agreed to meet. You don’t think much of it; being fashionably late is a habit of his, and considering how eager he was, you’d be very surprised if he stood you up. Just as you lean your back against the brick façade of the building, your ears perk up; you’d recognize that voice anywhere.
The sound doesn’t seem to get any closer, and so you slowly make your way towards its source. You peek your head into an alley, and you see Mr. Tenna standing there, facing away from you. At first you think he must be on a call, but then you hear what he’s saying.
“You can do this. You can do this,” he huffs, bending over with his hands on his thighs. “Yes, it’s been a while. Yes, [Y/N] makes you nervous as all hell, but that’s fine! It’s fine, because you’re you! You know how to talk to people, you know how to be charming, you know how to make people like you! It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine! You can do this!” He abruptly turns around. “You can— AAUGHH!” He stumbles back so violently that he nearly falls over as he sees you. “[Y/N], h-how… how long were you standing there?!”
“A-ah, um… just now! Only just now, uh, sorry for startling you,” you say, feeling your cheeks getting hot from secondhand embarrassment. “Did I interrupt your call?” you ask disingenuously, offering him an out.
He straightens up, eagerly taking the bait. “Oh! Oh, no, no, I just got finished! Hope I didn’t keep you waiting, sweetheart!” he says. He strides up to you and places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the entrance of the restaurant. “Let’s waste no time, shall we?”
He bends down to avoid hitting his head against the doorframe as he enters, and the host immediately addresses him. “Ah, Mr. Tenna, it’s good to see you again.” The host steps out from behind the counter, beckoning towards the two of you. “If you’d follow me, please.”
The host leads the two of you to a special table at the back of the restaurant; the table is a bit higher than ones that surround it, and your chair is equally tall to match; the chair opposite yours is of standard proportions, but doubled in scale.
Tenna takes his seat, disregarding the waitress as she approaches and pours a couple glasses of water. “Well, dollface, I really can’t thank you enough for coming out with me tonight! Of course, my own schedule’s packed, you know how it is, but I’m always happy to make a bit of time for you.”
“…Thank you,” you say, addressing the waitress, quietly judging him for not doing the same.
“Any time, any time at all!” he says, intercepting your gratitude.
“Are you ready to order?” asks the waitress.
“I’ll have the usual,” he says.
You glance at the menu. “I think I need a few—”
Tenna leans forward towards the waitress, grinning broadly. “And my guest will be having the pan-seared duck breast with à l’orange sauce, and let’s pair that with the Pommes Anna— is the seasonal salad still the one with the asparagus?” The waitress nods. “Great, throw that in there too. Aaaaand… a Pinot Noir for the table.” He hands the waitress the menus and turns his attention back towards you.
You stare at him blankly with your mouth agape as the waitress leaves to submit your order.
“No need to thank me! I insist, it’s not too much.”
“But you don’t even know if I like—”
“But you will! I promise that you will.”
You grit your teeth, trying to push down your burgeoning annoyance and set your mind on enjoying the free meal. Not wanting to be rude, you decide to drop the topic. “Alright then. Anyways… I hope the fact that I went home early didn’t put too much of a strain on things. Did I miss anything?”
“Oh, it’s always work, work, work with you. Just relax! This is your night off.”
“Sure. And I can deal with the fallout of my night off tomorrow morning.”
“Exactly,” he responds, not picking up on your sarcasm. “But that’s in the future! Let’s focus on the now. You look gorgeous, by the way.” He smirks, tilting his head. “Don’t tell me that you went and got all gussied up just for me?”
He’s right; it was already painful to admit it to yourself earlier, and now that he’s here with a cranked-up ego, the prospect of having to admit that to him is making your stomach turn. But you agreed to be here, didn’t you? Lying would probably just make everything worse. “I… I suppose I did,” you mumble.
“W-e-e-e-ell,” he says smugly, weaving his fingers together. Instead of continuing to speak, he just looks at you expectantly.
