Professional Fanfic Reader

After Mel moved to her bedroom last night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the problem between you and Dr. Santos. She barely felt alive when she left your room, yet the second she laid back down, she was wide awake. She’d been struggling to sleep alone lately, but some part of her must’ve assumed she was so exhausted it wouldn’t matter. Instead, she was just as lonely as the last time she tried to sleep by herself. On top of that, her mind gave every possible scenario or reasoning for tonight’s issues except for anything where she wasn’t innately wrong for existing.

When she woke up to her alarm, she was laden with guilt and fatigue, all while wishing she hadn’t been so quick to give up sleeping beside you last night. The entire time she spent getting ready for her shift, she was stuck between not wanting to disturb you and craving your company. If it weren’t for work, she might’ve found the self-control to leave you alone, especially when you and Santos were sleeping so peacefully.

Mel knew you two were up late last night, so when she had quietly poked her head into your room, she wasn’t exactly surprised to see you were both still asleep. For a moment, she had an overpowering nervous, miserable feeling just standing there. It felt like homesickness seeing you there and knowing she didn’t get to sleep in your bed nor would she get to spend the day with you. It was like missing you when you were right there. She wasn’t particularly fond of this feeling.

Mel glanced at both of you as she stepped into the room, as carefully as possible to not accidentally hit or bump anything on her way in. She watched her feet walk carefully around to your side, trying not to disturb Trinity while she woke you.

You had been lying faced away from the door, half-hugging the pillow you had your head on, and Mel felt a flutter of something just looking at you. She’s concluded at this point that people were wrong about the whole butterflies in the stomach thing. If she really stopped and thought hard about what was going on in her body, what she felt in her gut was entirely different, and the fluttering was more in her chest. In the medical part of her mind, there were palpitations and fibrillations and literal, diagnosable flutters. And then there was whatever arrhythmia you induced when she felt like this. She took a breath before unfolding her hands to whisper your name and nudge your arm.

“Mm,” you grunted sleepily, hiding your face more into the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Mel said, keeping her voice quiet, still lightly shaking your arm. “I need you to drive me... I have work today.”

Your brow furrowed at her attempts to wake you, and you sighed through your nose. Still, you pushed aside the urge to indulge in the sleep-greedy version of yourself once her words caught up to you.

“Fuck… that’s right,” you sighed again, rolling over to lay on your back. You rubbed your eyes, and even when you sat up, you were still blinking the tiredness from them before you checked the time. Guilt lined Mel’s expression, watching you flop back down with a tired grumble.

“I’m sorry…” she murmured. “I really didn’t want to wake you…”

“No, it’s okay…” You shook your head and reached over to gently touch her arm with a reassuring, sleepy smile. She returned the expression the best she could, but it quickly disintegrated back to her looking down.

“When do you want to leave?” You asked, going from rubbing her arm to lightly tugging her closer. That had her eyelashes flittering as she made herself look elsewhere, taking in a deep breath. She could practically feel herself scrambling in her own mind just to keep her thoughts from scattering too far. Your hand moved to smooth over her side after, and that didn’t exactly help her predicament.

“Maybe in ten minutes?” she replied on an exhale. She tilted her head and then nodded after what you took as her glancing away in thought. “I wanted to give you time to—”

You had casually wrapped her waist in a hug and then suddenly pulled her onto the bed, cutting her sentence off with a yelp that left her. One second she was upright and then she wasn’t. Maybe she should’ve been watching you because you liked to scheme when she wasn't looking, apparently, and now she was wide-eyed, having just landed on her back between you and Trin.

“Oh, sorry…” you whispered sincerely when the brunette rolled over to look at Mel, then you, all while visibly unimpressed.

“You were mean to her yesterday…” you frowned playfully, responding to her grouchiness with your usual first defense (dumb humor). Mel found herself caught in your tactical joke when you were squishing the sides of her face.

“It’s—it’s okay, really." She tried to shake her head at Santos despite your hands pressing against her cheeks.

Trinity only raised a brow up at you, rolling her eyes after you bat your eyelashes like an obnoxious Disney character. Still, she relented with that eye roll. She moved closer, and you hugged Mel to you with your hands outstretched for her.

“You’re gross.”

You only grinned and made grabby hands. She rolled her eyes again, hard enough to try and compensate, but you still saw the smallest curve tug at her lips. Trinity turned onto her side so she could wrap her arms around Mel too, hugging you at the same time. You squeezed a bit more now that it was the two of you both sandwiching the poor girl. Trin was ready to immediately pull away with a “There, happy? Now fuck off,” but then Mel spoke up, and it felt like an opportunity.

“Why…?” was all she asked even if she wasn't upset. It actually felt really nice having the pressure from both sides, and if she could alter the moment, she’d only have Trinity squeeze like you did so it was balanced. That said, she still didn’t understand why this was happening and so close to her needing to leave.

“Well… d’you know about the sleeping beauties pos-ition—?” Trinity replied, as if engaging in a very serious and educational conversation, her tone going up with a giggle when she barely dodged you flicking her arm.

“The what?” Mel asked, distracted by her body being pushed and pulled when you two were taking turns trying to slap the other’s arm.

“Nothing, she just woke up. She’s being weird,” you laughed, separating from the hug.

Mel escaped the bed before she was trapped again, leaving the room right as you gasped from Trinity smacking your arm the second she got the chance.

“She’s gonna look that up later, and it’ll be your fault,” you whispered to Trin, rubbing your arm. She only showed devilish enjoyment in that possibility, so you rolled your eyes with a playful huff and got out of bed. Rather than bothering to get changed, you walked right out to the living room.

“Can you turn on the AC?” Mel asked as she put her crossbody bag on and swept her braid out from where it had gotten caught.

“Can’t. It’s broken,” you answered in the middle of a yawn.

“What…?” Mel frowned, walking past you to look. She knew as much as you did about fixing air conditioners, but she still thought of the one thing you hadn’t last night.

“My AirPods!” she practically cheered after she had followed the cord to see the plug on the floor rather than in the wall. She had forgotten yesterday morning the AC had been off in the living room overnight, so she figured it wouldn’t hurt to unplug it, charge her AirPods while she got ready, and then right everything again. Surely, both things would’ve been important enough for her to remember...

She grinned over at you with the little case held up in her hands, only to see the unimpressed look on your face, even if it was lighthearted.

“The um… it hadn’t been on, so I… but I found my AirPods!” she struggled through an explanation with gradually fading joy, pointing to the AC a few times.

“I forgo—I’ll… I’ll plug it back in,” she scrambled when you didn’t stop looking at her like that.

“That would be good,” you laughed, and she unplugged her charger to plug the AC back in, simpering sheepishly at you after.

When she was walking by with her head dipped slightly, you wrapped your arms around her to reassure her you weren’t upset with her.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to forget about it…”

“I know,” you murmured, only loosening the hug enough for her to face you, and then you were squeezing her again.

Feeling playful, you tilted your body to see if you could lift her while hugging her like that, and Mel let out a yelping, panicked-giggling sound you’d never heard from her before.

“I don’t—I don’t know if—”

Whether she was going to voice her doubt that this was a good idea or that she didn’t like having her feet off the ground, you weren’t sure. That sound she made was enough to have you properly attempting to pick her up.

ʚɞ

At the sound of giggling, Trinity let her nosiness pull her from bed earlier than she intended on her day off. And oh, it had been worth it.

“Heading out soon?” She smirked.

Standing in the hallway, Trin watched you carrying a nervously laughing Mel a few steps to the door. Your arms had been wrapped low around her hips and then more under her butt for some leverage, with her letting out a giggly yelp when you bounced her to readjust your hold on her. The poor girl was grasping at you like she was going to fall to her death if you dropped her.

“And are you still going to work, or is there some honeymoon I should know about?” She asked next, and Mel’s already blushing cheeks deepened.

Shooting a playful glare in her direction, you saw Trin crossing her arms with that teasing smile curling her lips. You placed Mel back down, taking a moment to fix the way her shirt had bunched up before she shyly twisted away.

Mel busied herself with getting her sneakers on, hoping her face would cool down soon. While she did that, you took the very important role of flipping off Trinity, who was in the middle of a vulgar gesture of her own to silently mock you until Mel was looking again. She quickly flipped her hand to face you palm-first while she kept the “V” she was making with her fingers.

“Peace,” she said, baring her teeth like an awkward kid trying to smile for picture day, as if she hadn’t been pointing to Mel and then you and back before doing a far different gesture with her spread index and middle finger.

“Have a good shift,” she added on her way into the bathroom, already breaking with a few laughs before the door had even closed.

ʚɞ

When you returned to the apartment, you were met with Trinity raising a brow at you, a half-empty yogurt cup in one hand and the other still loosely holding the spoon she had stuck in her mouth. You were carrying a few bags for some reason, letting out a breath when you finally dropped them onto the kitchen table.

“Um…?”

“We needed sleepover stuff,” you shrugged, and she kept sucking on her spoon while she looked through the bags.

Junk food, baking mixes, ready-to-bake cookie dough in case you two got extra lazy, and some takeout menus you’d plucked off a community board.

“And I figured we could order food and watch tacky movies.”

“Your apologies are more romantic than Yolanda’s. Should I be worried?” She joked in a flat tone, offering a lazy smile when you glanced at her.

“Only snacks in there that are off-limits are the Goldfish,” you clarified first before you forgot. “Those are Mel’s.”

“Is there anything she should be apologizing for…?” you asked now, leaning on the top of the fridge door you just opened.

Trinity rolled her eyes and her head, tilting it back to groan at the ceiling.

“Yes,” she stressed, then admitted a bit more quietly when she looked at you again, watching you put things away. “And no… I guess…”

“Still pretending you want something casual?” You smirked, closing the door with a dull thump and bottles clinking inside.

“I dunno, still thinking about rubbing nubs with your roommate?” she countered sharply, begrudgingly softening again when she saw how gentle your amusement really was.

“I do want something casual,” she sighed, angrily eating more yogurt, which wasn’t exactly a food that lended itself to aggression, so she got some on the shirt you had let her borrow. You reassured her you didn’t care before that building frustration peaked over something as ridiculous as an old concert t-shirt.

“It’s my stupid fucking brain that won’t let me have it,” she admitted with a sigh. It sounded silly, but you understood. The desire for something else entirely versus what your mind and body truly craved… it sucked.

“I’m still pissed at her, though,” she huffed, stomping on the pedal of the trash can to toss the empty cup inside, with that spoon hanging from her mouth again.

“Even if you’re the one not telling her what you want…?” you treaded as carefully as possible, but she still gave you a look.

“I’m sorry, but if you make plans with the person who lets you fist them, you keep the damn plans.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” you said after that got laughter out of you like she had punched it from your gut.

“Damn, though, what a way to bring work home with you. Elbow deep in people all day… just to want it after hours…” You shook your head with a sigh.

“I actually hate you,” Trinity replied as if making a thoughtful revelation, tossing the spoon into the sink with a loud metal-metal clatter before she walked off.

“Most doctors wash their hands before a surgery,” you continued while following her out of the kitchen and down the hall. She shot you a glare before shutting the bathroom door in your face.

“But she has to wash her arms!”

“Still hate you!” she called back.

“Still love you,” you crooned, practically feeling her eye roll through the door. “I’d never fist and flee.”

That actually earned an involuntary cackle from her before she could stop it, and you walked off to the living room TV with your success and a mental catalog of movies to go through.

“All surgeons should wash their forearms before surgery, by the way!”

ʚɞ

Sat on the floor in front of the couch, you plucked some of the toppings off of a pizza the restaurant had accidentally delivered to you. At least the rest of the order was right, but someone expecting a supreme was about to get the exact opposite.

You wiped the grease off your fingers onto a napkin and watched Kate Hudson on your TV, leaving her apartment in a silken yellow dress.

“I can’t believe I don’t have a nickname for you…” Trinity shook her head, squinting as she tried to think, still stuck on a topic that had suddenly occurred to her at random about ten minutes ago.

“I remember the first one, but obviously that’s not…” She gestured, and you both silently shook your heads in understanding. That would've been from when you first met. The joke involved wasn’t relevant anymore, and it was a far sadder reminder than something as unserious as calling someone Crash because they passed out at work.

“Fuck, I really can’t think of the other one, though… how is that possible?”

“We lived too far from each other for a few years,” you pointed out with a shrug, finally taking a bite of pizza and only risking one temporary side-eye.

“I guess…” she trailed off, then pouted her lips the way she did whenever she was teetering on boredom until her attention went to the takeout container next to your pizza box. She snagged one of your remaining garlic knots.

“I told you I’d get you your own, and you didn’t want any,” you groaned, lax against the couch.

“I’m not eating all of them, damn,” she replied around the food in her mouth. You rolled your eyes. No, she hadn’t eaten all of them, but she was getting pretty close.

“What else should we do? We have junk food… cheesy movies…” you gestured to the TV screen, then brought your hand back to continue counting. “I got the baking stuff. Maybe we should save that for when Mel gets back?”

“Mm-mm,” Trinity shook her head, explaining behind her hand rather than finishing chewing first. “If we’re saving any of it for her, we should save makeov—”

“Makeovers!” you gasped when she started to say it, and she just barely rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe I almost forgot that. It’s a vital sleepover factor.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sassed you, since she was the one who brought it up. For that bit of attitude, you snagged one of her pizza crusts and got up to find the cookie mix.

"Ooh, we could get day drunk!” Trinity gasped.

"Day drinking? Mel's obviously observing my smoking habits. If I add any more bad habits, she's gonna put cameras in the apartment or something."

"Hot," Trinity said around another mouthful of food, suddenly much closer after she had gotten up to hang around the kitchen.

"You need to get laid." You shook your head at her with a giggle, considering that was probably the fifth random thing she’d called “hot” since you got back.

"I do," she sighed, and you shooed her away after you'd finished washing your hands, not wanting her to get pizza grease on any of the baking items you'd be gathering.

"Think we could get Mel to join us in Margaritaville?"

"After the drinking binge you put her on? Unlikely," you snickered, glancing over your shoulder at her.

“Boo,” she groaned, flopping down into one of the kitchen table chairs.

Trinity left her paper plate on the table, her cheek squished against her fist while she watched you. She was teetering again and needed entertainment. She could always join you as long as she left the pizza on the table, but she just sat down…

“So… what’s Mel into?” she asked with a dangerous amount of interest considering the way her lips curled up and her posture had straightened.

“What do you mean…?” you replied, not following the sudden shift in topic. “Like, for drinks? She’s into filtered spring water and ginger ale.”

“No,” she sighed, her head lazily tilted back, angled closer to one shoulder.

“What do you think she’s into?” She clarified (barely) and bounced her eyebrows at you. “I talked about Garcia. Now it’s your turn.”

“I think you’re missing the massive difference here: I’m not fucking Mel,” you pointed out, dumping the dry mix into a bowl and flinching away from the kickback as a bunch of the powder fluffed up into the air.

“Yet.”

“I don’t think she even thinks like that,” you countered with a shrug. “She doesn’t come off as someone who thinks about sex.”

“Mm, I call bullshit." Trinity scowled, propping her arm on the back of her chair. “No, not like that. If it turns out she’s ace, then, y’know, whatever. Good for her. But I feel like she’s secretly a freak. I have a pretty good radar for it.”

“Yeah, no kidding, Sir Fists-A-Lot.”

She really shouldn’t have shared that with you if she didn’t want to hear every joke you could possibly wrench from it. Still, it wasn’t irritation that made her go quiet. She went silent in another concerning way, which you knew just from knowing her as a person but also because of the look on her face when you glanced at her.

“Was she bullied or anything?” she asked, and you frowned even from the thought of it, but you didn’t know. “I’m just curious… Maybe I’m reading too much into her nerd vibe, but it makes me wonder if she’s into wedgies.”

“Definitely not." You laughed louder than intended, snickering after. Your immature joy was only briefly stifled by some of the egg getting on your fingers when you broke it on the side of the mixing bowl.

“She can’t stand anything uncomfortable like that. She still doesn’t get why anyone would want to wear a thong.”

“Well, I don’t know, girl, I’m not the one who fuckin’ lives with her.”

“I… don’t know…” you trailed off with a sigh, walking over to the sink to rinse off your hands. “Maybe praise? But who doesn’t like that, honestly?"

“I think she has a thing for hands,” Trin offered, watching your reaction.

“Why?” you looked at her, still technically smiling as you humored her, but your eyebrows were frowning slightly. You were still curious, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be concerned by the way Trinity knew certain things.

“Oh, nothing…” she sighed dramatically, leaving her seat to open the fridge and grab a drink. 2 PM was late enough for one beer when it was a sleepover, right? She responded to the look you gave her with faux innocence.

“Oh god, do I even want to know?” you joked, yet you couldn’t stop glancing at her, impatiently waiting for whatever she might reveal.

“It’s whatever… shouldn’t really say it anyway,” she murmured, letting her gaze go down to the floor just to snap back up to observe you. You were hesitant, caught between intrigue and the peace that came with not knowing some things in this world.

“It’s just… I think…” she spoke so carefully, like she was being genuinely thoughtful, taking the bottle opener magnet off the fridge to pull away the cap of her drink. “I think she’d really appreciate it if you made more videos of you working…”

“What?” you laughed, nearly knocking over the bowl of ingredients you’d started mixing.

“Yeah, she’s a big fan of your work,” she replied, smirking at you.

"Oh, shut up, she’s just curious—” you’d started when, in all honesty, you hadn’t even known she watched those.

“Mmhm, she sure is, just not about piercing,” she replied with a chuckle, tracking your reactions with delight as she returned to her seat. You wanted to keep glaring and giving her unhappy glances, but Trinity was sticking to her words. This wasn’t her trying to catch you giggling or blushing just to “Ha!” and point at you.

“She’s watched those reels so many times; she could pierce someone to-day.” She pointed to the table, pressing her fingertip down for emphasis.

“You’re ridiculous."

You didn’t know how to react, so it was easier to go the haha, sure, denial route. It was bad enough having the bouts of feelings you already had for Mel; you didn’t need to add this to your thoughts. It presented too much possibility and, in turn, some more unfortunate possibilities if you read things wrong.

Mel was a naturally curious person. She liked knowledge, and piercing meant a lot to you, so she’d been intrigued. She liked watching you work, but… not like that…?

ʚɞ

Mel got home on time for once, relieved to know she could wear comfortable clothes again and take out her braid that she’d accidentally wound too tightly this morning. She squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked to try and fight off how tired she was while she fought with her keys. Struggling to find the right one, she took a brief break just to rest her forehead against the door with her eyes closed. When Mel finally had enough energy to untangle the right key for the door, she found it was already unlocked. She didn’t know why she hadn't considered that first.

Confusion broke through the exhaustion once she’d stepped inside. She bunched up her brow at the sound of conversation and giggling between you and Trinity nearby without seeing either of you. The apartment smelled like warm vanilla, and the kitchen table had some grocery paper bags littering the top of it. Meanwhile, from your spot lying under the coffee table with Trin, for no other reason besides it being childish and fun, you realized Mel was home.

“Oh, hey!”

“What are you guys doing…?” She asked with a puzzled smile.

“Just fuckin’ around,” Trinity explained, wiggling back out from under the table.

She saw a few beers on its surface, but not enough to make either of you tipsy. Still, you’d moved to sit up a little too soon, catching the edge of the coffee table on your way.

“Are you okay?” Mel rushed to your side, immediately checking where you’d hit it as if you’d dived temple-first into a sharp corner of the table rather than just barely caught a smoothed side of it. You got out some reassurances to her through a couple giggles. Trinity was fully cackling.

“Fuck you,” you groaned through your laughter after Trinity mocked the look on your face when you hit your head.

Despite you insisting you were fine, Mel went to get you an ice pack. She was thrown off by the tray of cookies on the stove, but she supposed that explained the sugary smell in the air. Once the pack was in her hand, she slowly spun in her spot to really gauge all the snacks that would make her feel like a hypocrite the next time she had to discuss the importance of healthy eating. Focusing back on her task, she walked out of the kitchen…then turned right back around for the paper towels she’d forgotten.

“Hey, Mel, wanna join us for sleepover time?” Trinity called out.

“Um, sure…” she agreed, although she was still technically unsure. She left the kitchen with a grouchy expression, but only because she was putting all her remaining attention span into one last thing.

“What are we doing, exactly…?” She asked, lightly placing the pack she’d wrapped in paper towels over where you’d hit your head. You murmured to her that you could hold it, but she kept herself in charge of that, forgetting she probably should have responded to your offer either way.

“Girly sleepover things. Go put your PJs on before you ruin the vibe,” Trinity groaned with a playful exasperation that Mel still struggled not to take so seriously.

She’d been looking forward to pajamas all day, but she stayed by you first, gently feeling for any bump forming, before setting the hot-and-cold back down.

“I’m fine,” you insisted with a huffed laugh, but she stood there fussing over you until Trinity shooed her away.

When Mel walked back out of her room, she was wearing that damn science camp shirt again. Her pajama pants landed in a way so no skin was really exposed right now, but you couldn’t see her wearing that shirt without thinking of the perspective you’d had back in early June. Lying on top of her, watching her toy with her braid, while your mouth was brushing against her lower stomach…

You hadn’t realized how far you’d gone into your mind until Mel was sitting cross-legged beside you. You thankfully had the wherewithal to hold off from actually flinching with surprise, but your breath came in suddenly. You offered her a small smile to hopefully cover up your silly reaction, but she was frowning. Realizing you’d stopped holding the ice pack to your head, you sighed and slapped it back into place.

“At least for the next ten minutes,” Mel said when you commented on it being unnecessary. You gave her a look, and she returned one of her own that was all small and sweet and sad. You decided not to argue that she was doctoring you.

“I’m picking the next movie!” Trinity announced the second the credits for Legally Blonde hit the screen.

You shook your head with quiet amusement, watching her unfurl from the couch to snatch the remote off the coffee table as if competing for it when you and Mel were completely still in your spots. Well, you were. Mel had shifted closer to you. You looked at her again, and your body ached from the saccharine experience of that alone.

“What are we doing…?” she whispered. “Santos said girl sleepover stuff, but I never really had sleepovers before you guys.”

You had known that ever since she left “5. Sleepovers!" blank on her list until you two took her out dancing. Still, it made your heart hurt. Did she not have any friends growing up? You tried not to imagine a smaller version of her all alone at a cafeteria table or on a playground.

"Well, for starters, there’s junk food,” you explained, and she nodded, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“Cause there are no healthy foods at a sleepover… Besides, you’re a doctor... I wouldn’t think of having even a single apple in the apartment.” “But I just bought apples…? You can have apples here. I only avoid the softer ones because they get grainy and blech.” She shook off the memory of the last time she bit into a soft apple, noticing your expectant expression seconds after. Mel tilted her head, lips pulled back in one of her awkward smiles.

3…2…1… “Oh! ‘Cause, ‘an apple a day,'" she nodded, wagging her finger in approval of your corny joke. “Clever.” “Thank you… I live to please, Dr. King.”

She humored you even though she still got all warm and nervous when you called her that. Even though it made her feel ridiculous. Especially when something so simple—something she was called at work all day—meant she could hardly pay attention to any of the other typical sleepover activities you listed off.

Her hands dropped to her lap, still held together, and she took a breath while she focused on you until she was blinking and turning her attention up to Trinity walking by. The brunette had already pulled a movie up, apparently, and paused it before it had even progressed past a black screen. She landed lazily back onto the couch cushions.

“C’mere, Mel-livorous. I’ll do your hair.”

Mel glanced at her coworker’s outstretched hands and shyly moved back to sit closer to the couch, returning her gaze to you once she settled again.

You were rummaging through one of the makeup bags you’d brought out before Mel got home with your free hand, trying to figure out a set of colors to go with. Considering the early Y2K vibes you and Trin had going today with your choice of movies, you decided to go with saturated colors and glitter. It was a classic for sleepovers anyways, even if the makeup wasn’t half petroleum jelly or talc and sat in a plastic butterfly container. You were going through the nail polishes next when Mel spoke up in a soft voice.

“Uh—no nail polish, please,” Mel said, her eyes briefly widening from the way Trinity brushed her hair. “‘No’ for me, I mean. It’s not good for work...”

“Just do your makeup or something. I’ll be done with her hair in a sec,” Trinity said, finally starting whatever she’d left paused on the television. She tossed the remote aside again and kept brushing Mel’s hair like she was brushing a Barbie doll without a single nerve in its plastic head.

“Try not to scalp her in the meantime?” You replied playfully, and Trinity repeated your words back to you in a childish voice that pulled a lighthearted eye roll from you.

You returned your focus to the bags of cosmetics when you caught the song coming from the TV behind you.

Hang up the chick habit

Hang it up, Daddy

Or you'll be alone in a quick

Hang up the chick habit

Hang it up, Daddy

Or you'll never get another fix…

As the lyrics continued to unfurl into the air, you dragged your eyes back up to that devious, devious woman you’d still trust with your life, but right now she was evil. Pure evil.

She smirked at you from behind Mel while she parted the blonde’s hair, a small bunch of butterfly clips beside her.

The images of cheerleaders bouncing and twirling reflected back to you on Mel’s glasses, who watched curiously until her gaze shyly moved to her hands.

You’ve never hated Trinity. Not even close, even when she was at her worst, fighting you like she did yesterday. But oh, right now…

ʚɞ

Mel hummed in unfortunate amusement as Natasha Lyonne’s character was clearly stuck in a makeout session she had no interest in. She wished she didn’t know what that felt like, but she did. Then the image was switching to bouncing breasts in a red sports bra, and Mel averted her attention elsewhere while she pressed her lips together. Shifting in her spot, she murmured an apology to Santos, saying her legs had fallen asleep when they hadn’t.

She didn’t quite know why she lied. She hated lying, but she felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, which always made her more fidgety than usual. And she would’ve only been more uncomfortable and embarrassed if she was honest right now.

“Um…” Mel swallowed, looking for some conversation. Even with the movie going, it felt too quiet in the living room.

“Oh, how’s your head?” she asked you with wide, truly caring eyes, and you fought the urge to laugh.

Mel blinked at the way your eyebrows rose and your lips formed a half smile. You’d been resting your chin on your knee and painting your toenails when you glanced at her. Trinity hardly restrained a giggle, and she knew she’d missed something.

“Never had any complaints,” you whispered playfully, until you saw the confusion the blonde struggled to hide. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Trinity joked, trying and failing to hold back a smile that had her sucking in her cheeks.

“I thought you were better than ‘alright.’”

“Oh god,” you groaned, slapping the side of her leg while she and Mel separated. Neither of you had talked about it in so long, it had nearly left your memory. But, no. It seemed her brain finally felt the need to set off a reminder, and you'd probably be hearing about it all week.

Just don't remember the nickname. I'm so tired of the nicknames. No matter how much I adore you, Trinity.

“What? You saved me from my own internal suffering,” she spoke reverently in a teasing, quiet voice, nudging you as she sat back down on the floor with you two.

“It’s the mark of a true friend,” she said to Mel next, who couldn’t keep up with this conversation even if she tried, especially with all the distracting colors and pure, cutesy xylophone sounds coming from the TV.

Mel jumped slightly from Santos nudging her arm. Her eyes tore away from the screen, and she let out a lackluster heh.

“No, it was the behavior of someone who was painfully single in a new friendship,” you countered, handing Trinity the eyeshadow palette she pointed to.

“A new friendship with someone queer, might I add?” you clarified while Santos remained on the brink of laughter. “Which was rare for me at the time.”

“What…?” Mel asked, and you glanced at her, like you’d almost forgotten she was sitting there without the context for this topic. You shook your head in a shy attempt to reassure her it was nothing important.

You looked at her hair now that it was done and decided to focus on that instead. Trinity had done two separate braids in the back rather than her usual one and pulled at the sections to add some more volume, leaving out a couple strands to frame her face. She must have used just about every butterfly clip in her little pile to decorate Mel’s hair.

"You look beautiful," you wanted to say. Instead, you were once again shaken from a moment trapped in your head, this time from Trinity grabbing your bicep.

“What—?”

“Holy shit!” She gasped, shaking your arm and practically your whole body with the force of it.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I forgot. I knew you had another nickname!”

Your bewilderment morphed into exasperated misery, no matter how playful you were being. You groaned as you pulled away from her grip to lean into the front of the couch, hiding your face.

“Welcome back, Red,” she said proudly, patting at your back with both hands. “Still happy to be the one who gave you your wings.”

“Oh, is that like getting blood on you for the first time at work?” Mel asked, hoping she had actually understood one of the many vague references you two made, toying with her fingers.

“Sure, Mel,” Trinity snorted, then suddenly stopped whatever she’d been hoping to torture you with next to giggle. "Just… don’t tell anyone at work they’ve ‘earned their red wings’ 'cause they caught a gusher.”

It was bad enough that your dumbass joke months ago snuck its way into poor Mel’s vernacular and had her saying a patient was ready to “get cracked” because she was up next for Ortho. Trin didn’t have it in her to explain just exactly what that would’ve meant to anyone else, only that it… was too informal for work.

“O-kay…” Mel nodded with a shy smile, still frustratingly out of the loop. She wasn’t sure if she should ask more questions or if she’d be better off not knowing. She picked at the skin around one of her fingers and took a deep breath, pressing her lips together. Mel tried to focus on the movie again, but it was difficult with you two distracting her.

You pulled away from the couch to give Trinity a feeble look of irritation, but you couldn’t help breaking when the brunette added:

“It was ‘Red’ for earning your red wings, or ‘The Crimson Chin,’ so I did you a favor—”

“Oh my god.”

Trinity nearly bumped into Mel while she laughed, and in a moment of clarity, you saw she was starting to get overwhelmed by all the joking and talking around her, while she understood none of it. It didn’t help to have the movie going on at the same time.

“C’mon, I’ll do your makeup,” you murmured to her, and she nodded with a pained smile, shifting to sit in front of you again, her back against the couch.

“What were you guys talking about?” Mel finally asked in a soft voice in the middle of you reassuring Trin that you could paint her toenails for her after.

You hesitated, glancing at Trinity, who only offered a lazy shrug.

“Uh, well, when we met I’d lived in a pretty boring area my whole life, so I’d had… some… exposure to other people’s queerness, but…”

“She means she fucked girls, but I was her first friend who was openly gay,” Trin broke in, already impatient with your pacing.

“Not my first openly gay friend—”

“Sorry,” Trinity said in a mocking tone with her hands up.

“But… also, kinda… it’s complicated,” you shrugged.

“That’s why she calls you Red…?” Mel furrowed her brow, still not following, and still constantly distracted by the movie going on behind you as Megan’s family and supposed friends enacted an intervention.

“No, that’s because I went down on her while she was on her period,” you said as bluntly as you could, and even then your voice was softer because you were saying it to Mel. Still, she blinked, glancing at both of you, a question on her lips that she held off on. She was growing more embarrassed over how little she knew by the second.

“Oral sex,” Trinity interrupted again, seeing Mel’s expression. It was like when she didn’t get a joke but felt too shy to admit it.

“Oh.”

The reply left Mel with what felt like the last breath to be scraped from her lungs. She knew that… in theory. It was something she had to warn or remind patients about handling properly, if they were doing it at all. That it could still transmit infections from partner to partner, the importance of protection and being treated, and on and on. It was another purely clinical set of words in the purely clinical part of her mind. And then when Dr. Santos felt the need to keep going, Mel worried she may never be able to discuss safe sex with a patient again without getting flustered.

"Y'know, like,” Trinity paused, jutting her head forward while she gauged if Mel really understood. She couldn't tell because either way, she still looked uncomfortable. “Her mouth. On mah lady parts.”

"Trinity," you said, and she looked at you, baffled as to why it was such an issue for her to clarify.

“Yep… yep, I… gathered that." Mel nodded, trying to be as casual as you two were, but her words had turned weak and quiet at the end. "Thank you…"

And then the hits were never-ending because your hand was touching her jaw, turning her head this way and that while you considered what look to go for.

“Do you want to tell me what you want, or should I just go for it?”

“I’m sorry?” Mel got out breathlessly, and you eyed her for a moment with a faint smile starting to curve your lips.

“The makeup—”

“Oh.”

“Are there any specific colors or…?”

"Nope." She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. “No, that’s okay. Just… anything… I guess.”

Mel thanked you in a quiet, miserable sigh and then glanced at the TV again behind you while you finally picked the eyeshadow palette you wanted to work with. The screen went black, displaying:

✮ Step 1 ✮

Admitting You’re a Homosexual

in bright, pinkish-purple letters while a bright, ascending tone chimed through the TV speakers.

She’d never been so happy to take her glasses off.

ʚɞ

“Don’t worry, I won’t do too much,” you murmured to Mel before you gently dragged dark brown eyeshadow close to her lash line with a thin brush.

You were still holding her jaw with one hand, and she could feel the warmth of your breath on her cheek with you this close. Her lips parted only to close them again so she could hum in agreement in place of trusting her voice right now.

She’d already felt you dusting a sage green eyeshadow over her eyelids earlier, having her look up or down or close her eyes completely like right now. Her lashes occasionally twitched in quick, micro-reflexes, and she gripped her hands tightly together in her lap.

“Look up for me?” you murmured, and she barely even nodded because her body was so tense. She blinked her eyes open and did as she was told, remaining silent. You were adding some of the same eyeshadow close to her lower lash line, then smoothing out the edges with another brush and more of that light, sage green color you’d been using.

“I’m a homosexual! I’m a homosexual!” Megan had sobbed on the screen the first time you were carefully applying the color to her eyelids.

It was difficult to not feel a little targeted by this movie while she battled with very new and very disorienting feelings. Somewhere in the back of her mind had always been the vague notion of, yeah, one day she’d find a man and maybe get married because that’s what people did. Boyfriends and husbands. That’s what everyone around her talked about. So, that’s what she assumed for herself, and she wasn’t entirely ignorant to the other options by the time she was in high school, but that’s not what her family talked about. It certainly wasn’t what Becca talked about. The more Mel thought about it, since finding out about Adam, honestly… Becca talked about boys a lot. About wanting a boyfriend and having one to kiss. It never really occurred to Mel just how much her agreements felt like lying until more recently.

“I thought everybody had those thoughts,” Megan had murmured on the screen earlier when it was pointed out to her that what she thought when she looked at other women didn’t mean they thought the same things.

Yeah, well, Mel felt that pain in her own way. She thought everybody felt close to nothing other than maybe mild inclinations or discomforts around the topic of ending up with a man. She’d been assuming she had only grown more uncomfortable the older she got because she continued to lack experience.

Then again, she never really had these thoughts about other genders either. She was so desperate for friendship, she never thought about romance or sex for herself. Never.

Now the blonde on the TV was sharing a moment with Clea DuVall’s character, Graham, outside, while you continued to take your time. You didn’t want to risk this being an unpleasant experience for Mel by accidentally poking her with eyeliner or irritating her sensitive skin. She already had such naturally dark lashes, you didn’t feel it was necessary to bother her with mascara either, so you added some finely milled glitter eyeshadow to the look and then curled her lashes with as minimal pressure as you could.

You had her look at you after, brushing away any excess glitter from her cheeks. Okay, maybe not never.

“So, did you guys…? Were you together?” Mel found herself asking, putting her glasses back on when they were handed to her.

“We… actually avoided any romance drama. Somehow." You breathed out a laugh, while Trinity let out a distracted “uh-huh” in the middle of applying liquid eyeliner, her mouth hanging open. She capped the pen, shook it, then opened it, only stopping to speak again.

“Yeah, that regret hit pretty fast,” she said, adding, “No offense," before officially starting the other eye, as if you hadn’t felt the same.

“What’s a little post-nut clarity among friends?" You joked, then glanced at Mel, who you found was just sort of… watching you.

“We never dated,” you finally gave her a concrete answer.

She nodded with a quiet acknowledgement, barely smiling because she felt she should at least try. Mel sucked in her bottom lip once your attention turned back to one of the cosmetics bags. She took a deep breath and sighed it out.

“You okay?” you asked in that soft tone she liked because you always used it when you were solely focused on her and her state of mind.

“Yeah… I’m,” she nodded, her body bunching up into itself before she let out another sigh. “I’m okay. Just tired, I think.”

“Do you want to stop and go to bed?”

“No, no, I want to spend time with you guys." She shook her head, smiling faintly again.

You eyed her, waiting for some flicker of how she really felt, but her expression stayed the same. She only faltered into a more awkward direction when you didn’t stop staring.

“Okay,” you murmured, lovingly swiping a few of her stray face-framing hairs out of the way, then gently applied cream blush to her cheeks.

And because either the world as a whole, or you alone, were cruel, you were applying some color to her lips right as Megan fell into a fantasy of kissing Graham on the television.

Mel felt a deep sympathy for the character when she was stuck in her boyfriend’s car, his tongue invading her mouth. She didn’t know what her first kiss looked like from an outside perspective, but it certainly felt the way that looked.

But the character’s fantasy about Graham looked… nice. And with you so close to her, dragging your thumb under her bottom lip to catch some of the color there that had smudged out of line…

Mel couldn’t think of the last time she had breathed. She must’ve done so recently because she never could stay underwater very long, and she wasn’t gasping for breath, but it still felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room or even the whole apartment.

“Done,” you said, smiling. Megan’s fantasy in the movie was disrupted by Sinead’s shocking thing.

“Oh, good." Mel exhaled and then immediately shook her head, stammering over her clarification. “I mean, I—I want to see. I’m excited… to see.”

She laughed it off, toying with her fingers. She was about to look back down at them, but you’d found a hand mirror and gave it to her. You smiled to yourself, watching her look.

“Oh, wow,” she hummed, feeling slightly uncomfortable observing herself for too long, but you and Santos had put a lot of effort into giving her the “full girl sleepover experience” or whatever Santos had called it.

“This would be fun for an elf or fairy costume at Ren Faire,” she beamed, and you ignored the knowing glance you felt from Trinity without even looking.

“You look beautiful,” you said in place of any comment on the Ren Faire before you might accidentally spoil some potential future plans.

Mel looked at you for a moment until she couldn’t hold the eye contact anymore, her cheeks warming as she handed the mirror back to you.

“Well, you always look…” you trailed off when the blonde looked at you in a way that looked so gut-wrenchingly yearning she might as well have shot you. She almost seemed sad, like maybe no one’s ever said that before, and that thought alone gave you your spine again.

“You always look beautiful, Mel,” you said, a grin forming when she grew all bashful and had to look down at her lap.

“What? It’s true,” you whispered, nudging at her chin, seeking out her gaze with your own. There was such a small amount of space between you two because of how you had already been sitting to do her make-up. Now, you had set a hand forward on the floor, and it angled you even closer, your head dipping to one shoulder as you looked at her in a way she’d never even consider for herself.

Mel pressed her lips together, and she shook her head on instinct before letting herself smile, just a bit.

“Um… thank you,” she finally murmured, swiping some of the stray hairs out of her face.

“You’re welcome,” you said in a soft voice, reaching out a hand to help tuck some of those hairs back. Well, you were pretty sure you’d replied to her, but it was so quiet and you felt so distant from your own body and—

All three of you jumped when the buzzer to the apartment went off. You cleared your throat, setting some space between you and Mel.

“I got—I got it. Sit the fuck down, girl." Trinity pointed at you while she walked past before you could even get up. You splayed your arms in a perplexed gesture and laughed. Now out of Mel’s line of sight, she gave you an aggressively encouraging look and pressed the intercom button.

