Chapter Text
"Hard at work, as usual."
Piccolo winced, focus dropping away to leave him blinking stupidly at his computer screen. He fought back the urge to snap at whoever was trying to interrupt him with small talk and instead scowled up at the man in front of the desk. His glare dropped away when his eyes met Nail's. "Oh. It's you."
"Don't sound so excited or anything." Nail folded his arms. "You work too hard. Every time I'm in here, you're hard at work over here."
"You're only in every couple of weeks for less than five minutes to pick up Dende. Less now that school's out." Piccolo shrugged. "Not exactly the best sample size."
He wasn't about to tell Nail that he wasn't wrong, though--Piccolo was almost always working, going to or coming from work, thinking about work, or asleep. He had few hobbies and even fewer people he'd call friends. It suited him just fine. Piccolo wasn't a social creature by any means.
(Sometimes, though, he thought that maybe it'd be nice to be in closer contact with Nail. But those kinds of thoughts always made him feel weird--warm, nervous, soft--so he did his best to ignore them. Especially when the man himself was present and the warm, nervous, soft feelings were even more rampant.)
"You'll be here for Dende, then," he said, pushing away from the desk and standing. When Nail nodded, Piccolo nodded back before sticking his head into the office. "Selri," he said to the blue-haired young woman at the office desk, "take care of the front desk until I'm back."
She nodded, then glanced at her screen. "Do you want me to finish this post for the teen department blog first or wait until you're back?"
He waved her off. "I'll only be a minute. If that guy comes back about And Tango Makes Three tell him to stuff it. I'll back you up and everything." Selri laughed and he turned back to Nail. "Alright, they're over by the non-fiction today."
Nail trailed behind him and Piccolo walked confidently towards where he knew Dende, Gohan, and Videl were hiding out. The kids' plan was to move to different parts of the library every time they were there so that no one would be able to find them and they could start living in the library at night, but they weren't very good at it. So far they'd easily been found by staff, patrons, and parents alike. But, if nothing else, they had determination on their side, the type only possessed by six year olds, so Piccolo had no doubt they'd be doing this at least through the summer.
He flinched at Nail's hand on his shoulder. "I was thinking."
"That can be dangerous." It was an automatic response, one conditioned into him by being raised in a household that delighted in terrible jokes. But he didn't shake Nail off.
"Want to exchange numbers?"
Piccolo stopped walking and Nail walked into him. He turned to look at the man, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. "What?" was all he could manage.
"Numbers. Phone numbers." Nail's hand was still on his shoulder. "You're right, I don't see you all that often. I don't know that much about you." His smile was genuine and Piccolo found himself blushing. "But I'd like to know more. You seem like an interesting guy, Mr. Piccolo."
Nail's eyes were half-closed, inviting, soft, and there was a warm glow in Piccolo's stomach, growing warmer the longer Piccolo met Nail's gaze. It made him nervous and he swallowed. "O-okay." He cursed himself for stuttering, but Nail's smile widening and his eyes brightening made him forget. "My phone's back at the office."
The other man shrugged. "We'll do it on the way out, then."
"Right." Piccolo turned away and started walking again. Nail's hand dropped off his shoulder and he struggled with the sudden urge to grab it. What was wrong with him?
"I'm glad you said yes," Nail said as the three kids came into view, huddled in a single beanbag chair and giggling at a book about penguins. "I'd like to get to know you better."
Bewildered, Piccolo glanced at him. "Why?" Not that he hadn't thought the same thing about Nail--he seemed like an interesting guy and Piccolo wanted to know him better.
Nail shrugged and the soft look was back. "Why not?" Before Piccolo could come up with an answer, Nail had walked off to scoop Dende up. He was left standing and watching, face fire-engine red.
~~~
"Are you on Candy Crush again?"
Piccolo glared at Yamcha from his seat on the staff room couch. "Not that it's any of your business, but no."
"Neko Atsume?"
"No."
"Tetris?"
