Today art is by me and part of da story! (will post on Tumblr for images, unable to see link at the end of chapter; we'll see!)
ALSO SURPRISE EARLY XMAS GIFT FROM ME!
This chapter mentions bullying and angst
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You sit on the edge of your bed, elbows braced against your knees, staring into the open mouth of your wardrobe as it might flinch under scrutiny. Like it might suddenly confess to hiding something decent behind the wall of fabric and poor life choices.
It doesn't.
It just gapes back at you, half-open, cluttered, unapologetically dull. Greys bleeding into blacks, blacks into muted blues. Hoodies stacked with the kind of careless familiarity that comes from wearing the same things over and over until they stop feeling like choices and start feeling like extensions of your skin. Pants folded for convenience, not presentation. Clothes meant to disappear into crowds, not sit politely at a dining table beneath a grandmother's watchful eye.
You let out a slow breath through your nose and drag a hand down your face.
"God," you mutter, voice low, almost embarrassed by the admission, "maybe I should go shopping at some point."
The room does not argue. The walls remain still. Your wardrobe offers nothing in response.
Today, unfortunately, requires you to work with what you have.
You are going to Herman's house. Not just his place, either, his grandmother's home. The distinction matters. It adds weight. Tradition. Expectations you never signed up for. A thank-you meal, he had called it, as if that phrase could neatly wrap up everything that happened between you and make it presentable.
It still feels strange to think about it now. The way it all started, sharp and sudden. Chaos. Adrenaline roaring in your ears. Acting on instinct, muscle memory, doing what needed to be done without stopping to ask yourself what came after. You helped him. You saved him. That was it.
End of story.
Except it wasn't.
For the past two days, your phone has barely known peace.
Any allergies?
Are you okay with spicy food?
Do you eat seafood?
Tea or coffee?
Juice? Water?
Is this time okay? Are you sure?
Each message was earnest to the point of being almost frantic.
You would laugh softly every time, thumbs tapping quick reassurances back at him. That it was fine. Really, truly fine. That you appreciated the hospitality, but he did not need to worry so much. That you were not difficult. That you were not judging.
Even so, there had been something about his concern that lingered. Something tight beneath the surface. As if he were bracing for a failure he could not afford. This dinner was not just a meal; it was proof. Of gratitude. Of respect. Of something he desperately wanted to get right.
At first, you brush it off, chalking it up to some people being that way. Overthinkers. Planners. People who show care by fussing.
It wasn't until later that the truth slipped through.
You straighten with a quiet sigh and turn back to the wardrobe, finally forcing yourself to make decisions instead of spiralling. Bottoms first. That is manageable. Practical. Your fingers find the familiar denim easily, the one pair of blue jeans you own that could pass as nice. Clean. Unripped. Respectable enough.
YOU ARE READING
Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)
Romance"Dude, I think I miss working as the Dispatcher..." It wasn't supposed to be like this. One minute, I was behind a desk, pushing papers. Next, I was thrown into chaos. I used to only read about it in incident reports. Somewhere along the way, I stop...
