DYLAN
I watch Hermione's every move as we walk through the mall. She's still in those damn heels, the ones she insists on wearing even though I can tell they're killing her. The subtle shift in her gait and the way she's walking just a little slower now doesn't take much for me to notice. I've been gone for two weeks, and seeing her like this, struggling in those shoes, drives me insane.
When I stop and glance down at her feet, I can't help but frown. "Those are hurting you, aren't they?" I ask, my voice low.
She hesitates momentarily, and I can tell she's trying to play it off. But she doesn't fool me. Not for a second. "I'm fine, Dylan. Really," she replies, but I know her well enough to see the discomfort written across her face.
I shake my head, refusing to let it go. I'm not going to stand here and watch her suffer just because she doesn't want to admit it. "We're getting you something comfortable," I state firmly, turning on my heel and walking toward the nearest shoe store.
Hermione protests, but I ignore her, already imagining how much better she'll feel when she's not walking around in shoes that make her miserable. The store I'm aiming for isn't what I expected, but I'm done with the fussy, expensive brands that only make her pain worse. Today, it's Crocs.
She laughs when she sees where we're headed, a sound that lifts my mood just slightly. "You're joking, right?"
I don't even hesitate. "Nope. You need comfort, and Crocs are the answer." I make my way straight to the display, picking up a pair of pink Crocs without any hesitation. I know she'll hate them, but I don't care. This isn't about fashion; it's about her comfort.
I turn to her, holding them out with a smirk. "Try these. You'll love them."
She glares at the shoes, and then at me. "I am not wearing pink Crocs, Dylan. I have standards."
I step closer to her, the challenge in my eyes clear. "You're wearing them, Hermione. Or I'll carry you around the mall, and we both know you don't want that."
Her eyes narrow, but I see the flicker of amusement in them, as if she's trying to decide whether or not to argue. She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. "I'm perfectly fine in these heels, thank you very much. I don't need these... childish things."
I'm not letting her get away with this. "You're not fine, and you're going to wear these," I insist, firm but with a glimmer of playfulness. "You can either put them on, or I'll carry you around, and I know you don't want that. Either way, you're not walking around in those heels anymore."
She sighs in frustration, and I know I'm wearing her down. "Fine," she mutters, but then quickly adds, "but I'm not wearing that color."
I nod, unbothered. "Purple then," I say, grabbing a pair of purple Crocs and holding them out to her. "Try these."
She reluctantly takes them, and I watch as she slides them on. There's a visible shift in her posture, the way she lets out a small, relieved breath as the pressure in her feet eases.
"Better?" I ask, watching her with satisfaction.
"Much better," she admits, though she's clearly still not thrilled about the color. "But don't ever make me wear those again."
I can't help but grin. "I'll make a note of it."
We spend a little more time walking around the mall, browsing stores and chatting about everything and nothing. Her mood is light now, and the air between us feels comfortable—no tension, just easy conversation. I steal glances at her when I can, noticing the way she looks at the world around us. She's so different from anyone else I've met, and it only makes me more certain that I'm never letting her go.
Eventually, we make our way outside, and I spot Adrian waiting for us by the car. I walk toward him, taking the keys he hands over, and giving him a brief nod. "Thanks for handling things. You've got the rest of the day off," I tell him, dismissing him for the time being.
Hermione and I get into the car together, and as I slide into the driver's seat, I glance over at her. Her feet are finally comfortable, and she seems to relax into the seat next to me, the tension from earlier melting away.
"Next time, I'm picking out all your shoes," I say, the playful challenge back in my voice.
She rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her lips. "We'll see about that."
I chuckle and start the engine, pulling out of the parking lot. It's been a good day. A day that's made me realize something I'm not ready to admit out loud yet—just how much I want her. In every way.
We drive in silence for a few moments, the radio softly playing in the background. It's the kind of silence that's comfortable, that doesn't need words to fill it.
And for once, I'm okay with it.