Chapter Text
Herm adjusts his grip on the red and orange bouquet, the flowers surreptitiously arranged to resemble fire, and glances at the ground to make sure he hasn't formed a nervous puddle. He also looks at his outfit: the white dress shirt he wore to the gala, his work pants, and the black necktie he wore to his SDN job interview once upon a time. Since there's no Robert to help this time, he had to follow a Windsor knot tutorial on YouTube, fingers jittery with nerves as he did and redid the tie multiple times.
But he did it somehow. And now he's here, in front of Chad's apartment door.
He takes a deep breath, and knocks.
The door opens—
"Wazzaaaaap?" Chad grins, leaning against the doorframe. His hair is braided into a simple plait that rests over his shoulder, and it stands out against the red of his ostentatious dress shirt that is, of course, unbuttoned at the top to show off his chest. Amber eyes look him up and down, before darting towards the bouquet. "That for me?"
"Y-yes!" Herm's voice cracks, and he winces, before thrusting the flowers forward, holding them out, pulse thundering when Chad crosses his arms, tilts his head.
"What if I'm allergic to flowers? What would you do then, hm?"
"I—um, Alice. I t-t-texted—asked her if you… made sure you w-weren't."
Chad's grin widens.
Herm gulps. "Y-you look... nice. Th-that shirt is—silk?"
"'Course it is, bitch," Chad grabs him by the tie and pulls him in. Herm squeaks, following helplessly. "Someone like me deserves only the best, yes?"
Then he pointedly plucks the bouquet from Herm's grasp, and the image of him bringing the flowers up to his nose is so sweet and sexy that Herm has to firmly agree that yes, Chad deserves absolutely nothing but the best, whether that be clothes or flowers or—
Before Herm could continue his lovesick mental tangent, his tie gets yanked again like a leash, and he's led to a small dining table covered with multiple dishes. Chad pulls out a tarp-covered chair and pushes him to sit with a stern, "Stay."
Herm freezes at the sudden heat that jolts down his spine. Chad just smirks as he exits the room, only to return with a clear vase, which he sets down in the middle of the table and places the flowers in, fussing with it until the entire thing looks presentable.
"Good. Now eat."
Herm looks at the food, taking in the mouthwatering smells and colors. He looks up at an expectant Chad. "H-how do you know I'm not a-allergic to any of this?"
Chad's face scrunches in mock offense, and kicks him under the table, prompting a giggle.
"Cheeky bitch," he huffs. "I know because I checked your medical records."
Herm blinks. "My—huh? Th-that's—isn't—invasion of privacy?"
Chad snorts as he piles on some sort of chicken and rice dish—he's gonna have to ask what it's called later—on Herm's plate. "Tell that to Bob Bob. He's the one who gave me the info. 'Sides," he looks up at him with a smirk, "what's a little crime between…" He trails off, frowning.
"Chad?"
He shakes his head. "Later. For now, eat before this shit gets cold. I didn't put all this fucking work into dinner just for it to get ruined because you didn't eat fast enough."
The food is amazing, so delicious and warm that Herm finds his nerves melting away with each bite. He's so focused on eating that he nearly misses the way Chad's looking at him—a combination of soft and fond that Herm never thought him capable of until that moment.
So of course, Chad decides to ruin it by opening his mouth.
"Do you feed yourself anything other than Phenomafucker's melons? Gobbling down my food like a trash compactor. No wonder you and Bob Bob get along. Skinny twinks united."
Herm blushes as he swallows his current bite. "S-sorry—"
"Wasn't a complaint, Hermy," Chad says as he spears a bite of his own. "But seriously, how the fuck are you so skinny? You'd think living with a granny would put some fat on you. Isn't that the stereotype?"
"O-oh. She, um, she's—chronic pain. She's on a wheelchair most days and t-the kitchen's not—not lowered. B-but on the good days, when her spine doesn't hurt… we bake together."
He looks up at Chad, expecting pity or the same invasive questions he gets from people whenever he talks about his grandma. What about your parents leading to how long ago did they pass and how did they die before ending with I'm so sorry for your loss. (Privately, uncharitably, Herm thinks to himself that someone so sorry wouldn't have kept pushing.)
He finds none of that in Chad's expression, his face containing only placid understanding.
Herm smiles. "I—do you like cookies? Or muffins. W-whichever. I could… I want to bake some. Something. For you."
Chad smiles back, and Herm feels a shoe nudge his own. "Do whatever the fuck you want, Hermy. Just know I have standards, yes?"