“It’s probably dinner,” you explained instead of following through. The voice coming from the small speaker was all garbled, so she hit the button to let the person in.

You offered Mel a small smile, then got up to clean the coffee table, ignoring whatever nasty look Trinity was giving you for completely spoiling a perfect opportunity. Whether she was the one encouraging it or not, you didn’t want to get caught up in making any moves, whatever they might be—and however Mel might react—when you had a friend over.

“I thought…” Mel trailed off, pointing to the containers you were throwing out or about to put away in the fridge.

“Oh, well, that was lunch,” you shrugged. “I told you sleepovers are all junk food. Besides, I got some great tippers yesterday.”

“Yeah, you said you could’ve kissed the girl who tipped you some crazy amount. Imagine that. Kissing a girl.” Trinity gave you another pointed look that you barely acknowledged since Mel could see you.

“What…?” Mel didn’t quite perk up as much as she felt physically alert from what Trinity said. She tested an interested air, the way Santos got when she was gossiping, and immediately failed because she struggled to force her feelings out of her eyes.

“Yeah, I did surface piercings on a client’s hips, and she was very grateful, I guess.” You shrugged again with a weak smile, then immediately focused on cleaning again.

“More like she would’ve paid even more if she got a little something extra on that piercing table,” Trin teased you through an all-too-casual sigh.

“Jesus, Trinity,” you rolled your eyes while she opened the door.

You shook your head to yourself, and Trinity broke from her demeanor towards you to hold polite conversation with the fumbling teenager delivering your dinner. Once she had the bag of food, she was bumping the door closed with her side.

“What? I’m just going off of your description of the interaction,” Trin said, and you knew she was toying with you by her tone, even if Mel didn’t catch it. But still.

"Yeah, except for the fact that I have zero interest in sleeping with clients.”

“And if she wasn’t a client?” Trinity asked in a gasp, giving you a stupid, fake, gobsmacked expression. Oh, she was feeling mean over you not taking that chance.

“Still no,” you emphasized, catching the way Mel looked down at her hands.

“Not my type,” you concluded with a huff.

“Well, what is your type?” Trin wondered out loud as she took the food containers from the paper delivery bag.

“Uh…” your gaze fell on Mel again despite yourself. You broke off into a weak, uncomfortable laugh, but thankfully you’d moved your eyes to the TV before she could notice. You’d been rubbing the back of your neck until you finally had something to gesture to.

“Megan. I guess. I always thought Natasha Lyonne was pretty in this movie. Happy?”

“Hm, true,” Trinity said before taking a bite of one of your egg rolls. “You still got the hots for Velma? Wasn’t she your childhood crush or something? Gee, imagine if you could combine the two.”

“Why are you guys fighting again?” Mel asked in such a sad voice that you let out a breath, and Trinity lowered her energy a bit too.

“Not fighting. Sorry, Mel,” Trin muttered, rolling her eyes at you before huffing. “We were bicker-bantering.”

“What?” Mel actually laughed at that ridiculous word combination that sounded like something from a childhood tongue twister. At least she didn’t look so sad.

“We bicker-banter,” you repeated. “It’s exactly what it sounds like, but it’s not fighting. Promise.”

Mel didn’t know how you two could play fight for fun, no matter what you called it. She watched you leave the living room, shaking her head to herself when she realized no one had bothered to pause the movie.

“Will you lay off?” you whispered to Trinity on your way past her to grab drinks from the fridge, while Mel looked for the remote to rewind and pause the movie.

“Will you get lai-i-d?” she whispered back to you, drawing out the syllables of the last word to emphasize it and mimic you all in one go.

ʚɞ

For Mel’s sake, you and Trinity dropped the attitude. Even if you weren’t truly fighting, it sounded too serious to her and stressed her out. Now the three of you sat on the floor to finish the movie in silence, ridiculously dolled up just for pajamas and Chinese food at home. And while your timing may have been occasionally unfortunate for Mel when you did her makeup, none of it had been intentional. Trinity, however, loved to meddle and knew But I’m A Cheerleader like the back of her hand. Naturally, she just so happened to need the bathroom by the time Megan was making eyes at Graham and gesturing to go somewhere private.

“Uh, do you want us to pause?” you tried, and she shook her head. “Trin?”

“Nope, seen it thousands of times. S’all good!”

You sighed, glancing at an unknowing Mel who already had her food set off to the side, and sat with her knees partially drawn up. She was leaning against the front of the couch, her eyes glued to the TV.

You didn't know how it had happened, but somehow this was the first movie you watched together with a sex scene between two women. When it became obvious what the content would be, Mel had those same nervous urges to look down at her hands, but she found herself taking glances until she was fully watching again. The images on the screen reminded her how exciting it was to have a hand sliding over her stomach or to be nuzzled and held. To be mere centimeters apart while holding a hushed conversation. She just hadn’t experienced the part where one or both girls bridged the gap between them.

She still shifted a bit uncomfortably when it showed Megan sucking on Graham’s fingers, though. Mel was unsure of the warmth she felt from the sight of something that seemed objectively mild yet felt… less so while sitting beside you. It wasn’t graphic or intense or anything that made her want to cringe away or even shyly move her gaze again. The whole scene was vulnerable but sweet with those moments captured in shadows and the rare patches of light of whatever room they were in.

Mel was a tense person. As a doctor, she knew she needed to relax more often, but she’d been like this for so long that she had no radar for when she was seizing up her muscles too much. But this was probably the first time she felt the urge to press her legs together like this, even when you’d gotten up with some quiet excuse to put leftovers away because just the way you smelled while that scene was going on at the same time—

“Get outta bed! You hormonal hussy!” broke through the fantasy created by the previous scene.

Mel simultaneously felt disappointed and relieved. She felt like she could finally breathe again.

Unfortunately, her discomfort crept back in tenfold over all these different changes, and she swallowed nervously while her feelings bunched up her expression. Looking up at the ceiling Mel thought this wasn’t exactly ideal, yet she couldn’t help that it was striking a certain chord in her. It was challenging and comforting, all at once.

ʚɞ

“I hope you’re happy,” you said over FaceTime the next day, escaping the damn sounds of xylophones and glockenspiels and whatever the hell else for as long as you could. You were outside the apartment with what remained of your cigarette by the time Trinity had called you back.

“Does your girlfriend know you’re smoking, Red?” Trinity teased.

“Maybe. I don’t know, I don’t think she could care less right now,” you replied with a shrug as you looked off past the street, not even bothering to do the “not my girlfriend” routine right now.

Trinity paused, observing you as much as she could over a video call. She glanced behind her where she was crouched by the bushes in the ambulance bay and then focused on you again.

“Did you guys…?”

“What? No,” you scoffed. You wished.

“Thanks to you, Mel’s found her Elf.”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

Mel left her shift exhausted for several reasons, but she had unfortunately started her day tired because Becca would be coming over tonight. The concern that there was irreparable damage to their relationship had sunk like a rock in her gut, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

She was still upset, which was the root of the problem, really, because she avoids conflict, but Becca had hidden a boyfriend from her for six months. Six months, she'd remind you, as if you'd forgotten. As if she hadn't said it so many times in the past week and a half, you could imagine a cartoonist's rendition showing you squished in the apartment with the words "six months" written over and over, crowding the surrounding space.

You thought it was safe to assume that bruise in the relationship would stick around for a while. You stayed quiet on that front, though, because Mel was particularly adept at worsening her anxiety on her own without any help. As it was, any attempts to soothe her really did nothing but give her more to process, so you tried to leave her be and eventually went to your room early. When she joined you in bed for the night, you were happy to have her until it was clear her mind was still running faster than she could handle. You realized pretty quick that Mel getting no sleep now meant you getting no sleep—the only difference for you being that you had a chance to nap since your work schedule was so strange.

Mel had kept you up for hours with her worrying.

She was squirming and shifting and suddenly expelling the blankets from her with a huff or pulling them all to her side. At some point she had felt overheated and overcrowded (you were nowhere near her) and climbed out of your bed to sleep in her own. You had finally fallen asleep—a blissful, wonderful sleep—only for it to be disrupted once again. Mel had hoped being in her room would help, but then she felt unbearably lonely. She was too used to sharing a bed now.

“Melissa Jane King, I am going to smother you with a pillow,” you grumbled against your pillow, like you might take yourself out first. She had clumsily crawled back into your bed and accidentally bounced the mattress when she dropped onto it with a frustrated sigh.

"Shouldn’t’ve let you know my middle name," she muttered, and you rolled over to fully faceplant into the pillow, holding back tired laughter from the recent memory.

"Oh, your middle name is Jane! That's so cute..." You had smiled down at the old science fair certificate.

There had been some hope to redecorate, until you both lost interest. Still, it had been nice going through that cardboard box of old awards and other accomplishments she'd held onto since first grade.

"Yeah," she hummed appreciatively at the comment. "My mom was a Janeite."

You acknowledged that with a nod and smile, still looking down at the old certificate, touching the attached ribbon before putting it back.

"I could start calling you MJ," you offered playfully.

"No," she had replied with a kind smile and shake of her head, then didn't understand what was so funny.

Oh, how quickly you missed that sweet smile. You felt selfish in your exhaustion, mentally pleading that she calm down, but the constant restlessness was a lot to have right beside you.

You rolled over again to face her.

"Come on, it's going to be okay..."

"You don't know that," she mumbled but melted a little when you slid a hand over her nearest arm and urged her to lie on her side.

"You're too close for things to blow up the way you're thinking," you murmured against her hair while you tugged her back by her waist to curl up with her.

"Please, just try to settle," you begged her and squeezed her close.

Mel eventually dozed off, but only when you took the time to slowly rub at her side. Even then, she just got five hours of sleep, which would’ve been a decent night for you, but was intolerable for her.

Thankfully, you and Mel had a deal, which was why she would be leaving PTMC today in your car instead of her own. If she was ever too tired, then you would pick her up from work, even if it meant her waiting in her car or down at a nearby shop she'd been meaning to look at. It didn't matter if you'd have to drag yourself out of bed to drop her off at 7:00 AM the next day; all you wanted was to lessen the weight on her shoulders. Sure, you were often tired too, like today, but you've always had awful sleeping habits, so you were used to it. And honestly? Ever since Mel had grown attached to being in your room, you were actually sleeping more often. Just... not last night.

"Sure you want to pick her up? She's been crabby all day," Santos joked when she entered the parking garage, noticing you waiting for Mel behind your car. A smile tugged at your lips.

"Well, I mean if you want to start taking weekends..." you trailed off after you had looked up from your phone. "Just don't give her too much sugar."

Trinity laughed, and you realized just how much you had missed that. You missed the banter and really hoped this meant she wasn't upset with you anymore. She had insisted on everything being okay after that early morning when you had come home to Mel hungover. That any stabbing remark was her "just kidding," but if she had been distant before, then it was complete abandonment after that.

You didn't know what she wanted at this point. You kept trying to make plans with her, just like before, and she kept dodging them, just like before. What did she even want? How could she still blame you for the distance she kept creating? Yes, you've been preoccupied with Mel. No, that didn't mean you didn't care about her anymore. It also didn’t mean you didn’t try, either, but it was as if none of it was ever enough.

It was a relief to finally have her walking over to you, pressing her lips together in a tentative smile.

"Hey."

"Hey," you replied, putting your phone away.

"So, I was supposed to go out with Garcia tonight," she sighed, and you tilted your head.

"But... fuck it," she breathed out with a laugh, shrugging her tense shoulders and shoving her hands into her pockets. "Maybe I'll stand her up for once... If you guys wanted to I—"

Mel walked out, sluggish while she fixed her braid from where it had very rudely and awkwardly settled itself by the side of her neck. She greeted you in a mumble, and rested her forehead on the front of your shoulder. You rubbed her arm in acknowledgment but made a point to keep your focus on Trinity.

"Just wonderin' what you guys are up to tonight," Trin concluded with an awkward playfulness in her tone that had gradually petered out. "I guess..."

“Oh, Becca’s coming over tonight,” Mel chimed in, turning to Trinity before you could answer. You gave her an apologetic look.

“But you could still come over…” you tried, and Mel regretfully shook her head, murmuring something about how she told Becca she’d only be around one new person tonight. She didn’t want to throw a last-minute change at her.

“O—” you tried partway through her talking about autism and the need for structure. You knew this already because you lived with her, and you were desperate to get a word in before Trinity lost her patience, but she kept on explaining. “Okay—”

“Okay, but…" you held up a finger, hoping Mel would understand the need to pause. She did, but she was running on empty so she didn’t hide how much it irritated her.

“Trin, you could always come over after. I mean, Becca has a routine, so we know when she’s leaving…”

Trinity looked between the two of you and then shook her head with a light laugh.

“Nah… it’s okay, actually. Don’t worry about it." She shrugged her backpack higher up onto her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll get laid tonight if Garcia bothers.”

You tilted your head with a nearly pleading expression. Yeah, maybe her approaching you meant things were actually okay and you’d have another opportunity. But it was more likely she already felt snubbed and you’d be back to square one. So, you needed to make some semblance of a plan to get together, but Mel interrupted.

You adore her, you really do, but it was like if she lost even thirty minutes of sleep, she also lost her ability to wait. She’d accidentally bulldoze through a conversation, speaking as soon as the impulse hit her, only to end up with a sick stomach later when she realized.

“'Dr. Garcia' Garcia? From surgery?” Mel asked over you when the dots finally connected. Trinity laughed at her obliviousness in place of a response and turned away.

“Trin…”

Mel was trying to ask follow-up questions, so you lovingly wrapped an arm around her head to curl her into you and cover her mouth. You held her there gently, your hand like a decorative bandaid over the blonde’s mouth so you could get a word in. You called after Trinity with possible times to hang out this week, but she only threw a noncommittal "Yeah, sounds good” over her shoulder.

Deflating slightly at the shrinking sight of Trin walking off, you finally heard the muffled mumbling against your palm.

“What?” you asked for clarification as you took your hand away from Mel’s mouth. She frowned at you while she fixed her glasses.

“You’re being mean…”

“What? Isn't it hot getting shut up?" you attempted some humor, blindly finding your car key in your whimsical mess of a keychain as you kept your eyes on her.

“No…?” You splayed out your arms in a lighthearted but hopeful gesture.

Mel shook her head and went around to the passenger side. You groaned to yourself, turning to rest your forehead on the back of your car for a moment. Clearly, this was not your best week for your relationships.

"Ladies, ladies. One at a time, please. You’ll all get your chance to be pissed at me," you whispered to yourself and let out a tired laugh by the time you were opening the driver's side door. This was the perfect time to feel a little hysterical in both senses of the word. Or...

“What’s so funny?” Mel asked with a small frown, staring off past the windshield until she realized you were digging around in your bag.

“Nothing, just feeling lucky, I guess...” you sighed and tapped the pack of cigarettes on the top of your thigh.

The filter end barely touched your lips before Mel was stealing it from you, holding it loosely with her index finger and thumb.

"Dude..." you muttered, watching it dangle between her fingers before she dropped it into the pocket of her door, wiping her hand on her scrub pants with a disgruntled expression.

"I don't understand why you're smoking right now—well, I do, because of the way the nicotine has altered your neur—"

"Maybe I just have an oral fixation," you joked with your tone teetering on irritation, and tossed your bag into the backseat. "Keeps me popular."

Mel hummed in a distant and unamused response, watching the bag land in the back with her folded hands in her lap. When your hand eventually landed on the back of her headrest, the blonde jumped briefly. She blinked at you at first, then found herself watching for no particular reason when she realized you were backing out of the parking space.

"I can't smoke, but you can ignore your seatbelt, Dr. King?" you teased, and her eyebrows rose along with the color in her cheeks.

"Hm? Oh—" She looked down at herself and then quickly buckled up. Mel squeezed her lips together as she faced forward and remembered she was supposed to be upset with you.

ʚɞ

Thankfully, unlike Trinity, Mel’s grasp on anger was flimsy and it easily dissipated at some point during the drive back to the apartment. The second you said you were sorry for covering her mouth, she shifted to a sad sort of gratitude for the apology and quietly forgave you.

Back home, you were commiserating in silence while you neatened up the living room and she got the movie ready. You were both sleepy but still had to host, so really you were the bravest women alive.

You’d previously met Becca, but it had been brief and tonight was the first time you’d be around each other for an extended amount of time. And... she wound up spending most of the time near you staring at your tattoos and piercings. She was surprisingly quiet about them, though.

Once the pizza was delivered, you placed it on the kitchen table, and placed however many slices they wanted onto their plates. You settled afterwards on the rightmost side of the couch, but your view of the TV screen was quickly taken up by Becca standing in front of you with her hands together.

“Can I sit there? That’s usually my spot.”

“Oh—yeah, yeah, of course, sorry about that.”

You shifted to the other cushion while she thanked you, sitting right beside you.

“I like your rings,” you offered politely moments after, and she thanked you again then said nothing else.

She continued her staring like before, usually at your tattoos, but now she seemed to have more interest in your piercings. It was difficult to know exactly where to look when the movie hadn’t started yet and you were so aware of her observing your face in your periphery.

“You can ask me about my tattoos and piercings if you want,” you finally offered in place of having her sit there wondering.

“Mel said it’s rude and you don’t like it,” Becca replied, raising her glasses with a scrunch of her nose before looking at Mel, who was mentally buffering mid-step.

“I—I didn’t say it would be rude to ask,” she clarified, her cheeks a soft pink as she walked over to the couch. “Just that you… don’t always like people commenting on them...”

“Only when they are being rude." You laughed then turned back to Becca. “It’s okay, you can—”

“Do they hurt?”

“Like… right now or when I first got them?” you asked in return, moving yet again since Mel wanted to sit between you two. In her mind, it made sense because she was the one connecting the two of you, but she would quickly regret it with how much Becca wanted to talk.

“Both,” she decided after a moment’s thought.

“They don’t hurt right now. Unless I snag one of my piercings by accident, they just kinda stay as they are." You shrugged, and Becca nodded.

“Some of them hurt when I got them—both the tattoos and the piercings. Everyone’s pain tolerance is different, though.”

Becca drew her lips back from her teeth in a pained grimace similar to the way Mel does it, only she was less subtle with her expressiveness. Mel often reacted like she was still trying to filter her face even if her feelings had already shown.

“Which one hurt the most?” she asked then as she went from the pained grimace to something more openly curious again.

You thought on that for a second, and Mel looked at you too, with practically the same wondering expression.

“Probably my hands for the tattoos," you said as you looked down at them. Becca tilted her head to look at them too. "And... my nipple piercings, but it didn’t help that the piercer took too long.”

“You have nipple piercings?” Becca asked with a giggle, and you nodded. “Can I see?”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” you shrugged, but before your hands reached the hem of your shirt, Mel was shaking her head quickly at you. Becca frowned at her.

“I just…um…" Mel tried to find a valid explanation, looking anywhere but at either of you while she hugged the bowl of popcorn. “Don’t… I don’t think it would be appropriate…”

“Why?” Becca asked, while you thought the same. You were tempted to start the discussion on breasts not being inherently sexual but held off because she was her sister. Not yours.

“Maybe because we just met,” you offered while Mel painfully searched for the right words, and Becca looked at you again.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m too casual about bodies sometimes." You laughed it off, and she briefly bunched her lips off to one side.

“But, hey, we’ll know each other better eventually, and I’ll probably have cooler jewelry in by then too.”

“Okay,” she said, touching at one of her pigtails, but didn’t exactly sound very pleased about having her curiosity cut short. You had clearly been more than willing to show her, so she didn't understand why her sister got so nervous.

As Mel started the Christmas movie—in the middle of July—you felt overly aware of that tension lingering between the two sisters. Great. What a perfect time to get to know Becca.

You placed your left elbow on the arm of the couch to support your head in your hand. The sigh you really wanted to let out was filtered into a slow exhale.

Despite insisting on watching Elf, Becca still felt comfortable enough to constantly interrupt with any new questions for you. Mel could handle the talking on top of the movie for approximately five seconds before she had to pause it, even if she was tired of watching it again. It was too many sounds at once coming at her. She wanted to appreciate that Becca liked you and the two of you were talking easily, but the constant starting and stopping was driving her crazy.

“I have a friend with piercings,” Becca informed you rather proudly, making you smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” she nodded, adding while she toyed with her rings only pausing to hold up a finger as she went into specifics, “She has five on one ear and four on the other one. And she has a belly button piercing.”

“How do you…” Mel started with her eyebrows pinched together before letting out a little laugh. “I don’t know of any friend with piercings, Becca. Why haven’t I met them?”

“Because she’s a new friend, I’m making new friends all the time at Middle Hill,” Becca explained plainly with her gaze up and off to the side. She didn't get why her sister always had to question simple things. Mel didn’t really know how to react to that, which you notice, but continue on your quest to stay out of their business.

“Anyway,” Becca said in a very dramatic tone that sounded almost theatrical, like she was mimicking someone who must do that often. You briefly covered your mouth with your hand to hide the smile it pulled from you, while Mel looked less than pleased.

“She’s really funny. She’s told me about some really silly piercings,” Becca continued with a smile.

“Like what?” you asked before unfolding your legs to lean forward and take your plate of pizza off the coffee table.

“Um…" She toyed with her hair again. "I don’t know if I should say…”

“Hm—” you covered your mouth with your hand, finishing the last of your bite. “You can ask or tell me anything. It’s okay.”

“Okay!” she smiled, just about to share, then glanced at Mel, who she thought was being awfully nosy. Becca got up to whisper it to you instead, and you almost choked. You’d been expecting a piercing to be “silly” because of its name. Like a smiley or jestrum.

“What?” Mel asked while Becca returned to her spot.

“That is a silly piercing, I guess." You laughed, and Becca nodded with a smile. “It’s painful, though, so that takes some of the fun out of it."

Becca’s eyebrows raised, her eyes a bit wide. “Do you have one!?”

“Uh… I’ve done one before. Seen a couple done by piercers who have a lot more experience. Based off the reactions, I would say it’s not super fun at first.”

“What?” Mel asked again, but Becca shook her head at you with wide eyes.

“Mel doesn’t like talking about that stuff…”

Mel scowled, about to make some sort of argument, so you tried to appease the situation with humor.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” you joked while gently rubbing her arm, and… wow, did it earn you an irritated look reaching near-Trinityan proportions. Becca giggled, smiling as she bunched up her nose again.

“I’m technically eight minutes older than Mel!”

“Oh, well, of course,” you replied playfully.

Mel looked at you again, annoyed, but still expectantly. When Becca was busy eating, you toyed with Mel’s braid and murmured to her that you’d tell her later.

“‘When I’m older’?” she asked quietly in a tone that continued to surprise you. You didn’t get a lot of sassy Mel, and she was just so… adorable.

“I mean, we’re getting older all the time,” you whispered, earning you a glaring side glance that coaxed more of that cuteness aggression out of you. It made you want to lean over and bite her.

You kept toying with her braid when the movie was playing again, testing a little, loving tug, but she didn’t even give you another look. She just kept looking glumly at the screen, so you sighed quietly and smoothed a hand over her hair. Mel did a test side glance at first before looking over at you without even a hint of the previous attitude. You nodded as if to tell her, “I will fill you in later, don’t worry,” before tucking your hand in the gap between her open sweatshirt and her shirt to gently rub her back. She finally relaxed under your touch, until she was arching her back more into your hand at some point. You mumbled a quiet apology as you slid your hand back, figuring she was trying to push you away, but Mel shook her head.

“My back is itchy,” she explained in a whisper, blushing when you laughed. Becca’s attention pulled away from the screen because she didn’t think the current scene was particularly funny. She noticed the way you were scratching Mel’s back for her, moving your hand here and there until you got the right spot.

“Oh! Mom used to do that for Dad." Becca smiled before taking some popcorn, and Mel’s initial blush turned into a deep pink up to the tips of her ears.

“Becca.”

“What?” Becca asked innocently between bites of popcorn. “It’s true!”

You didn't hold in your amusement but went back to rubbing her back instead. Poor Mel.

ʚɞ

Throughout the night, Becca had a few more questions and comments pop up until she reached a point of complete investment in the movie. You found yourself staring at Mel, nuzzling her and gently tugging her closer. She let out a soft breath and placed her head on your shoulder once you had pulled back from the crook of her neck.

When the credits were rolling, you made yourself separate from Mel to clean up, a bit startled when both of them thanked you in the same tone and cadence for taking their plates. The only noticeable difference being Becca’s voice was naturally higher than Mel’s.

“Do you know if you can come to craft night next week?” Becca asked her sister, her mouth moving off to one side again before dipping into a slight pout over her hesitation.

“I’ll… try to make it, but work might get in the way,” she informed Becca regretfully. “It starts pretty close to the end of my shift. Sometimes they need me to stay later.”

“Okay…” Becca trailed off, only to accidentally scare her seconds later with an excited “Oh!” She wanted to know if you could come too, and Mel tilted her head, unsure about answering for you.

“Uh… yeah… I don’t see why not, unless, I mean—”

“I’d love to. Thank you for inviting me,” you answered her, stepping back out of the kitchen and offering Becca a soft smile.

“It’ll be really fun. We’re working with felt!” she informed you with a bright grin. Right as you commented on that sounding cool, she was sidetracked by her phone vibrating. Becca blinked and looked at her phone, seeing her aide was here to drive her back to Middle Hill.

“Geri’s here. I have to go home,” she said, getting up from her spot and putting her phone in her pocket.

Home. Mel tried to not let that one sting, and yet she had still sunk deep enough into her own thoughts that it took Becca trying to get her attention a few times before she realized she was trying to get by.

“Oh… sorry,” she whispered and got up, stepping out of the way for Becca.

“Bye, Mel!” Becca gave her sister a quick hug and then walked over to you and gestured for you to come closer, almost conspiratorially.

The corners of your lips twitched up, and you glanced at a confused Mel before walking over to Becca. She seemed to find whispering to you fun, like maybe this could be an exciting pattern for you two.

“Okay, yeah,” you nodded with a laugh after she had cupped a hand by your ear to ask you something. "I'll try."

“What was that about?” Mel asked with a hesitant smile, and you could only really shrug once Becca was shaking her head at you the way her twin sister had earlier.

“What…?”

“Okay, bye, Mel!” Becca said as she started to walk out, saying goodbye to you as well.

"Wait—I, Becca, hold on! I need to walk you out. You can’t just…” Mel scrambled after her sister, her voice gradually fading down the hall.

When she came back, she was so tense that it was practically tangible in her silence.

“Becca likes you,” Mel finally spoke up, hands clutched in front of her, and you smile, nodding as you filled the dishwasher.

“I figured since I got an invitation, but that’s good to hear. She’s cool.”

Mel pressed her lips together, nodding even though her expression gradually bunched up into something pained. She considered whether or not she should even go back to what happened before, but she couldn’t help it.

“So, what was that earlier…?” she asked, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck while keeping her eyes down. After her failed attempt at a casual question and you glancing at her, Mel stretched her arms down with her hands tangled together and her shoulders tensed up near her ears. She tried for a patient smile, but it was awkward, and you thought she looked like she was anxiously waiting to go pee.

“The uh… whispering…?” she continued when you didn’t answer within the ten-second silence you had since she last spoke.

“Hm?” you asked, closing the dishwasher and starting it. “Oh!”

You turned around with a laugh, relaxing with your body leaned back against the counter.

“It really wasn’t anything, but—”

“I’d still like to know,” she interrupted, swallowing then glancing down again as she got out a “please.”

“But…” you re-emphasized the word and eyed her curiously. “She was asking about genital piercings.”

“Oh, okay, err—eugh…” Mel made a face while she shook her head, as if it could erase the fact that her sister knew about and had asked you about such things. Not to mention the likelihood of infection with those types of piercings. Oh god, did Becca want one? She hoped not. Mel looked close to bursting with the thoughts she held back on but chose to move on instead.

“Um… and before she left? Was it more of…” She gestured vaguely with her hands. “Uh, that…?”

You smiled, still feeling rather entertained by this part of her. You reassured her that no, that was not something Becca had continued to whisper about before she left.

“Oh, okay…” she nodded, looking back down at her hands. “So… what…was it again…?”

“I don’t know… I mean, she whispered it for a reason…” you trailed off playfully with a sigh and puff of air while you pushed off the counter.

This quickly earned you a crazy look from Mel that forced a laugh of disbelief from your chest. It didn’t surpass, but certainly competed with, the one she gave you the day her period had started early.

“She wanted me to make sure you’d go to craft night." You finally gave the “big reveal” with amusement still clinging to your words.

“Not that I have any control over your schedule, but…”

“Oh,” Mel blinked, soothed that it was something that simple, but she was still lingering and tense.

You finished neatening up in the kitchen, knowing if you didn’t do it now, then it would be put off until all of a sudden you weren’t doing your part. You were about to switch the light off and walk out, but she was still standing right there.

“Jesus—” you jumped slightly. She had been so quiet that you had assumed she walked off.

“Um…?” she started again, too preoccupied with her thoughts to realize maybe she should apologize for startling you. Mel trailed behind you after you went around her to turn off the TV and head to your room. You turned around, holding back on a sigh that would probably hurt her feelings when she started talking again.

“Why did you say the thing earlier about telling me when I’m ‘older?’” she asked quietly, hands less clutching and more folded now, but she still looked stiff.

“I know Becca likes to cling to the eight-minute difference,” she huffed with half an eye roll, “but I am the same age as her—”

“It was just a joke,” you tried to reassure her with a little laugh, and her expression changed a couple of times within a matter of seconds between her explanation, your interrupting and then when you rested your hands on her shoulders.

She felt the gesture had the potential to soothe her, but you kept it too brief just to turn away again. She followed you into the hall.

“I just… I only ask because, well, I understand it was a joke and I’m glad Becca likes you—”

Yet again you were turning on your heel, now with raised brows and a sigh you finally let out. When you said her name in that familiar way that encouraged her to just say what’s on her mind, Mel breathed out a sigh of her own.

“I didn’t… like it…” she admitted quietly, swallowing nervously.

“Oh…” you trailed off, noting how she kept her head down until you apologized.

“It’s okay, I guess… thanks…”

“I had no idea what to say, honestly, when Becca didn’t want me to tell you,” you confessed, and she had a sad but curious shift to her gaze.

“I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot and have her think she couldn’t trust me. Besides, I knew I’d tell you later anyway because it wasn’t that serious.”

She nodded at that, offering a shy smile.

“I guess that makes sense… Sorry," Mel laughed awkwardly when she apologized, shaking her head at herself with her full brows bunched together.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you told her in a soft tone, but she looked so guilty that you stepped closer to her to gently smooth your hands over her arms. “I’m glad you told me.”

She let out a small breath through her nose, forcing herself to look up at you again, but it didn’t last very long. It felt too intense, so she let her gaze stick to your jugular notch for now.

“Becca’s great and I’m happy we have things to talk about, but… I don’t know… you’re my Mel,” you offered with a little smile and she looked at you with a pleasant surprise at first, although it visibly turned more wistful.

“I’d never leave you out on purpose.”

“Well, I appreciate that…” Mel replied quietly with the slightest nod, and a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“So, we’re okay…?” you asked, ducking your head down enough to catch her gaze when she timidly glanced down again. She looked up and nodded quickly.

“Yeah—yes…”

“Okay, good,” you murmured, eyeing her just in case there were signs of anything else she was upset about. If nothing else, you figured you’d hear about it the moment you turned around.

“You can always talk to me when something upsets you, even if it’s me,” you reassured her, and she nodded silently.

You had rubbed the sides of her arms a bit longer, but not as long as she would’ve liked. When you spoke to her, her eyes had flitted up to your face and then away repeatedly, undecided on where to land until your back was turned. Then, her gaze was trained solely on you, twisting her hands. When you disappeared into your room, Mel let out a huff.

She was all tangled up inside over the mix of feelings that seemed to fill her up, and she had no idea what to do with them. In all honesty, she wanted nothing to do with them, but they weren’t going away on their own. They could lie dormant at times if she was occupied enough, but they were still there and could get inflamed at random. They were like… some sort of simple, superficial wound that she should be perfectly capable of dealing with, and yet she couldn't. And each day, it was growing more urgent. Although, she supposed she shouldn’t compare thoughts and feelings about you to an erythematous wound, even if her feelings were hurt earlier.

Stuck standing there in the hall, all she could think was how you called her your Mel. Yours. You felt a sort of ownership, or maybe more like a partiality, that made her more of a priority. She didn’t think she’d ever had that before.

Mel hummed quietly and forced herself down the hall to her room, but only to get changed. Unless you said otherwise, she’d rather sleep in your room again.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

You were struggling to get Trinity to acknowledge you, and you didn’t think she had read receipts on before, but she may have turned them on just so you could see when she purposely left your texts unanswered. Or… maybe she didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know. The back and forth between your frustrated reasoning and your hurt reasoning could go on forever. Either way, she was still barely talking to you.

So, the next time you were picking up Mel, you waited, hoping to spot Trin too.

It had been one of the unfortunate, unexpectedly long days. One where they were nearly free and then… they weren’t. You were about to leave work when Reggie asked if you had heard about the car pile-up, which, no, you hadn’t. You felt like a horrible person when your first thought on the footage was, “Do they ever get to leave that hospital on time?”

You had settled your hands on the backs of your hips, looking over his shoulder to watch the news helicopter's bird's-eye view playing on his phone. It was all a mess from the truck that had tipped over by an exit to the very last of the damaged vehicles that followed. You opened your texts with Mel and saw the typing bubble, but you still let her know you'd pick her up tonight. The typing bubble went away, came back, went away again and then she hearted your message.

After work, you nearly dozed off in your room, but flinched awake around 8:30 to the obnoxious notification sound you had given Mel's contact. The fact that you had to rest your eyes in the middle of texting her back had you grabbing an energy drink from the fridge.

You'd fallen back into some bad sleeping habits lately, which you figured had kicked into gear after that night Mel couldn't fall asleep, but it could've been anything. It was easy to flip your sleep habits, plus there was something about simply existing when everyone else around was sleeping. You just wished the alertness you felt at 2:00 AM rubbed off on the way you felt waking up in the morning. So, you were exhausted, but you also weren't the one doing whatever Mel was dealing with right now and would rather be there to take her home.

Now, you were standing behind your car, finishing your drink and bouncing on your toes in an attempt to keep your blood pumping. It was a relief to see both Trinity and Mel when they walked out, until you realized the former was scowling at her phone, ignoring the latter's reluctant goodbye.

You walked over, tossing your can in the trash while you kept your eyes on Trinity. Mel was desperate to leave, even if she kept looking at the brunette too, hoping that aching feeling in her stomach was only her being sensitive.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you asked, joining them where they stood by the employee doors.

“Peachy,” Trinity sighed.

“Can we give you a ride home?” Mel offered quietly, and she huffed.

“No, thanks." Trin made big eyes at her screen in place of an eye roll and then tucked the phone away into her bag. “Don’t need you doing me any more favors.” “What’s wrong…?” you furrowed your brows, puzzled by the apparent change in their dynamic. “Nothing,” she drew out the word breathlessly. “She just doesn’t have to be such a fucking suck-up all the time.” Trin snapped, and Mel twisted her hands so tightly together they were blanching.

The regret hit her the second she had said it, as if the pain she threw outward always bounced back and hit her in the chest. Yet, she still stuck to her words after, bitterly swallowing the feelings down while she stalked off. You glanced at Mel one more time, then back to Trinity’s retreating form.

Mel felt stuck to her spot again, briefly considering the car since you had tossed the keychain she failed to catch, but she couldn’t push herself to. She moved enough to pick up the keys but remained by the doors to the parking garage, watching you and Trinity walk off. “Maybe try that again?” you countered, catching up to her. “No, thanks." Trin gave you a condescending, fake smile before turning back around.

“What’s up with you? Why are you snapping at Mel?”

“Oh, sorry, you’re right," she relented sarcastically, finally stopping. You thought it was to turn on you and snap at you to your face, but she was swinging her backpack to the front of her body to look inside.

"I shouldn’t snap at Mel. Never at perfect Mel, who can do no wrong ever, apparently. Must be fucking nice,” Trinity exhaled, digging through her bag and side-eyeing you occasionally now that you were closer.

“Did something happen? Was there some argument about something? Like a disagreement over treating a patient or...?” you searched for any possible reason aloud.

Trinity was too busy muttering to herself and ignoring you when suddenly she let out a frustrated groan and dropped her bag onto the ground.

“I left my fucking keys in my locker,” she got out through gritted teeth, more at herself than you, and dragged her hands over her face. “Grab them when you’re working again. I’ll drive you,” you shrugged, with your eyes searching for any more tells in her body language. Please just be frustrated by your day. “No thanks,” she replied to the air first, slapping her hands back down with a sardonic laugh. “Guess it’s nice to see I still exist to you, though.” “Okay…” you sighed, rubbing at your forehead, and fighting off a laugh of your own. Not because it was funny, but because of course, right? Why wouldn’t this happen right now?

“I thought we were good,” you tried, and your throat already felt strained. Trinity set her hands on her hips while she scowled at the bag on the ground, probably trying to think about her keys instead of listening to you. “I thought we were past this… god, I’m such an idiot. I thought it was just about the 4th,” you huffed out and shook your head at yourself.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Trinity asked with an eye roll, snatching her bag up off the ground.

Of course, she had forgotten it was still unzipped from when she was rummaging through it, and when she picked it up again, things came tumbling out of it. She quietly hissed out a “fuck” under her breath and knelt down to start picking up her things.

This wasn’t just about you or Mel, or you and Mel. This was about Trinity. In the least shitty way possible, it was always because of herself when she got this bad. It didn’t matter if you made a mistake or none at all. Some part of her sought anything to cling to that convinced her to push everyone away. You thought you’d been past it after a particularly bad set of months in your friendship years ago that had brought you to tears and made you want to rip your hair out.

She was hurting and you weren’t there? That had confirmed her concern that she didn’t matter. You were there? She could snap at you anyway. And if you just took it when she blew up at you, then you were apathetic. If you snapped at her in return or showed any signs of exhaustion over her behavior, clearly you were easy to push away because you hadn’t cared that much about her in the first place. And no matter what, all of it made her quietly hate herself more.

It had gotten really bad. To the point that somehow, at your most desperate and pleading, you had been able to fight for some sort of emotional peace treaty or at least armistice against her impulse to push you away.

So, you had thought you were past this. But even if you did something wrong—and you were sure you had—it didn’t matter how hard you tried to make up for it. Not when the tiniest slights could break something open that she’d rather leave there to drown in.

Trin truly had been relieved to have you around again... until she wasn’t. Until the first negative feeling punched through the rose-colored tint around you. Now, you were someone to push away again. Had it really been this long since you’d been consistently around each other that you forgot? Maybe you had hoped she’d grown out of the cycle or that the mental-emotional-armistice-treaty-whatever was really something that held up.

It had nothing to do with the side of her that insisted on justice and could be stubborn about what she deserved, either. No, but the fact that she had that side to her was the perfect cover at times. Really, this was the side of her that said I’m going to ruin this far before you can because then it’ll hurt less.

“What are you actually upset about? No sarcasm, no waiting for me to read your mind. That’s not fair, so just tell me what’s wrong.” “Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted, nearly scoffing when you lowered yourself onto the asphalt beside her to help grab her things. She swiped a hand out to grab her phone from you, but you pulled your hand back before she could take it.

