Work Text:
Day number 28.
That's 28 days since Derek Hale was hired, and given the empty cubicle next to mine.
That's 28 times I've asked him to go out for drinks, or coffee, or maybe just a walk from the water cooler to the lunch room. I'm down for whatever. He always says no. Always.
I know maybe it's juvenile but -- no, it is juvenile, and desperate, and kind of stupid that I won't drop it, but --jesus christ -- he's hot. He's funny, smart, and hilarious. He has a few white hairs in his beard, even though he's only a few years older than me, and I didn't even know I was into that until I saw his big, stupid grin. Now, dorky, hot, chiseled-from-marble-like-a-god, older guy, is totally my jam.
Also, his numbers are terrible -- like mine -- because he's too busy talking to me, but he never tells me to fuck off.
Okay, he does tell me to fuck off, but he doesn't mean it, not like that.
If he put effort into it, he'd have numbers like McCall, and I kinda feel bad because it's work and all, but you know, fuck it. We all hate this job. Customer service blows.
"Talk to me, I’m bored," I say, because -- god help me -- he gets so annoyed when I say that, and for some reason I'm so into riling him up.
"Then take a call. It’s your job," Derek says, not nearly as annoyed as he pretends to be.
"Go out with me after work."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you’re annoying."
"I’m endearing, and adorable. You should go out with me."
"… Like a date?"
"Would you say yes if it was a date?"
"Probably, if you promise to never use my chair as a foot rest again."