"For f*ck's sake, no!" He tried to focus on the words he was typing out, but with his thick fingers and broken concentration it was difficult. "I'm texting. You know, communicating. That thing you're supposed to do on a phone."
Yamcha waved airily. "Don't give me that; you spend more time playing video games on that thing than anything else." He leaned on the table, resting his chin on his arms. "Who're you texting? I didn't think you had any associates outside of work."
"Very funny." Piccolo sent the text and tucked his phone in his pocket. "And also none of your business."
"If you don't tell me, I'm just going to guess." When Piccolo glared at him, he grinned. "I'm bored, but not bored enough to skip the last five minutes of my break. You're the only one here. My phone is dead. Talk to me."
"No."
"Is it that one old guy who comes in every couple of weeks?"
Piccolo knew Yamcha was talking about Kami. "No." He was telling the truth--it wasn't his uncle. Even on the off chance Yamcha guessed right, though, he wasn't going to tell him so. It wasn't his business and he was just being a nosy idiot, no matter how bored he was.
"Is it Goku? I know you two know each other."
He actually recoiled a little, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. "God no." Goku was the absolute last person in the world he wanted to keep in regular contact with, including but not limited to Cell and Vegeta. (Although, thankfully, Cell wasn't a problem anymore.)
"Worth a shot." Yamcha stretched and Piccolo's phone beeped. He opened it and started texting again. "It's not that one guy that gives you bedroom eyes all the time, is it?"
Piccolo fumbled with his phone and accidentally sent a text reading fjfkalrseu9fvjk. "Who the f*ck is giving me bedroom eyes?"
Yamcha blinked. "You mean you hadn't noticed? Dude, there's this guy, he's like...your height, bald, kinda looks like you now that I think about it. Doesn't come in very often but when he does he's usually in your department. Not ringing any bells?"
The description was ringing a lot of bells, and they were all chiming "Nail, Nail, Nail" over and over. "No." Nail was giving him bedroom eyes? What? Since when?
"He's there picking up his nephew or cousin or something--I've seen you talking to him!"
Piccolo kept his eyes glued to his phone as his thumbs flew across the keyboard. *five o'clock. "Fine, maybe I've seen him. I don't remember any 'bedroom eyes.'"
"That's because you're totally blind about that sh*t." When Piccolo glared at him, he shrugged. "You are! Even Tien noticed when I pointed it out, and he doesn't notice I'm trying to make a move unless I'm sitting on him with my hands in his--"
"TOO MUCH INFORMATION."
"The point is," Yamcha continued, and Piccolo busied himself with his phone again, trying in vain to tune Yamcha out, "you don't notice that kind of stuff. I do."
"It took you three years to figure out Tien was in love with you."
"I notice it about other people," Yamcha admitted. "But seriously, is it that guy? Are you guys friends?" He sat up straight, eyes sparkling. "Are you dating?"
"No!" He was texting Nail, but hell if he was going to give Yamcha that satisfaction. "And Nail doesn't give me bedroom eyes!"
Yamcha propped his chin on his hand and smirked at Piccolo. "So his name is Nail, then." Piccolo ignored him and closed his phone case. "You're texting him right now," Yamcha declared abruptly. "I know it."
"Technically I'm not texting anybody right now." He held up his hands to show he wasn't holding his phone.
"Pedantic sh*t. You know what I mean. You're texting that Nail guy that has a crush on you."
"Nail does not have a crush on me." Heat rose in Piccolo's cheeks and he looked away. "And even if he did, I'm not interested." The sick feeling from earlier returned, but it was different now--where before he'd hated the idea of being in regular contact with Goku, now his stomach twisted at something else. He couldn't pin down what it was. He didn't like the idea of not being in contact with Nail--ever since they'd exchanged phone numbers a week ago, they'd been communicating regularly and it drastically lifted Piccolo's mood to have someone to talk to that understood him. But more than that, he didn't like the words coming out of his mouth. Nail does not have a crush on me. That...that hurt and he wasn't sure why. And even if he did, I'm not interested. He felt like he had as a child when he was caught lying and Kami scolded him.