“Seriously? What is this—Kindergarten?” “I don’t know, depends on if you can talk to me like an adult.” That one stung you before you even finished, but it had been like you couldn’t stop the words from falling from your mouth. The responding “Fuck you" was certainly well-earned. She made another attempt for the phone. You pulled it back again. “What’s. Wrong?” You insisted, still keeping her phone out of reach. She shot you a glare, figuring she’d get her phone back eventually, and busied herself with shoving other things back into her bag. “It’s obviously something I did. I don’t know why you’re taking it out on Mel, but—”

“Well, she clearly is the priority,” she sighed in faux enlightenment. “Don’t worry, I’ll apologize to your boring little girlfriend before I throw myself off the roof.”

“That—first of all, that’s not funny. Don’t even joke about doing that, and she’s not my...” you shook your head, hating the way heat crept up your face. “She’s not boring either...” “Right, not boring, just a fucking loser,” Trinity got out with a laugh to soften the edges of her words, even if it didn't work for either of you. She kept her head down, moving something in her bag that didn't need to be moved so that you wouldn't see the shame immediately dimming the vehemence in her eyes.

You didn't even feel a surge of defensive anger flare up. She had gone too far to the point of dumping water over the fire she had been trying to spark. “Don’t say that about her…” you murmured in a quieter tone. You don’t react when she takes your moment of surprise to grab her phone right out of your hand and shove back into her bag.

“You’re jealous.”

“Yeah, sure,” she scoffed, but there it was again. One of those twinges of pain. One of her emotional barbs that caught your skin, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

“Yeah, there’s a lot to be jealous of with someone who can’t—”

“Watch it. I know you’re regretting half of the shit you’ve said already. Don’t add to it.”

You and Trinity always had a dynamic with witty banter. It was one of the things that fueled your connection, but it was also the very thing that threatened your friendship when things got bad. She could hit you twice with words alone in a matter of seconds, leaving you huffing in disbelief, with words drying up in your throat.

Right now there was that flash of challenge in her eyes. Her jaw tensed like she was possessed, trying to gain control of herself again and fight the words leaving her in rapid fire, but she couldn’t. “She can’t even make a friend unless they’re stuck in an apartment with her,” she blurted in a sharp tone, the anger she tried to carve even deeper into her expression only seeming to highlight the grief in her eyes.

“And you just cater to everything she wants. Everything’s about her and not hurting her feelings. Well, I guess you’re not all that different from everyone else in the fucking hospital who adore her just because she’s willing to be a doormat—”

“Trinity, you don’t even know her,” you interrupted with a flicker of that dying ember and she scoffed. “Yeah, you introduced us. Yeah, we’ve all hung out together, but you don’t fucking know what she’s like or what she’s been through—”

“What she’s been through?” Trinity gasped in disbelief, standing back up while you did the same. "Well, let me know if she wants to fucking trade trauma sometime. I’d love to be the one with dead parents.”

Don’t let her get a rise out of you. It’s what she wants, you reminded yourself as you turned away from her just for a moment, needing that second before circling back to her. She’s trying to see how hard she can push you to see if you’ll decide she isn’t worth it.

“It must be nice to be the little blonde angel of the ED. Everybody likes her. Even my best friend—the person who’s supposed to be my best friend—is fucking in love with her and wants to treat her like she could break at any fucking moment." Trinity stopped only to catch the breath she nearly choked on. You knew what she was really saying, but why couldn't she just say it outright for once?

I want people to like me—I want to be likable. I want someone to love me. I want someone to treat me like I’m breakable because I feel like I am and no one seems to care.

“That bullshit wide-eyed, sweet girl act—I knew it was some shady shit. Oh, how she must be miserable with everyone adoring her all the time—” “She was really fucking lonely, Trinity…” “Yeah, well, same!” She said loud enough that her words echoed through the parking garage, ending the confession on a hollow laugh. She swallowed nervously, fixing her bag that had slid off of her shoulder.

“Oh no, wait, I still am because I’m not tolerable enough to anyone, and my supposed best friend is too caught up being a sad cliché over her roommate.” “I am right here, literally—” you tried, but she was talking over you again.

“It’s whatever. I’ll wait for the novelty to wear off, like what always happens with you. Honestly, I’m surprised this has lasted so long." Her voice was thick, and she knew it because she was avoiding your eyes again.

"I..." you deflated on an exhale. You wanted to finish speaking, but her words caught up to you mid-thought. "I'm not like that."

"Yeah, sure," Trinity laughed almost genuinely that time. "Let's see... Oh! How about Zoey?"

"Sure, I couldn’t stand her, but jesus, all she wanted was to hold your attention, and you were constantly blowing her off, probably because you—”

“Because I was taking care of you,” you cut in, and the way she stuttered on the last word she said told you there was finally something you could say to smother that searing pain she'd been projecting. “I didn’t like leaving you alone in the apartment. Why do you think she thought we were secretly together behind her back?”

Trinity set her jaw as she looked down at the ground, losing her hold on anything else that could possibly infuriate you. You tried again with a soft sigh.

“I am literally fighting for you to let me take care of you, to let me drive you home or back to our place,” you insisted, palms pressed together and straight out in front of you as you made your point. “Yeah 'cause I hurt her feelings,” she huffed, avoiding looking at you now as she was losing steam. She was so tired. “Because I love you,” you corrected, dipping down to try and catch her eyes again, which she was actively keeping from you. “And you’re my best friend. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you’re not important.” Trinity swallowed. She went quiet and crossed her arms again, looking off to the side. “She’s my roommate. I can’t help that I already spend a lot of time with her, but that doesn’t make her more important than you," you offered with a single step forward. Any more than that felt like a risk, as if you were trying to coax an injured, defensive stray.

"I miss you. If you’ve been feeling ignored, you could’ve told me instead of ignoring me.” “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” “Yes, it does,” you stressed, feeling your throat burn as if all the acid in your stomach had coated it. It ached with the need to cry clawing at it.

“You matter. You two can both matter to me at the same time. And when I mess up, you can at least respect me enough to believe I can make things right.” She sighed through her nose, still avoiding your attempts to get her to look at you.

“I don’t want you to be lonely. I want you to feel as loved as you are—” “Oh, barf,” Trinity practically dry-heaved the words, but at least she was finally looking at you again, even if it was with disgust. “As loved as you are,” you re-emphasized with a smile, hoping you didn't seem too proud of that working on her before you continued, “and I want to give you a ride because you’re overworked and I want you to be safe.” “You’re so fucking sappy. Have fun with your girlfriend. I’ll just drive myself,” she bit out again, but didn't pull away when you interrupted her attempt to walk off. “Will you quit calling her that? She’s—” you stopped and let go of her arm. You unknowingly stopped to check that Mel wasn't close by and saw she was still across the way by the exit. You looked at Trinity again and spoke in a softer voice.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and you’re not driving.” “You’re in such deep denial, it’s actually blowing my mind right now,” Trinity insisted, gesturing with both hands up. That was rich coming from her. “I…” you fell back into an exhausted, breathless laugh. “I can't—I'm not going to keep arguing with you about this. Just get in the damn car.” “Fine, whatever, but I’m not talking to either of you,” she muttered, more bothered by the thought of walking back into that hospital and getting dragged into a case anyway. “Fine.” “Fine," she repeated, and you let her hold onto the last word if it was what she needed.

ʚɞ

As expected, the drive home was dead silent, but at least the argument with Trinity had given you a spike of energy to run on while behind the wheel. When you got back, she was still reluctant to accept the help, so her defenses were up and she kept her distance on the walk into the apartment. You took that as an opportunity to gently rub Mel’s back, and she breathed out shakily. Even if the argument wasn’t one she was caught in, she was still sucked into its gravitational pull, which was why Trinity had been taking her frustrations out on her too. She hated fighting. The tension in a room sought her out like a magnet, and it was terribly overstimulating.

“Um…” you heard Mel’s voice for the first time in at least an hour, and it was fragile and hesitant. She cleared her throat as you shut the door behind you and locked it for the night.

“Where would you like to sleep?” she asked Trinity, who looked at her with a flat expression.

“You could sleep in my room, if you want to,” she offered with a little smile. “We’ve been sharing a bed lately anyway."

You cringed slightly and rubbed at the back of your neck while you turned your gaze down to the floor.

"Huh." Trinity’s exhaled laugh was short and mocking. “I bet you have… Thanks, but I’ll just sleep out here.”

“Okay,” Mel murmured gently, looking at you, then Trinity again, twisting her hands before going down the hall to change into pajamas. You could hear her humming to herself again, trying to shake all these bad feelings off like fleas with the vibration.

As Trin let her bag fall to the floor, you grabbed the remote to the AC and… nothing. You jammed the buttons on the unit. Nothing. Fantastic, it’s hardly been a couple months, and it was already dead.

"Well, apparently the AC is broken out here,” you sighed, dropping the useless remote onto the coffee table.

“Fine, I’ll just use a couple fans,” Trinity mumbled, rubbing where she was sore on her scalp from having her hair up.

You nodded and brought them out for her, hesitating over what to say, if anything at all. Rather than bothering her with questions, you silently brought out comfortable clothes for her to sleep in and left them on the coffee table. She eyed them, then you, and then looked down into her bag again, where she was looking for her phone charger.

“Night…” you tried, but she was quiet. Once again, you were stuck between your possible options and decided to just get ready for bed.

ʚɞ

“… and I lost my AirPods…” Mel mumbled to you after having gone over her bad day in the vaguest way possible. She never really talked about things other people did, like Trinity’s behavior today. She only brought up personal details, but this was better than her thinking HIPAA meant completely suffering in silence.

“I think…”

“You don’t remember where you put them last?” you asked in a soft tone, reaching over to gently rub her abdomen, and she shook her head.

“I’m sorry you and Dr. Santos are fighting,” she whispered moments after, turning her attention from the ceiling to you, her expression fraught with guilt.

“It’s okay… we’re just two grumpy old men. We fight sometimes, but it’ll be alright,” you whispered playfully, moving your hand to fix the way one of her sleeves had crinkled up and folded on itself. “Besides, it’s not your fault.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Mel whispered to the ceiling again.

“Well, it’s not,” you insisted, tapping at her chin to get her attention again. She finally relented with a small nod and a deep breath. When you held out your arm as an invitation to curl up together, she paused first to shut the light off and place her glasses on the bedside table.

You let her stay close to you until she was in a deep enough sleep to roll over and set her back on her side of the bed. The second you were laid back, a shaky, choked sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, and you instinctively covered your mouth with your fingers. You glanced at Mel and watched the slow expanding then relaxing of her chest while she slept, then moved your hand from your lips to dig the heels of both hands into your eyes.

You hated fights with Trinity more than any friend you’ve ever had. You understood where that pain came from, but knowing didn’t always save you from being hit by it. This was the nastiest she’s gotten with you since the first argument you had.

And the comments on Mel… between the blatant insults and mocking your friendship, it was… Well, it was exactly what you said it was. Jealousy. But the connection you had with Trinity was completely different from what you had with Mel. You two really were two grumpy old men—you were a vintage Statler and Waldorf pair in Palm Springs or something. Mel was… you didn’t want to think about it, but it was different.

You chewed on your bottom lip and looked over her again before rolling over to face the other way. Fuck.

ʚɞ

You could feel the exhaustion in your eyes but you still hadn’t slept. It was what you had wanted all day, but the depth of your emotions held you hostage from being able to even relax. When there was a light knock on your bedroom door, you froze. Then another, more impatient that time, and you wiped at your cheeks as you got out of bed. When you had opened the door, Trinity had her arm raised to knock again.

She let it drop down to her side, and you both looked elsewhere, telling yourselves the other one’s eyes weren’t as red and puffy as they seemed.

“It’s gross out in the living room. Can I just sleep on the floor or something?” she whispered.

“Yeah, sure… of course,” you said and opened the door wider for her to come in.

Between all the movement and the way your door creaked, Mel lifted her head from the pillow. Half of her hair was drooping from the lazy braid she put it in, and she was squinting against the light, asking for you.

Trinity wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t have it in her.

“Trin’s sleeping in here with us,” you murmured while Mel rubbed her eyes and grabbed her glasses.

“Oh… I’ll um…” Mel sat up, nudging her glasses up to her forehead as she rubbed one eye again. “I’ll go to my room.”

“It’s cool. I’ll just sleep on the floor,” Trinity muttered, but Mel shook her head with a yawn.

“It’s okay, um… mkay,” she mumbled sleepily while sliding out of the bed, shuffling off to her room. You couldn’t help smiling as you watched her leave because sleepy Mel was just so...

“I guess I can’t blame her if she doesn’t want to be around me…” Trin said with a self-deprecating smile, hesitantly joining you in your bed. She flipped the pillow to the cooler side and settled, staying close to the edge of her side, and leaving a ridiculous gap between the two of you.

“It’s not that. She wants you to be comfortable,” you answered simply and set your head back on your pillow, resting with your body turned to face the wall. No defensiveness or snapping. You were too tired.

Apparently she felt the same because there was no bite back. She stayed on her side, silent.

Trinity fought the burning in her eyes as she stared straight ahead at the wall across from her side. Well, she supposed it was actually Mel’s side of the bed...

Fuck, she hated feeling like this. All she wanted was your attention because you were her only long-term friend around here… well, you were her only long-term friend period these days. But you had all these people from the shop, clients that sometimes became loosely defined friends, anyone you knew around here from guest spotting, and Mel. Meanwhile, she was just some irate nothing who gave you the cold shoulder when all she wanted was to agree to meet up for coffee, and she picked fights with you in parking garages.

Both of you were wide awake despite acting otherwise. After a while, you felt Trinity shift on the mattress when she laid on her back and heard her take a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry… about earlier. I don’t…” She shook her head at herself, letting out a hollow, huffed laugh. “I don’t know why I said all that…”

You turned onto your other side to look at her, but she kept staring at the ceiling.

“I actually really like Mel…jesus." She sat up suddenly and rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m just the worst fucking person. I don’t know why I keep doing this…”

You watched her sadly with a dipped brow, staying quiet so she could get out anything she needed to say.

“You know she stood up for me today?” Trinity asked as her hands fell from her face, shaking her head in disbelief. “To a senior resident she usually adores, no less. And I… I snap at her and I call her names and…”

She swallowed, shaking her head again as she looked down, squeezing her eyes shut. She pulled her knees to her chest.

“I just… I want it all to stop…”

You sat up and eyed her cautiously. As if your movement alone was enough to trigger a memory for her too, Trin shook her head, still looking elsewhere.

“Not in that way… I just…" she shrugged and let out a sad laugh. “I just wish I could start over. Clean slate. I’m always making up for things because I always fuck everything up.”

"No, you don’t. You’re a good person,” you murmured, and she subtly shook her head, looking down at your sheets with her chin on her knees. “You are. You just…”

She tensed when you trailed off, finally glancing at you.

“You just have some bad habits you need to break away from, like everyone else in the world. And,” you quickly clarified as she looked away. “I don’t mean that in a shitty ‘you’re not special, pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ kinda way. I mean you’re not alone. Everyone messes up and has bad habits. It doesn’t make you inherently bad.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel that way,” she laughed weakly, sighing after. She offered a tentative look at you. “Thanks though…”

You shift closer to her until your sides are pressed together, sinking into each other more with the dip in the mattress you create together. She rests her head on your shoulder, and you rest your head on top of hers. Despite craving intimacy, Trin was pretty bad at initiating it and even worse at accepting it. This was okay, though, and a weak smile tugged at her when you offered her your pinky. She hooked hers around yours and squeezed gently, even as she rolled her eyes. That was the closest thing to a hug you could get from her sometimes.

“Speaking of bad habits,” she sighed a couple minutes later, and you braced yourself for a number of things she could throw at you.

“Your girlfriend said you’re smoking more.”

“Not my—” you cut yourself off with a huff, pulling your head back while she does the same, smirking at you. You didn’t want to let go of her pinky, but don’t bother her when she moved her hand away.

“I really don’t… I… how would she know anyway?”

“She counts how many are in your pack pretty much every day,” Trin answered with a simple nod, and you laughed. “Keeps track of when you get a new pack, too.”

“Of course she does…”

Your smile softened as you looked down at your hands in your lap, and you got that feeling again. The one where your heart wanted to swell, but then your nerves kicked in and deflated it. After a beat of silence, sitting with the weight of it, you took a deep breath.

“I think I have feelings for her,” you murmured, and you weren’t as relieved as you thought you’d be to say it out loud. Your heart still felt like it was trying to climb into your throat.

In Trinity’s initial silence, you looked at her. She was nodding and glanced at you after she caught you in her periphery.

“Yeah, no shit.”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

Apparently, it had been too easy for you to forget what Mel does on a daily basis. Or maybe it had been too difficult for you to even grasp it in the first place when it wasn’t right in front of you.

Morgan showing up and recognizing Mel the way she had was like stepping into an alternate universe. You were more than aware that Mel is a doctor, and yet her career was simultaneously a distant abstraction in your mind. Your brain basically copy-pasted her face onto stereotypical stock images of doctors, and that was the most you had, beyond seeing the toll it had on her by the time she got home.

Her job was part of the knowledge she had right off the top of her head. She’d entitle these things “fun facts” before telling you them over the phone, or while you were lying down beside her, or when you were moving around the apartment with her trailing behind you. It was part of the knowledge you had set a boundary against when it came to her targeting your life choices. But this moment felt… different.

It was bordering on disruptive to have someone recognize her from her profession when the Mel you saw was warmed by the glow of lamps at the apartment or lit by the cool tones of the TV with the lights off and the surface of her glasses reflecting the images.

You saw her as someone you wanted to protect and soothe because she was so easy to agitate and was prone to spiraling. Then she had the subtlest shift in demeanor for this young woman, and you were reminded that she wasn’t just your roommate. It sounded ridiculous and maybe even self-centered, but it was more about realizing that there were parts of her that even you don’t see in that little apartment—no matter how deeply you understood her.

Not to mention, somehow it had never occurred to you that Mel was working the day of the PittFest shooting. When you met, she said she had been in the ED for the past six months, and Trinity must’ve mentioned starting on the same day at some point… All the details were there, of course, but you never connected them quite right. You never imagined (maybe because you never wanted to) Mel going through such horrific things. And you felt like an idiot, standing there, witnessing the impact she had on someone during the worst day of her life. It made you realize that you never truly understood how much she goes through, even if this particular situation wasn’t something she’d deal with often.

Mel didn’t say much beyond answering Morgan when prompted. She wouldn’t have even acknowledged knowing her in the first place if Morgan hadn’t initiated and consented. It was mostly her listening, sitting in the rolling chair you offered her while you grabbed water and tissues. You stood off to the side, ready to give either of them anything they needed. Morgan explaining how she knew Mel turned into a venting session that she had clearly needed. So, you heard about gunshots and blood and dead fathers and screaming and crying and how Mel had been the reason Morgan was reunited with her mother likely before any other family member of the injured.

Trauma center, you reminded yourself on the quiet car ride home. It’s not only an ER; it’s a trauma center.

All of this made you realize, with no small amount of shame, how little credit you had been giving her now that you were facing just how much she deserved. Yes, she was oblivious sometimes to the point of being so unintentionally funny it killed you. She was your silly roommate, Mel—“Blondie”—who you adored. She was sensitive and shy and a little naive. Not to mention so inexperienced with certain aspects of adult life that, with all of this together, you had deluded yourself into seeing her as someone you had to protect. You always saw her as fragile.

Apparently, you had practically severed whoever she was at work from the roommate you knew.

You remembered the day of the shooting and how quiet the world felt despite watching it fall apart on the news through shaky phone recordings and professional footage. And you think of Mel, your sweet Mel, who you wanted to wrap in bubble wrap sometimes, stuck in the middle of it. Witnessing her with Morgan had your mind reaching for the facts you knew of the event, trying to imagine where she was among the statistics. You wondered how many fell within the statistic of “lucky enough to leave the hospital alive” because she was there.

The numbers were fuzzy. You knew they'd been said at some point on the news or in an article you read, but you couldn’t remember. It bothered you so much, you excused yourself to wash your face before bed. In reality, you were going to hide in the bathroom with your phone, without risking Mel potentially noticing your screen.

While searching for how many people were sent to PTMC and how many made it, you came across shaky footage snuck from the inside of the emergency department, most of which was half hidden behind a sweatshirt. It was a paused blur right now, and your phone felt terribly heavy in your palm. You hesitate, double check, then triple check, that your volume was still low before hitting the looped arrow in the center of your screen.

All the medical workers were in these white gowns thrown over their clothes, turning them into a monotonous blend of white and red blood and blue gloves moving from one spot to another. You immediately spotted Mel by her braid when she walked past. The already muffled audio was a mess of doctors conversing, giving orders, soothing, in addition to all the sounds of pain. The only time her voice stood out was when she was instructing someone while walking off in the direction of the person recording.

“Drill in an IO. I’m gonna get some blood, and then we’re gonna move her to pink.”

The person hid their phone a bit more since she was approaching, but you still caught the blood smeared over the front of her isolation gown and on her gloved hands that she instinctually held up to avoid touching her surroundings. The recording stopped shortly after that, abruptly, leaving the image a blur of colors again.

You reported the clip and set your phone on the bathroom counter.

The video was never brought up, partially because you knew you shouldn’t have clicked on it in the first place let alone rewatch it, and partially because Mel would be upset it was out there.

Once you were back from the bathroom, you paused in the doorway to look at her, trying to imagine her being the same person as the one in that clip. She was in lightweight, summer pajamas, chewing at her bottom lip as she read something on your e-reader, calmer now and sleepy. Certain feelings slipped past without you reining them in or quietly punishing yourself about her being “too innocent” and “too vulnerable.” Mel finally glanced up at you with a curious dip in her brows.

“Is everything okay?”

You nodded, resting the side of your body against the doorway, hoping your eyes didn't reflect your emotions too obviously. You were trying to avoid being openly sad about what she’s been through, but you just kept looking at her—still trying to see her as the doctor in that clip and also just for the sake of looking at her. You settled your head on the doorway with a weak smile tugging at your lips, and for once, you were the one who felt shy and unsure. Mel was still confused, but had reached a point now where she was starting to fight a bashful smile the longer you looked at her like that.

“What…?”

“Nothing…” you shook your head after a moment then finally walked back to her. “Um… how’s the book so far?”

“O-kay…” Mel eyed you, hesitantly focusing on your question.

“It's good... I think. It’s a lot of world-building right now, and I wish she made a map. I never understand when a fantasy writer doesn’t—oh—”

Mel’s eyebrows shot up when you joined her on your bed, pulling her to you. She was initially tense because she hadn't expected it, but the stiffness melted away with ease. When your hands were prodding at her sides, she arched her back long enough for you to wrap your arms around her and then settled again.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” you responded quietly against her neck.

“Are you sure everything’s okay…?” Mel asked in a soft voice.

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling back enough to look at her. “I just…”

You trailed off with a sigh. You wanted to talk about it; you didn’t want to talk about it. You knew what you wanted to talk about; you didn’t know what you wanted to talk about. You didn’t have the right words, you knew that much, and later you’d be thinking of something better you should’ve said or asked. When you fully separated from her, Mel looked at you with concern. She shut the tablet you’d let her borrow and set it aside before lifting her upper body more onto your pillow.

“Do you… do I ever make you feel like…” you sighed again, struggling to find the words. As you glanced up at the ceiling like you might find them there, you missed the growing mortification on her face.

“Do I ever make you feel like, I don’t know, like I don’t take you seriously?”

Oh. Mel tilted her head, bunching her eyebrows together. When you continued and she gathered the nervousness present in your body, she pushed on the bed to fully sit up.

“Do you feel like I try to take care of you too much? Or… yeah, like I don’t take you seriously?” You couldn't find a better way to phrase it and found yourself toying with your hands, unsure when you had picked up that particular habit. You separated them to press on the tops of your thighs instead, sat back on your legs.

She considered your question before answering, looking off to the side at first, but gradually returning her gaze to you as she spoke.

“I think… maybe... sometimes you’re too worried about me,” she started and you nodded in understanding despite the slight embarrassment souring your stomach.

“But it’s nice to have someone worry about me,” she admitted, smiling gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever really had someone care about me like this.”

She then added, quickly, as if Becca were here to be offended: “Well, besides family. Obviously Becca cares about me, but it’s different… when… um… I guess when it’s someone who doesn’t have to…?”

“So… I don’t bother you when I get like that?”

She considered it again and then shook her head with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s nice not dealing with everything alone.”

You searched her face for any signs that she was only protecting your feelings. Not finding anything other than wholesome honesty, you murmured an “okay” that was barely there.

“Why do you ask?” She wondered now while you reached out to tuck her hair behind her ears. You shrugged with a slight shake of your head.

“I just… I was only wondering. In case it bothered you or anything like that…”

“I don’t think you could do anything that would bother me,” Mel answered casually with her hands folded in her lap, still sitting with her legs crossed.

“I know for a fact that’s not true,” you laughed, despite how badly your heart wanted to ache over her words.

She tilted her head again in a silent question that shaped her lips but never really left her. You only responded with a tilted head and raised brows of your own, which were expectant rather than confused.

“Well, last week…”

Mel considered that with an expression taut from embarrassment, her lips pulled back in a slight grimace.

“That…” she started, tilting her head as she needlessly scratched behind her ear while avoiding your gaze. “That was… um, different…”

Her voice was more of a mumble at the end while she slowly sunk back into the bed, making you laugh.

“It’s okay to fulfill stereotypes sometimes,” you joked. “I think we have the right.”

For a second she thought you might hug her again when you moved, but you only settled down beside her. She tried to not look too disappointed.

“You should tell me why you can get like that,” you prompted suddenly and she frowned.

“It’s not my fault…”

“No, no,” you reassured her even with a breathless laugh. “Not you you. I mean… I guess the science behind all that hormonal stuff.”

“Oh,” she perked up slightly. “Oh, okay. Well, specifically when a menstrual cycle has been disrupted…”

Mel went on talking, explaining things to you that you knew the basics of, but not as deeply as she understood them. You remained on your side, watching her mouth or flicking your gaze up to her eyes when you thought you had been focusing on her lips for too long.

“Mhm,” you had hummed out at some point in a lazy response to her asking if her explanation made sense. She was yawning, and you were struggling to keep your eyes open, your head constantly dipping forward from the hand supporting it until you flinched back into place.

Mel was in the middle of talking about GnRH—which, if you were asked to say the real word for the “G” in your current state, it would probably sound something like “Gndmtrpmn.” She was even starting to doze off, so exhausted by the day that she was losing the alertness that usually came with discussing medical science.

ʚɞ

It felt like she had just been explaining something when Mel was suddenly waking up to the alarm on her phone. Given that you two had fallen asleep in the midst of convincing yourselves you were capable of staying up a little longer, one of your bedside lamps was still on. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes, waking to that odd, early morning feeling. The one where you knew the rest of your home was dark, there was barely any sun showing outside, and that one warm light seemed to create more shadows than brighten the room.

She was about to reach for her phone, when she registered there was something settled close to her. Well, someone. Your face had been pressed against her back with one of your arms lazily thrown over her. She shifted enough to shut off her alarm and grab her glasses.

Unlike Mel, who would make little sounds of discontent and maybe snuggle up more until she had to roll over, she found that when the roles were reversed, you only pulled her closer. She squirmed in her spot, awkwardly turning her body to see a better way out of bed, but your arm that was curled around her only squeezed her to you.

Mel let out a quiet, surprised sound, her face heating up from the way you unknowingly pressed your face against her chest.

“Um… I… I have to get up for work…” she whispered to you, poking your arm. You only huffed quietly.

“Please, I need to shower,” she murmured, nudging your arm with a bit more force, but not much.

She then gently shook you by your arm until you sighed out in frustration. You pulled her in impossibly close before finally letting go to lay on your back with your arm thrown over your eyes.

Mel spent practically her entire shift thinking about the way you had pulled her into yourself until a few cases had hit her harder than expected.

So, you were surprised with a random call from her in the middle of the day while you were doing the dishes. Checking your screen, you saw it was on FaceTime and propped your phone on the little shelf above the sink. You nudged some trinkets off to the side to make some space and answered.

“Hey, Mel. Everything okay?”

She looked tired, and you noticed she was outside still in her scrubs, her stethoscope thrown around her neck.

“Yeah,” she said with a deep inhale that told you she wasn’t being entirely honest. “Just… needed to step away for a bit.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offered, pausing your chores to pay attention to your screen. She parted her lips, and you interrupted only to add, "I know. HIPAA. You can still talk to me about some things though, right?”

Mel barely considered your suggestion, already overwhelmed enough by everything swirling around in her head, and decided to move on to a different topic.

“Oh, um,” she sighed, briefly closing her eyes as she searched for the mental reminder barely showing itself. “My request for the first week of July was declined.”

You eyed her for a moment but didn’t bother pestering her for details she wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“It was just now declined? Don’t you have to have that stuff sorted before the new fiscal year?” you asked with a frown, moving a few rinsed plates to the dishwasher.

“Yes,” she answered with an exhale. “But I guess some senior staff have requested that week, so I can’t take it. I have to choose a different week or they’ll reassign that last one randomly.”

“Well, at least you won’t be bored all week without me,” you offered with a little laugh.

Mel stopped, going from distantly watching some paramedics to looking directly at her screen again.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” you laughed again, glancing at the screen in case she was directing it to someone near her. “I’m going away for a guest spot that week. I put it in the online calendar thing you put together, and I thought I told you…?”

Mel tried to hide her startled confusion, swallowing it down with the lump in her throat. She looked sick as the information curdled in her stomach.

“Oh, um, right… right, I just…” she made a gesture to her head, her eyes now actively avoiding the screen.

“Mel, are you okay…?”

“Yep!” she replied with a sharp intake of breath, trying to express she was okay with a closed lipped smile, but her mouth had only pressed into a tight line.

“I am… great, um,” she scratched at the back of her neck, barely glancing at her screen then immediately at the ground. “I… have to go. They need me back in there for something that’s on the way here—um, okay—”

“Mel…”

“Nope, it’s all good. Gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?” she said to the screen now, hanging up before you could answer.

Out in the ambulance bay, Mel let out a weak breath. She felt stuck to her spot, unable to even put her phone away until the sound of ambulance doors being shut startled her. She glanced in the direction of the noise, and her limbs finally thawed enough for her to head back inside, all while twisting her hands.

Could that week get any worse?

ʚɞ

The closer the deposition approached, Mel seriously considered committing a few HIPAA violations and breaking a couple other legal barriers just to talk to you. To tell you everything going on and why she needed you home. Her job was already at risk anyway, right? Might as well, and she knew she could trust you. But… she said nothing because she was still too afraid to, and she didn’t want to keep you from your trip.

She hadn’t been this lonely in a while.

It was an even harder drop than she had anticipated to go without someone to come home to or wake up to again. Being without her designated person was something her body remembered in the worst possible way. Every morning closer to the day of the deposition, she wound up hyperventilating as she got ready, trying to control it and tell herself she was fine, but she was most certainly not fine.

On the 4th, Mel also told herself to be positive and confident in herself. Of course, she spent most of her shift panicking internally or externally or checking out from her surroundings entirely. And then there were the systems being shut down… and Becca coming in… and finding out about her boyfriend and their… activities… and just… everything. Everything was wrong.

You said you’d be back tomorrow, but it didn’t feel soon enough. “early,” you’d texted her. “i’ll be back early like when you’re usually waking up okay?” And she agreed “Okay,” but she was far from that. So, so, so fucking far.

She scrolled through your texts together, double- and triple-checking the day you said you’d be back and constantly worrying she’d get an update that you’d be gone for longer. She sighed to herself as she sat on the bottom step of the stairs, still scrolling, when she got a notification about you posting on Instagram. She had deleted the app ages ago, and she only logged back into her old account to see yours.

You had posted one of those stories with the green circle around it, and when she clicked on it, she saw a picture of you with some of your new friends from the shop you were guest spotting at. You were sitting on a beach, unaware of the photo being captured by whoever was holding their phone out in both hands. You had a pack of cigarettes in one hand, and you were actively looking through your bag. She started to type a playful reply about you smoking and then deleted it. Then a reply hoping you’re having a good time. She deleted that too.

Mel went from holding her phone in both hands to holding it in one, resting one cheek on her fist, looking sadly at her screen. She really missed you. She wished she had gotten this week off—would it have been rude to ask about joining you last minute if she had? That would’ve meant checking off the “road trip” option on her list, and she would’ve been okay going to a beach if it was with you. Maybe. If she could avoid the sand as much as possible, and if the weather was doable. And if she had first dibs on the shower afterwards to rinse off everything—especially the very necessary, but icky feeling sunscreen. Sure. She could’ve done that.

With a soft sigh, she clicked on your story again to get to your account, swiping to the few reels you had. Your account was mainly photos of freshly done piercings and healed piercings, but you sometimes put up videos of yourself working. You told her you didn’t do a lot because you didn’t want your account to accidentally turn into a hotspot for people hunting for tutorials, safety pin in hand. Mel appreciated the forethought but still wished you didn’t have to worry about that so she could have more.

It was soothing to watch you do your job. She still had no interest in body piercings for herself, but she’s grown a deep appreciation for the way you work. Mel hummed softly to herself as she watched the clip of you piercing someone’s septum. She knew the process by now from when you changed that client’s septum jewelry and from the few you did during the party, but it was still satisfying to watch. You were just so good at your job, that's all. Sure, she didn’t have much to compare to other than when piercings go so wrong they end up at her job, but you really did move with such smooth, efficient motions.

“You want the piercing and placement of jewelry to all be as smooth and as quick as possible,” you had told her at some point. “The less time fucking with it, the better.”

She kept rewatching the same reel until she was startled so badly she nearly threw her phone onto the floor.

“Watching your lava lamp?” Dr. Santos asked in a disinterested mutter, walking down the stairs.

Mel locked her phone, placing it in her lap so she could fold her hands.

“Yes, um… just for a moment. I’ll be right out.”

“‘Kay,” she sighed.

Trinity curled in her lips to hide her amusement even as she was pushing through the double doors.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

It was funny to see just how obliviously gay Mel really was, but the relationship forming there was still getting a little old, at least for Trinity.

“I should’ve never helped either of them,” she said recently in a rant to Whitaker, pacing in the kitchen of their apartment. “I should’ve let them both end up on the street or some shit.”

“You don’t mean that and you know it,” he pointed out calmly, barely dodging the orange she plucked off the counter and chucked at him.

Of course Mel would be watching videos that were basically just your arms and hands. By this point, Trinity wouldn’t be surprised if the girl walked into work one day wearing a shirt with your face printed on it.

Every day… every. damn. day. You did this; you did that; you said this really funny thing; you did something cool. You, you, you, you, you.

If Mel had a pull string attached to her back triggering all this, Trinity would’ve cut and cauterized it the first day Mel came skipping in with nothing to say if it didn’t involve you.

She acted like Santos wasn’t the one who literally introduced the two of you. Did Mel really think she didn’t know your sense of humor? Or the things you were relaxed about versus the things that bothered you?

There was no romantic inclination toward you; you weren’t joking when you had said that the two of you would kill each other if you dated. But the constant listening to you two separately talking about each other, you two doing things without her, or you forgetting to check back in with her about something because “Oh, sorry, I was with Mel"—doing whatever the fuck. All of that shit? It pissed her off. And… she felt a little jealous even if she wouldn’t admit that to herself.

She used to have that, excluding the blatantly-obvious-to-everyone-but-you-two gay shit you and Mel had going on. Trinity lived with you once, even if it meant a longer drive to John Hopkins, because she was so dangerously depressed that you basically forced her to move in. She had that once. The attentiveness and the easy ability to adapt as roommates… She had even been on the receiving end of those little acts of service and quality time every day.

Now Mel had it and unknowingly rubbed it in her face, while all she had was Huckleberry constantly fucking off to that farmer’s widow.

So, despite herself and the growth she was trying so hard for, it was easier to take her frustrations out on the blonde.

“You don’t want to become known as the one who put Mel in mel-practice.”

Santos could admit she had some regret walking away from that one. She knew Mel was a fucking train wreck and obnoxiously sensitive. Oh, and she also knew it would’ve pissed you off if you heard her say it. She supposed that was part of her wishing she had kept her mouth shut but also part of why it held some appeal in the first place. She was tired and struggling more than enjoying her recent advancement from intern to R2. She could be a little bitter, right? At this point, she figured Mel could get over it if she ever even got the sting in the first place.

…But then the shift never ceased beating the ever-living crap out of her, and Mel was, of course, such a patient and warm senior resident. Why wouldn't she be, right? She just gets everything right all the time. Must be nice.

Trinity knew deep down that she was snapping at the only people who truly cared about her, or at least showed her some kindness, but the impulse was too deeply embedded and instinctual. It wasn't until she was worn down to the point of complete surrender that she reached the end of the shift, watching Mel nearly have a panic attack over one last joke, and she realized she regretted it.

Mel was nothing but nice to her. She was so sweet all the time that it could be grating, and Trinity could’ve sworn she had something up her sleeve those first few months, but no. That was just Mel. She took the verbal shoves and still offered her support an hour later. It was infuriating, really.

Santos was tired and lonely, and she was scared to let herself be completely alone at her apartment. So she decided: Fuck it.

Mel still owed her a proper night out, whether you were here or not.

ʚɞ

Mel was distantly aware of the alcohol hitting her right around when it was her and Santos' turn to get on stage. Now even turning her head a certain way made the world blur or tilt. Despite that, by the time a little voice in the back of her mind said, “I think I’m drunk,” she was loose enough to not really care that her Shirley Temples were made dirty. She still kept taking the drinks Dr. Santos pushed over to her, lying that they were more Sprite or Ginger Ale, all while her blonde hair was still down and getting in her face because her hair elastic was basically thrown across state lines. Again, just drunk enough to not care about that.

“Can… um,” Mel trailed off, losing her hold on her own question one word in. She closed her eyes briefly as she gathered the energy back. “Can I ask you something…?”

“No,” Santos said before continuing to suck on a lime and then rolled her eyes when she saw Mel’s dejected expression. “What? Just ask already.”

“Do you know what being flustered means?” Mel asked with a sleepy blink, swiping her hands at her face to get her hair out of the way.

“Duh. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Not stupid…”

“Whatever. Why? ‘S that how you’re feeling over the deposition or something?” Trinity sighed out the question, grabbing some peanuts from the bowl set in front of them. She was done with the whole deposition topic. It’s impossible to work in the ED and not get sucked into some bullshit, money-grab lawsuit at some point or another.

“I suppose…” Mel moved in her seat to get more comfortable until she remembered there was no back to her chair. She had to quickly adjust, now leaning into the bar as a shot of adrenaline cleared her mind slightly.

“Um… I suppose it could be applied to that, but that’s more intense and… bad." Mel shook her head. That was apparently yet another movement that did not go well with drinking.

“You know being like… um… feeling like that but not bad…?”

“What?” Trinity asked in a sigh, with her face all scrunched up in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Flustered but not bad. Like… like when you’re talking to someone and you feel all…”

“Flustered?”

"Yeah." Mel nodded.

Despite her personal irritations over the two of you becoming practically attached at the hip, Trin was nosy and had been itching to stir this particular pot.