"I know," Herm laughs. "N-nothing but the best."
"That's fucking right. Now tell me more about you baking, because how the fuck do you make anything that isn't a soggy piece of shit by the end?"
They finish dinner in high spirits and with Herm now knowing a lot more about Chad than he did before—his favorite color's orange, he likes cats more than dogs, his niece is a ballerina—and vice versa. When the food's done, Chad pulls him back out the living room and to the couch—Chad brings over the tarp he put on the dining chair and sets it up for Herm, which once again has butterflies fluttering in his stomach—where they continue talking while soft R&B plays from a speaker.
"—a-and then she—she took the money f-from her friend and, um, dump—broke up with me. Immediately. So… that was my first and o-only relationship. From high school."
Though relationship might be a stretch. He's pretty sure she only asked him out and dated him for a week because of a bet, hence the money thing.
Then there's a hand gripping Herm's face by the cheeks, moving him so that he's directly looking into displeased eyes, and it's the closest their faces have been to each other since the gala, and he finds his gaze sliding down to his mouth.
"You know that's—hey, hey. Focus up, bitch. You can think about kissing me later. This is important." The fingers on his cheeks squeeze, and Herm blinks back up to Chad's amber stare. "You know that's not what this is, right? That I'm not with you because of some stupid fucking bet or whatever?"
Herm can't help the way his lips twitch into a dopey smile. "Y-yeah, I know. You're not—you wouldn't. You were pining so mu—too much for it to be, um, a bet."
Chad's eyes narrow, and he squeezes even more. "Fuck off. I don't pine. I'm too fucking hot to pine."
Herm, past his smushed cheeks, giggles and says, "That's n-not what Pri—Alice said." And then Chad's earlier words hit him, sending heat rushing to said cheeks. "A-and I w-wasn't, um, thinking about—k-k-kiss—!"
Chad blinks once, twice. Then that darn mouth twitches into a smile. "No?"
Herm should look away. He really really should look away, but Chad's hand is still holding his jaw in place, and then those lips are leaning in close, really really close—
"Herm," Chad murmurs, close enough that he could feel the heated breath of it on his lips. "Your phone's been vibrating for a while now."
The warmth disappears, and when Herm opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—Chad's leaning back and nodding towards Herm's phone on the coffee table, the waterproof plastic casing tapping against the glass as it vibrates. His grandma's contact flashes on the screen, and a stark worry cuts through the romantic daze.
He shoots Chad an apologetic look, but he waves him off, leaning back against the couch.
"Grandma?" Herm answers. "I-Is everything…?"
«I'm sorry, Herm. I know you're on a date but I… I fell and m-my hip…»
"T-that's—hold on!" He bolts to his feet at the sound of her. "I'm gonna… I'm on my way back. Did you call—emergency? N-nine one one?"
Chad straightens up, tensing like he's ready for a fight. "What's wrong?"
«No, I—is that your beau, Hermy?» she chuckles, and the question would have Herm blushing if it didn't sound as pained as it did.
"He's not—I mean, y-yes," Herm lifts the phone away from his ear. "I need to go. M-my grandma—I need—Uber—"
"Uber? Fuck that." Chad pushes past him and goes to the side table by the hallway, grabbing his keys out of a little orange dish. "Hurry up, bitch. And call for an ambulance already if your granny hasn't."
Chad gets them to Herm's house in record time, breaking more than a few traffic laws to beat the ambulance there. They watch as grandma is loaded into the back of an ambulance, and before Herm could thank him for the ride, Chad squeezes his hand and says, "Go ride with her. I'll meet you at the hospital," and then he's back in his car.
And now here they are, in a hospital waiting room next to Chad who glares at anyone who looks too closely.
"Fuckers. Acting like they've never seen a gay couple before."
Herm laughs wetly, more than certain that it's the steaming puddle by their feet that's drawing people's attention; normally, he'd be ashamed of his lack of control, but Chad's warm hand burns away the usual anxiety.
"You don't have to, um, wait with me. It's late and—"
Chad flicks his forehead. "Only a shitty b—person, a shitty person would leave your bitch ass alone after something like this. And I'm not a shitty person, okay? I'm an actual real actual hero. So how about you thank me instead, hm?"
Herm ducks his head to hide his smile. "Okay. Thank you. For… being here. And d-dinner. And for driving me."
"You're welcome, Wetwipebitch. Now shut the fuck up and let me tell you about my niece."