“…Yes?” you say, not quite catching the meaning of his silence.
“Yeeeeeees?” he responds, clearly anticipating something specific.
You sigh. Picking up on when he was fishing for compliments was a skill you had honed as his secretary. “You look nice too, Mr. Tenna.”
He laughs a little too loudly and weaves his tie through his fingers. “Oh, really! Well, I don’t mean to brag, but this tie is imported from the uplands. Very good products over there, you ever been? I haven’t, of course, I’m in way too high demand down here, but I know quality when I see it!”
You blink, trying to discern any visible difference from the one he usually wears. “…It looks exactly like—”
“It looks exactly like what a respectable man of my esteem would wear, yes, I agree! Oh, you’re always telling me just what I want to hear. You’re not trying to flatter me, are you?” He laughs. “Well, if you are, it’s working!”
The longer the conversation continues, the more the unpleasant prickling sensation on the back of your neck intensifies. He’s a man of many faces, and the one he’s showing you right now is not the one he uses when the two of you are alone together, or even the one that he uses when he’s acting as your boss. No, right now, you feel like a one-person studio audience, and he’s up on stage trying to cue you to fill in the silence with applause. It makes you feel a little sick.
As the waitress brings out your food and places it on the table—yours, the extravagant variety of cuisine he ordered for you, and his, a bowl of red soup in a large, oddly-shaped bowl that resembles a pitcher—something occurs to you. You had never actually seen him eat or drink before. You brought him a coffee every day, sometimes several times per day, and that cup is always emptied in a timely fashion, but you had never watched him drink from it. The glass of his display is capable of changing shape to align with his expressions, but as far as you’re aware, it can’t actually open.
You look up curiously at him. “…You know, I have an odd question. How, exactly, do you—”
He raises the pitcher end of the bowl to the vents along the side of his head and pours the soup directly inside. “Hm? What’s that?”
“Ah,” you say, blinking. “You know, I… I actually forgot what I was about to ask.”
“Haha, no worries,” he chuckles, dabbing the side of his head with a napkin. “I am awfully distracting, aren’t I?”
“…Sure. So… um… how does that… taste?”
“Tastes great, as always! This place never disappoints.”
“Huh.” The peculiarities of his anatomy never fail to surprise you. You take up your fork and start to pick at the plate. Although you’re still miffed that you didn’t get to choose for yourself, it is, in fact, pretty delicious. You stay quiet for a moment longer before your curiosity gets the better of you again. “So that doesn’t… that doesn’t impact your ability to hear?”
He chuckles. “Does it look like I have ears?”
“No, but… in that case, how do you hear?”
“Through my antennas, of course.”
“I thought you saw out of those.”
He nods. “That’s right!”
You’re suddenly overwhelmingly compelled to change the subject. “So, uh… you… you have your own designated table here. How’d that happen? I thought this place wasn’t on studio property.”
“Oh, property-schmoperty, any respectable establishment would understand the inherent benefits of treating their VIP guests in the way they deserve! And there might’ve been a few Points changing hands along the way, but who’s counting. Hey, how are you liking that?”
“…It’s pretty good, actually,” you say, coaxing some potatoes onto your fork.
“Actually?” he laughs, “You say that like you’re surprised! I said I knew you’d like it, don’t I know your tastes well enough by now?”
“Considering your knowledge of my taste in food begins and ends with the fact that you occasionally steal my packed lunch out of the break room fridge, I wouldn’t exactly say so.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge about that.”
“The last time you did that was five days ag—”
“Look at you, talking about work again! Do you ever think about anything else?”
You don’t respond, starting to feel worn down from this conversational equivalent of being repeatedly ran over by a tank. You pour yourself a generous glass of wine.
Every second that neither of you say anything, you can feel his buried nervous agitation starting to bubble up to the surface. He shoots into a rambling monologue about a funny thing that Mike did earlier, which then transforms into his future plans for the studio’s “next big thing,” occasionally interrupted by self-aggrandizing comments after which he looks at you and expects you to agree.