“Like…” she started casually, staring up at the ceiling as if really having to think this one through. “You get all warm and your stomach gets all twisted up…?”

“Yeah!” Mel nodded, eyebrows shot up, amazed by Santos’ ability to describe the feeling so accurately. She clumsily fixed her glasses that she just now realized were a little low on her nose. “Yes. That.”

“Usually horny,” Trinity shrugged, eating some more peanuts and sighing quietly through her nose. “‘m usually really horny for that person if I feel like that.”

Mel had her hands gently cradled again rather than holding her drink, staring at nothing even if her gaze was locked on the bar. She tilted her head, unsure how to process that no matter how long the gears turned in her mind.

“Like,” Santos started, mouth full before she finished chewing to keep talking. Mel was looking at her, still wide-eyed. “Like, sexually frustrated… wanna bump uglies—”

“Yep!” Mel cut her off sharply, her face burning from more than the alcohol, especially with the movement Santos acted out. “That’s… um… got it…”

Trin watched Mel start to press her hands together now, twisting them while she stared at the bartop. The poor woman had no idea how to process this realization, and Santos couldn’t help but laugh. It was a few snickers at first, and then Mel looked at her with those panicked eyes, and she started cackling. She couldn’t stop it, even when she had spent the little energy she had left and had to rest her forehead down on her folded arms while the remaining laughter still huffed out of her.

ʚɞ

While Mel never offered any real details, you knew something was off this week, and you had wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

So, after hours on a plane, one layover, a time change, and a man beside you who Mel definitely would’ve wanted to get a sleep study and likely a CPAP machine, you were back in Pittsburgh. Your first steps outside of the airport alone were already a fantastic omen for how today would go. The weather would clearly be miserable because there were still signs of recent rainfall on the ground and yet the air was dense with sticky humidity at five in the morning.

All you wanted was to step out of the Uber, drag yourself upstairs to shower, and collapse into bed with the AC on high. Then, you were walking into the apartment, and it hadn't been the quiet darkness you expected. Instead, you were immediately thrown off by the table being littered with fast food bags and the bathroom door thrown wide open with light spilling out. The further you walked in, you saw blankets sprawled around the couch and floor. You kicked your shoes off, about to call for Mel to see if she was up when you heard vomiting.

You abandoned your luggage by the door and went straight to the bathroom.

"Mel? Mel, what's..." the question died on your tongue once you got to the doorway.

Mel was leaning over the toilet with her arms resting on the seat and head dipped down, spitting the last of the bile from her mouth. Her hair was barely even held back, tied up with what looked like one of her bras. You knew the guilty party in all of this, including the makeshift-bra-hair-elastic, because she was sitting on the floor behind Mel. Trin had her head resting back against the shower, eyes closed and legs splayed out.

"What..." you tried again, stepping over the dirty laundry that had been dumped out of the hamper during Trinity’s scavenging.

You were far too exhausted to know how to react right now.

Was this upsetting? Or was it just that it surprised and confused you when you were already tired? And you were upset that you had to process something? Maybe the fact that there was something potentially urgent to handle when you were already this tired?

Maybe it was funny. You were really hoping it was only funny.

Trinity barely opened her eyes to see you.

"Woo, you're back..." she welcomed you in the most lackluster and broken voice that told you she had spent the night screaming.

Mel lurched again, coughing up whatever was left in her stomach.

“What happened?” you asked, still looking at them while you opened the medicine cabinet to get one of Mel’s elastics so you could properly gather the poor girl’s hair into a ponytail. A shiver ran through Mel as her stomach clenched and she coughed. “We did karaoke,” Mel said in a wavering voice that was still thick with nausea and the saliva that was drooling from her mouth until she remembered to spit. She let out a shuddering breath after, feeling you gather her hair to tie it up as gently as possible. “And we like super crossed off number fifteen,” Trinity laughed. “Like super, super…” "Mel, how much did you drink?” you interrupted whatever number of "super"s Trin was going for, earning you a weak "I 'unno" from the blonde.

“You don’t know?” you asked, and she shook her head with a little "mm-mm."

"I may or may not have enhanced her Sprite a tiny bit," Trinity said in a silly voice, nudging Mel's calf with her foot like it was an inside joke. Mel tried to let out a laugh, but it was more of a breath before she was overwhelmed by all the aching in her body.

"Just a lil'," Trinity reiterated, holding up her hand with her index finger and thumb nearly pressed together.

Your response was delayed because you were busy trying to sort out if your immediate, physical response to this information was appropriate or if you were overtired. Jetlagged or not, you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach or the way your heart started to race or how desperately you were fighting to keep yourself in your body.

“What?” “Yeah, otherwise she’d never let herself—” “Because she doesn’t want to?” you interrupted. Trinity sobered slightly from the tone your voice hit.

"God, chill out..." she muttered as she sat herself up more. "It's not that deep…" “You spiked her fucking drinks, Trinity? Are you serious?” She looked at you, stunned, faltering as she tried to find the words. She couldn’t remember the last time she did something stupid that you wouldn’t rationalize for her. You were those friends. You did dumb stuff, and you texted or called to double-check that you didn’t overreact or make a mistake. Then, you reassured each other, pointing out anything that validated whatever bullshit you had just pulled. Sure, it probably wasn't the healthiest behavior to enable, but it was a fun dynamic to have. “I just… thought…” she tried, blinking rapidly as if they were constant attempts to reset her brain. She looked at Mel. “She had fun.”

“I did… I had fun,” Mel added to reassure you, but seeing the state she was in wasn’t exactly enough to soothe that burning feeling you were desperately trying to keep in check. Fights—real fights—between you and Trinity were not for the faint of heart. “Did you even want to drink alcohol, Mel?”

You saw a slight shake of her head, but you couldn’t tell if maybe she was only wavering from the nausea. “Are you okay with this?” You asked then, and she shuddered before spitting up what must’ve been purely stomach acid at this point. “It was just to have some fun, it was a shitty day, and… I don’t know, it was a really shitty day,” Trinity tried to reason, although her gaze kept anxiously going to Mel now. What was it that they emphasize at work again? Impact over intent? “Please just… get out of the bathroom,” you said as gently as you could while you gathered a towel and a few face cloths from the closet across the hall. You turned back to the bathroom by the time she was reacting. “Dude, you‘ve got to be joking,” Trinity scoffed, arms splayed out. You shook your head and pressed your lips together, avoiding looking at her. “God, this is so…” she huffed as she got off the bathroom floor. “Just get out of the fucking bathroom,” your voice raised despite your attempts to not snap at her. You stepped aside to give her more room in the doorway.

“You can sleep in the living room or my room or get something to eat. I don’t fucking care, just—” “Yeah, I got it,” Trinity bit back at you, going out of her way to shove past you on her way out of the bathroom. You sighed out your frustration and closed the door, making yourself focus solely on Mel for now. “Are you okay…?” you whispered. She looked as miserable as her stomach felt, so you went over to her to gently rub her back. “Um… I'm fine,” she got out, shaking her head as she added, "Don't be mad at Dr. Santos. I had fun…” “Why don’t we get you cleaned up okay?” you murmured instead of answering that. “You think you can stand…?” She nodded, but you still wound up supporting most of her weight to help her sit on the edge of the tub. She was still a little out of it from the alcohol, but she had also been on the floor for so long that her legs were basically jello. You kept an eye on her, making sure she wasn’t going to fall back into the tub or go forward into the tile floor. You nudged the toilet lid down with your foot and flushed it before going to the sink to wet one of the face cloths.

“I threw up,” she croaked weakly, once you had knelt down in front of her. You gently wiped at her face with the damp cloth. “I can tell…” you murmured.

“‘N I had a really bad day…” “What happened?” “I’m a bad doctor, and Becca is having sex before me,” she said in such a plain little mumble. Your lips parted to say something, but you had nothing to offer. You had been expecting to hear about drunk drivers and firework-related accidents. How many of these moments were you going to be hit with this morning? “I…” you trailed off, trying to find where to start. “You’re not a bad—” “Really…” she swallowed like she was refraining from throwing up again, distress evident in her face. “…Really great sex, apparently.” Mel was sinking in on herself, head back with her shoulders bunched up, and she painfully stared off at the wall. “She’s had a boyfriend for 6 months. She was living without me for, I don’t know… a few months…? And someone already wanted her,” she continued, turning her attention back to you.

“I…I’ve always been the one who was…and I still haven’t…” “Is that what you want?” you asked quietly. “A boyfriend? Sex?” You weren’t expecting the kick you got to your heart from asking it, and you really should’ve. Mel thought, still looking all gloomy. “I dunno,” she whispered, sniffing, and you gently smoothed the damp cloth over one side of her face again, then the other. “I think I just, um…. I think it would be nice for someone to love me, even if they don’t have to.”

“I love you, Mel,” you said before you could override the stupidity of it, even if your tone had been reassuring rather than reflective of a deep confession. This is fine. This can still be platonic, like when you say it to Trinity. She blinked at you as you fell into awkward laughter, rubbing at your forehead with the back of your wrist.

“Like… I care a lot about you. Obviously, I mean we’ve been living together for—” “Three months and four days,” she contributed casually. “And um… hm, well, I don’t know the time right now, but you got here around 11:00 AM…” Mel trailed off, getting lost in semantics about how, "Well, maybe it was still technically three months and three days then until it was past 11:00 AM” or how it “would be longer if you wanted to consider the real start date from when you signed the lease.”

You couldn’t stop staring at her. And despite the fact that she had just been sick, god, you couldn’t care less. She was talking and talking and you were leaning into her more, and— “Food’s here, Mel!” Trinity shouted, pounding on the bathroom door. “And I guess you too, if you’re done being a dickhead.” You deflated with a sigh, pressing your lips together into a tight line and your hands pushed against the edge of the tub like you were trying to push it through the wall. Right. This was good. It would’ve been wrong to go for something like that now anyway. “I’m hungry,” Mel murmured, but she sounded sad instead of delighted by the news of breakfast being delivered. You tilted your head at her.

“Well, why don’t you change out of those clothes, and you can go eat?” She lazily shook her head. “I can’t eat if I’m all… gross." She looked down at herself, frowning. “I know, so you can get changed…” you trailed off, cutting yourself short when she was languidly shaking her head again. “No…? Okay…” “I was touching the toilet, wasn’t I?” She asked with a miserable expression. You looked at her apologetically, not because it had been your fault, but because you’d be the one confirming it. “Why don’t you take a bath?” you offered instead. “You’re still a little wobbly, and the longer you go without eating—” “I hate baths,” she scowled, shaking her head so fast you had to hold the sides of her head to still her from dizzying herself again. “It’s just sitting in your own filth and soaking in it—” “Okay,” you whispered, and she offered an apologetic smile that was so small and endearing with her cheeks a little squished by your hands.

ʚɞ By the time you were slipping off your shirt to the lounging bra you had worn on the plane, Mel was saying something about feeling bad and how maybe you should at least get one of your bathing suits if you were going to be helping her. “It’s fine, Mel,” you insisted with a little laugh, not really feeling up to explaining why, if you went out there to get a bathing suit, Trinity would be mocking you. You’d rather be in waterlogged underwear than give Trinity fuel right now. Either way, she'll be making fun of you, but your temper still wasn't in a great place for that at the moment. Mel accepted it, even if she felt guilty. Her anxiety was too easily triggered by the thought of you leaving to really insist you not bother.

She slipped off her shirt while you stepped out of your shorts and gathered all the dirty laundry spread out on the tile to put back into the hamper.

"Oh—careful," you warned her with a light laugh and steadied her with a hand on her side when she almost toppled over, hopping on one foot while struggling to take off her work pants.

You lowered yourself into a kneeling crouch to help get the pants past her ankles, and you couldn’t help but laugh when Mel put her hand on top of your head to steady herself. You stood back up and pulled yourself away to focus on getting the shower started, needing something else other than watching her take off her underwear. This could not be about that right now.

Once the temperature of the water was where she liked it, you stepped into the shower, offering her both of your hands.

“It’s okay…” you murmured as she stepped over the side of the tub, gripping your hands suddenly much harder when she thought she might slip. “I know, being hungover isn’t fun…”

In the tub, Mel shyly crossed her arms over her chest as if you hadn’t already seen her fully naked now. Although, you supposed it felt different when were cramped together in a little shower. She still turned around for you, unsure as she looked at you but leaned into it when your fingers ran through her hair.

“I had a really bad day,” she said in a broken voice. You parted your lips to say something comforting only to press them shut when she kept going.

“She’s had a boyfriend all these months, and she never even told me,” Mel said in a tired mumble, gaze flicking from different parts of your sympathetic expression before finding your eyes again. “My own sister didn’t trust telling me something that important, and I’m…a bad doctor.”

“I'm sure Becca had her reasons that had nothing to do with her not trusting you. And you’re not a bad doctor, Mel…” you whispered, smoothing wet hair out of her face.

“You don’t know that.” She looked down at her hands, the weight of the water in her hair making it drape forward. You sighed and held the sides of her face to tilt it back up and smooth her hair out of the way again.

“Why are you supposedly a ‘bad doctor?’”

“I can’t tell you,” she mumbled. “I don’t have a monologue, so I can’t… um… yeah...”

You blinked trying to grasp what she meant by that. Instead, you gestured for her to turn around while you tried to find the right thing to say. After gently reminding her to tilt her head back a bit, you started washing her hair, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the day of the party.

ʚɞ

“Dr. King?”

“Hi," Mel had said so quietly you almost didn't hear it. She remained by the door. "I'm sorry, I can go wait outside..."

"No," Morgan insisted, looking at you then back at Mel.

"No, it's okay. I'd love if you stayed. Can she stay?" When she looked at you again, she almost seemed desperate.

"Of course, yeah," you got out in a breath to her, having struggled to find your voice for a second.

With clear, verbal consent all around, Mel walked in, gently shutting the door behind her. She went around with her head ducked until she was facing your client with a small smile, her hands folded in front of her.

“Hi, Morgan," Mel offered sadly. "How's your mom doing?"

"She's..." the girl swallowed, shaking her head at herself before she was able to use her voice again without it immediately breaking. "She's okay. We're okay."

Mel was about to respond, pressing her lips together and shifting her hands to interlock her fingers instead when Morgan spoke again.

"Why... why are you shadowing a piercer? Did you quit?" Morgan asked, and Mel offered a tired, closed smile.

"No, I'm still at PTMC... we're um..." Mel took a deep breath, just now feeling how desperate she was for air right now. "We’re friends... I'm curious about her job so..."

"Oh, cool," Morgan laughed quietly in relief. "Not... not that I'd blame you for leaving after PittFest, but... y'know...” She trailed off with an apology, the muscles of her chin twitching as her lip wobbled. Too much of her day was spent thinking about and discussing her father, leaving her feeling raw. You both reassured her in soft tones, and you gestured to Mel to sit in your work chair for now while you grabbed tissues.

"You were so amazing to my mom, so I'd..." She swallowed. Morgan breathed in and out shakily, thanking you quietly when you brought her a water as well.

“I just… I’m glad you didn’t quit…”

ʚɞ

“You’re a good doctor…” You tried again as you used the handheld showerhead and ran your fingers through Mel’s hair to help rinse out the conditioner you’d applied moments before.

“How could you know?” she questioned quietly, her eyes cast down.

“Because of Morgan,” you answered, putting the showerhead back in its holder. You made sure to gather all of her hair behind her. She glanced back at you, little droplets clinging to her eyelashes, and you gently urged her to look forward again. “Because of her mom…”

You trailed off, gathering her hair into your claw clip, careful to not snag her hair by accident.

“And because you care this much about doing well.”

“Everyone wants to do well at work. No one wants to lose a job. I certainly can’t afford to,” she muttered. You lathered a face cloth with her soap and started to wash her back in soothing circles. At some point you dragged the cloth down from the back of her neck down to her tailbone, just admiring the curve of her spine.

“Is that all it’s about for you, then? Making money?” you asked, already knowing the answer, but she needed to hear herself say it or at least feel her immediate answer.

“No…”

You smiled faintly at her when she turned back around, letting the suds rinse off under the water. Her expression was still slack from physical and mental exhaustion, but she was grateful. You could tell by the smallest twitch of her cheeks, like she might’ve smiled more if she had it in her.

"See?" you pointed out, and she gave a single nod, sighing through her nose while she watched you cleanse her arms. You only gave her the cloth so she could wash her chest since she had felt a bit shy about you doing it.

“Please don’t be mad at Trinity,” she said now. You only glanced at her, turning your attention to wringing out the cloth once she handed it back to you. You spotted her soap again but didn’t move to grab it yet.

“She had a bad day too,” Mel added, and you chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, flicking your eyes back to hers.

“‘m not mad,” you reluctantly murmured. “I just… I don’t know why she’d do that to you. I mean, I do know, but it… wasn’t cool. It was careless and shitty and—”

“She had a bad day too.”

You pulled your lower lip in as you looked down, biting on it as hard as you could before it could really hurt, and then nodded.

With fresh soap added to the cloth, you helped her wash her lower body so she wouldn’t risk getting dizzy moving up and down. You were silent as guilt gnawed at your stomach. You kept yourself busy with bringing the cloth up to wash at her stomach and the dips of her waist again even if they were perfectly clean.

“I still like that you worry about me, though,” Mel said unexpectedly, making you laugh.

“Shut up." You flicked her waist, and she giggled, twisting her body away, but your free hand was still settled on the other side of her, and you easily nudged her back.

You were still smiling after she rinsed off, and you smoothed your hands over her hair yet again, letting your forearms lazily rest over her shoulders after. She offered a small smile back.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

She shrugged, her smile gentler now—a little less proud than before. You were still getting used to her more proud or smug moments, whenever they happened to show themselves.

“Did you really have fun last night?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod.

“You want to drink like that again?”

“No,” Mel shook her head with wide eyes, internally cringing at the lingering aches from vomiting as much as she did.

“I kinda figured,” you laughed and pulled her to you, squeezing her close. You started to wrap your arms around her middle, only pausing to toss the facecloth aside so you could hold her properly, rocking her to one side and then the other once each.

“I really missed you this week,” you sighed with your chin on her shoulder.

Her responding, “I missed you too,” was slightly muffled where she was hiding her face in the crook of your neck. Her brow furrowed with effort while her eyes squeezed shut, and she wished the two of you were in your bed right now instead of standing. She pulled at you, once again fighting to have you as close as possible.

ʚɞ

Trinity’s heart was still racing over your reaction. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to piss you off as much as she thought she had, even if taking Mel out to drink wasn’t to get a reaction out of you (beyond doing it without you). She went back and forth in her mind while she ate, sometimes stabbing at her food while she thought about starting a real fight the moment you walked back out. Other times she was just tired or sad or both until those feelings sank in too deeply and she was encouraging her anger again.

She was on the couch, fighting the urge to do anything that would cost her another friendship when Mel walked out, still a little dizzied from the leftover effects of the alcohol without food in her stomach. Then there was you, walking out behind her, still concerned about if she got too unsteady. Trinity leaned over the arm of the couch to get a better view down the hallway and cackled. You had to grab a towel from the closet to wrap around your body, wearing underwear that was obviously drenched.

“Shut up!” you got out in as casual a tone as possible on the way to Mel's room without looking at her. You knew she was still going to give you shit.

Mel looked confused at Trinity then at you, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process while you guided her attention back to her room.

Trin mimicked the sound of a whip cracking before the door was shut.

“What’s so funny?” Mel asked in her room, watching you take your towel off to squeeze the excess water from your hair.

You were still in the underwear you had worn into the shower to help Mel, and the way the fabric was clinging to you was really starting to bother you.

"Nothing, she’s just…” you trailed off with a laugh. You shook your head with a lackluster gesture when you saw Mel still looking curiously at you with a tilted head.

“Do you need help getting changed?” You asked instead after a deep breath.

“I don’t think so." She shook her head, thankfully not as bothered by the motion as she had been.

You acknowledged that with a nod, saying something about going to your room now, but you both stayed where you were. Mel toyed with the fibers of the towel wrapped around her, flicking her gaze back to you.

She was getting that feeling again. Apparently, having it identified now didn’t help the experience at all. If anything, it made it worse because it was far more than just a random bout of anxiety. It completely wiped her mind clean of anything she could or should say.

“Right… sorry,” you laughed when you noticed her looking at you, seeing it as your cue to get out of her room.

“Jetlagged,” you offered your excuse to her while she offered a shy smile, unintentionally holding her breath until you were out of her room.

Mel then let out a soft sigh. This was definitely worse than when it was just some sort of anxiety that was hard for her to really understand. Actually knowing what it was felt like it came with the expectation to act, but what was she supposed to do? She’d never dealt with this before, and what if you didn’t reciprocate? What if her lack of experience meant having no chance with you or worse: getting a chance and messing it up.

She didn’t even know exactly what she wanted. She just wanted to be around you all the time, but was that the point of romantic relationships? To make sure that person you want to be around all the time doesn’t go to someone else? It all seemed so big and scary even if in essence it was what she wanted. Having her own person outside of family, who was in her corner and understood her and didn’t leave. If she acted on it, it could mean ruining your friendship, and then you’d be gone. If she didn’t act on it, you’d probably be with someone sooner rather than later, and then all of a sudden you’d still be leaving.

Mel didn’t want you to leave more than anything. She wanted those overwhelming feelings to go away, but she never wanted you to leave.

Realizing she had been standing paralyzed in front of her dresser, Mel finally focused on getting changed, anxiously humming to herself while she found comfortable clothes.

ʚɞ

You hesitated at your bedroom door after you were dressed. Trin had enough good humor left to laugh at you, but you didn’t know how far that went. With her, it was hard to tell what dug in too deep.

When you finally walked out, she was still sitting on the couch looking at her phone. Even if she thought she hid it well, you noticed the way she briefly raised her eyes while keeping her head low as if she were looking at her screen the entire time.

“Hey,” you started, looking behind you to see if Mel was leaving her room yet, then looked back at Trinity with your arms crossed. She mumbled something that could be a greeting…or possibly her cursing at you in Tagalog under her breath.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier… I…” you trailed off with a sigh once she looked at you, her expression as neutral as possible if it wasn’t for the way her jaw was set. You thought of every reason for why you got as upset as you did and knew none of it really mattered for the apology.

“Too busy being pathetic over your roommate, right?” she asked sarcastically with half of a forced smile. You felt her tone was a bit too sharp to be fully joking and didn’t quite know how that hit you even if she was only messing with you.

“I was obviously feeling reactive,” you continued instead. She finally locked her phone and set it aside but went back to avoiding eye contact. Her arms were crossed too, but there was an edge to her body language, whereas yours was telling how nervous you felt.

“While I’m still not happy about you spiking her drinks…” She gave you a look for that but thankfully didn’t talk over you. “I get… you were trying to help her have fun.”

“Yeah, you kinda acted like I was getting her fucked up and then leaving her by herself,” she said with a humorless laugh. Her smile was sour, more of a scowl really, and she kept looking off to the side.

“I know you’d never do that,” you conceded. But Mel never consented to it, and you know how she feels about alcohol, you thought. You kept it to yourself because Mel said it was fine, and again, making certain points no matter how valid wouldn’t help right now.

“I was worried about her, and I acted like an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, as long as it’s for her, right?” She breathed out as she got up from her spot, feeling too restless and trapped to be sitting while you stood. She went to the kitchen to clean some things up.

“Trin…”

“I’m kidding,” she groaned with a laugh, finally glancing at you. “God, no wonder you reacted like that earlier. You don’t know how to lighten up anymore.”

You only let out an amused huff for her because you didn’t know what to say. You were too busy trying to see just how truthful she was being about things being okay. Honestly, now that you thought about it, she could be a little short with you lately. You admit you put a lot of your time and attention towards Mel, but it was hard not to when you lived together.

You tried planning time together with Trinity when you could, but there was often a work-related issue, or she was hoping something might work out with Yolanda that night, or whatever the reason. Now you were wondering how genuine those responses had been too. You hadn’t fought in years, partially because your friendship had a lot of physical distance involved until this year. You almost forgot how she could get when she was upset with you.

“Trinity, seriously,” you said, and she groaned again, putting a container back down on the table, her other hand slapping down beside it. She looked at you expectantly with her brows raised.

“What?”

“I’m sorry… I’m trying to apologize for earlier.”

“Wow, really? Maybe if you say it for the millionth time I’ll get it,” she gasped as she picked the container up again to throw it out. You walked further into the kitchen when she did, watching her take the to-go containers for you and Mel from the fridge.

“I’m fucking with you,” she whispered, snapping the fridge door shut again. You still eyed her doubtfully.

You attempted to further a proper conversation but barely got past even opening your mouth.

“We’re good, dude. I don't care,” she laughed, turning her attention to the containers again. “But I uh...”

She flipped open one of the containers with a good chunk of the contents missing.

“…I ate all your hash browns.” She placed a hand on the counter as she turned her body to face you, the other hand on her hip while she pressed her lips in a thin line. You couldn’t help the amused smile that got out of you, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling.

“I didn’t feel you deserved them.”

“Not after this morning, I didn’t,” you agreed with a half smile, and Trinity’s body relaxed slightly.

“Exactly,” she agreed in an enthusiastic whisper, leaning forward slightly to dramatize her single nod. She centered herself again, tossing Mel’s container into the microwave.

“So glad you understand. You know not everyone is willing to have consequences for their actions,” she pointed out, walking around you.

“That really is unfortunate,” you agreed, and she let out a little laugh.

“What’s unfortunate?” Mel asked upon entering the kitchen, missing the side glance Trinity gave her for interrupting the moment.

“Oh, nothing. Trin and I were messing around,” you said, smiling and reaching out for her to hold the sides of her face. You swiped at a few baby hairs curling away from her damp, braided hair.

You glanced up in the middle of pulling Mel into a lazy hug, noticing Trinity wasn't in the kitchen anymore. Mel let go of you when you pulled away from her, more focused on grabbing her breakfast anyway. You were relieved to find Trin was just in the living room area, but she was tugging on scrubs.

"You're going to work?"

"Yep..." she sighed and then added with a huff of a laugh, "Not everyone can be as spoiled as Mel."

You were hesitant to comment on that, and then Trinity glanced at you and laughed again.

"Relax. I mean our schedules."

You nodded, but your attempt to smile was weak and fleeting.

"Right..."

"'Kay, bye." She lifted a hand in a lazy wave and swept her hair out from under the collar of her shirt on her way out, bag thrown over her shoulder.

You couldn't even remember if you said it back. You only remembered waving and how Mel walked out of the kitchen to say goodbye, but the door was pulled shut before she could even say anything.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

There’s only two people in the world Trinity can safely say have seen her for who she is.

One was Whitaker. It was hard not to when you lived and worked with the same person.

Besides, one of their first nights living together after Whitaker had moved in the pair had devoted to setting roommate boundaries. That combo’d with far too many glasses of wine had Trinity spilling her guts about her sexuality and defensiveness.

And the other was you.

You fit in Trinity’s life like a puzzle piece.

You broke down her persona at work and created a space where she could be herself. You were her perfect other half.

Whitaker himself saw the transformation in Trinity. He saw how she worked so incredibly hard to prove herself at work contrasted to the way she can finally let her guard down when you’re around.

But truthfully, Whitaker loved living with lesbians.

While his and Trinity’s apartment was very evident of what they could afford as residents, it felt like such a home.

You were bright and eccentric and filled the apartment with feelings reminiscent of growing up with his older brothers.

You decorated their apartment to make sure they had somewhere nice to come home to after their grueling shifts and meal prepped so they always had lunch to bring.

Whitaker even started receiving the same sticky notes with doodles that Trinity does.

It was safe to say you completely transformed the roommates lives.

Trinity had two whole days off for what felt like the first time in forever.

Whitaker was spending the weekend at Amy’s and she had already asked if you wanted to spend the weekend at hers.

You would be waiting for her when she got home from work. Unfortunately, that made the day feel 10x slower and the cases were 10x worse.

She gets off late because of course charting took forever.

When Trinity finally walks through the apartment door, her shoulders sag as she drops her bag.

She could faintly hear your Tame Impala vinyl spinning on the record player you insisted on setting up in the living room.

Dressed in just a big t-shirt and lacy panties, you nod your head to the beat of the song as you stir dinner.

It was already driving Trinity crazy.

Trinity’s eyes fall to the kitchen table where a vase of fresh lilies sit. Her favorite. And they were certainly not here this morning.

“Hi babe!” you greet once you spot your girlfriend.

Exhaustion is written all over her face.

“How was your day?”

Trinity sighs. “Long. Glad it’s over. How was yours?”

You grin before turning back to continue cooking dinner.

“It was so good! I got out of work early and Dennis brought me fresh eggs from the farm,” you pause your ramble to turn around. You bring a spoon of the sauce up to Trinity’s lips. “Need anything?”

“Maybe a little salt?”

And then you’re back to talking about your day, voice loud enough for Trinity to hear with your back turned. “I found a recipe for protein banana chocolate chip muffins that I wanna try for you guys next week. Oh! Remind me to text Amy about seeing If I can get some milk because-“

You’re stop talking when you feel Trinity press against your back and wrap her arms around your stomach.

“Missed you pretty girl,” Trinity mumbles against your shoulder.

You relax in her hold, bringing your hands down to rest on top of hers.

“If you wanted me to stop talking you could’ve just said do,” you muse.

“Never. Just missed you.”

You turn around in her hold and wrap your arms around her neck. Trinity squeezes your hip.

“Two whole days of just us, babe.”

Trinity smiles. “Can’t wait.”

You lean your head into her touch. You feel her lips press gently against your neck. A dangerous game.

“Trin,” you mumble. “Kiss me properly, please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Her lips press against yours with a certain kind of desperation. Warmth floods your body as Trinity nudges you until your back hits the counter. She ducks down to kiss your jawline.

“Up,” she commands softly.

The counters are cold and when your bare legs hit the surface, you shiver.

But then Trinity’s smooth hands are gripping your ass to pull you flush against her. Her lips find yours immediately.

She kisses you deeply, soft hands digging into the plush of your skin.

Before Trinity can make any further move, you place your hands on your shoulders to gently push her away.

“I’m not having sex with you before you shower,” you start. “You smell like hospital.”

“How romantic,” Trinity sighs.

You slide off the counter. “I gotta finish up dessert anyway.”

Trinity’s heart swells. Of course you wanted to make desert.

She kisses you one final time. “Be back soon.”

True to her word, Trinity appears a short time later. Her hairs wet and she’s changed her hospital scrubs for linen shorts and a tank top.

You loved when she dressed like this. Her full tattoos were on display. You would be able to spend as much time exploring and kissing the ink that danced across her skin.

“Dinners ready,” you inform her as she towel dries her hair.

“You wanna smoke before?”

You grin. “That’s my favorite question.”

Trinity goes ahead to open one of the windows that leads out to the fire escape. You grab your lighter and pre-roll before following her out.

The sun is just setting over their city apartment.

Trinity’s beer opens up with a satisfying hiss. You spark your lighter twice before the flame finally appears.

A friday night always brought plenty of people out. It was great people watching as you smoked.

You stretch your legs out to rest on Trinity’s lap.

She can’t help herself and wraps her cold hands around your ankles. You squeal.

“You’re evil,” you roll your eyes.

You take a few hits of your joint as you listen to the noises below: a car horn, a loud laugh emitting from a group walking by, and one of their neighbors dog barking.

Trinity doesn’t say anything but shoots you a smile as she rubs her thumb against the bare skin.

“You know this might be the perfect night,” you giggle as your hooded eyes meet Trinity’s stormy ones. “Love when we get to do this.”

Trinity shakes her head with a small smile. “You’re just too good for me.”

You frown. She was using her defense mechanisms.

“Not at all. You deserve nothing but love Trinity,” you spoke.

You sit up and scooch forward, scrunching your body to sit parallel to her. Your blunt is still emitting smoke and you’re careful to keep Trinity out of the haze. You nudge her shoulder.

“I mean it Trin,” you start. “You don’t gotta hide around me.”

Trinity takes a long drink of her beer. You want to give her space but at the same time your high is making you feel incredibly physically needy.

Finally, she’s putting her bottle down to interlock her arms with yours. You match it but leaning your head on her shoulder, smiling when Trinity places a long kiss on your forehead.

“Love you, pretty girl.”

“Love you more, Trin.”

“There’s a high chance they may even drop the case, Dr. King. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

That was what someone from the legal team had told her months ago, when everything was already going so poorly for her that she was willing to cling to that possibility with foolish hope. And then all of a sudden she was going home—well, sitting in her car intending to go home—with the official notice of the deposition date heavy on her mind.

The possibility of the case being dropped had adapted into the high likelihood of a basic settlement, like some sort of nasty virus that could go dormant in the body only to flare unexpectedly. Considering the false hope she was fed last time, Mel wasn’t feeling very confident that it would only be a settlement, either. They could remind her all they wanted that she was protected by the hospital. That she was insured. It didn’t change the fact that she was still being reprimanded to a potentially life-ruining degree.

In her mind, in her set of values and beliefs, she was doing right by that patient, even if she just so happened to look past the fact that the father wanted to do the procedure with the mother gone. The boy was voiceless, and his unfortunately not-voiceless mother was an ignorant, stubborn presence in the room. The second she was given a chance to perform the spinal tap, a weight was lifted from Mel’s shoulders. She couldn’t fathom sleeping that night otherwise.

But being disciplined always scrambled her thoughts into convincing her she did everything wrong. That she was wrong. It never occurs to her in the moment, the complexities of her being accused of or punished for anything. When they were still in school, Becca had come home an upsetting amount of times teary-eyed from being chastised for the way she did or didn’t do something. Mel could see every side to it and explain to Becca that just because she was made to feel like she was in trouble didn’t mean she deserved it.

But when it was her? Well... she's always been a better advocate for others than herself.

She was wrong. She must’ve been. If nothing else, a better doctor would’ve handled the case in a way that helped the patient and kept the family at ease. Unfortunately, she failed at that. And she couldn’t even talk about it.

ʚɞ

Mel had been distant both physically and mentally since you had last spent time together in your room. The catastrophic mistake you nearly made taunted you every single time she hid away in her room or responded to you in a lackluster mumble. It was at the top of any list for things to never do as a roommate, really, and yet you had been seconds away from initiating it. Not only that, but when you were alone in your room that night, you had let your thoughts explore if you had taken that risk, struggling with how thin the walls are in the apartment.

You hardly slept that night. Between the feeling you needed to relieve low in your stomach and the embarrassment after, breathless and crashing from the high that hit you just as you were imagining Mel laid back with…

Nope. No. You couldn’t go down that road again. It was humiliating even without any witnesses to how worked up you had been and how hard you fell apart over thoughts of your roommate. The most you could do was blame your period and tell yourself that it was no different than having an unexpected sex dream. It didn’t necessarily mean you really wanted her. She was simply… around enough to have a place in the cast of people your subconscious could choose from, and being touch-deprived could attach itself to weird things in weird ways.

Even with the excuses you had reassured yourself with, you were still grateful to have woken up later that day with Mel already gone for work. You mentally set your moments of weakness aside with reminders attached that they were temporary and not really how you felt, obviously, and went about your day. When Mel was home, you’d make dinner and you’d chat when her mind was free of its post-shift fog. Or you’d suggest a movie to watch. But she was tired and quiet every night.

Hormones, yet again, became your primary explanation because you felt you had the privilege to claim that excuse. But then it was further… and further into the new week… and you knew her period had ended… and she still wasn’t present. She was a little less irritable, and her typical appetite had mostly returned, but she was overwhelmingly pensive.

“Are you still coming tomorrow?" You tried now, pretending you were still busy with making dinner, despite having already turned off the burner.

You risked a glance away from stirring the food for a second, but you couldn’t handle truly looking at her until she had been quiet for too long. It's at the point that she either didn’t hear you or you had fucked up more than you thought.

“Mel?” you tried again, and the blonde jumped in her seat, nearly dropping the AirPods she was clumsily taking from her ears.

“Hm? Sorry, what?” she whispered, her warm brown eyes wide.

“Tomorrow… Are you still coming?”

“Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” She asked, blinking as she tried to look past you to catch a glimpse of the calendar in the kitchen.

“The party at the shop…?” you asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Oh!”

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to—”

“I want to go! "I'm excited." Mel nodded, smiling, but the smile didn’t meet her eyes. When her hands were twisting again, you couldn't stomach it anymore, especially with the way she was avoiding your gaze. You set the wooden spoon down on its rest and turned your body to her with your arms crossed.

“What’s wrong?” you finally asked, bracing yourself for the slew of possible answers that pointed to you.

“Hm? Um… nothing… why would anything be wrong…?” she replied, her words spaced out slowly for a poorly executed casual approach.

“You’re not yourself. Did I upset you?”

The second you asked if she was upset because of you, she finally looked at you again, her body tensing to an uncomfortably straight posture.

“What? No!” she insisted, hands out towards you in a brief gesture before second-guessing herself. “No, I just…”

She trailed off, looking away, but when her gaze found you still silent and waiting, she sighed quietly.

“Work has been… rough lately… that’s all,” she whispered.

When you tilted your head, she only said "HIPAA," and you had to accept that. Still, you stood there waiting for her to find something else she could offer to you. Something you could listen to and offer better support for, but it never happened, so you silently served dinner while Mel tucked her hands between her knees and watched her lava lamp app. The orange globs moved in slow, soothing motions, but it wasn't enough to get her to eat the food steadily growing cold in front of her. You eyed her from your spot beside her.

“You don’t have to go tomorrow. You only have one day off a week. Don’t waste it on this...”

“I want to go,” she insisted with a shake of her head, and you sighed through your nose.

You knew there would be a lot of traffic throughout the shop, like one of those old-fashioned tattoo parties you heard happened back in New York. Parties with artists from states that didn’t restrict them or underground NY artists, where people would sneak under the radar until tattoo shops were legal again. That vibe only… with a little less exciting rebellion, more professional maintenance, and no alcohol.

But besides that, Mabel was one of those people who knew everyone, and they were treating the celebration like a mini convention of just the staff, including them. It would be busy, it would be noisy, and you would be preoccupied with your job until the scheduled cut-off time for staff to relax and hopefully socialize. If you were being honest, it was a bit much for you too. The business was new, and Mabel was excited, maybe a little overzealous. They admittedly had enough success, in addition to a partner with a good job, to allow for being this excessive about one month and… you could feel it would be a nightmare for Mel.

“Well, if you are still coming, I’m not piercing your ears yet. We’re finding a different day,” you said with a little laugh, earning you a bit of that grouchy Mel again. You still hadn’t decided yet if that meant she was more comfortable around you or if you were starting to grate at her nerves from being around all the time.

“I’m going, and I want to get my second ear piercings.”

“Doubt it,” you muttered, smiling to yourself until your gaze abandoned your plate to see her pissy expression.

“I’m kidding,” you whispered, reaching out to hold her jaw in your hand before letting go after.

“It’s your body. If you want it, I will give you whatever you want,” you said casually, hoping the immediate heat your body responded with wouldn’t reach your face.

“The… the piercings. If you really want the ear piercings tomorrow, I mean. I’ll still—”

“I do. I want them,” she stated sharply, finally stabbing at a piece of food with her fork.

“Mkay, sure,” you laughed, stretching back in your chair while you eyed her. You ended up with your hands resting on the back of your head, which tilted slightly as you continued observing her angry eating. Like a wind-up toy, her irritable energy visibly died out, leaving just the sad, nervous Mel behind. She was getting that distant look again as she stared at the table.