"You know what Tien told me one time?"
Thankful for the abrupt subject change, Piccolo forgot that he wanted Yamcha to stop talking. "No." His phone went off and he reached for it.
"He said that one time Nail and his nephew-cousin-whatever--"
"Cousin." Goddammit Yamcha was still on about this.
"Cousin, whatever, they were checking out books and the kid asked Nail about you." Piccolo shook his head. Dende was an...interesting kid. "He asked Nail if he liked you, and Nail was like 'yeah, don't you like Mr. Piccolo?' and the kid was like 'yeah but you love Mr. Piccolo right?' and apparently the look on Nail's face was--exactly like the look on your face right now oh my god."
Piccolo clutched his phone and stared wide-eyed at Yamcha. He didn't--he wasn't--Nail didn't--Nail couldn't--
He fumbled his phone case open and tried to focus. His eyes scanned Nail's message--want to meet up after work?--over and over again before registering it. Oh god he wanted to meet up. Normally he'd say "sure, it's a Friday night, I don't have to work tomorrow and I have nothing better to do, anything in mind," but now he was questioning everything: did Nail like him? Was he asking Piccolo out as friends or something else? What bedroom eyes was Yamcha talking about?
Wait.
He thought about the way Nail looked at him sometimes, eyes slightly closed, full of promises, a tilted smile, inviting. He thought of how it always made him feel--warm, nervous, soft.
Were...were those bedroom eyes?
"Piccolo?" Yamcha's face was the picture of concern. "You okay?"
"Fine." He slowly rose to his feet, sticking his phone in his pocket and trying not to show he was shaking. "I'm leaving now."
Yamcha started to say something, but Piccolo had already swept out of the staff room and was running down the hall towards the stairs.
~~~
Alright. So. Bedroom eyes.
Piccolo tapped his pen against the side of his computer monitor and stared unseeingly at it. It had been over an hour since Yamcha's comments in the staff room. He still hadn't texted Nail back.
Bedroom eyes.
Did that face Nail made count as bedroom eyes? Piccolo had never thought of it that way. That was just...a face Nail made. Nothing more, nothing less, just a face Nail made sometimes. How it made Piccolo feel was irrelevant.
And really, just because Yamcha had planted that stupid idea in his head didn't mean he was right. Nail was not giving him any sort of look that implied he wanted to be in a relationship with Piccolo. Yamcha could think what he liked; Piccolo knew Nail better than he did.
Right. Okay. That was settled then.
So why did Piccolo still feel so awful about it?
"Boss?"
Piccolo did not jump a few inches out of his seat and slam his pen down on the desk. He turned to look up at Mai, standing behind him and holding his cell phone. "This thing keeps going off. I didn't know if it was important or--"
He stood and grabbed it. "Probably nothing." He shoved it in his pocket. "Do me a favour and proofread Selri's latest blog post. I'm sure it's fine, but you know that girl and computers."
"A-alright." Mai took his seat at the desk, but peered up at him instead of getting right to work. "Are you okay? You seem...off."
"I'm fine." His phone vibrated in his pocket. "If anyone needs me, tell them to f*ck off."
"I think I'd get fired for that" he heard her say before he shut the door to the office.
This was stupid. Stupid and unprofessional. He had a job to do, dammit. He didn't have time to be distracted by unnecessary feelings. It was almost like when he'd first started getting attached to Gohan. Only there was something different about it, and he couldn't really put his finger on what. With Gohan, he grew to want to protect him, see him happy, help him be happy. With Nail...he wanted all of that with Nail, too, but different. And then there was his tendency to think about Nail at completely random times, whether or not he'd seen him recently. And his random urges to hold his hand or be close to him or--
The world stopped turning, everything froze for a long minute, nothing outside of the room existed. Piccolo's eyes were the size of dinner plates and his heart thumped wildly in his chest and he had to lean back against the wall for support. sh*t. Nail didn't have a crush on Piccolo.
