Milo HessMilo took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the bouquet in his hands. It wasn’t just a gift; it was a piece of him, something he hoped would convey his quiet affection and the tenderness he wasn’t always able to express. He could already feel his palms growing clammy despite the cool evening air. Adjusting his tie for the third time, he gave a nervous chuckle to himself.
The city streets were alive with chatter, the hum of conversation brushing against his nerves. But it was all a blur to him, the laughter of strangers far more distant than the pounding of his heart. He hadn’t been on many dates—hell, he hadn’t been on a date in years—and the thought that he could somehow mess this up haunted him. 'What if I don’t say the right thing? What if I look stupid? What if I just… mess everything up?'
Just around the corner from the restaurant, he was intercepted. A group of troublemakers appeared from nowhere, like shadows rising to challenge him. The voices hit him first, laughter tinged with mockery, words that twisted something deep inside him. 'Not again,' he thought, his stomach dropping. 'Please don’t… just let me be.' He hesitated, wanting to slip away unnoticed, but one of them grabbed his arm, another snatched his glasses off his face with a sick grin.
Without his lenses, the world turned into a smear of indistinct shapes. His heart raced, panic flooding him as he instinctively reached for them. 'No, no, no—' he thought, panic rising in his chest as they shoved him. 'Why can’t I just get through one damn night without something going wrong?' The bouquet was torn from his grip, the flowers thrown to the ground, trampled underfoot with cruel force. 'It’s all ruined. Again.'
For a moment, everything was quiet—just the sound of his breathing, rapid and panicked. He fell to his knees, reaching out to collect the remains of the flowers, his hands shaking as he gathered what was left. 'Why does this always happen?' His glasses were kicked toward him, the frames now bent and warped, the lenses cracked. He wiped a tear from his cheek, but another quickly followed. 'I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. Maybe I never will.'
As the echoes of their laughter faded into the distance, he stood up, his heart heavy with a familiar weight of shame. He could already hear the voice in his head, reminding him of the many times he’d been pushed aside, not valued for who he was but for what he could give or do. 'This is what I get. This is what I deserve.' He couldn’t let it break him tonight. Not tonight.
Milo pressed his glasses onto his face, his hands trembling as he tried to make sense of the world through the cracked lenses. He bent down, collecting the flowers, still trying to salvage something from the mess. Each petal felt like another failure, but he forced himself forward.
When he reached the restaurant, his heart nearly stopped. He saw you, his date, waiting, and in that moment, Milo’s doubts and insecurities rushed in. 'What if they think I’m too much? I'm sure I look like a big, fat mess. What if I’m wasting their time?' The wrinkled shirt, the smudge on his cheek from where he’d wiped his face, the disheveled hair. The bouquet trembled in his hands, and he stared at the floor, hoping the ground might swallow him whole. 'They're going to think I’m a joke. Just leave. Just turn around and leave.'
“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he finally dared to look you in the eyes for a second before lowering his gaze once more. “The flowers… they, uh, they got ruined.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. A flush of embarrassment crept over him. 'God, I’m pathetic.' “I mean, if you—if you’d rather pretend you never saw me and leave, or if this is too much—I-I totally understand, you know? I’m, um... sorry.”
There was silence. A long, heavy silence that had Milo’s stomach sinking. 'This is it. They're going to walk away. I knew it. I knew it.' He couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor, bracing himself for the sting of rejection. The familiar feeling of being too much, too awkward, too unwanted started to press down on him. 'I should’ve stayed home. I shouldn’t have even tried. Why did I ever think anyone would ever want an ugly, fat loser like me?'
You’ve got this,he whispered, trying to ignore the voice that always crept in, telling him he wasn’t enough.
It’s just dinner, right?
The city streets were alive with chatter, the hum of conversation brushing against his nerves. But it was all a blur to him, the laughter of strangers far more distant than the pounding of his heart. He hadn’t been on many dates—hell, he hadn’t been on a date in years—and the thought that he could somehow mess this up haunted him. 'What if I don’t say the right thing? What if I look stupid? What if I just… mess everything up?'
Just around the corner from the restaurant, he was intercepted. A group of troublemakers appeared from nowhere, like shadows rising to challenge him. The voices hit him first, laughter tinged with mockery, words that twisted something deep inside him. 'Not again,' he thought, his stomach dropping. 'Please don’t… just let me be.' He hesitated, wanting to slip away unnoticed, but one of them grabbed his arm, another snatched his glasses off his face with a sick grin.
Without his lenses, the world turned into a smear of indistinct shapes. His heart raced, panic flooding him as he instinctively reached for them. 'No, no, no—' he thought, panic rising in his chest as they shoved him. 'Why can’t I just get through one damn night without something going wrong?' The bouquet was torn from his grip, the flowers thrown to the ground, trampled underfoot with cruel force. 'It’s all ruined. Again.'
For a moment, everything was quiet—just the sound of his breathing, rapid and panicked. He fell to his knees, reaching out to collect the remains of the flowers, his hands shaking as he gathered what was left. 'Why does this always happen?' His glasses were kicked toward him, the frames now bent and warped, the lenses cracked. He wiped a tear from his cheek, but another quickly followed. 'I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. Maybe I never will.'
As the echoes of their laughter faded into the distance, he stood up, his heart heavy with a familiar weight of shame. He could already hear the voice in his head, reminding him of the many times he’d been pushed aside, not valued for who he was but for what he could give or do. 'This is what I get. This is what I deserve.' He couldn’t let it break him tonight. Not tonight.
Milo pressed his glasses onto his face, his hands trembling as he tried to make sense of the world through the cracked lenses. He bent down, collecting the flowers, still trying to salvage something from the mess. Each petal felt like another failure, but he forced himself forward.
When he reached the restaurant, his heart nearly stopped. He saw you, his date, waiting, and in that moment, Milo’s doubts and insecurities rushed in. 'What if they think I’m too much? I'm sure I look like a big, fat mess. What if I’m wasting their time?' The wrinkled shirt, the smudge on his cheek from where he’d wiped his face, the disheveled hair. The bouquet trembled in his hands, and he stared at the floor, hoping the ground might swallow him whole. 'They're going to think I’m a joke. Just leave. Just turn around and leave.'
“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he finally dared to look you in the eyes for a second before lowering his gaze once more. “The flowers… they, uh, they got ruined.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. A flush of embarrassment crept over him. 'God, I’m pathetic.' “I mean, if you—if you’d rather pretend you never saw me and leave, or if this is too much—I-I totally understand, you know? I’m, um... sorry.”
There was silence. A long, heavy silence that had Milo’s stomach sinking. 'This is it. They're going to walk away. I knew it. I knew it.' He couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor, bracing himself for the sting of rejection. The familiar feeling of being too much, too awkward, too unwanted started to press down on him. 'I should’ve stayed home. I shouldn’t have even tried. Why did I ever think anyone would ever want an ugly, fat loser like me?'
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