The more you don’t talk, the more he feels compelled to fill the silence with his own voice. You’re amazed that he somehow manages to be even more annoying here than he is at work. Eventually, you just can’t take it anymore. You set down your glass with a sigh. “You don’t… you don’t have to do that, you know.”
He pauses, seeming genuinely confused about what you could be referring to. “I— uh… Sorry, what?”
“You’re acting like you’re on air. Like you’re trying to put on a performance. You don’t have to do that.”
He goes rigid, immediately becoming visibly flustered. “Ahahaha… What? What are you talking about, I— you know me! This is just how I am! Maybe I put it on a bit for the cameras sometimes, but I’m 100% quality entertainment, through and through!”
You huff, your expression slightly pitying. “Come on, Mr. Tenna. You and I know each other well enough by now. You don’t… you don’t need to try to impress me. This whole dinner has felt less like a conversation and more like a sales pitch where the product is yourself. Just… just relax.”
Your honesty instantly knocks the wind out of his sails. That persona was a comfortable safety net for the times that he otherwise didn’t know how to act, and to learn that you weren’t amused by it was a devastating blow to his ego. He looks down at the table, completely at a loss for words, starting to tremble slightly.
You feel a little bad about how severely your comment had shaken his confidence. You take his empty wine glass, uncork the Pinot Noir, and pour some in. “Hey, hey, I’m not saying that to be mean. Mr. Tenna, it’s not like I’m just getting to know you for the first time. You don’t need to sell yourself to me, because the fact that I’m here means I’m already sold, right?” You slide him the glass. “We’re friends, aren’t we? So just loosen up.”
“Friends…” he repeats, accepting the wine. You could swear that there’s a note of sadness behind his voice. “Friends, huh? Well…” He forces a smile. “I suppose we are, aren’t we?” You’re not sure if your mind is playing tricks on you, but you’re almost certain you notice him get nearly-imperceptibly smaller.
“Right.” You pick up your own glass. “So no need to try to get me to like you. Because I already do! You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
His smile becomes a bit more genuine. “You… you do? You actually do?”
“Well, I agreed to come here tonight, didn’t I?” You sip your wine. “I know you and I like to make a habit out of butting heads, but yes. I decided that having dinner with you would be a worthy way to spend my evening, because I like you. And don’t get me wrong, your stage presence is enjoyable on broadcast, but person-to-person, it’s a whole lot easier to keep up with you when you act natural.”
He stays quiet, smiling at your praise, although he suddenly has no idea what acting natural even looks like.
“Also… now that I’m speaking frankly….” You take another bite of your meal. “Please don’t order for me without asking first. That was annoying.”
He looks distraught. “But I thought you liked it—”
“I did. It is delicious, but that’s just because you got lucky. So I’m only mildly annoyed instead of extremely annoyed, which I would be if you had chosen poorly. Those old-timey courtship techniques do not play well with my demographic.” You take another bite. “Although I do admit that this is both very tasty and not something that I would have picked for myself.”
He grins bashfully. “So it’s not all bad, then.”
“No. But, y’know… just ask me next time. I probably would have agreed to it.”
He goes quiet for a moment, swirling the wine around in his glass. “I… I’m sorry, [Y/N]. It’s, um… It’s been a while since I… did anything like this. Maybe I’m just out of practice.”
You gently place your hand on his, and his display immediately goes red. “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I appreciate you taking me out here tonight, and I appreciate the chance to get to know you a little more outside of work.” You smile at him. “So let’s just relax and have some fun.”
He smiles nervously, looking off to the side. “Okay. Okay, I’ll… I’ll try.”
The two of you return to your meals in awkward silence. In a desperate attempt to try to loosen up a little more, he drinks the entire glass of wine with a single tilt. You urgently search your mind for potential conversation topics. “So, uh…” you murmur, cutting up a little portion of the potatoes. “You know the Zapper and Pippins that are always hanging around outside the green room?”