Piccolo had a crush on Nail.
The door opened and time moved normally again. "Boss?" It was Mai, of course it was Mai, who else would it be. (Selri. But her shift ended half an hour ago.) He tried to pull himself back under control, but it was too late, she'd already noticed. "Boss, you're not okay." She was immediately in front of him, cradling one of his huge hands in both of her small ones, because his other hand was clutching his chest. "Did something happen? Do you need to sit down? Oh, God, you're so pale..."
"I'm--" Piccolo cut himself off, staring dumbly down at her. "I think I've--I have--I--"
"I'll just go tell your guest you can't talk." Mai patted his hand and released it, but before she could get too far he'd grabbed her arm.
"Guest? What?" He struggled to focus on the conversation at hand. His mind was whirling with thoughts of time he and Nail had spent together, times when he should have noticed how he felt but didn't--
"There's a man at the desk looking to talk to you." She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, and Piccolo looked through the narrow one-way glass in the door's window. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and he worked his throat, trying to swallow.
Nail was leaning on the desk, trying to look through the glass.
"I'll just tell him you're busy or something," Mai started, but Piccolo shook his head, squared his shoulders, and walked through the door. He was going to face this head-on if it killed him.
Nail looked startled when he strode out, Mai trailing behind him and looking between the two men worriedly. "You look like hell," he said by way of greeting.
Instead of answering, Piccolo marched around the desk and grabbed Nail's wrist. "Um, that didn't come out right," Nail admitted. "Are you--" He cut himself off as Piccolo yanked him along behind him, dragging him off to the children's poetry section. No one ever went there. "Piccolo, hold on, are--hey, listen--what--"
"Okay," Piccolo said, turning to face Nail. "What is going on?"
"That's what I'd like to know! I get it, you're solitary by nature, but right after I ask to hang out you go silent on me." Nail yanked his hand away from Piccolo and folded his arms. "I got worried. Thought you were mad that I was moving too fast or something."
Piccolo blinked. "Too fast?"
"Yes, too fast. You know." He gestured between them. "We only just started talking regularly; I wasn't sure if you didn't want to hang out because of that or because you were avoiding me for some reason."
"I'm." Piccolo cleared his throat. "I'm not avoiding you."
Something seemed to relax in Nail's shoulders. "Okay then. Why didn't you answer my texts? I sent, like, eight."
"I was working," Piccolo said lamely. It wasn't a full truth, but it was close enough--technically, he had been on the clock when most of the texts came in. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you had to stay with your grandfather at all times."
Nail waved vaguely. "Karen's with him."
Oh. Karen. Piccolo didn't like Karen. He'd never met her, but there was something that gripped him whenever Nail talked about her and he didn't like it. With a start he realised it was jealousy--he wanted Nail to pay attention to him, not Karen. Oh f*ck, he had it worse than he'd thought.
"And actually, I'm off for the rest of the night." Nail shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged noncommittally. "So, you know. It's almost five. Offer still stands." And he smiled at Piccolo, eyes half closed, and it was soft, promising, nervous, inviting. Warm.
Piccolo was struck dumb, glancing from Nail's eyes to his mouth and back, hands twitching lightly at his sides. "Bedroom eyes," he murmured.
Nail's smile faltered. "Sorry?"
"Is this--are you--" Piccolo frowned, took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts. "Is this a date?"
A perilous, terrifying few seconds ticked by before Nail's smile spread wider. "If you want it to be."
"Yes." Piccolo clapped a hand over his mouth, but the damage was done. Nail brightened further and Piccolo swallowed. "I think I'd like that," he managed, lowering his hand and instead reaching for Nail's.
Nail squeezed his hand, leaned forward to brush his lips against Piccolo's cheek, and murmured "I'll see you at the front doors at five then" in his ear. Then he pulled away and, with a wink over his shoulder, he was gone.
Piccolo steadied himself against the bookshelf. So. Nail had been giving him those eyes after all.
He wasn't sure whether he should thank Yamcha or punch him.