“Do you want to sleepover in my room tonight?” You offered gently, reaching a hand toward her on the table. A soft smile pulled at your lips when she perked up.

“You’d be okay with that...? I thought you were mad at me for being in your room too much.”

And god, it took every ounce of willpower you had not to grab her into a squeezing hug and never let her go back to that damn job and whatever was upsetting her so much.

ʚɞ

“Mabel texted back. They said you could always be my ‘apprentice’ again if you wanted to stay in my piercing room tomorrow,” you whispered to her, as if being curled up, talking late at night, still meant avoiding being caught by someone’s parents.

“Or upstairs is kind of a staff lounge area. It’ll be open to the public for this so there’s more space, but there are two couches up there and some beanbag chairs.”

You were on your side, staring at her lying there on her back once you had set your phone back down. She was cycling between being too far into her mind and being so far away from it that you wondered, if you looked, if you’d see her spirit floating above the bed. She only hummed in response, flinching when you touched her hip. You retreated with a whispered apology until she shifted closer, wanting the comfort of your proximity.

“That sounds nice… thanks,” she murmured, and you nodded.

You didn’t know what else to say, gaze flitting from her expression to the rest of her body and back, gauging what kind of tense she was. Finally, you asked her if she wanted a hug in a hushed voice, fighting the urge to simply gather her to you in case she wasn’t in the headspace for it. She thought for a second and then nodded.

So, you slid your arms around her, helping to scoop her towards you as soon as she had been turning to be on her side.

There have been things you’ve done that would make Mel blush so hard she’d be dizzy from all the blood rushing to her head, and yet this felt like the most intimate moment of your life. The act of clinging to her for her sake as if you weren’t also relieving your own aching need to touch her. Even then, you were frequently pulling at her and shifting when nothing felt close enough. The only thing saving you from embarrassment was that 1.) Trinity wasn’t here to mock you and use this against you for the rest of your life, and 2.) Mel always needed more pressure.

A soft breath sighed from your nose as you held her close, pressed together enough to feel almost every way your bodies could fit together. How the curve of her chest met yours. The way that little plush layer of her belly pressed against you, hip bones occasionally nudging yours, or the way your legs tangled together. You had molded to her as much as possible, and yet she was trying to kill you—truly trying to kill you—with the way she was tugging at you. Each tug came with an unsubtle attempt to lay on her back while still holding onto you. She needed gravity more involved. This facing each other, lying on your sides business simply would not do for her nervous system.

Despite your own misery, you yielded for her sake, groaning into the crook of her neck about her being so bossy, which thankfully earned you a quiet laugh. Once she was laid back again, and you were on top of her, she let out an audible sigh of relief.

ʚɞ

When you woke up the next day, you were lying on your stomach, and you could feel Mel right beside you, practically half on top of you while she slept. You only let out a soft sigh because what else was there to do? It was reasonable to assume there was no escaping this particular fate unless you wanted to stop sharing your bed altogether, and that wasn’t exactly on your to-do list.

Still, what was it with her and ending up in the most awkward positions? And right against you? Did she get cold easily in the night? Was it just more of her need for pressure?

“Mel,” you huffed out, stretching an arm over to basically smack your phone screen to snooze the alarm.

“Mm.”

“Mel.”

“Mm,” she got out again, the sound more of a whine that time.

“I have to get up,” you sighed out with a laugh.

“Mm-mm...”

“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m tossing you,” you joked, earning you a little huff.

“One…”

“Two…”

Mel suddenly separated from you with an irritated sound, rolling over to the other side. Considering she wasn’t even on her period anymore, it was a fantastic confirmation that she was actually like that first thing in the morning. To think all this time you figured she woke up with a smile on her face every day.

“You can stay in my bed ‘s long as you want,” you promised her in a whisper, placing more of the comforter on her. Before you left the bedroom, you caught her clumsily kicking around to move the blankets a certain way and then settle again.

It was early, at least for you, but you had promised Mabel you’d help set things up. Rather than taking away the chance for Mel to sleep in, especially when work has been stressing her out, you had established last night that she should come later by Uber when she was ready. It also may have been your way of leaving a sort of emergency exit ready for her in case she really wasn’t feeling up to leaving the apartment.

When you got to the shop, there were orange cones blocking off a section of the parking lot for a food truck scheduled to arrive later in the day. The shop had been deep cleaned while closed yesterday, which you noticed as you walked through, catching the faint scent leftover by the cleaning agents. You walked by the open studio doors, waving to one of the tattoo artists, Reggie, who was there early to finish packaging some prints for the front of the shop.

The front desk would be where things really felt like a “convention” with the standing displays tucked back by the wall: one with prints for purchase and the other showing raffle items and a list of local organizations that the raffle money would go towards. Seeing that admittedly settled some of your bristling. You had been excited about the one-month thing until you weren’t—until Mabel was excitedly talking about their ideas and you realized with each passing second that you would be ending the day drained. You'd still be exhausted, but all of this so far was a reminder of how much Mabel loved their job and had organized everything so cheerfully. Honestly, you wondered how they put everything together so quickly.

You double-checked the locked jewelry case, occasionally looking at everything behind the desk as you mindlessly spun the case. The shop clerk, Quinn, was neatening up the displays, returning your morning greeting before pulling one off to the side more. Walking back, as if you might go down the hall again, you caught sight of Mabel watching their ex-apprentice up on a small ladder. Shelley was stretched up, trying to show how she pictured setting up the fairy lights.

“Maybe if we droop them just a bit more… Yeah, I just don’t think they should be in such tight lines—” Mabel said to her before sipping their cold brew, finally catching sight of you.

“Oh, my ray of sunshine!” they gasped playfully, earning them an exhausted and vulgar gesture after you greeted Shelley in a far more polite manner.

“So how much have you slept this week?” you teased, noticing the bags under their eyes. They sucked on their vape, letting it dissipate from their lips.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to tell your doctor friends how much caffeine I’ve ingested, if that answers your question.”

ʚɞ

By the time Mel was dropped off by her Uber, the shop was steadily growing lively, with the occasional stray person coming and going from the shop and a food truck setting up outside. She admittedly wasn’t all that confident in the energy she’d have for this when you discussed it last night, but she woke up today with a certain amount of pep. Sure, she was painfully anxious about socializing, and there were always the looming work-related stressors that could strike at any moment… but her excitement overtook the bad feelings, at least for now.

She glanced up, happy to see you had already been waiting by the employee entrance for her, as promised, smiling as she approached the door.

“You’re wearing one of my shirts" was your choice of greeting, hands pressed to the sides of the propped-open doorway, and eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“Oh, um…” Mel said quietly as she looked down at the t-shirt she had borrowed, still walking.

“You—Oo, sorry.”

Mel hadn’t realized just how close she got to you until she was looking back up to reply. She nearly bumped into you, and despite her new habit of wanting to use you as a weighted blanket, this sudden proximity quartered her thoughts and shot the pieces in different directions.

“Um—you, well, it was,” she tried, letting out a shy laugh over her own starting and stopping. “You…said I could borrow from your closet…? So, um, I just thought, but if you want—”

“Mel.”

“Hm?” she responded with her lips pressed together, looking pained when she finally looked at you again.

She blinked as your hands found her arms, your sunglasses now propped on top of your head. You guided her into the shop, kicking up the doorstop on the way.

“I only commented on it ‘cause I think you look cute,” you whispered.

Mel was grateful you were still behind her, guiding her down the hall, instead of seeing the pink that stained her face and ears. Although her stuttered “thank you” wasn’t all that much better at hiding her feelings.

The private studio doors were still open, and Mel caught glimpses of the lives inside as you walked past. Reggie was sitting with his back to a woman who looked so similar to him, wrapping his braided hair into a low bun while they talked. A smile curved his lips when he saw you two, waving and returning Mel’s little “Hi!”

Both piercing rooms were currently empty, and in the second private tattoo room, a woman Mel hadn’t met yet was recording a video of her cleaning and setting things up. A man wearing a cropped version of the woman’s merch held the phone for her. Mel hadn’t realized just how much she had slowed down to observe, especially to look at the tattoo artist’s stark black and white makeup, until you were laughing and nudging her to move.

“That’s Dani and her boyfriend,” you explained to her, amused by her curiosity.

“Oh,” she nodded, trying to look back down the hall again behind the two of you. “Who was with Reggie?”

“His older sister—”

And on her next intake of breath, you were already answering her question and the next few that would probably follow while you slowed down. Your hands stayed on her arms, mindlessly rubbing them and only lifting a hand occasionally to gesture. When you felt goosebumps raise along her arms, you told yourself it was from the AC.

“—and Quinn,” you said, gesturing to the front desk with a brief flick of a finger. “Has her brother with her to help run the desk—”

Mel saw the two chatting about something before the clerk was punching the other one’s arm, which startled her until the pair was laughing while the brother rubbed his arm. She spotted Jess next, who she still thought looked like a teacher since she met her, even with her sporadic sets of tattoos and piercings. Jess was talking with a man holding a baby in one of those over-the-chest carriers, while a younger girl tugged at her arm.

“That’s Jess’ husband and kids,” you added, although you figured she would’ve been able to guess that one, especially when Jess was giving her husband a quick kiss and then the top of the baby’s head. The daughter was squeezed in a hug, squealing as her mom pressed kisses to her cheekbone over and over. A faint sadness hit Mel, overhearing Jess tell her daughter to be good for her grandmother, but her attention was dragged over to the right as someone with bright yellow hair nearly bumped into both of you.

“Oh, sorry." They splayed their hands out apologetically on their way to the hall.

“That’s Shelley’s spouse and that…" You nodded towards the other two chatting with the artist while she pinned flash sheets to a board. “is her other partner and her sister.”

Before you could finish giving her quick answers for who the guests were so far, Mabel would unintentionally conclude for you, waving both of you over. You withdrew your hands from Mel to move a bit more freely while walking over to the public station Mabel was setting up. They would be treating today more like a typical flash day, leaving the private rooms to Reggie and Dani, who had both booked rather extensive pieces.

“Oh, awesome! Mel, you made it!” they smiled. Mel blinked wide eyes over the unexpected response to her presence, her expression softening to a shy smile as she glanced down. Meanwhile, Mabel’s wife had been lovingly flipping you off until she realized she was about to be introduced to someone.

“Mel, this is my wife, Sasha. Sasha, this is Melissa-but-everyone-calls-her-Mel… she’s um…” Mabel trailed off for a moment with your name hanging in the air, and you could’ve died on the spot that they felt the need to hesitate.

“Roommate,” you finished for them. “Mel’s my roommate.”

“‘And they were roommates,’” Sasha quoted in a gasp, which you rolled your eyes at.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mel got out quietly with a little wave.

“Well, this is fun,” Mabel chirped, smiling after they had taken a second to look around the room while Sasha shook Mel’s hand. “It’s all family here so far.”

ʚɞ

The front of the shop was spacious with the welcome desk tucked near the public entrance. Against the wall nearest to the hallway were two workstations, and yet there was still plenty of space between those and the street-facing wall. There were some chairs by the desk, then a few more against that front wall between two windows. Mel briefly watched Mabel's parents move the chairs directly in front of the windows to make space for the display of flash sheets. The other end of the room reminded Mel of a ballet studio since a good chunk of the wall was just mirrors. Higher up on that wall, closest to the stairs, was a TV currently displaying the radio station Mabel had playing through the speakers.

While it was still early, before other guests and clients would start turning up, Mel was treating the space like she was attending a small gallery. Her hands were intentionally kept to herself, but she leaned in occasionally to get a better look at certifications or art on the walls, curling in on herself with apologies when she was in someone’s way. She looked at the flash sheets, intrigued by all the designs, but remained too afraid to get anything permanently imbedded into her skin. Gravitating to the front desk, she looked at the jewelry, giving the case a little spin before going to the portfolios that had been laid out—very politely giving each one a moment, but she was admittedly rushing to yours.

She held one of your business cards, humming happily to herself as she looked it over. She didn’t know you had business cards. She didn’t realize you had a business account online either, which was listed on the piece of thick cardstock.

“Thinkin’ of gettin' something today, Mel?” Quinn asked, making her jump since her thoughts had been preoccupied with maybe opening Instagram for the first time in ages just to see your account.

“Oh, um, maybe,” she answered quietly with a small smile. “I’m thinking about getting my ears pierced, but I might do it another day.”

“Tight!” she grinned, nodding. “It’s a dangerous game, though! Before we know it, you’re gonna be covered in piercings.”

Mel wasn’t sure what to say to that, only laughing awkwardly because she didn’t want to come off as rude if she admitted that was extremely unlikely. She toyed with her hands, looking at the standing displays, and wondered if there was something else she should be saying or if that was where the conversation could naturally end since Quinn had been talking to her brother anyway.

“Okay, um, thank you,” she got out, escaping to go hide in your piercing room instead.

Quinn said goodbye as she walked off, elbowing her younger brother in the ribs when he asked her if “Mel was the one everyone was betting—”

“Shut up,” Quinn hissed out under her breath.

Mel’s social anxiety still clung to her, but it all but shed from her once she made it to your room. Well, the social anxiety was gone. Then, she saw you with your hair lazily gathered out of your way and those black gloves on while you wiped down your tray. A different anxiety returned in the form of a still-foreign twist in her gut. She had gloves at work. She actually hated the feeling of rubber gloves, but she put up with them because she had to. How were yours any different? Maybe because they weren’t a healthcare blue or cream color. Maybe it was you. It was a little unfair that you could make nitrile gloves look so…

“Hey, you." You smiled, and her hands nervously squeezed at the crossbody strap of her bag.

You had taken one glove off to check your phone, but when you looked at her again in her silence, your gaze flicked to her hands and then back to her face.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” she spoke tightly, barely even moving when she nodded.

“Do you need me to drive you home?”

She declined with a shake of her head, but you still had her at least come over to one of the chairs by the wall. Mel heard you remind her of the lounge upstairs and the food and where your car was—even giving her your keys—in case she needed a place to hide. Her mind was buzzing, and she got out a few “mhm”s and “mm-mm”s, but she was in a weird place caught between being far too focused on you and tuning everything out. Your arms were exposed with the tank top you wore, and despite how often she’s seen them now, Mel still found the art there distracting. She looked at one tattoo and then another and another...then when you were planting your overcrowded keys in her hands...and...

You decided to give Mel some space, and soon enough she was blinking back to the world around her when you introduced the first client. She remained in her seat, though, constantly seeking the deepest and farthest parts of her consciousness to flee from the different anxieties littering her body. She zoned out while she watched you, her attention only straying when her phone buzzed. At the top of her screen was a notification from her period tracking app with probably one of its odd, “quirky” reminders.

She was still frustrated about her body suddenly changing things on her, but she told herself it was a reminder to not stress her system out too much. Which was laughable, really, but she wanted to cling to whatever hope she had left. Your reasoning was that you had the “Alpha Pussy” in the apartment, and, crudeness aside, she knew what you meant. She also immediately pointed out it’s been proven women don’t “sync up.”

Mel watched you work with the current client, nearly forgetting to read the notification. The act of you dropping into a sort of squat-kneel caught her attention, your light positioned to have a better view of the woman’s abdomen.

“Okay, so…” you started, hands out like you were about to touch the woman’s exposed stomach, but you held off, looking up at her. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

The woman was a little surprised you asked but nodded, then awkwardly shook her head instead, stumbling over an "I mean, no, I don’t mind, sorry—” that you both laughed over a bit while you reassured her.

Mel was proud of herself for holding back the “Thank you! I’m not crazy!” she nearly blurted when she saw how much you had made the client blush. And just how red her face got from you actually touching her stomach, even if you were only trying to get a good look at it and to wipe her bellybutton before placing some markings. As you discussed the option for a naval piercing that would best suit her, you occasionally offered the woman a half smile, and you had that look that showed you saw it too.

“Doesn’t it make it so much worse when she notices and you know she knows? What is it with her and doing that?” Mel wanted to ask. She was starting to wonder if you were actually just mean and trying to be subtle in the way you bullied people.

Then she thought the stranger should be glad you were only touching her when necessary to do your job. Mel still wasn’t sure what she’d been feeling in the pit of her stomach after you had been pressing down on it, your warm body on hers. She hadn’t exactly had a moment to keep thinking on it, which was nice, until it wasn’t. Until she got that jittery feeling again and she was all overheated and she still didn’t know what was wrong beyond the “anxiety” and “shyness” she’s been able to identify so far.

She eyed the client, seeing she looked a bit anxious and shy too, but maybe she was only nervous about the piercing. There had been something else, though, specifically when she was stumbling over her words. Mel thought on it for too long, then: Flustered. She looked flustered. She decided that was a good way to put it for herself too.

Her phone buzzed again with a repeat reminder that she had a notification. She finally put her code in to read the message.

“Egg’s a-cookin’ and almost ready to go!”

Mel forced her sigh to be a steady exhale through her nose as she swiped the notification banner away and put her phone back into her bag.

ʚɞ

You had wished Mel would admit to herself when she hit her limit, but she stayed, like she said she would. Only she was quiet and stuck to her seat instead of curiously hovering behind you. You were starting to wonder how you could convince her to go relax at home when she was quietly getting up, her attention grabbed by a potential industrial you were assessing the anatomy for about an hour ago. Despite all her swirling emotions, she couldn't refrain from observing, and she still found the thoughtful movements your hands made soothing. At some point, Mel's eyes flicked up to your focused expression, and she felt grateful for the second chance you gave her. She had made all those ignorant comments about your profession, even if she would never mean them the way they were received, and she was happy to witness you at work. She gave you a small, shy smile before looking away again when you happened to catch her staring. Sometimes, she wondered if she would have understood as much as she does now without the opportunity to.

She stayed a couple steps behind you after that, frequently asking questions, and some of the tension finally left your shoulders. Mel only abandoned her position behind you when a client was coming in for nipple piercings who preferred to only have the piercer in the room. She supposed she understood.

Mel made her way down the hall to observe outside of the little pocket she’s been in. It was much busier than before. The private tattoo rooms were closed, and dividers had been set up around the public stations to better deter visitors from getting too close to the artists at work. An extra buffer had been added by tables placed in front of where they were working, their portfolios and original flash laid on top.

Shelley was in the middle of talking to Mabel about swapping with Reggie, who had a client “tap out,” when they noticed her.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I know he was hoping to do some of his flash—Oh, hey, Mel!” Mabel perked up, smiling at her while they dipped their needle in one of several tiny caps of ink.

Shelley greeted Mel next, apologizing after she had glanced up to see her and accidentally flashed the light of her tattoo headlamp at her.

“Hey, guys,” she smiled, gripping onto her bag again for comfort.

“So, what’s up, Doc? Our rowdy bunch driving you crazy yet?” Mabel checked in on her, their attention straying back to their work while Mel answered.

“Oh! I’m good. It’s certainly different,” she said, nervously folding her hands as an unsure smile tugged at her lips. “Everyone’s really fun and nice—oh, er—hi, sorry.”

Mel jumped when Sasha was suddenly behind her, pardoning herself and thanking Mel as she let her past to sneak between the two tables.

“Order up!” Sasha announced on her way to a chair set off to the side but still within Mabel’s working space.

“In the middle of something, hon,” Mabel insisted, wiping at a section of their work with a paper towel before stretching the skin again to keep working.

“Well then I’ll feed you myself,” Sasha retaliated in a loving whisper, already pulling the paper away from the sandwich. She eventually got Mabel to roll over to her on their stool to at least be fed a couple bites.

Mel was once again quietly apologizing, moving out of the way for Shelley’s sister, who was also carrying food. Was everyone getting hungry at the same time, or was there suddenly a random deal at the food truck? Sasha noticed how confused and curious Mel looked when Shelley’s sister was threatening to tell their dad if she didn’t eat.

“They all suck at taking care of themselves when they work,” Sasha explained, catching Mel’s attention. “They’re forever our suffering little tamagotchis.”

“Hey!” Mabel huffed defensively before adding with a smile, which relieved Mel’s concern that they were fighting: “The piercers are no better.”

ʚɞ

“Everything okay?” you laughed when Mel returned to your room with a rushed walk. It had hardly been thirty seconds since you opened the door to say goodbye to the client, and Mel was sneaking back into the hall.

“Mhm,” she nodded but sighed in relief once she was in your room again. You eyed your schedule, then shut the door instead of making it known you were available for any walk-ins. You had to finish cleaning up anyway.

You left Mel alone to relax in the same chair, busying yourself with getting your working area ready for whoever was next. She watched you the whole time, finally catching a decent breath without too many people or noises surrounding her. Her attention on her own state faltered when you made a face to yourself, letting out a slow breath. By the time you were sitting on your chair, she was taking her bag off, eyeing you.

“Are you okay?” she immediately asked, sitting up straight.

“Yes, Mel, I’m fine,” you said, laughing, but set your elbows on your legs and took a moment to cradle your head in your hands. “Just tired, and it’s way too fucking hot in here. Did Mabel say anything about the AC malfunctioning? ‘Cause…”

You were continuing on about how it wouldn’t be like Mabel to ignore something like that and it was too warm outside to be tattooing and piercing people without AC, but Mel was too busy walking over to you.

“The AC’s working,” she mumbled. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since this morning,” you replied with surprising honesty, yawning after as you slowly sat yourself back up.

“You need to eat,” she said, her tone and expression so serious you let out a little laugh.

“It’s not funny, you need to eat or you’ll—”

“Yeah, I know how blood sugar works, Mel,” you huff, cut off before you could continue.

“And while I…respect the knowledge you have for your job, it appears you are either unaware of or ignoring signs of faintness in yourself, and… and I am a doctor, and I say you need to eat,” she rambled with an intensity that was more from anxiety than confidence.

"Please," she added at the end, quietly.

You eyed her with amusement you were trying and failing to suppress.

“You’re pulling the doctor card?”

“I am pulling the doctor card, yes," she confirmed with a single nod.

“I’m obviously going to eat, Mel,” you clarified now before she started making unnecessary conclusions. “I’ve just been busy.”

“I am sure, but I’d prefer that you eat now.”

Mel positioned herself in a way as if trying to mimic the body language of other people when they were putting their foot down, but she was still toying with her hands.

“I’m going to—”

“Now,” she insisted, and you couldn’t help the smile it evoked, even as she looked at you all grouchy, bordering on offended, yet still tacking on another “please.”

“I’m—” you tried, laughing and placing your hands on her arms when she stiffened, ready to reiterate her medically necessary demands.

“I’m saying… I’m going to eat,” you got out with your laugh, giving her arms a light squeeze. “But you’re coming with me, hypocrite.”

Walking down the hall to the employee door, Mel argued why she wasn’t being hypocritical with her requests. She wasn’t the one working something, something… she had eaten more recently than you had… blah, blah, blah…

You continued to usher her outside to the food truck. Once you were both in line, you interrupted her constant talking with a playful bite to her shoulder.

ʚɞ

“You treat all your patients this way?” you teased after finishing a bite of food. The two of you had settled upstairs on a couch to eat for now, sat closer together than necessary. “You’re a lot meaner than I thought you’d be.”

Mel shook her head since her mouth was full. Despite her arguments for why she was certainly not a hypocrite, she did feel rather happy with something to eat, which was clear from her quiet, happy humming.

“No,” she finally got out a moment later.

“No?” you questioned with a grin. “Well, what the hell? Where’s my special treatment?”

“I technically can’t favor any one patient. It would be against my moral obligations as a physician…” she started, seeing the look you were giving her, aware that you weren’t really her patient.

“Hm, you can be difficult,” she offered instead as a quick explanation.

“Now insults too?” you gasped in mock offense. “That’s just bad doctoring, Dr. King…”

In the time it took you to reach forward for your drink, you missed the way she nearly went gray over those words. It was just a joke, she reminded herself. She knew the signs that you were only messing with her. She doesn’t think I’m a bad doctor. I’m just sensitive.

She was able to manage a huff of laughter, but her gut was suddenly leaden, and her appetite was quickly dwindling.

“Ma’am, I understand your frustrations and I am so—” Gloria was saying in her calmest tone, which she reserved for the most difficult people. That mother still spoke over her.

“What kind of hospital is this? You just let your staff run wild and... and drill into children's spines?”

“Honey…”

“No! No—I,” the woman started as if ready to say how she truly felt about her husband in this moment but forced her attention back to Gloria.

“There was not one single competent doctor who worked on my son tonight. You will be hearing from our lawyer.”

All the pride Mel had felt mere moments before had been stripped away from her, trying to hide her shaking hands with the way she grasped them in front of her stomach. She chanced a glance up to Gloria, who only eyed her and Dr. Ellis, then walked away. She looked disappointed, tired, frustrated… any descriptor, really, as long as it was bad.

And it was her fault.

ʚɞ

You eyed Mel once you were back downstairs, finishing up before it was time to switch over to socializing. She had gone quiet on you again, and you were worried she had officially reached her limit for the day but was still forcing herself to stay.

“Mel, if you want to go home, you should go home. It’s okay,” you reassured her gently.

Leaving the space she had retreated to in her mind, Mel blinked and looked at you.

“I’m…” she sighed, adjusting the way she was sitting to be more comfortable. “I’m okay… just tired, I guess.”

You were ready to point out that was a perfectly good reason for her to need her own space again, but then she got up suddenly.

“I’m... gonna go to the bathroom… I’ll…” she trailed off, gesturing to try and communicate that she’ll be back, instead shaking her head and concluding with a quiet “yeah…”

You watched her walk out, feeling utterly useless. After a moment, you got up to go after her, to talk to her even if it meant being obnoxious and following her to the bathroom, but as you started leaving the room, you nearly walked right into a young woman with brown hair. Despite looking nothing like her, she kind of reminded you of Mel just in the way she looked so nervous, gripping at the crossbody strap of her purse.

"Oh, I am so sorry,” you rushed out, grateful she only laughed it off and said it was okay.

“Are you the piercer I scheduled with…?” she asked shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I put my name on the walk-in list, but if it’s too late…”

You grabbed the list as you fought for your professionalism for one more person, and only because she was being so polite and patient.

“It’s Morgan,” she added as you looked, finding her name.

“Uh… no—I mean, yeah,” you laughed. “Yes, I’m the one you scheduled with. No, it’s not too late. Come on in.”

You stepped aside to let her through first, pausing to look down the hall, hoping to see Mel on her way back, but she wasn’t. Sighing, you went into your piercing room, trying to focus on this young woman instead.

When Mel was walking back, murmuring quiet reassurances to herself, she caught part of your conversation with the client.

“I was gonna get a tattoo for him, y’know?” a distantly familiar, broken voice said. “I… I chickened out, but I’m glad I still came… Ugh, I’m sorry, this isn’t your job and I’m just—”

You murmured something reassuring Mel couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, I guess." The girl let herself laugh a little in a way that was trying to combat how awkward and vulnerable she felt. “I booked an appointment with Dani next month, but... yeah...”

You were starting to reaffirm just how incredible Dani’s black and gray portraiture was but caught sight of Mel in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Morgan,” you said to the client. “I’ve had someone shadowing me today, but if you’re uncomfortable at all, we'd both understand you—”

The girl looked unsure, especially when she already felt embarrassed about crying five minutes into meeting you. Then something changed in her demeanor when she turned around and saw Mel, and you saw Mel's expression change too.

“Dr. King?”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

“There’s a high chance they may even drop the case, Dr. King. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

That was what someone from the legal team had told her months ago, when everything was already going so poorly for her that she was willing to cling to that possibility with foolish hope. And then all of a sudden she was going home—well, sitting in her car intending to go home—with the official notice of the deposition date heavy on her mind.

The possibility of the case being dropped had adapted into the high likelihood of a basic settlement, like some sort of nasty virus that could go dormant in the body only to flare unexpectedly. Considering the false hope she was fed last time, Mel wasn’t feeling very confident that it would only be a settlement, either. They could remind her all they wanted that she was protected by the hospital. That she was insured. It didn’t change the fact that she was still being reprimanded to a potentially life-ruining degree.

In her mind, in her set of values and beliefs, she was doing right by that patient, even if she just so happened to look past the fact that the father wanted to do the procedure with the mother gone. The boy was voiceless, and his unfortunately not-voiceless mother was an ignorant, stubborn presence in the room. The second she was given a chance to perform the spinal tap, a weight was lifted from Mel’s shoulders. She couldn’t fathom sleeping that night otherwise.

But being disciplined always scrambled her thoughts into convincing her she did everything wrong. That she was wrong. It never occurs to her in the moment, the complexities of her being accused of or punished for anything. When they were still in school, Becca had come home an upsetting amount of times teary-eyed from being chastised for the way she did or didn’t do something. Mel could see every side to it and explain to Becca that just because she was made to feel like she was in trouble didn’t mean she deserved it.

But when it was her? Well... she's always been a better advocate for others than herself.

She was wrong. She must’ve been. If nothing else, a better doctor would’ve handled the case in a way that helped the patient and kept the family at ease. Unfortunately, she failed at that. And she couldn’t even talk about it.

ʚɞ

Mel had been distant both physically and mentally since you had last spent time together in your room. The catastrophic mistake you nearly made taunted you every single time she hid away in her room or responded to you in a lackluster mumble. It was at the top of any list for things to never do as a roommate, really, and yet you had been seconds away from initiating it. Not only that, but when you were alone in your room that night, you had let your thoughts explore if you had taken that risk, struggling with how thin the walls are in the apartment.

You hardly slept that night. Between the feeling you needed to relieve low in your stomach and the embarrassment after, breathless and crashing from the high that hit you just as you were imagining Mel laid back with…

Nope. No. You couldn’t go down that road again. It was humiliating even without any witnesses to how worked up you had been and how hard you fell apart over thoughts of your roommate. The most you could do was blame your period and tell yourself that it was no different than having an unexpected sex dream. It didn’t necessarily mean you really wanted her. She was simply… around enough to have a place in the cast of people your subconscious could choose from, and being touch-deprived could attach itself to weird things in weird ways.

Even with the excuses you had reassured yourself with, you were still grateful to have woken up later that day with Mel already gone for work. You mentally set your moments of weakness aside with reminders attached that they were temporary and not really how you felt, obviously, and went about your day. When Mel was home, you’d make dinner and you’d chat when her mind was free of its post-shift fog. Or you’d suggest a movie to watch. But she was tired and quiet every night.

Hormones, yet again, became your primary explanation because you felt you had the privilege to claim that excuse. But then it was further… and further into the new week… and you knew her period had ended… and she still wasn’t present. She was a little less irritable, and her typical appetite had mostly returned, but she was overwhelmingly pensive.

“Are you still coming tomorrow?" You tried now, pretending you were still busy with making dinner, despite having already turned off the burner.

You risked a glance away from stirring the food for a second, but you couldn’t handle truly looking at her until she had been quiet for too long. It's at the point that she either didn’t hear you or you had fucked up more than you thought.

“Mel?” you tried again, and the blonde jumped in her seat, nearly dropping the AirPods she was clumsily taking from her ears.

“Hm? Sorry, what?” she whispered, her warm brown eyes wide.

“Tomorrow… Are you still coming?”

“Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” She asked, blinking as she tried to look past you to catch a glimpse of the calendar in the kitchen.

“The party at the shop…?” you asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Oh!”

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to—”

“I want to go! "I'm excited." Mel nodded, smiling, but the smile didn’t meet her eyes. When her hands were twisting again, you couldn't stomach it anymore, especially with the way she was avoiding your gaze. You set the wooden spoon down on its rest and turned your body to her with your arms crossed.

“What’s wrong?” you finally asked, bracing yourself for the slew of possible answers that pointed to you.

“Hm? Um… nothing… why would anything be wrong…?” she replied, her words spaced out slowly for a poorly executed casual approach.

“You’re not yourself. Did I upset you?”

The second you asked if she was upset because of you, she finally looked at you again, her body tensing to an uncomfortably straight posture.

“What? No!” she insisted, hands out towards you in a brief gesture before second-guessing herself. “No, I just…”

She trailed off, looking away, but when her gaze found you still silent and waiting, she sighed quietly.

“Work has been… rough lately… that’s all,” she whispered.

When you tilted your head, she only said "HIPAA," and you had to accept that. Still, you stood there waiting for her to find something else she could offer to you. Something you could listen to and offer better support for, but it never happened, so you silently served dinner while Mel tucked her hands between her knees and watched her lava lamp app. The orange globs moved in slow, soothing motions, but it wasn't enough to get her to eat the food steadily growing cold in front of her. You eyed her from your spot beside her.

“You don’t have to go tomorrow. You only have one day off a week. Don’t waste it on this...”

“I want to go,” she insisted with a shake of her head, and you sighed through your nose.

You knew there would be a lot of traffic throughout the shop, like one of those old-fashioned tattoo parties you heard happened back in New York. Parties with artists from states that didn’t restrict them or underground NY artists, where people would sneak under the radar until tattoo shops were legal again. That vibe only… with a little less exciting rebellion, more professional maintenance, and no alcohol.

But besides that, Mabel was one of those people who knew everyone, and they were treating the celebration like a mini convention of just the staff, including them. It would be busy, it would be noisy, and you would be preoccupied with your job until the scheduled cut-off time for staff to relax and hopefully socialize. If you were being honest, it was a bit much for you too. The business was new, and Mabel was excited, maybe a little overzealous. They admittedly had enough success, in addition to a partner with a good job, to allow for being this excessive about one month and… you could feel it would be a nightmare for Mel.

“Well, if you are still coming, I’m not piercing your ears yet. We’re finding a different day,” you said with a little laugh, earning you a bit of that grouchy Mel again. You still hadn’t decided yet if that meant she was more comfortable around you or if you were starting to grate at her nerves from being around all the time.

“I’m going, and I want to get my second ear piercings.”

“Doubt it,” you muttered, smiling to yourself until your gaze abandoned your plate to see her pissy expression.

“I’m kidding,” you whispered, reaching out to hold her jaw in your hand before letting go after.

“It’s your body. If you want it, I will give you whatever you want,” you said casually, hoping the immediate heat your body responded with wouldn’t reach your face.

“The… the piercings. If you really want the ear piercings tomorrow, I mean. I’ll still—”

“I do. I want them,” she stated sharply, finally stabbing at a piece of food with her fork.

“Mkay, sure,” you laughed, stretching back in your chair while you eyed her. You ended up with your hands resting on the back of your head, which tilted slightly as you continued observing her angry eating. Like a wind-up toy, her irritable energy visibly died out, leaving just the sad, nervous Mel behind. She was getting that distant look again as she stared at the table.

“Do you want to sleepover in my room tonight?” You offered gently, reaching a hand toward her on the table. A soft smile pulled at your lips when she perked up.

“You’d be okay with that...? I thought you were mad at me for being in your room too much.”

And god, it took every ounce of willpower you had not to grab her into a squeezing hug and never let her go back to that damn job and whatever was upsetting her so much.

ʚɞ

“Mabel texted back. They said you could always be my ‘apprentice’ again if you wanted to stay in my piercing room tomorrow,” you whispered to her, as if being curled up, talking late at night, still meant avoiding being caught by someone’s parents.

“Or upstairs is kind of a staff lounge area. It’ll be open to the public for this so there’s more space, but there are two couches up there and some beanbag chairs.”

You were on your side, staring at her lying there on her back once you had set your phone back down. She was cycling between being too far into her mind and being so far away from it that you wondered, if you looked, if you’d see her spirit floating above the bed. She only hummed in response, flinching when you touched her hip. You retreated with a whispered apology until she shifted closer, wanting the comfort of your proximity.

“That sounds nice… thanks,” she murmured, and you nodded.

You didn’t know what else to say, gaze flitting from her expression to the rest of her body and back, gauging what kind of tense she was. Finally, you asked her if she wanted a hug in a hushed voice, fighting the urge to simply gather her to you in case she wasn’t in the headspace for it. She thought for a second and then nodded.

So, you slid your arms around her, helping to scoop her towards you as soon as she had been turning to be on her side.

There have been things you’ve done that would make Mel blush so hard she’d be dizzy from all the blood rushing to her head, and yet this felt like the most intimate moment of your life. The act of clinging to her for her sake as if you weren’t also relieving your own aching need to touch her. Even then, you were frequently pulling at her and shifting when nothing felt close enough. The only thing saving you from embarrassment was that 1.) Trinity wasn’t here to mock you and use this against you for the rest of your life, and 2.) Mel always needed more pressure.

A soft breath sighed from your nose as you held her close, pressed together enough to feel almost every way your bodies could fit together. How the curve of her chest met yours. The way that little plush layer of her belly pressed against you, hip bones occasionally nudging yours, or the way your legs tangled together. You had molded to her as much as possible, and yet she was trying to kill you—truly trying to kill you—with the way she was tugging at you. Each tug came with an unsubtle attempt to lay on her back while still holding onto you. She needed gravity more involved. This facing each other, lying on your sides business simply would not do for her nervous system.

Despite your own misery, you yielded for her sake, groaning into the crook of her neck about her being so bossy, which thankfully earned you a quiet laugh. Once she was laid back again, and you were on top of her, she let out an audible sigh of relief.

ʚɞ

When you woke up the next day, you were lying on your stomach, and you could feel Mel right beside you, practically half on top of you while she slept. You only let out a soft sigh because what else was there to do? It was reasonable to assume there was no escaping this particular fate unless you wanted to stop sharing your bed altogether, and that wasn’t exactly on your to-do list.

Still, what was it with her and ending up in the most awkward positions? And right against you? Did she get cold easily in the night? Was it just more of her need for pressure?

“Mel,” you huffed out, stretching an arm over to basically smack your phone screen to snooze the alarm.

“Mm.”

“Mel.”

“Mm,” she got out again, the sound more of a whine that time.

“I have to get up,” you sighed out with a laugh.

“Mm-mm...”

“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m tossing you,” you joked, earning you a little huff.

“One…”

“Two…”

Mel suddenly separated from you with an irritated sound, rolling over to the other side. Considering she wasn’t even on her period anymore, it was a fantastic confirmation that she was actually like that first thing in the morning. To think all this time you figured she woke up with a smile on her face every day.

“You can stay in my bed ‘s long as you want,” you promised her in a whisper, placing more of the comforter on her. Before you left the bedroom, you caught her clumsily kicking around to move the blankets a certain way and then settle again.

It was early, at least for you, but you had promised Mabel you’d help set things up. Rather than taking away the chance for Mel to sleep in, especially when work has been stressing her out, you had established last night that she should come later by Uber when she was ready. It also may have been your way of leaving a sort of emergency exit ready for her in case she really wasn’t feeling up to leaving the apartment.

When you got to the shop, there were orange cones blocking off a section of the parking lot for a food truck scheduled to arrive later in the day. The shop had been deep cleaned while closed yesterday, which you noticed as you walked through, catching the faint scent leftover by the cleaning agents. You walked by the open studio doors, waving to one of the tattoo artists, Reggie, who was there early to finish packaging some prints for the front of the shop.

The front desk would be where things really felt like a “convention” with the standing displays tucked back by the wall: one with prints for purchase and the other showing raffle items and a list of local organizations that the raffle money would go towards. Seeing that admittedly settled some of your bristling. You had been excited about the one-month thing until you weren’t—until Mabel was excitedly talking about their ideas and you realized with each passing second that you would be ending the day drained. You'd still be exhausted, but all of this so far was a reminder of how much Mabel loved their job and had organized everything so cheerfully. Honestly, you wondered how they put everything together so quickly.