“Yeah?”
“I heard they’re an item now.”
He gasps, sufficiently distracted by the gossip. “What!? You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. I honestly feel a little bad for Pippins, I get the impression that he’s kind of being treated as a dirty little secret.”
“Huh! Well… I guess I can kind of understand where that’s coming from… but wait, how did you know!?”
It turns out that workplace gossip was a viable tactic to get him to loosen up, and the two of you spend the next hour tittering over the details of various workplace dramas. He has more to add from the production end of things, and you more so on the administrative side, and both of you end up knowing slightly more about your coworkers than you had perhaps ought to. The bottle of wine eventually runs out, and he places an order for another, allowing you to pick. By the time the date is drawing to a close, both of you are fairly tipsy, and his previous self-consciousness is nowhere to be found.
Eventually it becomes hard to ignore that the date had reached its natural conclusion. He pays for the meal, and the two of you walk outside into the chilly night air. As soon as you do, you notice that he’s tense again.
“So— so, um,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed from a combination of alcohol and nerves. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight. I… I really enjoyed myself.”
“Hey, you know what? I did too,” you say, smiling up at him. “Maybe we could do this again sometime, if you feel up to it.”
He grins broadly, his heart skipping at your reciprocation. “Y-yeah! Yeah, absolutely, I’d… I’d love that more than anything. Truly.”
You stand around a moment longer. You get the feeling that he has something on his mind, but the awkward silence becomes too much to bear. “So, then… I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
His smile fades. “Ah— ah, um… Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow, I’ll… that’s… that’s fine.”
“…Okay,” you say, stepping away from him with a look of mild concern. “Have a good night, Mr. Tenna.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “…Good night, [Y/N]. Get home safe, okay?”
You nod. “You too.” You start to walk away from the restaurant in the direction of the employee dormitories. As you’re about to turn a corner, you peek over your shoulder. He hasn’t moved at all.
As you walk a little bit further, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps dashing in your direction. You turn around and see him turning the corner in pursuit. “W-wait! Wait, [Y/N]!” he calls out towards you.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t actually want to just…” He clears his throat. “I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in spending the night with me. Um, um, no pressure, of course, obviously. But if you wanted to, I’d…” His voice trails off. “I’d just… I’d really like it if you did.”
Your stomach twists. You were already pretty uncomfortable with the amount of relationship escalation that this date had represented, and to spend the night with him would be taking that to a level that you could probably never come back from. But then again, wasn’t it kind of too late to be worrying about that? He was already the most intimate relationship you currently have, would it really make a difference if you said no to this?
Come on, [Y/N], have a bit of backbone! your inner voice protests. Sure, after the rocky start, tonight was pretty nice. But a whole night alone with him!? Do you really want that? Can you actually tolerate being around him for that long? Just say you’re tired, that you don’t want to be exhausted at work tomorrow, turn him down gently. You know you shouldn’t agree to this. Please, for once, don’t give over to him.
“…Okay. Sure, I think I’d like that,” you say.
God fucking damnit, you think.
He smiles delightedly, his antennas sparking slightly with excitement. “W-wait, really!?”
You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. Don’t sound so surprised.” Without warning, he picks you up and sits you on his shoulder. “H-hey!” you protest, laughing.
“It’ll be quicker this way! Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”
“You better not,” you say, wrapping your arm around the back of his head for stability.
“What!? You say that like you doubt me.” He picks you up again, holding you in front of him. “Compared to me, you weigh basically nothing.” He tosses you in the air and catches you in a bridal carry.
“Hey! Hey! Quit it, you menace!” you shout at him, cackling.
“Okay, but only because you asked so nicely.” He places you on his shoulder again, squeezing your waist and biting his lip. “Mmmhmhm! C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“Alright,” you say softly, leaning over and kissing the top of his head. He doesn’t stop smiling even once the entire way there.