Hatchetfield Oneshots from my Ao3

The Guy Who Didn't Like... First Dates

a/n idk if this is bringing over like the italics and stuff I'm copying but just pretend it is idfk

Paul wasn't really skilled at dating. Sure, he had his fair share of random people from dating apps, and random people at college, but that never turned into something more.

But when he finally worked up the courage to ask Emma, the cute barista from Beanie's, out, she agreed to have a first date at a fancy restaurant. (Thank god it wasn't Pasqualli's. Paul's had his fair share of dates that went terrible just because of that godforsaken restaurant.)

When he showed up to their reservation on a fine Saturday night, Paul was nervous as fuck. Was he overdressed? Underdressed? He had never been here before and— oh, everyone around here was wearing suits and ties. Fuck.

He waited as patiently as he could for Emma, who would probably arrive in some beautiful dress and make him look like a chump for just wearing a nice polo, jeans, and a mediocre jacket. He wasn't aware that he was supposed to dress in work attire for this shit.

But Emma showed up in a slightly ruffled shirt and jeans, and Paul didn't feel so much like a chump anymore.

They sat at their table with very few words. Think, think, what are good icebreakers?

Emma pulled out her phone after the waitress took their drink orders. Paul felt like a failure. Until Emma looked back at Paul.

"Sorry, this is awkward, but I found some icebreakers to start with," Emma said. She was just as nervous as he was, apparently. She was just as bad at socializing.

But at least her voice sounded genuine, and not that stupid customer service voice and smile that she was forced to use every day. Instead of an awkward smile, this one felt real, even if she looked nervous.

"Oh, uh, yeah—" Paul said, looking at her phone which Emma had placed in the middle of the table between them. "How about the first one? What's your favorite color?"

"Ugh, anything but green," Emma sighed. "Can't fucking stand it when the coffee shop is literally green all over. I'd have to go with red," she finally decided, nodding her head slightly. "What's yours?"

"Um, maybe yellow?" Paul didn't know. But yellow wasn't a bad color, so he could play it off. Maybe Emma liked yellow.

"You don't really seem like the type of guy who's like yellow," she said. "You seem like a blue guy."

Paul also liked blue. He liked all of the colors equally. Maybe he actually liked green, but he wasn't going to say green when Emma hated it.

So instead, he just settled on, "Huh, yeah," instead of questioning what the hell Emma meant.

There was another few minutes of silence before Emma picked up her phone to look at icebreakers again. "Well, this one says to ask their profession. You already know mine, but I don't know where you work."

"Oh, I work at the CCRP. It's just a block down the street," Paul explained.

"It's like that huge building with the hundreds of windows, right? I think I've seen it."

"Yeah, it is."

Luckily, to break the awkwardness, the waitress brought back their drinks and began taking their actual orders.

Paul, aware that he was probably going to have to pay for the date (patriarchy things), eyed Emma to try and subconsciously tell her not to order something expensive.

Emma just got a simple steak. Paul decided to also get the steak, because Emma apparently liked steaks. Steaks were mediocre at best, though.

Emma looked at her phone again, before putting it away. Both of them made eye contact with the expression that, 'icebreakers aren't working anyway.' Now there was no conversation, and the food was probably going to take an hour to show up anyway.

The eye contact was also fucking awkward. Pretty soon, Emma's attention diverted to herself quietly tapping on the table with a hint of impatience, while Paul noticed himself fidgeting with his hands. Yeah, they were both terrible at this.

The silence persisted for several minutes, before Paul excused himself to use the bathroom.

He stood in front of the mirror, splashing water on his face and trying to fix his awkwardly disheveled hair. There was no way Emma was even going to like him after this date.

That was, until somebody familiar approached behind him.

"Dude, she's just as fuckin' nervous as you. You need to act more confident, girls like that in guys."

Paul didn't even need to look to know that the voice belonged to his coworker, Ted. "Why are you here?" Paul turned around towards him.

"Scoutin' out girls who get dumped here. This is a terrible spot for a first date," Ted said.

"Oh sure, like you get any girls besides Charlotte," Paul responded. "It's my date, leave me alone."

"Sure, whatever you want, man. Just know, she's totally into you. She was on her phone searching 'how to make dates less awkward.' I don't get what you see in her, but you could do anything and she would like it."

Paul sighed and exited the bathroom, not even bothering to respond. He saw Emma at the table, frantically typing on her phone. The steaks were set, but it looked like Emma hadn't even taken a bite. That's fine, because Paul wasn't really hungry anymore either.

He sat down, and Emma looked towards him with a worried expression as she put down her phone. "Paul?" She asked.

"Yeah?"

"I fucking hate fancy restaurants. I don't even like steak. You wanna ditch the bill and go somewhere else?" She asked.

"As long as it's not a musical, yes."