And in that moment, standing there with the rose in your hands, your chest feels impossibly full, warm, and tender, and you know without a doubt that you will never forget this, this small, perfect, incredibly sweet exchange.
Then, breaking through the soft, dizzying haze of your thoughts, comes a sharp, teasing voice. "Come on, Herman, invite her in already!"
Grandma sits a few feet behind him in her wheelchair, her arms folded loosely, her posture relaxed, but her eyes razor-sharp. The wheels are angled just enough that it is obvious she has been there for a while, watching. Waiting. Her mouth curves into a knowing smirk, head tilted, gaze flicking between you and Herman with surgical precision. The sparkle in her eyes says everything.
OH GOD SHE SAW ALL THAT.
Your brain promptly short-circuits.
Herman freezes for half a second, shoulders tensing, then he turns halfway toward her, ears going pink. "Grandma-" he starts, mortified, before glancing back at you like he is afraid you might vanish if he looks away too long.
Grandma hums, clearly pleased. "What? I'm just saying. Poor thing's been standing there long enough for the rose to wilt." She gestures pointedly at his hand, then at you. "And you-" she adds, eyes flicking to your face, voice softening just a touch, "are doing a terrible job pretending you're not flustered."
You make a small, strangled noise that might be a laugh.
Herman clears his throat, scrambling. "S-sorry-um-please, come in," he says quickly, stepping aside to make space, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.
His eyes dart to her for just a heartbeat before snapping back to you, wide and unguarded, every ounce of his nervous energy exposed. His fingers twist at the edge of his damp shirt, a futile attempt at composure, and for a fleeting moment, he seems impossibly fragile, like a fledgling bird testing its wings for the first time, trembling, unsure, yet utterly sincere.
I can't deal with this. He's too innocent. HIS FACE. HIS WHOLE EXISTENCE.
Your brain is not handling it well.
Why is this so unfair? Why is a single flower capable of making me feel like I've been hit by a train?
Your pulse thunders, your stomach knots itself, and you are painfully aware that you cannot stop smiling.
Grandma, clearly relishing the moment, cocks her head and lets out a soft, amused laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not judging... much," she says, and the wink she gives is somehow worse than the teasing, because now you are acutely aware of every blush, every flustered thought, every internal scream erupting uncontrollably in your chest.
Herman, tall and awkward and completely, incomprehensibly sweet, shifts his weight nervously and murmurs again, quieter this time: "I... I'm glad you're here."
The words are so simple, so small, yet they land with the weight of a meteor on your chest. The shy tilt of his head, the blush blooming across his cheeks, the ridiculous, wonderful, chaotic way your heart refuses to calm down.
And Grandma? She is still smirking, still enjoying the show, still making your internal screaming feel absolutely justified. You might die from this, and honestly, at this point, you are not even mad.
You cough lightly, mostly to give yourself something to do besides combust.
"Um... yeah. Of course, Herman. Thanks for inviting me," you say, finally stepping inside, doing your absolute best to sound normal despite the heat still clinging stubbornly to your cheeks.
The moment you cross the threshold, warmth greets you, not just from the house, but from the feeling of it. Cozy. Lived-in. Soft. And then you notice the movement.
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...
Chapter 13: Unseen
Start from the beginning