You double-checked the locked jewelry case, occasionally looking at everything behind the desk as you mindlessly spun the case. The shop clerk, Quinn, was neatening up the displays, returning your morning greeting before pulling one off to the side more. Walking back, as if you might go down the hall again, you caught sight of Mabel watching their ex-apprentice up on a small ladder. Shelley was stretched up, trying to show how she pictured setting up the fairy lights.

“Maybe if we droop them just a bit more… Yeah, I just don’t think they should be in such tight lines—” Mabel said to her before sipping their cold brew, finally catching sight of you.

“Oh, my ray of sunshine!” they gasped playfully, earning them an exhausted and vulgar gesture after you greeted Shelley in a far more polite manner.

“So how much have you slept this week?” you teased, noticing the bags under their eyes. They sucked on their vape, letting it dissipate from their lips.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to tell your doctor friends how much caffeine I’ve ingested, if that answers your question.”

ʚɞ

By the time Mel was dropped off by her Uber, the shop was steadily growing lively, with the occasional stray person coming and going from the shop and a food truck setting up outside. She admittedly wasn’t all that confident in the energy she’d have for this when you discussed it last night, but she woke up today with a certain amount of pep. Sure, she was painfully anxious about socializing, and there were always the looming work-related stressors that could strike at any moment… but her excitement overtook the bad feelings, at least for now.

She glanced up, happy to see you had already been waiting by the employee entrance for her, as promised, smiling as she approached the door.

“You’re wearing one of my shirts" was your choice of greeting, hands pressed to the sides of the propped-open doorway, and eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“Oh, um…” Mel said quietly as she looked down at the t-shirt she had borrowed, still walking.

“You—Oo, sorry.”

Mel hadn’t realized just how close she got to you until she was looking back up to reply. She nearly bumped into you, and despite her new habit of wanting to use you as a weighted blanket, this sudden proximity quartered her thoughts and shot the pieces in different directions.

“Um—you, well, it was,” she tried, letting out a shy laugh over her own starting and stopping. “You…said I could borrow from your closet…? So, um, I just thought, but if you want—”

“Mel.”

“Hm?” she responded with her lips pressed together, looking pained when she finally looked at you again.

She blinked as your hands found her arms, your sunglasses now propped on top of your head. You guided her into the shop, kicking up the doorstop on the way.

“I only commented on it ‘cause I think you look cute,” you whispered.

Mel was grateful you were still behind her, guiding her down the hall, instead of seeing the pink that stained her face and ears. Although her stuttered “thank you” wasn’t all that much better at hiding her feelings.

The private studio doors were still open, and Mel caught glimpses of the lives inside as you walked past. Reggie was sitting with his back to a woman who looked so similar to him, wrapping his braided hair into a low bun while they talked. A smile curved his lips when he saw you two, waving and returning Mel’s little “Hi!”

Both piercing rooms were currently empty, and in the second private tattoo room, a woman Mel hadn’t met yet was recording a video of her cleaning and setting things up. A man wearing a cropped version of the woman’s merch held the phone for her. Mel hadn’t realized just how much she had slowed down to observe, especially to look at the tattoo artist’s stark black and white makeup, until you were laughing and nudging her to move.

“That’s Dani and her boyfriend,” you explained to her, amused by her curiosity.

“Oh,” she nodded, trying to look back down the hall again behind the two of you. “Who was with Reggie?”

“His older sister—”

And on her next intake of breath, you were already answering her question and the next few that would probably follow while you slowed down. Your hands stayed on her arms, mindlessly rubbing them and only lifting a hand occasionally to gesture. When you felt goosebumps raise along her arms, you told yourself it was from the AC.

“—and Quinn,” you said, gesturing to the front desk with a brief flick of a finger. “Has her brother with her to help run the desk—”

Mel saw the two chatting about something before the clerk was punching the other one’s arm, which startled her until the pair was laughing while the brother rubbed his arm. She spotted Jess next, who she still thought looked like a teacher since she met her, even with her sporadic sets of tattoos and piercings. Jess was talking with a man holding a baby in one of those over-the-chest carriers, while a younger girl tugged at her arm.

“That’s Jess’ husband and kids,” you added, although you figured she would’ve been able to guess that one, especially when Jess was giving her husband a quick kiss and then the top of the baby’s head. The daughter was squeezed in a hug, squealing as her mom pressed kisses to her cheekbone over and over. A faint sadness hit Mel, overhearing Jess tell her daughter to be good for her grandmother, but her attention was dragged over to the right as someone with bright yellow hair nearly bumped into both of you.

“Oh, sorry." They splayed their hands out apologetically on their way to the hall.

“That’s Shelley’s spouse and that…" You nodded towards the other two chatting with the artist while she pinned flash sheets to a board. “is her other partner and her sister.”

Before you could finish giving her quick answers for who the guests were so far, Mabel would unintentionally conclude for you, waving both of you over. You withdrew your hands from Mel to move a bit more freely while walking over to the public station Mabel was setting up. They would be treating today more like a typical flash day, leaving the private rooms to Reggie and Dani, who had both booked rather extensive pieces.

“Oh, awesome! Mel, you made it!” they smiled. Mel blinked wide eyes over the unexpected response to her presence, her expression softening to a shy smile as she glanced down. Meanwhile, Mabel’s wife had been lovingly flipping you off until she realized she was about to be introduced to someone.

“Mel, this is my wife, Sasha. Sasha, this is Melissa-but-everyone-calls-her-Mel… she’s um…” Mabel trailed off for a moment with your name hanging in the air, and you could’ve died on the spot that they felt the need to hesitate.

“Roommate,” you finished for them. “Mel’s my roommate.”

“‘And they were roommates,’” Sasha quoted in a gasp, which you rolled your eyes at.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mel got out quietly with a little wave.

“Well, this is fun,” Mabel chirped, smiling after they had taken a second to look around the room while Sasha shook Mel’s hand. “It’s all family here so far.”

ʚɞ

The front of the shop was spacious with the welcome desk tucked near the public entrance. Against the wall nearest to the hallway were two workstations, and yet there was still plenty of space between those and the street-facing wall. There were some chairs by the desk, then a few more against that front wall between two windows. Mel briefly watched Mabel's parents move the chairs directly in front of the windows to make space for the display of flash sheets. The other end of the room reminded Mel of a ballet studio since a good chunk of the wall was just mirrors. Higher up on that wall, closest to the stairs, was a TV currently displaying the radio station Mabel had playing through the speakers.

While it was still early, before other guests and clients would start turning up, Mel was treating the space like she was attending a small gallery. Her hands were intentionally kept to herself, but she leaned in occasionally to get a better look at certifications or art on the walls, curling in on herself with apologies when she was in someone’s way. She looked at the flash sheets, intrigued by all the designs, but remained too afraid to get anything permanently imbedded into her skin. Gravitating to the front desk, she looked at the jewelry, giving the case a little spin before going to the portfolios that had been laid out—very politely giving each one a moment, but she was admittedly rushing to yours.

She held one of your business cards, humming happily to herself as she looked it over. She didn’t know you had business cards. She didn’t realize you had a business account online either, which was listed on the piece of thick cardstock.

“Thinkin’ of gettin' something today, Mel?” Quinn asked, making her jump since her thoughts had been preoccupied with maybe opening Instagram for the first time in ages just to see your account.

“Oh, um, maybe,” she answered quietly with a small smile. “I’m thinking about getting my ears pierced, but I might do it another day.”

“Tight!” she grinned, nodding. “It’s a dangerous game, though! Before we know it, you’re gonna be covered in piercings.”

Mel wasn’t sure what to say to that, only laughing awkwardly because she didn’t want to come off as rude if she admitted that was extremely unlikely. She toyed with her hands, looking at the standing displays, and wondered if there was something else she should be saying or if that was where the conversation could naturally end since Quinn had been talking to her brother anyway.

“Okay, um, thank you,” she got out, escaping to go hide in your piercing room instead.

Quinn said goodbye as she walked off, elbowing her younger brother in the ribs when he asked her if “Mel was the one everyone was betting—”

“Shut up,” Quinn hissed out under her breath.

Mel’s social anxiety still clung to her, but it all but shed from her once she made it to your room. Well, the social anxiety was gone. Then, she saw you with your hair lazily gathered out of your way and those black gloves on while you wiped down your tray. A different anxiety returned in the form of a still-foreign twist in her gut. She had gloves at work. She actually hated the feeling of rubber gloves, but she put up with them because she had to. How were yours any different? Maybe because they weren’t a healthcare blue or cream color. Maybe it was you. It was a little unfair that you could make nitrile gloves look so…

“Hey, you." You smiled, and her hands nervously squeezed at the crossbody strap of her bag.

You had taken one glove off to check your phone, but when you looked at her again in her silence, your gaze flicked to her hands and then back to her face.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” she spoke tightly, barely even moving when she nodded.

“Do you need me to drive you home?”

She declined with a shake of her head, but you still had her at least come over to one of the chairs by the wall. Mel heard you remind her of the lounge upstairs and the food and where your car was—even giving her your keys—in case she needed a place to hide. Her mind was buzzing, and she got out a few “mhm”s and “mm-mm”s, but she was in a weird place caught between being far too focused on you and tuning everything out. Your arms were exposed with the tank top you wore, and despite how often she’s seen them now, Mel still found the art there distracting. She looked at one tattoo and then another and another...then when you were planting your overcrowded keys in her hands...and...

You decided to give Mel some space, and soon enough she was blinking back to the world around her when you introduced the first client. She remained in her seat, though, constantly seeking the deepest and farthest parts of her consciousness to flee from the different anxieties littering her body. She zoned out while she watched you, her attention only straying when her phone buzzed. At the top of her screen was a notification from her period tracking app with probably one of its odd, “quirky” reminders.

She was still frustrated about her body suddenly changing things on her, but she told herself it was a reminder to not stress her system out too much. Which was laughable, really, but she wanted to cling to whatever hope she had left. Your reasoning was that you had the “Alpha Pussy” in the apartment, and, crudeness aside, she knew what you meant. She also immediately pointed out it’s been proven women don’t “sync up.”

Mel watched you work with the current client, nearly forgetting to read the notification. The act of you dropping into a sort of squat-kneel caught her attention, your light positioned to have a better view of the woman’s abdomen.

“Okay, so…” you started, hands out like you were about to touch the woman’s exposed stomach, but you held off, looking up at her. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

The woman was a little surprised you asked but nodded, then awkwardly shook her head instead, stumbling over an "I mean, no, I don’t mind, sorry—” that you both laughed over a bit while you reassured her.

Mel was proud of herself for holding back the “Thank you! I’m not crazy!” she nearly blurted when she saw how much you had made the client blush. And just how red her face got from you actually touching her stomach, even if you were only trying to get a good look at it and to wipe her bellybutton before placing some markings. As you discussed the option for a naval piercing that would best suit her, you occasionally offered the woman a half smile, and you had that look that showed you saw it too.

“Doesn’t it make it so much worse when she notices and you know she knows? What is it with her and doing that?” Mel wanted to ask. She was starting to wonder if you were actually just mean and trying to be subtle in the way you bullied people.

Then she thought the stranger should be glad you were only touching her when necessary to do your job. Mel still wasn’t sure what she’d been feeling in the pit of her stomach after you had been pressing down on it, your warm body on hers. She hadn’t exactly had a moment to keep thinking on it, which was nice, until it wasn’t. Until she got that jittery feeling again and she was all overheated and she still didn’t know what was wrong beyond the “anxiety” and “shyness” she’s been able to identify so far.

She eyed the client, seeing she looked a bit anxious and shy too, but maybe she was only nervous about the piercing. There had been something else, though, specifically when she was stumbling over her words. Mel thought on it for too long, then: Flustered. She looked flustered. She decided that was a good way to put it for herself too.

Her phone buzzed again with a repeat reminder that she had a notification. She finally put her code in to read the message.

“Egg’s a-cookin’ and almost ready to go!”

Mel forced her sigh to be a steady exhale through her nose as she swiped the notification banner away and put her phone back into her bag.

ʚɞ

You had wished Mel would admit to herself when she hit her limit, but she stayed, like she said she would. Only she was quiet and stuck to her seat instead of curiously hovering behind you. You were starting to wonder how you could convince her to go relax at home when she was quietly getting up, her attention grabbed by a potential industrial you were assessing the anatomy for about an hour ago. Despite all her swirling emotions, she couldn't refrain from observing, and she still found the thoughtful movements your hands made soothing. At some point, Mel's eyes flicked up to your focused expression, and she felt grateful for the second chance you gave her. She had made all those ignorant comments about your profession, even if she would never mean them the way they were received, and she was happy to witness you at work. She gave you a small, shy smile before looking away again when you happened to catch her staring. Sometimes, she wondered if she would have understood as much as she does now without the opportunity to.

She stayed a couple steps behind you after that, frequently asking questions, and some of the tension finally left your shoulders. Mel only abandoned her position behind you when a client was coming in for nipple piercings who preferred to only have the piercer in the room. She supposed she understood.

Mel made her way down the hall to observe outside of the little pocket she’s been in. It was much busier than before. The private tattoo rooms were closed, and dividers had been set up around the public stations to better deter visitors from getting too close to the artists at work. An extra buffer had been added by tables placed in front of where they were working, their portfolios and original flash laid on top.

Shelley was in the middle of talking to Mabel about swapping with Reggie, who had a client “tap out,” when they noticed her.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I know he was hoping to do some of his flash—Oh, hey, Mel!” Mabel perked up, smiling at her while they dipped their needle in one of several tiny caps of ink.

Shelley greeted Mel next, apologizing after she had glanced up to see her and accidentally flashed the light of her tattoo headlamp at her.

“Hey, guys,” she smiled, gripping onto her bag again for comfort.

“So, what’s up, Doc? Our rowdy bunch driving you crazy yet?” Mabel checked in on her, their attention straying back to their work while Mel answered.

“Oh! I’m good. It’s certainly different,” she said, nervously folding her hands as an unsure smile tugged at her lips. “Everyone’s really fun and nice—oh, er—hi, sorry.”

Mel jumped when Sasha was suddenly behind her, pardoning herself and thanking Mel as she let her past to sneak between the two tables.

“Order up!” Sasha announced on her way to a chair set off to the side but still within Mabel’s working space.

“In the middle of something, hon,” Mabel insisted, wiping at a section of their work with a paper towel before stretching the skin again to keep working.

“Well then I’ll feed you myself,” Sasha retaliated in a loving whisper, already pulling the paper away from the sandwich. She eventually got Mabel to roll over to her on their stool to at least be fed a couple bites.

Mel was once again quietly apologizing, moving out of the way for Shelley’s sister, who was also carrying food. Was everyone getting hungry at the same time, or was there suddenly a random deal at the food truck? Sasha noticed how confused and curious Mel looked when Shelley’s sister was threatening to tell their dad if she didn’t eat.

“They all suck at taking care of themselves when they work,” Sasha explained, catching Mel’s attention. “They’re forever our suffering little tamagotchis.”

“Hey!” Mabel huffed defensively before adding with a smile, which relieved Mel’s concern that they were fighting: “The piercers are no better.”

ʚɞ

“Everything okay?” you laughed when Mel returned to your room with a rushed walk. It had hardly been thirty seconds since you opened the door to say goodbye to the client, and Mel was sneaking back into the hall.

“Mhm,” she nodded but sighed in relief once she was in your room again. You eyed your schedule, then shut the door instead of making it known you were available for any walk-ins. You had to finish cleaning up anyway.

You left Mel alone to relax in the same chair, busying yourself with getting your working area ready for whoever was next. She watched you the whole time, finally catching a decent breath without too many people or noises surrounding her. Her attention on her own state faltered when you made a face to yourself, letting out a slow breath. By the time you were sitting on your chair, she was taking her bag off, eyeing you.

“Are you okay?” she immediately asked, sitting up straight.

“Yes, Mel, I’m fine,” you said, laughing, but set your elbows on your legs and took a moment to cradle your head in your hands. “Just tired, and it’s way too fucking hot in here. Did Mabel say anything about the AC malfunctioning? ‘Cause…”

You were continuing on about how it wouldn’t be like Mabel to ignore something like that and it was too warm outside to be tattooing and piercing people without AC, but Mel was too busy walking over to you.

“The AC’s working,” she mumbled. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since this morning,” you replied with surprising honesty, yawning after as you slowly sat yourself back up.

“You need to eat,” she said, her tone and expression so serious you let out a little laugh.

“It’s not funny, you need to eat or you’ll—”

“Yeah, I know how blood sugar works, Mel,” you huff, cut off before you could continue.

“And while I…respect the knowledge you have for your job, it appears you are either unaware of or ignoring signs of faintness in yourself, and… and I am a doctor, and I say you need to eat,” she rambled with an intensity that was more from anxiety than confidence.

"Please," she added at the end, quietly.

You eyed her with amusement you were trying and failing to suppress.

“You’re pulling the doctor card?”

“I am pulling the doctor card, yes," she confirmed with a single nod.

“I’m obviously going to eat, Mel,” you clarified now before she started making unnecessary conclusions. “I’ve just been busy.”

“I am sure, but I’d prefer that you eat now.”

Mel positioned herself in a way as if trying to mimic the body language of other people when they were putting their foot down, but she was still toying with her hands.

“I’m going to—”

“Now,” she insisted, and you couldn’t help the smile it evoked, even as she looked at you all grouchy, bordering on offended, yet still tacking on another “please.”

“I’m—” you tried, laughing and placing your hands on her arms when she stiffened, ready to reiterate her medically necessary demands.

“I’m saying… I’m going to eat,” you got out with your laugh, giving her arms a light squeeze. “But you’re coming with me, hypocrite.”

Walking down the hall to the employee door, Mel argued why she wasn’t being hypocritical with her requests. She wasn’t the one working something, something… she had eaten more recently than you had… blah, blah, blah…

You continued to usher her outside to the food truck. Once you were both in line, you interrupted her constant talking with a playful bite to her shoulder.

ʚɞ

“You treat all your patients this way?” you teased after finishing a bite of food. The two of you had settled upstairs on a couch to eat for now, sat closer together than necessary. “You’re a lot meaner than I thought you’d be.”

Mel shook her head since her mouth was full. Despite her arguments for why she was certainly not a hypocrite, she did feel rather happy with something to eat, which was clear from her quiet, happy humming.

“No,” she finally got out a moment later.

“No?” you questioned with a grin. “Well, what the hell? Where’s my special treatment?”

“I technically can’t favor any one patient. It would be against my moral obligations as a physician…” she started, seeing the look you were giving her, aware that you weren’t really her patient.

“Hm, you can be difficult,” she offered instead as a quick explanation.

“Now insults too?” you gasped in mock offense. “That’s just bad doctoring, Dr. King…”

In the time it took you to reach forward for your drink, you missed the way she nearly went gray over those words. It was just a joke, she reminded herself. She knew the signs that you were only messing with her. She doesn’t think I’m a bad doctor. I’m just sensitive.

She was able to manage a huff of laughter, but her gut was suddenly leaden, and her appetite was quickly dwindling.

“Ma’am, I understand your frustrations and I am so—” Gloria was saying in her calmest tone, which she reserved for the most difficult people. That mother still spoke over her.

“What kind of hospital is this? You just let your staff run wild and... and drill into children's spines?”

“Honey…”

“No! No—I,” the woman started as if ready to say how she truly felt about her husband in this moment but forced her attention back to Gloria.

“There was not one single competent doctor who worked on my son tonight. You will be hearing from our lawyer.”

All the pride Mel had felt mere moments before had been stripped away from her, trying to hide her shaking hands with the way she grasped them in front of her stomach. She chanced a glance up to Gloria, who only eyed her and Dr. Ellis, then walked away. She looked disappointed, tired, frustrated… any descriptor, really, as long as it was bad.

And it was her fault.

ʚɞ

You eyed Mel once you were back downstairs, finishing up before it was time to switch over to socializing. She had gone quiet on you again, and you were worried she had officially reached her limit for the day but was still forcing herself to stay.

“Mel, if you want to go home, you should go home. It’s okay,” you reassured her gently.

Leaving the space she had retreated to in her mind, Mel blinked and looked at you.

“I’m…” she sighed, adjusting the way she was sitting to be more comfortable. “I’m okay… just tired, I guess.”

You were ready to point out that was a perfectly good reason for her to need her own space again, but then she got up suddenly.

“I’m... gonna go to the bathroom… I’ll…” she trailed off, gesturing to try and communicate that she’ll be back, instead shaking her head and concluding with a quiet “yeah…”

You watched her walk out, feeling utterly useless. After a moment, you got up to go after her, to talk to her even if it meant being obnoxious and following her to the bathroom, but as you started leaving the room, you nearly walked right into a young woman with brown hair. Despite looking nothing like her, she kind of reminded you of Mel just in the way she looked so nervous, gripping at the crossbody strap of her purse.

"Oh, I am so sorry,” you rushed out, grateful she only laughed it off and said it was okay.

“Are you the piercer I scheduled with…?” she asked shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I put my name on the walk-in list, but if it’s too late…”

You grabbed the list as you fought for your professionalism for one more person, and only because she was being so polite and patient.

“It’s Morgan,” she added as you looked, finding her name.

“Uh… no—I mean, yeah,” you laughed. “Yes, I’m the one you scheduled with. No, it’s not too late. Come on in.”

You stepped aside to let her through first, pausing to look down the hall, hoping to see Mel on her way back, but she wasn’t. Sighing, you went into your piercing room, trying to focus on this young woman instead.

When Mel was walking back, murmuring quiet reassurances to herself, she caught part of your conversation with the client.

“I was gonna get a tattoo for him, y’know?” a distantly familiar, broken voice said. “I… I chickened out, but I’m glad I still came… Ugh, I’m sorry, this isn’t your job and I’m just—”

You murmured something reassuring Mel couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, I guess." The girl let herself laugh a little in a way that was trying to combat how awkward and vulnerable she felt. “I booked an appointment with Dani next month, but... yeah...”

You were starting to reaffirm just how incredible Dani’s black and gray portraiture was but caught sight of Mel in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Morgan,” you said to the client. “I’ve had someone shadowing me today, but if you’re uncomfortable at all, we'd both understand you—”

The girl looked unsure, especially when she already felt embarrassed about crying five minutes into meeting you. Then something changed in her demeanor when she turned around and saw Mel, and you saw Mel's expression change too.

“Dr. King?”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

Mel had been missing you more than usual for some reason. It was easy to feel that way if you were busy on her day off, and she had no plans with Becca, but you’d been on her mind even at work lately. Usually, she could switch herself over to a different mental setting, with only the occasional outside, personal thing getting through. She wanted to be near you, but couldn’t. The excess energy that revolved around your place in her mind needed to go somewhere, usually turning into Mel finding any possible reason to talk about you.

Now, she had her elbows on a small work table in a patient’s room, her face squished from supporting it with her hands. She had been finishing up some notes on a work tablet, while Trinity stood by the computer, expression flat as her fingers moved over the keyboard with tiny, sharp clacks.

Mel tried to fight the feeling, but her need for movement was stronger than usual, leaving her antsy. She kept squirming in her chair, telling herself she was simply adjusting to be more comfortable, but then she was tapping her feet in her attempt to redirect the urge that previously had her tapping the expensive tablet pencil. She got her work done, but her focus was straying constantly.

It didn’t help either that she felt easily overwhelmed today, so she was left grasping for absolutely anything her body craved. Tapping, squirming, subtly bouncing in her spot, toying with her hands or squeezing them. Going to the stairwell to watch her lava lamp app only to get frustrated when it wasn't enough. Going out to the ambulance bay to get some air and mutter some lyrics to herself or call Becca.

“Dude, you’re killing me with the tapping,” Dr. Santos groaned, settling her head in her hand once she had propped her arm on the edge of the wheeled workstation. She had it tucked into the corner of the room, making it easier for her to lean on it.

“Sorry,” Mel whispered, basically curling inward, crossing her ankles under her chair and pressing her hands together.

She glanced over at the bed, seeing the patient they had been observing was still asleep. Mel looked over her notes, fighting for something to do, but not seeing anything else to add at the moment. The patient was groggy from pain meds for a rather nasty fracture, having slept the past hour away while waiting for ortho to bring her upstairs. Working here meant a lot of waiting sometimes, and she wasn't the best at waiting even on a good day, let alone a day like today.

The second Santos concluded her notes and logged out of the computer, Mel hopped up to follow her out of the room, tablet and stylus held close to her chest.

“Did you hear about the party?” She beamed while Trinity plopped down into a chair, drinking from the Red Bull she had left by the nurses' station.

“What party, Mel?" she muttered, too tired to avoid the disinterested tone but too soft on her to fully ignore her.

“The one at the shop? Mabel—”

“Oh,” Trinity nodded, shutting out the rest of the room by rubbing her eyes while she racked her brain. “Yeah… yeah, the one-month thing…”

“I’m really excited,” Mel gushed in a whisper before rambling on about things you had told her.

Mabel had been saying for a while that it would be cool to throw a one-month anniversary party for the shop if it was doing well. They knew it seemed silly, but it would be good to celebrate the little milestones and to invest in building a community here in Pittsburgh. And considering it would be landing in the second week of June, they wanted to mix in some Pride themes.

"It was actually really funny,” Mel continued her rambling, with a little laugh.

“She was saying I didn’t have to go because I’ve been taking a break from too many new things—besides the movies, but, yeah—um... you already knew that, right, sorry…” She waved a hand at the hiccup in her explanation.

Mel paused, looking up to scour her mind for where she had left off before she got sidetracked, only to end up cringing from the lights. She blinked it out of her vision and focused on Trinity again.

“Um... Oh! Yes, anyway, it was really nice... she’s the nicest person ever, so I think I’ll be okay! I think I could handle a party—”

Trinity nodded, downing more of her Red Bull. Putting the can back down, she opened her eyes wide at the screen in front of her until she felt them straining, trying to force her body into being alert.

“She said she’d keep an eye on me, and everyone at the shop said they would too! I met everybody last week when I picked her up since her car was with the mechanic...? And they were all so nice to me—”

“That’s great, Mel.”

"I was really nervous at first. I try not to get like this, but I can’t help it sometimes, so..." the blonde continued with a shy smile, resting the back of one hand in the palm of the other.

"I feel like people like all of them are always way cooler than me... and then they won’t like me, but they were all so kind! Oh, and she does this funny thing where she acts all overly formal sometimes, but she’s being silly, so when she was introducing—”

“Yeah. I know, Mel. " Santos got out with more bite than she had intended. She tried to cut it with a little laugh, but she still sounded bitter. “I knew her years before you.”

“Oh,” Mel stopped, nervously toying with her hands now. “Right, sorry…”

Trinity sighed at herself, digging the heel of her hand against the bridge of her nose, before leaning back again suddenly, hands slapped down onto her legs.

“No… sorry, that was me,” she breathed out. “Go ahead.”

“I didn’t mean it like that…” Mel murmured, immediately deflated from the verbal strike.

“I know, Mel,” Santos groaned with a laugh, but the annoyance still bled through the amusement like drops of ink on wet paper.

“Just…” Trin gestured lazily. “Go ahead... Everyone at the shop and the party and whatever…”

“You don’t seem very excited about the party,” the blonde observed, slightly disgruntled and hugging the tablet tight to her chest.

“Yeah, well, I can’t go,” Santos shrugged. “I’ll be stuck in this hellhole."

“Oh,” Mel blinked, readjusting her approach. “Sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Trinity sighed out, pressing her lips together after.

Mel didn’t know what to do or say beyond repeatedly apologizing, but Dr. Santos really did not like when she did that.

“I wouldn’t have gone on about it like that if I knew,” she said quietly. She tried to hold in that extra apology, but it felt practically spring-loaded. She couldn’t contain it, suddenly getting it out right as Santos was parting her lips to reply.

“It’s fine, really,” Trinity groaned, playfully rolling her eyes as she pushed the chair back. “Not like you were really talking about the party anyway.”

Mel watched her walk off, not sure what Santos had meant by that. She only knew that she had messed up by accidentally rubbing it in her face that she was going to a party that Trinity couldn’t make it to. She tried to swallow her nerves down, but the embarrassment and regret felt so heavy. She glanced around for somewhere to go before walking off.

ʚɞ

“Dr. Santos can’t come to the party, did you know that?” Mel blurted out hours later, sat cross-legged on your bed while you put clothes away.

“Oh yeah,” you frowned, looking up from the shirt you had put on a hanger. “She told me she couldn’t make it work with her schedule.”

“Maybe I should see if I could swap shifts with her so she can go. She should be the one that goes,” Mel started sadly, the conversation quickly becoming one with herself.

“But it’s coming up so soon now, and I don’t know if they’ll let me make changes so last second, unless maybe I tell her and she can ‘call out,’ and I’ll offer to come in… Oh, but if someone from the hospital is at the party…”

“Mel, it’s okay,” you reassured her with a laugh, seeing she had started biting at the fingernail of her index finger she had previously settled thoughtfully on her lower lip.

“She’s gonna make bitter jokes about it for like a week and be over it. I’m gonna put a goody bag together for her anyway.”

Mel watched you finish putting your clothes away, her gaze still tracking you as you approached the bed. You let out a soft sigh once you were lying down on your front beside her, and she remained sitting up. You waited for her to relax too, but she never did. Rolling over onto your side, you eyed her, seeing she had sunk so deep into her mind she didn't even seem to register your turning. She had bunched up her crossed legs so her knees were closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring out in front of her while her mind was miles away. So, you reached a hand up to lightly tug on her braid, bringing her consciousness forward again.

“Stop thinking about it. It’s okay,” you started in a softer tone but ended on a giggle you couldn't suppress when she looked at you with the grumpiest expression.

You covered your mouth with your hand, but the smile underneath it was obvious.

“Stop doing that. Why are you doing that lately?” She huffed, and you finally dropped your hand to honestly pout a little.

“Ugh, I’m sorry… It's just fun,” you groaned and sat yourself up right beside her, both of you equally sinking into the dip your combined weight created in the mattress so your sides were squished together.

“Especially when you get all grouchy, blondie…”

You matched her previous position since she was stretching her legs now; curling your legs to your chest to rest your cheek on your knees and you smile fondly at her.

“I’ll stop doing it when you stop overthinking.”

“Well, that’s not very fair,” she countered. “I can’t always help it—”

You tugged her braid again, a bit harder this time, and Mel let out what could only be considered a yelp or like a “yipping” sound a small dog would make. She stared at you with wide, scandalized eyes that only made it funnier.

“Cut it out!”

You laughed, unfurling your body again to lie back down, turning back around so you could lie with your face in your pillows. But once you were facing the head of your bed, you pushed at the center of her chest first just enough to make her land back onto the mattress. Before really getting comfortable, you had to reach your hand out to rest on her sternum and keep her from sitting back up. You did this with a casual “nope” into your pillow and you only took your hand back when she stayed still.

“You’re being mean to me tonight,” she mumbled after a full minute of silence, crossing her arms. She stayed in the spot you put her in, though.

“Just relax, Mel,” you whispered.

You could tell she was still tense, letting out a soft breath before turning yet again onto your side to face her. Her features were frowning despite her keeping her mouth in a tight line, and she was staring straight up at the ceiling. You tickled at her side a little, but instead of giving you the usual laughter, she angled away slightly.

“Mel, c’mon…” you pleaded gently, even if there was still a hint of amusement leftover.

She glanced at you then went back to staring at the ceiling.

“What was that thing you were telling me about this morning?" You tried instead, smoothing your hand over where you had tickled her, eventually migrating to settle on her stomach.

“What thing?” she muttered, and it actually physically pained you to hold back your smile over Grumpy Mel.

“The thing… with the…” you took your hand from her stomach to roll your hand in the air instead, trying to find the words. “The ‘fell…’ thing… or ‘fill…’ something…?”

Mel turned her head to look at you with furrowed brows, her expression only opening up moments later once the right sparks struck.

“Oh! Philematology?” she asked with a big grin.

“Yeah, that,” you laughed. “Keep talking about it. I know you read a lot about it.”

You settled more, supporting the side of your head with your hand as you watched her get caught up in relaying the details of articles she’s read.

“It’s all very intriguing and made me feel a lot better." She nodded, scrolling through one of the many PDFs she had on her phone.

“One was that study about kissing lowering cortisol… y'know, the one everyone talks about?” she turned her head at a somewhat awkward angle to look at you before looking at nowhere in particular while she spoke.

“And it’s true, technically. It can release good hormones and can even lower bad cholesterol, but nearly everything I’ve read pointed out how much more complex females are…”

She continued on while you gently took her phone, curiously scrolling through all the words while listening to her too. You swiped, finding a related PDF but not the one she was currently talking about.

“No one ever seems to talk about the fact that while, yes, cortisol levels lowered for both sexes involved in that particular study, the oxytocin levels only increased in the males—”

“Ugh, leave it to a man,” you commented in a half-mutter, still scrolling through her phone.

“—and not just that! The oxytocin levels lowered in the females, so they believed it shows we need more than just kissing to feel that connection…”

Mel continued on and on about the complexities of kissing in humans and how part of the issue in the studies of the past—or at least the questions that eventually led to research—was being too preoccupied with the role of kissing in relation to sexual arousal. And how reassuring it was to read about entire cultures and populations that find mouth-on-mouth kissing repulsive.

By the time she was going on about how kissing can also inform you of someone’s health—referencing her own experience at the club—you reached a part in a written interview that caught your eye. You scrolled back to read it properly.

“…and some folks on the autism spectrum have varied sensory sensitivities. For example, some researchers think a light touch might feel uncomfortable because different nerve fibers carry different types of touch... Some folks on the autism spectrum report that kissing feels like sensory overload; others say that light touch is uncomfortable; others are perfectly fine with both and enjoy both. It’s very individual, and the research is ongoing. But Dr. Dunbar notes that a partner’s sensitivity is always something to consider…”

Your focus returned to her around when she began going over how many sensory neurons are in human lips. When she glanced at you to check that you were still listening, you nodded with a reassuring “mhm.” After handing her phone back, you couldn’t help but watch her mouth as she continued to rattle off facts.

ʚɞ

It was funny to think of that first day you moved in and how Mel had stood just outside the bedroom door like a vampire. Now she never seemed to leave your room. She liked that you left your bedroom open to her, never bothered by her joining you. She liked the smell of your room and the way you decorated (excluding the horror-related content splayed on your walls or in the form of collectibles). She liked having someone to listen to and someone to listen to her. She liked that you never looked exhausted by her, even if sometimes you were a little lost and needed her to back up and explain something again.

You were happy to have Mel around and happy that she was finally comfortable enough to quit hesitating so much on whether or not she could be in your space. Plus, you appreciated the presence of another person to get things done. The first time you randomly invited her to watch movies in your room instead of the living room, you wound up getting up to finally clean your desk.

Her presence in your room was generally sporadic, but gradually happening more often, or maybe it only felt that way when you both had a day off and she spent all of it with you.

This week, however, was a very sudden start to her consistently seeking your room every night after work, starting that night she had sat on your bed to watch you put your clothes away. She usually insisted on eating at a table, but the past few days she was immediately going to your room once she changed her clothes and would shyly ask to eat in there together.

Unfortunately last night, she nearly went without dinner altogether. Even in your room, she couldn't get past the nausea that was bad enough to make her shake her head at everything you offered to make. You were starting to get worried something was wrong, but then she finally found something that didn’t instill an immediate sense of revulsion. Sure, it was Goldfish crackers that she filled up on, but at least she ate.

The next morning you woke up, uncomfortable and bumping into Mel when you tried to roll over. You raised your head from your pillow, confused by the sprawling blonde hair beside you, until you remembered you had a movie night. Mel had fallen asleep early, practically the second she settled on your bed, and you didn’t have it in you to wake her at the time. Now, however…

You forced your heavy eyelids to stay open, finally registering why you were uncomfortable. Mel took up most of the bed, one leg stretched back and the other bent up with her hips angled so the bent leg could still rest on the bed. She had fallen asleep in shorts, so this was definitely her avoiding the experience of her bare legs stacked, trapping heat and perspiration between them overnight.

“Mel…” you murmured. Nothing.

You glanced at the clock, biting your lip in thought. You both had a day off today, so you could easily sleep in, but it was nearly 8:00, and she was still knocked out for some reason. You patted your hand around to find your phone, finding it half under your hip, overheated and nearly dead. Once it was plugged in and actively charging, you set a few alarms and put it aside.

“Mel,” you urged a little louder now, one hand on her hip and nudging. She barely opened her eyes, letting out a sleepy huff.

“You’re taking up the whole bed. I’m about to fall on my ass,” you whispered with a laugh.

Still nothing, so you felt over one shoulder to find a bra strap to snap, but there wasn’t one. You looked around curiously, eventually spotting the wire-free triangle bra tangled up in the blankets. You were glad to see she wasn’t insane enough to sleep in a bra, but it did ruin your plan.

“Mel, hon, please just scoot over,” you begged instead, resorting to gently pushing at her again.

Mel raised her head, blinking, and looking nearly identical to some of the cat pictures you’ve seen online where the pet had just woken up from a nap and had flat fur on one side of its face, all scrungly and sleepy.

She mumbled something you didn’t understand, but she didn’t argue once you were impatiently moving her so you could have some more space. She rolled over to face the other way, lazily tucking the blankets between her legs so she wouldn’t need to stretch out again.

You sighed in relief now that you had more space to relax in, briefly reaching out a hand to touch her back in a silent “thank you” before knocking out again.

When you woke up to an alarm for 10:30, Mel had completely rolled over into your side, actually tucking herself right against you, with her arms curled into her chest, excluding one leg that she had lazily draped over your legs.

“Mel,” you groaned against your pillow, huffing after, barely even rolling over and she was sliding into the slight divot where you had been. It was involuntary but the snuggling up more was not. You sighed, staying there for a good few minutes, just letting her stay curled up into you until your second alarm went off and you forced yourself away from her.

“Time to get up,” you announced playfully, hopping on one leg and nearly falling over as you slid your other leg out from where she had trapped it under hers.

Mel’s eyes blinked open, but barely. She didn’t fully wake up until you were tugging her shirt from her hip to blow a raspberry against it, immediately rushing out to get the bathroom first and escape the (cute) wrath she’s had the past few days.

“Still mean!” You heard her call out in a sleepy voice, half muffled by your pillow.

You were busy turning the remaining alarms off on your way back to your room, but when you finally glanced up, you found Mel out of your bed, sleep-drunk and upset while she tugged your comforter off the mattress.

“I’m sorry, it’s not the nineteenth, so I didn’t think…” she trailed off, flustered.

“The nineteenth?” you frowned, confused until you saw the blood spot on your comforter.

“Ohh,” you laughed.

But then she looked at you with a wild look in her eyes that you’d never gotten from her before. The fury in them alone pushed you to act before you had even finished tucking your phone into the waistband of your pajamas.

“Woah—hey, it’s okay—” you tried while reaching for the comforter that she kept a grip on.

"No, it’s not because it’s the fifth, and I’ve consistently gotten it on the nineteenth for the past two years,” she explained as if going over a life-or-death detail to a coworker.

“It’s okay,” you reiterated, drawing out the word as you took a careful step forward and gently gathered the comforter from her hands. You set it down for now.

