Fartatron

“Didn’t realize Professor was joining us today,” Dr. Garcia calls as she pushes out of the trauma bay.

Mel’s attention lifts, quickly glancing at the surgeon and the spectacled person she’s teasing, then returning right back to her tablet, then snapping back up when she realizes that Dr. Garcia is talking to Dr. Langdon.

In glasses.

Dark-framed ones that somehow suit his face perfectly, sitting low enough on his nose that he could occasionally glance over the rim. They fit him so well, drawing attention to the little crinkles beside his eyes.

She’s staring, she’s still staring, she’s staring even when he’s right in front of her, waving a hand in her face, snapping her out of her stupor. “Earth to Mel.”

Mel swallows, her mouth woefully dry and her brain painfully sluggish. “Glasses,” she eventually manages. God, and she thought he couldn’t get any more handsome.

“Oh these old things?” He says, adjusting them. “My contacts haven’t come in yet. Do they look as stupid as Yo-yo says?”

and if I live for a hundred years,

A hundred years I’ll think of you

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Ren faire Mel and Frank.

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