“As in: I'm not upset about the blanket. I get a period too. It happens,” you whispered, but she was deeply distressed to the point of silence, her eyes frantically searching your sheets to see if she had accidentally left any stains there too.

“I actually got mine yesterday, so you’re in good company, or understanding company, I guess.” You shrugged before a yawn hit you.

Mel only huffed after a moment and abruptly left the room while twisting her hands together. You blinked away the dewiness coating your eyes from the yawn, cutting your stretch short when you registered her stomping away. You slackened and let your arms flop back down from where you had been stretching them above your head; both of them loosely settled on top of your head in a lazy crisscross.

“Sorry…?” you called out, unsurprised when you heard the shower running a few minutes later.

You gathered your comforter to dump it in the hallway, opening the bathroom door quietly to also grab her laundry from the floor. You wanted to have everything into the wash before she even left the shower and hopefully avoid her being preoccupied with it for too long.

When you got back from the laundry room, you figured you might as well make breakfast too. Without ever discussing it, the two of you had fallen into a rhythm of her being responsible for breakfast and you being responsible for dinner, but you’d spare her the extra effort this morning. You were too lazy for anything fancy, content with a bowl of cereal for yourself, and you were more than aware of Mel's approved breakfast foods, so it didn't take much effort. By the time you were putting bread in the toaster for her, you heard her leaving the bathroom. You finished your cereal while you waited for the bread to pop back up, humming a tune to yourself.

You had everything you could possible think of, even grabbing a bottle of Tylenol from your purse before walking down the hallway. On your way to your room, you noticed how her bed had been stripped to its sheets in her room, making it unsurprising to see the mass of sage green on your bed once you walked in.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked. She let out a soft grunt in response from under her comforter.

"Well, I made breakfast and I have Tylenol,” you offered, and her head hesitantly popped up from the blanket she was lost in.

She finally sat up, eyeing the plate, caught between gratitude and immediately noticing something wrong with the only food item present that she could handle right now. Neither the yogurt nor the berries looked appetizing to her, and all she wanted was toast.

“What bread did you use?" she asked as she held her hands close to her chest.

“Oh, I used the multigrain bread. We were out of the white, and I figured you’d prefer the healthier option anyway,” you shrugged.

“I don’t like multigrain,” she said sadly.

“Oh, well, I didn’t buy it so I figured—”

“They delivered it by accident the last time you ordered groceries online, but you didn’t notice,” she explained in a rushed string of words.

“O-kay…” you breathed out, searching your brain, foolishly attempting some humor. “Well, I certainly didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you did,” she retorted sharply, eyes sad. She had missed your usual tells that you were trying to be funny. There was too much happening inside her body to bother seeking them out to properly grasp your words.

“I—”

Huh. You couldn’t even think of what to say to that. You felt like you were short-circuiting.

“Sorry,” you both got out at the same time, exhaling simultaneously as well.

“Um... okay,” you scratched the back of your neck. “I guess I can go to the store...?”

You had offered it with a similar mindset to the high school version of yourself filling multiple-choice bubbles at random after forgetting to study. You didn't relax until Mel was nodding.

ʚɞ

“Me when I have a wife." Trinity’s voice came through the speakers of your car after you explained today’s plight.

She had randomly tried to call you earlier that morning, but you missed it until you saw the notification on your way out of the apartment. You called her back for the drive to the closest grocery store, grateful for your now-functioning air conditioner blasting cool air on you, while you fought the urge to grab a cigarette from your bag. So, maybe it was sometimes a stress thing, not just a social thing, but you couldn't indulge in it today. With the state Mel was in, you wouldn't be surprised if she shut you out of the apartment, no matter how faint the smell was.

“You’re hilarious,” you muttered as you turned a corner, resting your wrists on the wheel and impatiently picking at the skin on one thumb when you had to wait for a light to turn green.

"Well, what am I supposed to say to that shit?” She laughed, which struck you the wrong way, but you held in your knee-jerk reaction, aware it probably wouldn’t be your usual (or smart) response.

“Just tell her to get out of your room or something.”

“No, it’s not…” you sighed, finally able to move past that light. “It’s not that. I don’t mind having her in my room, I just… I don’t know…”

“Wanted to talk about her?”

“No,” you argued immediately, more flustered than you had realized. “No… well, kinda, but not just her. More like… not expecting it… I don’t know…”

“Cool…” Trin trailed off, tone saturated with sarcasm. “Who ever thought of being a bitch on their period?”

You parked in the lot outside the store, brow furrowed as you took your keys out of the ignition with a sharp tug.

“She’s not a bitch," you snapped at first, before redirecting yourself again. "That’s not what I meant about any of that. I’m just…”

You scrambled so desperately for words that your irritable impatience turned towards yourself.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” you rushed out, unbuckling. “I’ll talk to you later. I just got to the store.”

You hung up, taking a second to rub the spot between your brows before forcing yourself out of the car with a huff. You kept your sunglasses on even inside, probably looking drunk or hungover. Especially with the way you occasionally had to swivel your hips to dodge banging them against something, far too occupied with your task to take in where your body was in the space.

You wanted to take care of Mel. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be dragging yourself out of the apartment on an eighty-degree day. Despite that, you were still dealing with your period too, so the typical noise in your head was tripled and your emotional responses—even when kept inside—lay on a hair trigger. Not to mention, you were the person who usually understood what she needed before she did, despite having only known her for a few months. You found her relatively easy to read, and the more you were right, the more you could make informed responses. You felt like you completely messed up, and it was hitting you hard, like you were a bad roommate and a bad friend.

“Uh oh,” an older woman in the store's apron had commented playfully with a knowing smile, startling you in the middle of trying to find the specific brand of white bread Mel liked. You looked over, noticing her eyes on the contents of your basket.

Your basket was heavy, making you wish you had grabbed a cart, but you couldn’t care less at this point. There were things like Goldfish and Starbursts for Mel, with other treats for you thrown in, as well as "real" food for basic meals like pasta. You told yourself you’d probably make an actual meal at some point today. Deep down you knew the two of you would be filling up on the safest and most comforting snacks.

“I know what aisle the sanitary napkins are in, if you need it,” she whispered with a cheeky wink.

Before you could pull the leash you had on your impulses, you snapped out a “fuck you” while tugging the loaf of bread from the shelf.

The employee was stunned, pausing her job of attaching price stickers to instead watch you with wide eyes. You stomped off, only to return seconds after to shove the bag of bread back because in your moment of fury, you squished some of the slices.

You stomped off again with a new loaf of bread, muttering bitterly as you had no choice but to go down the “period products” aisle.

ʚɞ

Mel was still exhausted, occasionally cringing to herself when another cramp gripped at her insides. The gripping pain would finally unfurl again only to spread outwards, like it was radiating from her cursed uterus. The first day was always the worst, especially if there was a disruption to her cycle. She felt sick. She was curled up in your bed with her arms wrapped around one of your plushies, tired eyes set on a random sitcom.

Everything ached, and she was hungry, but it had all morphed into one blurry amalgamation of discomfort inside her body to the point that she hadn’t even realized she was hungry yet. The most she could decipher was the nausea and cramping at its worst. But this was fine—totally fine. You’d be back soon, and… hopefully not frustrated with her. Maybe she should’ve tried to keep a better grip on herself earlier, but every reaction and response fell from her before she could restrain or at least polish it first.

She heard the front door open and close, sighing in relief. Mel still didn’t bother sitting up until you were walking into the bedroom, her expression miserable from the sharp pain that hit low in her pelvis at the same time.

It must’ve been warm out today because after being away from the air conditioners you got for the apartment last week, you were returning to her, visibly impacted by heat. You were flushed and she could see the slightest stain of sweat from where you had tucked your top under your breasts before tugging it out again since you had left without a bra.

Silently, she watched you set snacks down for her on the bedside table closest to her, gently cradling her hands in front of her chest. She then watched you move away, looking at you curiously when you paused to sigh. You tugged the bottom of your shirt up to wipe at your face, exposing the underside of your breasts, and something in her gut struck out before it was dragged back to drown in the physical, emotional blob of malaise taking up her torso.

“And I got white bread if you still want toast,” you got out breathlessly with a huff, resting your hands on the backs of your hips, after your shirt dropped back down.

Mel nodded, but before you could leave again, she held out her arms.

"I'm all sweaty," you reasoned with a laugh.

Mel's frown was enough to make you cave. You sighed, giving her a playful eye roll before stepping close enough for her to hug you. It was nice to have the confirmation that you did something right and that she was okay, so you supposed you had no complaints while the blonde squeezed at you.

She hummed contentedly as she clung to you, finding you didn’t smell bad to her even when you were a little sweaty. She actually liked the smell, certainly more than some of the perfumes she's come across that only made her sneeze or gave her a headache. You were close, not close enough for her to really feel the pressure she was seeking, but she eventually let you go while thanking you in a meek voice.

“Of course,” you said softly, before doing that thing again where you'd smooth a hand over her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her head. She watched you leave the room with a sleepy gaze.

While you showered, Mel was happy to have her warm toast you made sure she had first. It eased some of the nausea, even if it wasn't completely gone. Still, even as happy as she was with her toast, she did perk up a bit more when she heard the bathroom door open.

Unfortunately... she’d forgotten how comfortable you were with getting changed in front of friends. While she was happy to have someone feel so close to her, she still inhaled a bit of her toast when you returned in boy shorts and nothing else, muttering to yourself about forgetting a shirt.

Your eyes went wide, registering her coughing halfway through slipping on one of your loose tank tops. You rushed over to help but she was fine by that point beyond the burning leftover in her throat and the burning embarrassment on her face.

“Fine—‘m fine—”

“Are you sure? You’re okay?” you asked as you rubbed her back.

Mel doubled over while she nodded, hiding her face in your mattress.

“Make sure you're not eating too fast, Mel…”

“Yep, that’s… mhm,” she croaked out, letting out a few more coughs.

She was a doctor, so she didn’t know what her problem was. She’d seen naked bodies of all shapes and sizes and in different scenarios, but that was work. When she was at work, she was in Work Mode. Mel still got horrifically flustered and shy when there was any sort of nudity outside of a professional setting.

Were you supposed to look? Do you not look? Avoiding it feels polite until suddenly she’s deemed too innocent and prudish. But actually looking felt more creepy than like she was mature and laidback. Even when you two watched movies with nudity, she found excuses to check her phone.

Seeing you like that was a different kind of uncomfortable for her, but it remained lost in the combined aches and pains everywhere else. She lacked the wherewithal to apply her vocabulary to the sensations in her body, which were either felt in such distinct extremes or muddled by specifics.

With all her knowledge and expertise, of course the answers were laid out nicely before her. Unfortunately, when it came to herself, many of those answers were blurred by the time she went searching for them, adding to her frustrations which sending her towards burnout at record speeds.

"I was thinking maybe we watch Elf today," Mel heard you comment in a thoughtful tone.

She sat up with a look of betrayal so strong... but you were smiling, attempting to hide it behind your hand as you fought off laughter.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," you laughed, walking off with her empty plate.

She sat there with at least a dozen kinds of emotional whiplash bouncing around in her skull, hands folded and expression lost as she stared at the rug in your room.

ʚɞ

Mel, who could never ask for anything for herself ever, was surprisingly, almost impressively, needy and greedy today. Had she not had a period since you moved in until now? You knew that wasn't true, so you had to suppose it was the fact that she previously had a consistent schedule which allowed her to prepare for it.

The queen of "No, that's okay..." "You go ahead." "I can wait." suddenly had no tolerance for being denied anything she wanted. She woke up with her patience levels already plummeted into the negatives, so when she needed specific foods, she needed them, and you were clearly ready to buy them. When she needed the only functional heating pad in the apartment, it was hers. When she needed your bed instead of her own, there was no argument on your end, despite her ability to take up an absurd amount of space.

And when she asked you to lie on top of her for comfort… Well, after somehow avoiding choking on your water, you said, "Um... Let's see how you feel after using the heating pad a few times."

She couldn't stop thinking about her struggle to have you as close as possible earlier and how frustrating it was to not get enough pressure. Mel let out an exhausted sigh, watching you move the heating pad off of her abdomen once it finished its half-hour run for the third time with those stupid, required breaks in between. Earlier, you had said something at some point about how massaging the sore spots after using a heating pad always helped you, but she hadn't been listening all that closely because you had already been gently rubbing where she felt tender, close to her hipbones.

She hummed quietly as you started rubbing at her stomach again, that wave of feelings rolling just underneath. The motion was soothing until suddenly she felt a surging sensation in her pelvic area that made her squirm and immediately push your hand away.

"Sorry," you whispered, seeing the reaction as a very clear sign of overstimulation.

You relaxed again in your spot beside her, glancing at your phone when a stupid ad began to roll in the middle of whatever show she threw on. Mel squirmed in her spot, resting her head close to her shoulder when she barely settled. She looked down at her own body as if silently yelling at it to tell her what it needed. She huffed, and you murmured something to her before leaning over to the bedside table closest to you to grab the low-level pain meds she could tolerate.

She was so sleepy and miserable. You could joke all you wanted about her sudden ability to be demanding, but looking at her, you were glad you were the safe person her requests went to. Even with the right snacks and the heating pad and the bed, you could tell she was struggling. Resting today for her was like charging a phone with a broken cord. Every time her battery began to fill even slightly, she was hit with a wave of nausea or a miserable cramp, and her charge was sent straight back into the red.

You frowned to yourself, gently rubbing her side as she took the pill. Settled into your assigned spot pressed against her side, you only shifted to place your cheek on her tummy. Your hand that had been rubbing her side slid across her to rest on the opposite hip. She was soft and still warmed from the heating pad.

Gradually, your attention strayed, watching your thumb rubbing against her hip bone. It wasn't until now that you felt so aware of how exposed her lower stomach was, even as you were literally resting your head on it. This would've been amusing considering her reaction to the club outfit Trin had offered her if it weren't for how distracting it was now that you've fixated on it.

She was wearing pajama pants and that old t-shirt with the small logo over one breast for a science camp, the same design but larger on the back. The shirt must've been from before or during the early stages of puberty based on the fit. It was a bit tight, although clearly not enough to bother her, and it landed around her belly button. Despite everything that should’ve been a downside for Mel, she liked the feeling of the material too much after having worn it so many times. Right now, laid in your bed, the shirt had bunched up by her ribs from all her squirming. You tilted your head to take in more, feeling painfully aware that she still hadn't been wearing a bra due to some understandable tenderness. You let out a quiet sigh through your nose, eyes trailing over the softer curve of her chest without the structure of a bra, and the way you felt about this sweet, sweet woman had struck a dangerous chord in you, vibrating throughout your hormonal body. You found yourself nosing at her stomach and certain things you felt and thought of flashed through your mind so quickly you hadn’t even grasped any of the explicit details. You only knew it had hit you on their way through your brain.

You always felt fond of Mel. You hadn’t been lying when you told Trin you felt a sort of cuteness aggression towards the blonde, but it was different right now. The fondness sunk lower from the excited, blooming feeling in your chest that made you want to smile and squeeze her in a hug until she wriggled out of it. It brushed against the way you had felt, tipsy and smoking, staring at her in the outfit Trinity had put her in for the club, and then went deeper.

Fond. It was always fond when you described the way you felt about Mel. You were endeared to her and protective at times, but those feelings had somehow, at some point during the day, turned into something else entirely. It was searing and impulsive. You turned your body to lie on top of her more, lazily tangled up with her while you remained low enough to have your cheek on her stomach. Your gaze trailed up to where she had her head on your pillow, absentmindedly toying with her braided hair while she watched TV. She only pulled her attention to you when you moved to be pressed against her more, but by that point your focus was dragging down again.

You let out a soft sound against the exposed skin of her belly as you nosed at her again, earning you her full attention, especially when you gently squeezed her hips in your hands. You didn't go as far as kissing the exposed skin there because you were friends. Just friends, absolutely, but your hands still slid to the small of her back to gently press her closer to your face. Mel wriggled from that, disliking the angle she was held at, but other than that, she just watched you, her heart beating so hard there was a visible twitch to her breasts under her top.

You were gradually sliding up her body, hands on her sides, and the tip of your nose or your bottom lip or both dragging on the available skin until you reached the end of her shirt. Your touches were a confusing blend of soft or deep, and whether Mel felt tense or relaxed ebbed and flowed. You, reaching a new low in today's particular hormonal hellscape, pressed your face against her sternum with a frustrated groan. Meanwhile, Mel barely stifled a giggle because your hands had been brushing over the ticklish dips to her waist.

“What’re you doing...?” She asked simply, curiously, but appreciating it when you laid your weight on top of her more evenly, your miserable expression hidden in the crook of her neck.

Gathering some semblance of control, you let out a puff of a breath against her neck before you could even answer. You raised yourself up to hover over her more now, hands and knees on either side of her body. She blinked at you, her honey-brown eyes full of curiosity, rather than the painful, hormonal desire that probably filled your gaze.

“I thought you wanted more pressure,” you finally responded, aware of her request for you to basically be her weighted blanket, although that didn’t explain why your nose and mouth had dragged over her skin.

"Ohh," she said suddenly, smiling. That made more sense. She nodded happily to show she was still okay with it, sucking in her bottom lip as she watched you curiously. You shifted a few times before settling on top of her.

Mel starting humming contentedly, closing her eyes while she enjoyed the distribution of weight on top of her. You had nuzzled the side of her neck again, only able to really be still for so long before you were encircling her waist to squeeze her closer. Your chest was flush against hers, feeling the soft press of her breasts with nothing but her old t-shirt covering them. She let out a different happy hum, but it was distant still as she tried to watch TV again.

"How's your stomach feeling?" you asked quietly while you just barely separated from her. Your face was warm from being tucked against her skin.

"Mm... the pelvic pain? Okay, I guess," she said with a shrug.

"Do you want more pressure?" you asked carefully, and she nodded.

You settled again, trying to focus on her and why she needed this pressure even when you were slipping a hand between the two of you and press more on her lower abdomen. She made a sound that you weren't quite sure if it was pleased or pained, so you asked if she wanted you to stop, but she shook her head with an "mm-mm."

Mel's lashes fluttered, her body slipping more towards exhaustion now than pain. She breathed, trying to keep relaxing so her body wouldn't tense up again and make all her aches and pains even worse, but it was also tough to avoid falling asleep. Then you were pressing a bit harder and lower, and that different discomfort surfaced again.

It was actually more like pressure, naturally, but not exactly soothing like the rest of it…? Mel felt warm, thinking about you pressing on her lower stomach earlier when you had been resting your head there or when you were nosing at her or when…

She let out a brief, unsure hum until you shifted your hips a certain way to adjust your hold on her. It sparked something that startled her.

"Um—I think I have to pee," Mel blurted out, and you pulled back with an amusement she didn’t understand. "No, I'm serious. I need the bathroom."

There was no way she was that sensitive, and if she was, no one could ever humble you again. You kept the jokes she probably wouldn't even get to yourself and moved off of her. Your protective layer of humor practically clattered to the ground moments after she left the room because it wasn't funny, not really. Not when you would have easily done more if she asked you to. You flopped back on the bed with a groan, covering your face with your hands.

That’s Mel, that’s Mel, that’s Mel—

Your mind repeated on full blast. That was Mel rushing out of the room. Sweet Mel who couldn’t even look at the TV when a character was taking off their shirt, who was forever and always full of every emotion possible until she was falling apart.

This wasn’t a situationship you knew was a ticking time bomb but let the fun last while it could, anyway. This wasn’t like Trinity, who you could drunkenly make out with, and it wouldn’t be a big deal. This was Mel. Your hormones may have been stripping you of your self-control, but you had to fight for some semblance of it before you obliterated one of the most wholesome friendships you’ve ever had.

ʚɞ

Later that evening, when you cautiously went about having her go back to her room, you had to spend a good ten minutes reassuring her she didn't do anything wrong. Even then she didn't fully understand why you felt the need to kick her out of your room. She tried to sleep, but her room had lost some of its usual appeal, and she couldn't get past the feeling low in her stomach that unfortunately did not pass after she had rushed to the bathroom. Maybe she had a UTI. That was what she proposed to herself, and it certainly felt plausible.

Attraction outside of platonic intent was not something that came easily to Mel. It was something intangible and bordering on theoretical if not for everyone else who experienced it, to the point that it had its place occasionally in a textbook or an article. Hormones. The evolutionary role of attraction and arousal for the sake of reproduction. The study of kissing. Research on orgasms.

Despite this, none of her work or studies went in-depth on what it felt like to experience sexual desire, arousal, or attraction. Such advanced readings never felt the need to explain it to their readers, who surely knew what was being discussed. But for her, it was simply something that existed out there in the world, and there were sometimes obvious things to notice, like any sort of erectile tissue reacting to stimulus or a patient openly discussing a sudden change in libido, but other than that, it was not something her mind or body could grasp.

Nothing had been enough to educate her on the signs in her body. Even with her love of fiction, when a character had “butterflies” or “felt warm,” none of it really helped her to feel aware of the experience in her body. She knew pain, she knew sadness, and she knew joy, although sometimes she could confuse excitement with anxiety. She knew what panicking felt like and nausea. She struggled with plenty of cues, though, often missing when she was hungry if she strayed from her schedule until her stomach hurt. If she was too focused on something, she could miss signals that she needed to use the restroom (she felt this also pointed towards her having a UTI). Sometimes if her sadness hurt so much, it hid from her too until it was crashing into her in the form of a meltdown.

She had never truly felt this before. She had occasionally searched for it or tried to force it when she was a teenager, but she never really experienced it. Eventually, it simply wasn't important enough to her to focus on with everything else she was dealing with. And now, as she pressed on her lower stomach, curious about the likelihood of what you did being reproducible, a new possibility floated somewhere nearby but still just out of reach. That maybe she knew nothing about attraction and desire. Not because it was impossible, but because she never had the chance to form enough of a bond to know that this was exactly what it felt like.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.

-previous- -next-

Trinity’s consciousness floated back into place before she had even opened her eyes. She let out a soft, complaining huff and rolled over to hide her face from the light sneaking in between the blinds. Her head still ached, and all she wanted was to sleep in, not even caring when she bumped into you on all the bedding the three of you had piled in the living room. Well, you and Trinity piled in the living room, tipsy and excited about a sleepover while Mel occasionally piped up to argue against a certain blanket or pillow touching the floor. Her body nudged yours, lying facedown in front of you on your side, prompting you to mumble something unintelligible and then roll over the other way. You fell right back to sleep. Lucky. She tried to force it, but her body still made its case for her usually being up this early. It wasn't until closer to 8:00 when she finally accepted it, sitting up with a miserable expression, makeup smudged and hair messy.

Slouched in her spot, she felt another wave of exhaustion that she tried to appease with simply closing her eyes.

“Morning!” Mel chirped from the hallway, and Santos immediately crumbled back into the blankets and pillows, groaning.

“Oh, sorry!”

ʚɞ

You thanked Trin with a weak grunt of acknowledgement when she passed you the to-go container of hash browns. Considering her body refused to let her sleep in, she eventually accepted her bitter fate and ordered breakfast. Meanwhile, Mel was already up and showered by that point, still too cheery in Santos’ opinion, but she was too tired to have any snark. At first, the two doctors barely got a response from you when they tried waking you to ask what you wanted. Mel had tried from a spot outside of all the blankets and pillows, earning her half a sound and nothing else.

This was far too quiet of an attempt, which Trin knew, so she clumsily stepped over the sea of bedding to incessantly nudge the dip of your waist with her foot.

“Food. Breakfast. Get the fuck up,” she said, certainly getting more out of you than Mel had, but you rolled over to lay on your front. When she said she was ordering food, you eventually muttered what you wanted into the strawberry cat Squishmallow you were now burying your face in.

“No eggs,” you suddenly spoke up with as much urgency as you could muster moments later, your sleepy voice briefly strained from stretching while you rolled over again. You settle into an odd angle, arm thrown over your eyes.

“Mel can’t do eggs, not even the smell of them.”

“I told her already,” Mel said happily, unable to contain how much that made her smile. “But thank you!”

You only hummed in response, falling asleep yet again between then and the food being delivered. Once the order was dropped off, Trinity woke you up by throwing one of the heavier couch cushions at you.

You and Trin were practically melting into the small dining table while you ate, both of you constantly closing your eyes, lying to yourselves that it was more sleep. Mel, on the other hand, was sitting up straight and very happy about her blueberry pancakes, her hash browns kept on a separate plate.

“I think I’m dying. Could one of the professionals here check my pulse?” you muttered when you let your forehead rest on the table with a soft “ow” after landing harder than you had intended.

Despite how tired the whole group was after leaving the club last night, you and Trinity still took shots to keep the energy going while you waited for the late dinner you had promised them. And both of you certainly knew better than to drink too much and eat right before bed, and yet…

Mel blinked at you, wiping her hands despite being perfectly clean, then leaned over to feel the side of your neck. She only shifted the angle once, looking off at nowhere in particular while considering the beat against her fingers.

“Your pulse is good.”

“Thanks, Dr. King,” you got out, face still pressed to the table, enjoying the coolness of the surface while it lasted before it was officially lost to your damn body heat.

Trin raised an eyebrow over how smiley Mel got when you referred to her that way, but the closest thing she came to commenting was letting out a heavy sigh through her nose. She was too tired to make the most of that.

"Meanwhile, what kind of doctor are you? You would’ve let me die here,” you joked to Trin as you finally raised your head to show your face of sleepy betrayal.

“I just know the fakers when I see ‘em,” she sighed playfully, letting out a small laugh when she looked up from her plate.

“Stay there,” she said, taking out her phone. You furrowed your brow and raised a hand like, "Where would I even be going right now?” right as she took a picture of you.

Trin cackled a bit over the photo before finally reaching out to pluck the delivery receipt off from where it had apparently stuck to your forehead. She promptly sent it to the group chat she had originally made to share any pictures she took last night with you and Mel. Every shot of or with Mel was cute, if not a bit shy, since Trin obviously gave her more warnings. Most of the pictures she took of only you were blurry or the type of unflattering/ridiculous that you knew one of them would be her new contact photo for you soon.

When she was done eating, Mel pushed her chair back with a grating sound that she apologized for, then went further into the kitchen to bring out her dishes. She stopped by the list on the fridge after to happily check multiple boxes based off her accomplishments from the night before. You tilt your chair back slightly and squint to see which ones she was picking, setting the chair legs back down with a sharp clack.

“Are you also checking off number twenty-two?”

“Yep!” she chirped happily, capping the pen then returning it to its designated spot on top of the fridge.

Trin leaned over to see the list, but she couldn’t from that angle. She settled her cheek on your arm once she had officially spent her extra energy on that motion.

“Well… what did you discover about yourself then…?” you asked carefully, both you and Trin silently in agreement about what you were anticipating.

“I don’t like kissing,” Mel said simply with a single nod and a smile. Trinity and you could feel in the air that there should’ve been a live audience in that moment, going from the hopeful “Ahh…?” to a disappointed “Aw…”

“I don’t think it’s the kissing that’s the problem…” Trin whispered under her breath, sliding from your arm to rest on the table again and lazily nudged your leg under the table after you did it first.

“Well, that’s good to know about yourself,” you responded with an encouraging smile, adding an additional “it is” and rubbing Mel’s arm when she was by the table again, her smile a bit more bashful now.

Then your phone started buzzing where it was on the table, and you groaned.

“I hate phones. I only want to communicate in person and maybe by letter,” you complained as you dipped your head into the crook of your arm on top of the table, your to-go container pushed out of the way. Trinity stole berries from it with a casual stab of her fork.

“Oh! It’s your boss,” Mel informed you after she leaned over to look for you.

You let out a hum, finally shifting to sit up again, cradling the side of your head in your hand. You stared at the screen and tried to find the momentum in your body, only reaching out to finally tap on it when you felt it was probably going to end soon.

“Hey…” you got out. “What’s up?”

“Ugh, you sound rough.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your candor,” you huffed in response to Mabel, who only laughed before moving on to why they were bothering you.

“I like them,” Trin mumbled with a nod.

“We got a walk-in—well, actually, he booked a consult with you at 5:00—but he’s concerned about his septum piercing? Guess he tried to take it out at home.” You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling at that. Of course he did. “Jess is out on her kid’s field trip.”

“He’s really worried about it,” they added in a hushed tone. “Like considering heading to PTMC kinda worried, but he doesn’t wanna sit in an emergency room all day just to have it ripped out by some asshole who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Preach,” Trinity muttered against the lip of her mug, sipping her coffee while she tapped her free index finger and pad of her thumb together in a silent applause. You gave her an amused look before returning your focus to the call.

“Does it look like it’s that bad?”

“I mean, I don’t think so?? It looked a little red, but you’re the piercer, not me.”

“Fantastic… Okay…" you sighed, rubbing your eyes and trying to think what your schedule looked like for the day. He was your only booked appointment since the two friends that wanted matching navel piercings got cold feet. At the start of this week, you thought of coming in early for any walk-ins. Now you wanted to cry at the thought of even leaving the apartment.

“I think he was here when we opened, but he said he’s had this piercing for a while,” Mabel added, although you already knew that you hadn’t done that piercing.

Send him elsewhere… gain a good rep here, maybe a new loyal client… send him elsewhere…

“Alright…” you finally sighed, glancing at Trin and Mel. The blonde had perked up so much, you figured you might as well offer.

“Field trip?”

Mel grinned and nodded quickly. When you glanced at Trinity, ready to let her know she could stay back, she shrugged with a mutter about not having anything better to do.

“Jess won't be the only one taking a field trip today,” you informed Mabel playfully, clasping your hands together in a single clap, hoping it would convince your body to have more energy. The sound only hurt your head.

“Be there in twenty.”

ʚɞ

You and Trinity both approached the shop with sunglasses, aspirin, and breakfast keeping you afloat. Oh, and Mel happily trailing behind you as she looked around, carrying a reusable water bottle that she insisted you take sips from “as a friend, not a doctor.” When she tried this with Trin, she gave her such a death glare that the poor girl was too scared to try it again.

You took out your keys to use the employee entrance, where Mabel waited for you to give you an update (also just in case you forgot your keys). The guy was a bit irritable, but they honestly felt that it was only because he was anxious. Once inside, they still kept the door cracked just enough to get a hit from their vape and blow it outside as if they were still the tattoo apprentice sneaking it back at the old shop.

“Hey, I’m Mabel, by the way,” they smiled and waved to the others with you as a mint-scented cloud puffed from their mouth.

“Trinity,” she offered an awkward, closed smile, still barely awake.

“Hi! I’m Melissa, but everyone calls me Mel." The blonde grinned as she held out her hand to shake Mabel’s, fighting back the urge to end up in a similar discussion that led to you making your only roommate rule. They laughed lightly over her enthusiasm, understanding what you meant the few times you had mentioned how endearing she is.

Mabel finally let the door shut after the handshake ended, noting it was cool to finally meet both of them. They held polite conversation while you were over by one of the decorative mirrors, tucking your sunglasses away and putting in eyedrops. Mel looked at the hallway you were in that led to the front, finding everything to be so colorful and nicely decorated.

“Mind if I have them with me? They’re doctors,” you offered that fact to Mabel playfully as if it really mattered, blinking up at the ceiling so the drops wouldn’t immediately roll down your cheeks.

“I don’t care. You got two apprentices today if you want,” Mabel replied, patting your back on their way to the front.

After shoving the small bottle back into your bag, you also went down the hall with Grumpy and Happy trailing behind you. Mel continued to observe the hallway decor and enjoyed the faint buzzing of tattoo machines in two other private rooms, as well as the grumbling music that stuck consistently to its vagueness—well, vague to her ears. You listened to a wide variety of music over the weeks you spent moving in, but you were her gradual introduction to some heavier genres. By now, Mel had realized she didn’t mind the screaming or growling singing as long as it stayed that way. It was when a song flip-flopped between being completely incomprehensible and traditional singing that bothered her. She didn’t like how it made her only privy to some of the song’s content rather than all or none of it.

You pulled from your usual script as you turned the corner into your piercing room, starting to greet and thank the client for waiting until you got a better look at him. You remembered talking to him during opening day, hoping that would play in your favor, even if he had annoyed you a bit. At the time, he had been looking at the larger jewelry display by the front desk, and you had humored his complaints about prices. You bit back your sassy remarks to stick with a tried and true "Yeah, no, it feels like a robbery, but it’s totally worth it.”

Honestly, you didn’t think the prices were bad for the materials and quality, but what did you know? Not like this was your profession or anything.

“Hey Chris,” you smiled, glad to attach a face to the name in your schedule again, taking a quick glance at his nose.

“I see we found a replacement for that horseshoe we were looking at last week…”

“Well, yeah, man,” he started as you washed your hands at the sink, drying off before putting on gloves. “Why spend an arm and a leg when I found the same thing online, y’know?”

You nodded, pretending to be busy with getting your second glove on while you were really considering a better response than the one ready on the tip of your tongue. So true, bestie, at least you’re only spending the cartilage in your nose.

“Yeah, but they don’t have the good shit like we do, c’mon,” you drawled with a playful familiarity after pulling the glove into place.

Then, as you settled onto your rolling stool, you realized Mel was still waiting by the door, looking curiously into your piercing room. Trinity had walked off to melt into one of the waiting chairs up front, her head tilted back, and her bucket hat over her face.

“Oh, do you mind if I have someone shadowing me today?” you asked, and Chris glanced at the door before shrugging and saying he didn’t care. With a nod in addition to all the other confirmations that it was okay, Mel grinned and walked in.

“Um… should I put on gloves?” she asked, and you shook your head, gesturing to the sink while letting her know she could wash her hands if she wanted to, but she’d only be observing.

“Anyway,” you continued with a little sigh, continuing that lighthearted banter as you focused back on the client. “We wouldn’t do you like this, man. Plated jewelry is never the call, even with healed piercings.”

“It’s not plated; it’s titanium, just like you have in the display." Chris lazily gestured to a small, encased jewelry display you had. “I just wanted to take it back out.”

Mel looked curiously over at the display while she washed her hands. She had a feeling that “it’s not plated; it’s titanium…” was your version of things she heard, like "No, I haven't been drinking.”

You got a better look at it after moving forward on your stool, immediately spotting where the thin coating of metal over the main body of the piece had already been rubbed off and scratched from his attempts to take it back out. The bezeled “crystals” that made up the decorative beads were also plastic, without a doubt. Mel found a good spot a few steps behind you and off to the side.

“Dude,” was all you said at first, giving him a look. “I will personally throw some cash towards getting you the better ring if you’ll be so for real with me right now.”

He could've been frustrated over being called out, but instead he gave you an amused grin, feigning innocence as he rubbed the back of his neck. At least he was a little less nervous.

“Well, I’m gonna say 'yeah, it’s plated' now even if it’s not.”

“Isn’t it, though?” you replied, keeping your accusatory tone playful before returning to the main issue.

Mel tilted her head with a thoughtful expression. She appreciated the way you handled things. While she couldn’t bribe patients, beyond rewarding good behavior with access to the decent pudding, she wished she could pull off that “c’mon you know me” attitude. As you took another look at the piercing, Mel was curiously hovering closer but tried not to be in the way. She was interested in seeing you work. Sure, part of her excitement had come from never being in a shop like this before, but most of it was from wanting to watch you.

“Good news is it doesn’t look that bad,” you reassured him, and he sighed with a nod. “It’s a little irritated, probably from you trying to remove it, but it shouldn’t get in the way of me taking it out, okay?”

He sighed in relief, and thankfully, from what Mel could see, she also didn’t notice any signs that warranted a trip to the emergency room.

“So, who are you? An apprentice?” Chris asked her while you put a warm saline compress together with some gauze. Mel’s eyes widened a bit, parting her lips but not knowing what to say. Mabel mentioned apprentices, but she wasn’t an apprentice and didn’t want to lie.

You glanced over your shoulder at Mel and then shrugged as you looked at the client again.

“She’s a doctor, actually," you explained, your tone more teasing when you looked at her, giving her a little smile. “Curious about the work of piercers and tattoo artists to be more informed.”

“They’re doing that now? Finally,” Chris huffed and looked at Mel. “If you get nothing else outta this, just never fucking give a person shit for being scared of needles just 'cause they got their nose pierced or they have a full sleeve.”

He gestured to the tattoo along one of his arms, and you laughed a bit but still glanced at her to make sure she didn’t look stressed or upset. Mel simply blinked and offered a firm nod. She never gave anyone a hard time anyway. Needles could be scary.

“Okay, um…” she replied with a shy breath of a laugh. “Absolutely.”

You gave Chris a glove to wear on the hand he’d be holding the compress with. Once you made sure he was doing it properly, you discarded your gloves, and set a timer on your phone. Honestly, you didn’t think it needed a compress before taking it out, but at this point it was more about soothing him than the actual piercing.

While you set up your tray, Mel observed your room more, looking at the certifications you’ve mentioned before, as well as your decorations. You were busy going through the storage you kept on your workstation, so she didn’t get too close, but she wished she could look at all your supplies. She wanted to see the sterilization room too, but she kept her questions inside. Her attention only strayed from indulging her curiosity as much as she could, whenever your client thought of anything else she should know. Then, your timer went off, and she was grateful for the chance to feel useful. She shut it off for you, although it was a bit awkward to get to your phone in your pocket, your arms raised to avoid touching anything that could contaminate the gloves you just switched out.

When you took the compress away, you looked at the state of the piercing, lightly wiping at one spot before nodding to yourself and discarding your trash. She wondered if you had an internal monologue the way she did when she went over every step and if it was as informal as you usually are or if you kicked into a different gear in your mind while working.

Mel sucked in her lower lip, tilted her head, and calmly folded her hands in front of her abdomen as she watched you open autoclave packages. She forced herself as much as possible to hold onto an air of professionalism, even when she wanted to voice her excitement about any of the tools you unwrapped that she also used at work, like the needle holder you used to clasp onto the new piece of jewelry. A curious hum came from the back of her throat while she watched you use some cylindrical thingy to unscrew one of the decorative ends on the piece of curved metal.

“Mind tucking your hands under your legs for me?” you asked him. Mel instinctually did her equivalent to the request, folding her hands behind herself while the person you were actually addressing followed your instructions. Her gaze briefly flicked to his face, doing a double take before hesitating over whether she should mention he was looking a little off. She was finally parting her lips to speak up when you caught the way he was paling the longer he looked at your tools.

“You wanna tell me about the piercing you booked a consult for?” you asked casually, while having him relax back as you stepped on a pedal attached to the chair to lean it back more. Once he was laid back, you had him tuck his hands away differently. You still wanted to avoid any reflexive swatting at you or the piercing, but you didn't want too much pressure on them either.

He talked a bit about the ear piercing he was currently hoping he had the anatomy for, thankfully losing that concerning tone to his skin as he discussed this with you.

Once he felt ready, Mel watched you pick up another one of those cylindrical things again and sigh.

“Okay… so I’m sure you know the deal, but I like to let people know everything I’m gonna do before I do it and as I do it,” you started, going over to one side of the reclined chair. “If you want, I can always shut up and go for it. Just let me know.”

ʚɞ

It was fascinating to hear you explain each step to him, even when you were only unscrewing the end of the ring he had in (apparently the cylindrical thing was simply called a ball remover tool). The client had been quick to shake his head when you offered to do everything without talking through it, and Mel had a deep appreciation for the emphasis you put on not wanting to surprise him. You didn’t count down, but let him know you’d always ask him to inhale before you did something. She subconsciously followed along each time, inhaling and exhaling when you instructed the client.

Deep breath in—you got the jewelry out. Exhale. Deep breath in—you slid the new piercing into place with your tools and a swift motion. Exhale. It was all such a smooth process. You finished with the first ball remover tool to now reattach the ball at the end, the needle holders clicking when you released the new ring. Mel thought you moved with impressive precision, finding something satisfying in the way you’d angle your hand or move your wrist or the way your fingers moved with your tools, even if it was just the solid hold you had on them. She supposed it was her brain recognizing and enjoying the similarities to someone performing a procedure at work.

Chris’ eyes were watering, but he sat well, which Mel quietly complimented him on with a little smile. He gave her a thumbs up in place of a verbal response—unfortunately busy fighting that urge to sneeze that you had warned him about. He let out a breath as it passed, looking over at you the moment you returned to his side with a small candy jar in your freshly washed hands.

ʚɞ

“That was so cool!” Mel grinned as the three of you returned to the parking lot, bouncing excitedly while holding onto your arm. You were leaving a little later than expected since the guy had already been there, so you moved up the consult for him. Technically, it wasn’t one of your assigned days to really stay at the shop for walk-ins either, so Mabel shooed you out.

“I was just taking out Temu jewelry,” you laughed, tugged off to the side and nearly tripping over your feet each time she bounced while clinging to your arm.

It felt warmer than it probably should outside, but for now it was a nice contrast to the freezing shop. One of the tattoo clients was prone to hot flashes, so Mabel was blasting the AC to the point that you felt like you were thawing the second you stepped outside. Unfortunately, the air was still thick with enough humidity, though, that you could tell the warmth wouldn’t be welcome for very long.

“I can’t believe he said it costs an arm and a leg,” Trinity muttered playfully, considering the decorative jewelry he had wanted had been in the $40-$50 range. “Two limbs are way more expensive.”

Mel held onto her smile as she listened to Trinity’s contribution to the conversation. After, she went right back to looking at you.

“You did such a good job, though! You’d be a great medical professional.”

“Thanks, Mel, ow—" You laughed lightly even as she accidentally tugged your arm at a weird angle, and she immediately let go with a quiet apology.

ʚɞ

On the ride home, Mel’s energy gradually declined. She started off asking you any new questions now that she'd witnessed you work, and you did your best to answer while also trying to drive with the lingering remains of your hangover. As she became less talkative and had a visible shift in attitude when you glanced back at her in the rearview mirror, you hoped you hadn’t come off as irritated with her.

Despite her best efforts, Mel couldn't always grasp when these moments might hit her. When all of a sudden, her energy would crash to the point of no longer caring about whatever she had been talking about or fighting to continue giving her attention to someone else. It began to sink in when the three of you were stalled by some traffic and sat in the sun, which cast streaks of light through the windows. Mel shifted uncomfortably, squinting against it and cringing away from the heat on her face. The whole car gradually became saturated with heat, and, to your credit, you had tried to start the air conditioning, but it wasn’t working. With a frustrated huff and a mutter about getting it fixed, you shut it off again, rolling down the windows instead.

“Thanks for putting up with the random side quest, guys,” you said by the time you were pulling into the apartment’s parking lot.

Mel reiterated what a good time she had in a subdued version of her earlier excitement, swiping at the stray hairs that had flown from her braid when wind had tunneled through your car. She had been grateful for the way it cooled her face down, but she always hated the way wind whipped through the windows during a drive.

Trin gave a thumbs up with one free hand, holding up a little bag containing a new pair of earrings in the other. She had not been shy about using the family/friend discount you were allowed to share with a few people.

“Worth it.”

At this point, when you were all getting out of the car to go into the building, it was just past noon and officially, absurdly hot for May. You had all hoped it had only been the way your car had been heating up under the sun, but it was still just as miserable outside.

“Why the hell is it so gross out?” you groaned, dropping your bag to the floor and kicking your shoes off once you were through the apartment door.

"Pittsburgh" was all Trinity said, muttering with so little exertion her mouth barely even moved. She went to the fridge to find anything cooling in the freezer, only to simply stick her head in it instead.

Mel was too irritated by the dampness she felt on the small of her back to truly care that your shoes weren’t properly placed on the organizer beside the coat rack. She was stiff, wishing the sensation away, but also trying to avoid how much worse it would feel if she shifted enough for her shirt to stick to it.

“Do we have AC?” you asked Mel, who silently shook her head.

“Seriously?” She nodded.

You groaned, walking over to the multi-colored, multi-patterned cloud of pillows and blankets still spread on the couch and the rug. After touching the surface to feel how cool they were from being left untouched, you slunk on top of them with a happy sigh, facedown and enjoying the sensation while it lasted.

“We 've fans,” Mel muttered in such a way that she was a distant, unintelligible sound to you.

“What?” you sighed, rolling over and already disappointed by the blankets holding onto your body heat. Mel sighed with tamped-down impatience, miserably looking up at the ceiling from her spot on the couch.

“Fans,” she replied. If it weren't for the fact that she was so overwhelmingly uncomfortable to the point of shutting down, she would have explained that she had only been here since late September. Plus, ACs were heavy and relatively expensive.

“She has fans,” Trinity clarified from her place in the freezer. You heard it snap shut as you said, "Yeah, I got it that time.”

“Where are they?” you asked next, moving off the blankets.

You saw Mel on the couch, still stiff with her hands clasped together. Unfortunately, the usual comfort from the gesture was significantly lessened by the heat she felt trapped between them. Her shoulders were bunched up close to her ears, and she was angling her body away from you as if your question were like a physical, tangible thing she was dodging. Her mouth was pulled into a tight scowl, and her eyebrows dipped. You had only bothered to tilt your head to see her because she hadn’t answered, your discomfort briefly pushed aside by your concern.

“Mel…?” you bent your arms at your sides and pressed into the floor just enough to raise your upper body.

Trinity walked out from the kitchen, her body language heavy with fatigue.

“Seriously, I am five seconds away from being butt-ass-naked in this apartment if—” Trin started, and Mel tried to ease herself by rubbing her hands over her legs instead, attempting to wipe away the sweat accumulating between them.

The fibers of her jeans felt like they had been amplified into something else entirely, grating against her skin.

“I don’t—I don’t know, just—” she huffed, getting up off the couch.

It wasn’t true; she did know. The fans were in the closet near the bathroom, but it was like the two of you talking to her or around her, one after the other, was starting to feel like an assault to her system. She opened that closet to grab a towel and spared some energy to tug one of the box fans forward, leaving the slotted door open before going straight into the bathroom.

“What’s up with her?” Trinity murmured, stuck between feeling slighted and wondering if she should be worried.

You weren’t entirely sure what to say. It reminded you of how she could be after a shift, but it felt worse, maybe because it was so unexpected. Either way, you just kind of shrugged, tired and not entirely comfortable with the idea of discussing Mel in hushed tones.

ʚɞ

Mel tugged at her clothes, nearly brought to the brink of tears when her shirt caught on her glasses on its way off her body. Frustrated, she grabbed at her glasses to discard them onto the counter, her hair elastic tossed next and accidentally sliding into the sink.

Everything was gross and awful and too much until she got in the shower. She knew better than to shock her system with ice-cold water, so she started with lukewarm, still decreasing the temperature probably too soon. She huffed, grasping her arms over her chest as the chilled water cascaded down her back. Mel then gathered her hair up in her hands to feel it hit the back of her neck before moving further into the water. She sighed in relief as it soothed the excessive warmth radiating from her scalp next; her arms briefly slackened once she let her hair drape down her back again. The sigh that escaped reminded her to focus on breathing and calming her heart rate. Every so often, she'd turn to have the water cascading over the front of her body instead and then back again.

She had been dealing with this particular feeling at this level for months, off and on. Sometimes she went a week without it. Sometimes it was several times per week or even in one day. It was basically consuming her before you moved in, but she still got pangs of it in moments that she didn’t find very necessary. She's found those moments felt even worse than the ones triggered by the harder times in her life. She hadn’t felt this overwhelmed since Becca moved out, but if she were to look back on that, it would at least be reasonable to her. What didn’t feel reasonable was when she was having a good time or felt relatively neutral just for her body to betray her, sinking her stomach or suddenly filling her system with TV static. So, she’d force it down and wait for it to pass, usually while she listened to, watched, or felt anything to help ground her, no matter how temporary. She didn’t understand why her existence had to be so difficult or why she couldn’t always push it down. There was an answer somewhere in a corner of her mind, but it was muted, despite herself.

Out in the living room, you and Trin had set up the fans in front of the windows, steadily lowering the temperature in the apartment. You didn't want to feel the sweat that had already seeped into your clothes cooling against your skin, so you went to your bedroom to change into a tank top and comfortable shorts. Trinity had thrown off her shirt, not caring where it went, and when you walked back out, you let her know you had left a pair of boxers out on your bed. She didn’t want to strip down to her underwear completely for reasons that would risk a very unwanted discussion with Mel. Honestly, even her silently knowing would still trigger Trin’s ire from the pure vulnerability of it.

Once she was in your room, you hesitated by the bathroom door, questioning whether you should check on Mel or if it would make things worse. Your knuckles hovered over the landlord-specially painted wood, trying to feel some sort of intuition somewhere in your body on whether your knuckles should rap against it or not.

Eventually, you couldn’t get past the worry and the complete silence on the other side beside the soft ambience of the shower.

“Mel?” you asked carefully, knocking gently. “Mel, do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?”

You cringed from the lack of response at first, keeping your ear to the door.

“Yes, please,” a voice croaked out on the other side so quietly you had only caught the “please.”

“Okay,” you kept your response brief.

You went to her bedroom, wanting to set up a fan there anyway, but stopped at her drawers first. The first thing you noticed was the unexpected pile of clothes on a chair by her closet, the dress she had picked out yesterday thrown on top. Had she been that lost trying to find something? You wondered, hands resting on the edge of her pajama drawer. She could’ve told you before she had even walked into your room with that dress. You would’ve helped her.

The sound of your bedroom door opening startled you, resetting your focus back to the task on hand as you swallowed back the concern that Mel wasn’t quite as happy as she seemed. You grabbed some underwear for her, unsure if she’d still prefer to have a bra on even in this heat, but you got one anyway, along with a pair of socks for the same reason. With shorts, a tank top, and a t-shirt added to the selection, you walked back out.

“Can I come in?” you asked from your side of the door, no longer hearing the water running.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to keep my eyes closed?” you added, feeling an overwhelming guilt over giving her more things to answer. You caught sight of Trinity sitting in front of a fan in your periphery, looking over to see the silent question she asked by tilting her head. You shook your head, and she hesitantly accepted that for now.

“Um… no, it’s fine,” Mel said. A body was a body, or at least when it was hers, and she had a towel around her anyway.

When you walked in, she looked so small, wrapped up in a towel and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Water still dripped from the showerhead and spout, seeming to fill the small room with the sound at first.

“I brought you underwear—I know you’re not big on going without a bra, so I brought one. Socks too. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with a t-shirt or a tank top, so I have both,” you informed her as you set the pile on the sink counter, wishing you weren’t talking as much as you were. Thankfully, she didn’t look as pained by someone talking to her as she had before.

“Thank you… and sorry,” she murmured, only glancing at you until she saw you were looking at her and immediately looked down again.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I was… rude.”

“No,” you countered quietly while you picked up her glasses. You walked over to her, careful of her toes when you knelt down. “It looked like you were pretty overwhelmed.”

You put her glasses on for her and wiped away a few droplets on her cheeks that you were really hoping were from the shower. She looked grateful but was still too embarrassed to say anything.

“Do you want me to leave?” She shook her head.

“Okay… well, do you want some help?” you offered, and she let out a soft sigh through her nose. She did. She didn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure. She finally lifted her hands to adjust where her glasses sat on her nose, lazily swiping a hair out of her face, which you immediately tucked back before she could feel it fall forward again.

“Could you braid my hair for me?” she asked. You answered with an “of course” that fell from your lips so willingly, you hoped it hadn’t sounded as overly gentle bordering on patronizing as you thought. You found your wide-toothed comb where you always left it in your shower caddy and a new hair elastic from the medicine cabinet.

Mel hugged the towel tighter around herself, muttering an apology when she realized she should probably turn around, but you shook your head.

“Nope—no, it’s okay,” you reassured her, stepping around her before she could move. Two doctors in the apartment or not, you really hoped you didn’t slip and die in this tub, but you didn’t want to make her adjust for you when she was the one feeling like this.

Settled behind her, you gently combed her hair, missing the way she sleepily shut her eyes. She usually used a hairbrush, whether her hair was wet or dry, and now she wondered if you’d mind her using this comb again. She liked the way the thick teeth of it dragged against her scalp whenever you slid it back toward you. She let out a brief hum when she felt you start to section her hair.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she murmured before she could filter her thoughts. You weren't entirely sure if she meant she was grateful for this very moment, just in general for having moved here, or both. You didn’t bother her for clarifications.

“Me too,” you smiled lightly.

You briefly settled your hands on the sides of her arms as a silent signal when you were done, even if the light tug of the elastic being wrapped around her hair was probably enough.

Stepping out of the tub carefully, you quietly exhaled the breath you held until you had made it without slipping on anything. When you turned around, ready to ask if she needed anything else, you paused over how red her eyes and cheeks were. She sniffled and attempted to hide it from you by turning her attention to her hands a little too late.

Something about saying out loud how glad she was to have you around tore a hole to let warm tears get past her usual mental overrides and roll down her cheeks the entire time you braided her hair. She was so silent, you hadn’t even caught it, but the instinct to keep her shaky breaths and choked whimpers silent was too deeply ingrained. There were too many times she had to keep these moments private, to keep Becca from hearing and getting scared about whatever updates on their mom she had kept from her until she knew how to communicate them. Or when everything was too much while she felt overwhelmingly not enough in her attempts to care for Becca alone. She never wanted to make her sister worry. Not that it really worked very often, considering Becca was too finely attuned to her twin sister no matter what someone may broadly assume about her ability to grasp emotional cues. Still, the instinct was there.

“Mel…”

She shook her head quickly, clearing her throat before trying to say something that never made it out. Her hands briefly lifted to cover her face until she remembered it would be useless, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Sorry—um,” she cleared her throat again. “Sorry…”

“I just wish sometimes I could have fun like everyone else does…? I don’t… know why I can’t…” Her voice cracked and her head temporarily tilted in a cringe. “And I want things to change, but I want everything to stay the same, and even when everything is good sometimes it's still too…and then it was so hot outside and I just…um…yeah...”

Mel looked at you at the end of her nervous rambling, and you nodded, eyes sad. She looked away again, focusing on her hands in her lap.

“So, did you not have fun last night…?” you whispered. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do things you don’t want to. I know Trin cracks jokes about having to do things, but believe me when I say if she knew how upset you are—”

“I had fun,” she insisted, and she was being honest, except you caught the slightest bit of hesitation in her tone. Feeling your eyes on her, she continued: “It’s just that sometimes everything is… too much… Not! Not you or Dr. Santos, and it’s not just about being somewhere like that. I had fun…”

You doubted that and now any potential future plans to bring her to the club, but you didn’t want to keep pushing right now.

Mel deflated slightly, knowing she wasn’t communicating as well as she wanted to, even if you weren’t mad at her. She wished for one second she could take her thoughts and feelings and place them in your brain to be sure you understood. She turned her attention away to look sadly at her pile of clothes, like their being on the sink counter still folded instead of already on her body had been a very deep and personal affront. She kept thinking about getting up and wanting to get up to change her clothes, but she just sat there. You had slid your comb back into your shower caddy in the closet to give her a moment without feeling your attention focused solely on her. When you glanced at her again, you noticed her line of sight.

Quietly, you picked up her clothes and set them on top of the hamper under the towel hanger beside the shower.

“I like watching movies with you…” you said suddenly, but gently, handing her the undergarments before turning away to give her some privacy. “Or sitting on the couch together just for the sake of sitting around—even making myself send out emails is easier with you around.”

You only heard some movement, and the only time she said anything it was more of an incomprehensible mumble to let you know when she was covered. She was still fixing her t-shirt over her upper body when you turned back to her.

“I like you, Mel," you emphasized. You don't have to earn that, you wanted to add, but it felt too dramatic and presumptuous of what she wanted.

Her gaze avoided yours, her expression so slackened and sad by the way she felt and by how exhausted she was from having to feel it. She tried to look where it made sense, just below or above your eyes or watching your lips when you spoke, her constantly shifting gaze an attempt to keep tears from building up, which included avoiding the overwhelming sympathy in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything on that list,” you reminded her, aware she'd probably argue, and she had opened her mouth to do exactly that, but she closed it again. You sighed and fixed her glasses, which had dipped a little low on the bridge of her nose when she pulled her shirt on.

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” you offered her instead, and her gratitude was visible in the way her cheeks briefly twitched up, even if she still looked sad. “And if you want to do something and then feel differently at any point, you can say that. It’s okay.”

Her nod was barely present. You reached out to slide your hands over her arms.

“Okay?”

She breathed in deep and then exhaled as she finally gave a more confident nod. “Okay…”

Mel made herself look at you without constantly looking away for the first time since coming home. Now that her body was receptive to being touched again, she missed the soothing gesture of your hands rubbing the sides of her arms when you took them away again, worried she still needed more space. She felt too shy to say otherwise.

“Thanks…” she offered quietly, which you accepted with a reassuring smile.

Her gaze escaped yours again, anxious for something else to focus on, finding her dirty clothes still on the floor. With a quiet "oh," she picked them up and put them in the hamper, which was too full to close after that. She tried pushing it down more, then closing it again. Mel held her hands together, but the lid refused to stay closed, which was starting to pull a frustrated hum from her.

“It’s—” you started in a soft tone, waiting to have her attention again, still looking at her as you slid the hamper closer to yourself by the handles. “It’s okay.”

The laundry room had a humid climate of its own even when it wasn’t like that outside. Today it would likely be the world’s worst sauna, with the smell of old basement and laundry detergent in the dense air. It was the last thing she needed.

ʚɞ

Trinity quietly observed the blonde emerging from the bathroom to go to her room, closing the door behind herself. You left shortly after, carrying a very obviously full hamper. You offered her a reassuring, albeit sad smile.

“Wanna add your clothes? I know you have work tomorrow too.”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, attempting to keep her usual casual approach. “That’d be cool, thanks.”

She uncurled her leg from underneath herself to get up, actually glad to not be directly in front of the fan anymore since she was starting to get cold.

The apartment was too quiet beyond the hum of the fans, making you feel like you were bathing in how sad everything felt. Trin brought her laundry over but insisted on carrying it, figuring she’d join you to help out anyway.

Despite feeling nearly smothered by the silence in the apartment, the two of you remained quiet and mentally distant from each other (and yourselves) while you walked to the laundry room down the hall. It only had a few units, but thankfully they were all open except one. Clearly no one else wanted to be in this miserable room today, and they were smart for that. You were only willing to feel how suffocatingly heavy the air was in there because it meant Mel could avoid it.

“So…” Trinity broke the barrier first, and it would've startled you if it wasn't for the fact that you had felt this coming. “Is Mel…?”

She trailed off. You shut the washer door, using the laundry card, before starting it. When you looked at her, curious if you were getting the gossiping version of Trinity, she immediately averted her gaze before forcing it to meet yours again. She wasn't shy as much as she was avoiding what was already obvious to you.

“She’s okay,” you reassured her, and she held back her sigh of relief, forcing it into a normal exhale through her nose as she nodded. “Just… overwhelmed. She’s been through a lot lately, so I think it’s hitting her now.”

“Been there,” Trin sighed, ending with a brief, quiet laugh.

The two of you were walking out again, all of her clothes and the dirty laundry Mel had pushed into the hamper, split between two washers. The laundry basket was significantly lighter as you carried it back with you.

“Was it…” Trinity started the conversation again, halfway to the door, and you turned around to see her crossing her arms.

“Y’know... something I said or…?” She asked, turning her gaze to the ceiling at first, flicking it back to you after she asked her question and her arms had settled comfortably in their brace in front of her chest.

“I don’t think so, no,” you replied with a soft smile. She nodded slowly, all nonchalant.

“Cool, cool…” she concluded, nodding while pressing her lips together.

Trin concluded her nod while pressing her lips together, following you the rest of the way. As you walked back into the apartment, you spared her by keeping your smile to yourself.

ʚɞ

Mel had gone to sleep in her room, more drained than she had realized by being up late last night. She knew the risk naps posed to her circadian rhythm and usually avoided them. In this case, though, she figured the benefits outweighed the risks.

When she woke up, it was nearly 6:00 PM, and she felt groggy but lighter. She left her bed only to hesitate at her door when she walked over to it. Mel stopped to consider how embarrassed she should be about earlier but swallowed it down.

“God, I couldn’t stand her,” she heard Dr. Santos say and froze in her now open doorway. “Still can't, actually. Most obnoxious fuckin’ girl—”

“I know,” you groaned with a laugh. “You made it known basically every day. She was starting to think you were just jealous.”

Mel furrowed her brow in confusion before her body began to relax again.

“Oh please, I could’ve had you if I wanted you," Santos scoffed, and Mel heard you laugh again.

She was finally walking down the hallway, squinting against the warm glow of the lamp you had on in the living room the closer she got.

“We would actually kill each other if we dated,” you were pointing out when you noticed Mel emerging from her nap, squinting against the light.

“Hey,” you smiled, speaking to her in a softer tone, but it didn't feel like mocking. It actually soothed her, and she felt it flow through her before it landed somewhere low in her stomach.

Mel toyed with her hands, glancing at the TV to see it paused on a scene of whatever reality show that had spurred this conversation between you and Santos.

“Hi,” she said simply, her voice still sounding sleepy.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Mm, okay, I guess. Better.”

She was looking at the two of you on the couch, eyeing the open spot beside you but worried she was intruding.

“We made dinner if you’re hungry. We literally just ate, so the rest’s still on the stove.”

Mel never really liked eating right after she woke up, but she was grateful nonetheless. You noticed the way she was looking at you two on the couch and held your arms out to her while unfolding your legs.

“You’re so gross,” Trinity groaned, as if truly disgusted by your behavior.

You laughed, uncaring, because Mel was shyly making her way over. You pulled her in, hugging her from where you stayed on the couch, squeezing her to finally relieve how badly you had wanted to hug her earlier.

“She doesn’t even realize yet and you’re still merging,” Trinity added to her ribbing, making you roll your eyes as if you didn’t have your arms wrapped around Mel with the side of your head resting on her tummy. The blonde still blushed most of the time over how affectionate you were, but she was getting used to it. She had removed her glasses, just barely keeping her awkward hold on one of the arms while she rubbed her eyes.

“Merging?” she asked on the tail end of a yawn.

Mel tilted her head curiously once her glasses were back on, then blinked at you when she felt you gently tugging at her. Once she caught up to what you were trying to tell her, she yielded to finally kneel on either side of your lap. You helped her shift so she could sit comfortably beside you, her legs draped over your lap. Through your bitter amusement at Trin, you reassured Mel that she was just giving you a hard time, but you avoided explaining it further.

“I’m not merging,” you said now as you gave Trinity a look. “If anyone’s merging with their blonde roommate, it’s you.”

“Don’t make me barf.”

“I saw his haircut, Trinity," you pointed out. "He didn’t look like that before. You’re queer eyeing him.”

“Duh, and he’s lucky I am,” she countered. “You’re just being a lez.”

“No, I’m not, she gives me cuteness aggression now, that’s all. I told you she’s like Scruffles,” you answered playfully.

Mel's brows raised, looking at you curiously when you paired your comment with reaching over to briefly squish her at an awkward angle. Santos eyed you both, assessing with an unamused expression.

“I’m holding in jokes for your sake right now," she finally said. "I hope you know that."

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos used in this post do not belong to me. the content in the gif does not belong to me but i did make it!

-previous- -next-

And the topic being brought up was her own doing. Sort of. More of the incident of her focusing too much on a particular case she’d had when you’d requested the recount of her Fourth of July shift. 

You’d probably been searching for information on how her deposition had gone while trying not to stress her out too much, but instead, Mel had supplied you with more information than necessary on the poor usage of Viagra. 

“Mel,” you hum, making her head snap up from the milky chamomile tea you’d made for the pair of you. Her name coming from your mouth always made her heart squeeze in her chest, made her feel like a dog whose ears perked up whenever their owner called. “I love you, but if you keep talking about penises, I am never going to ask about your day again.”

“Right,” she mumbles, feeling the tips of her ears and her cheeks warm. “Sorry.” You shake your head with a small laugh as you settle back into the couch cushions, a moment of silence spreading between the two of you as your eyes flick back and forth on the TV screen. 

It’s not awkward, it’s never awkward between the two of you. Even when sex is brought up. But Mel figures that’s just how close the two of you are: you aren’t put off by her immunity to smooth conversations, even if that opportunity in your presence is few and far between. It’s just comfortable. The way she keeps her eyes on your face as she debates continuing the mess that was her previous work day, when you’re so clearly thinking about something.

Thankfully, you make the decision for her. “I just– Can it be that good?” you ask, voice a little high in the way that people do when they’re curious about something, but don’t want to seem like it.

Mel’s head tilts, brows furrowing as her lips push together. “I thought you didn’t want to keep talking about it.”

“I don’t, it’s just…” Mel doesn’t push. Doesn’t prompt, just waits for you to either finish or back down from the thought. It carries that sense of knowing that was so sacred between the two of you. The thing that she would do anything for. “I don’t know,” you rush out, signaling to her that you’re trying to retract your question. “Sex isn’t worth taking pills for.”

And that little twinge of curiosity that Mel should know better than to indulge in sparks. 

“Why not?”

You give another shake of your head as Mel takes a sip from her mug, trying to ease the sudden drying of her throat as she waits for the answer. Wanting to crack into your head and know the words you’re going to say before you even do. “Because it doesn’t feel that good to potentially compromise your body?” Mel’s eyebrows raise slightly as she copies your earlier action of putting your mug down. “I don’t know.”

For the first time, possibly ever, when you’re involved, Mel feels like she has more experience. It makes something warm inside of her, makes her sit up a little straighter–tea and Sex and the City on the TV forgotten. “Have you…”

“Hm? Oh– Yeah,” you mumble, looking away from her quickly as you begin to twist the soft blanket that always sat on the back of your couch between your fingers. “Just one time with a guy and it was just…” You pause, the muscles in your neck tensing as you presumably try to find the correct wording. “Not good.”

“One bad experience can’t speak for all of them,” Mel points out, brain beginning to work over the new pieces of information you’d provided her. And the questions are asked before she can properly think them through. “What about when you’re by yourself? Do you ever finish then?”

“Um, no–”

“Have you gotten close? What have you tried?”

“I’m not really sure what ‘close’ feels like, but I think it feels good when I like, um… grind on a pillow?”

Mel just hums. “Have you ever used toys?”

“Okay,” you mumble as you simultaneously take a deep breath. The tone of your voice is enough to clue to Mel, plus the fact that you’re probably the person she knows best in the world besides Becca, that you’re getting nervous. “My sex life isn’t interesting,” you ramble quickly, leaning forward to set your designated mug down on the small coffee table. “Samantha’s is, though, so let’s focus on that, hm?”

Mel’s eyes track you as you settle back into the couch, noting how your cheeks look to be a shade darker than usual and how you appear to be refusing to glance in her direction. There’s a beat of silence and, as per usual, that nagging curiosity gets the better of Mel. “I think it’s interesting.”

The dim lighting of your living room makes it difficult to tell, but Mel thinks your flush deepens even more than she thought possible. 

“General anorgasmia is rarely discussed, especially for women,” Mel continues, eyes glued to your face. She’s barely blinking, drinking in every little twitch of your nose or corners of your mouth. “There are a lot of factors that play into it. Stress, discomfort, relationship dissatisfaction, cultural conditioning.” You glance over at her, fingers busy with the edge of the throw blanket. “Lesbian and bisexual women have an orgasm 21% more often than women in a heterosexual relationship–”

“Quit it,” you mumble, finally shifting over enough to lean on her, one of your hands pressing over her mouth as Mel chuckles, her own hands finding your sides. 

And, sure, Mel’s laughing along with you, the awkwardness that comes from whatever build-up, whatever heavy thing was beginning to settle between the two of you before you decided to break it, never quite being on the line of discomfort like Mel would’ve originally assumed. 

At least, not for her. Because now all Mel can think about is how those fingers pressed over her lips have probably been inside of you. 

And how much better hers would feel.

And so she leaves your apartment early the next morning with a new focus of interest.

Maybe because you’re the main topic, the center of all of this, but that sudden surge of motivation is greater than anything she’s felt before. Someone so close to her, rather than something of Mel’s own interest. A chance to help someone she loves, not like that (maybe like that), and to show you that she cares. That she would go above and beyond for you. Expressing her love language, that’s all it is. Nothing more than some research for her to do when she gets home from the PTMC and her brain still hasn’t crashed from adrenaline highs–something to help her ease into bed.

Thinking about everything she knows about you: what makes you comfortable, the things and times you especially get stressed, what touches seem to relax you against her whenever you’re cuddling. Mel makes notes about every single one of them. Then, she relates them to porn. 

Something she used to be nervous about, always checking over her shoulder whenever she would search links, even if she was in the safety of her bedroom. But with you in her mind, it strangely seems less awkward. Maybe it’s because she’s giving herself an excuse. That this isn’t actually for pleasure or for the means of getting herself off in a voyeuristic way, but rather imagining if you would like the things done to the women in those videos. 

Which is arguably more perverse. 

Especially when Mel thinks about sending you the links. Or when she starts picturing you in certain scenarios that are anything but clinical. Or when she’s back at your place that weekend, curled up against you in your bed, and subconsciously trying to ease you into the feeling. Which isn’t hard, considering how touchy the two of you usually are, and given the late hour.

Mel’s hand slides over yours, fingers tracing over the rounds of your knuckles, sending bits of sparks through your nerves with each pass. Each movement of her memorizes the feel of your skin. It makes something curl down your spine that equally renders you speechless and simultaneously has your tongue ready to ask for more. Mel doesn’t seem to be in a rush, though, her eyes on her own fingers as her thumb brushes over the veins atop your hand. Now and then, you can feel her eyes flick to your face. The urge to bury your face in your pillows is only drowned out by the fact that you fear scaring her away if you move too quickly. 

Not that she would be scared away, you don’t think. 

She started it, after all.

Her lips part with each tiny breath she takes, and you count the flutters of her lashes as she guides your hand to flip over, trailing her fingers up, up, up your arm, only pausing briefly to feel that soft spot of your inner elbow where heat is beginning to collect in bits of perspiration. Mel’s face nudges closer to yours. Tilting up away from your neck so her nose presses against your cheek, and you can feel the puffs of air leaving her. That, and the gentle brush of her lips against your jaw–close to your chin. 

A noise escapes you before you can process it building. 

It makes Mel’s breathing, what you’d been focusing on to try and remain calm, hitch, her body pressing harder against yours so you can feel every bit of softness she has to offer. Her other arm remains awkwardly between her side and the mattress, but that hand–the one with her fingers slowly hooking into the strap of your tank top just to nudge it off your shoulder, already has you trembling.

“Can I ask you a question?” she mumbles, and the vibrations of her voice, softer than usual and almost husky, has you closing your eyes and sucking in a deep breath. When you nod your chin just once, her lips bump against your face again, this time your chin. “Will you let me try?”

And you know what she’s referencing. Even if that conversation, those three minutes of that passing Wednesday night, hadn’t been looping in your mind for the past week, hadn't occurred, you would still be able to read her. Mel–your sweet Mel that would lay the world at your feet if you asked, even without a ‘Please’. 

It still comes as a small shock to you, though, that she wants to have you like that. And it doesn’t help with the way she has you practically melting back into your mattress with the way her thumb strokes over where the strap of your tank top had been before passing over your collarbone. Down your sternum, just dipping under the collar of the fabric. She can probably feel how erratically your heart is thumping against your ribcage. 

Your voice sounds weak to your own ears when you finally manage to speak again. “Are you sure?” It’s barely a breath, her face tucked against yours, and you can feel her glasses digging into your skin. You don’t move, though. Not until she shifts up enough to prop herself up on her elbow, nose bumping against yours. “Cause, um, I don’t want you to feel bad if it doesn’t happen–”

Not: “We’re best friends,” or “I don’t want to ruin anything,” or anything logical.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Mel interrupts gently, the softness of her words ghosting over your mouth. You swallow thickly, finally peeking your eyes back open to find her already staring at you. Pupils large enough to make that honey color of her irises almost seem gone in the dim light. 

Her hand continues. Down between your breasts and over your stomach before it wraps around your thigh to drag and hook your leg over her hip, opening you up and pressing that growing heat between your thighs against her sweatpants. 

“We can just feel each other?” she continues, but it comes out more of a question as another sound that is almost whine-like catches in your throat. And you don’t trust yourself to speak in fear of something louder escaping, so you give her a tiny nod. 

You feel the corners of her mouth twitch up before you surge up to close that small distance and press your lips against hers.

Your hands move from her shoulders to her hair, curling at the roots as her own fingers cinch in your pajama bottoms, tugging you as close as possible to her. Making you grind against her with small rocks of your hips as your tongue pushes into her mouth. She barely lets your tongue swipe against hers before she’s pulling back enough to mumble into your lips. 

“Do you want to keep your clothes on?” she whispers, squeezing your ass every few seconds to encourage the gentle motions of your hips. Each press of your clit against the slowly dampening fabric of your panties has sparks of pleasure rendering your brain more and more useless. “I want you to be comfortable–”

“I’m comfortable,” you rush out, hands pulling weakly at her hair to try and kiss her again. Mel lets you give her another small peck. “Can… Keep them mostly on– Don’t care–” You moan shakily, feeling her eyes on your face as her grip loosens on you, letting you hump her thigh at a pace and pressure that makes your clit throb. “This feels good.”

“Yeah?” she mumbles back in that same breathless tone. Her lips are a little wet from your spit, her cheeks pinkened in the warm light. “I haven’t–” Mel pauses, listening to the tiny noises you’re making as you grind against her thigh, keening gently from the stimulation on your clit against something warm and solid. “I’ve been thinking about ways to try and help you,” she finishes as you give her another kiss.

You don’t seem to fully process her words, though, more of your concentration being on sucking at her bottom lip and pulling at her hair as Mel watches the process that you’ve probably repeated on yourself a countless number of times. Trying to work yourself to an orgasm. Mel figures how quickly you’ve dissolved against her is a result of chasing that feeling–the lack of attention and not truly knowing what your body needs, leaving you needy.

“I figured with the–” Mel’s eyes flutter as you cut her off with a long moan, her words hushed and probably falling on deaf ears. Instilling her voice in your mind as she lets you loosen yourself up for her would help later, though. That’s what she hoped, at least–that you would associate her, something already comforting to you, with pleasure. That it would be the thing to help you get over the edge. 

Her hand on your hip squeezes softly as you keep working yourself. 

“Pillow humping,” she finally continues in that hushed tone. “You like more target stimulation. And relaxation is necessary for a good orgasm.” The words spill from her quickly, like she needs something to do other than just watch you grind against her; otherwise, Mel would move into things much more quickly than you needed right now. “So you’re out of fight or flight mode and your brain can fully process sensory pleasure– We want to reduce your stress and make sure you’re comfortable–”

A frustrated whine leaves you, abruptly bringing Mel’s rambling to an end. She takes a deep breath, hands wandering up to your sides and shifting your weight so you’re back on your back. When she sees the glistening evidence of tears gathering at your waterline, her heart squeezes in her chest, her hands rubbing over your thighs in what she hopes is a soothing motion. 

“Okay,” she whispers, settling between your legs and resting her weight over your chest to kiss your cheeks. Your throat. Over both of your nipples and then just below your belly button. “Is everything okay? Need a break?”

The pout on your mouth has her kissing where your tank top has ridden up again, hands still moving over your body like it’s going to ease your worries. “No,” you whine quietly. “M’just– I knew this was gonna happen–”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” Mel reassures you gently, not letting you get the words fully out. Not wanting them to manifest heavily in your brain and have you already settled on a decision before Mel even got to really touch you in the ways she’d been thinking about all week. Even before that conversation. “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispers. “You’re okay.” The nod you give her is just a little jerk of your chin. 

Mel’s hands on your thighs drag up to settle over your lower belly, and she gives you a tiny smile when your fingers fumble to grab onto hers. 

“I don’t need a break,” you finally answer in a mumble, mouth still set in that tiny frown with your bottom lip pushed out just enough to have Mel wanting to lean back up and kiss you all over again. “I’m just frustrated.”

With your hands still intertwined with hers, Mel dips her thumbs just below the waistband of your pajamas, rubbing the strip of skin that sits under the elastic. “I know,” she whispers. “Can you tell me how close you are?”

You nod, one hand briefly leaving hers to wipe at the space under your eyes. 

“Um– I think I’m like, right there,” you admit, voice sheepish mostly from the hushed tone that makes it difficult for Mel to completely decipher your words. She doesn’t make you repeat yourself, though, knowing that you need to be understood in a vulnerable moment like this. “Can never really get past this point feels like,” you continue in a louder babble, taking on almost a whine that has Mel shushing you softly. 

Her hand that you’d released tucks into your pajama bottoms, easing them down to sit just below your panties. 

Her lips press together when she sees how the fabric is clinging to you–outlining your lips and your swollen clit, the cotton wet with your juices. Before she can stop herself, she’s leaning in to press a small kiss to the place you need her the most, making you whimper quietly and squeeze her hand a bit tighter. 

“Take a deep breath,” Mel says between brushes of her lips against your inner thighs, only continuing speaking once she hears the long sigh and sees the slight fall of your ribs. “Is it okay if I, um, use my mouth?” Even if she already kind of did, but that’s not the point. 

Still, Mel waits for that word of confirmation, and as soon as the small squeak of “Yes” resounds in the warming space of your bedroom, she’s leaning back in. 

“Good,” she mumbles as she lets her mouth trail over your clit again, a barely there touch that has your thighs tensing around her head. “You’re doing a good job, just relax.” Her free hand goes to the spot on your mound just above the bundle of nerves, pulling up to expose where you’re aching further against your panties. “Let your mind go somewhere else, it’ll help,” Mel offers before dragging her tongue over where the nub of your clit is peeking out. 

The sound that leaves you is unlike anything she’s heard from you that night.

So Mel starts with just that–long drags of her tongue to let the warmth and wetness soak through your already ruined underwear, flicking your clit up with gentle stimulation that has you squirming. She lets you squirm, though, the idea of you using her mouth to get off being at the forefront of her mind. Anything that will make this the most enjoyable for you. Your taste makes it difficult for her not to rock her own hips against your mattress, opting to press her thighs together as she lets her tongue venture a little lower with each pass. Tasting more of you. Holding herself back from pulling your panties to the side because this seems to be working you up just fine, and direct stimulation could be a bit much, especially for someone sensitive enough to struggle reaching a climax, and–

“Mel,” you whine, your hand gripping at hers and the other her hair, having returned to the strands quickly after she started with her mouth. “Mel– That feels good– Really good, feels different–”

Mel doesn’t say anything, doubling down over your cunt that she can feel throbbing against her mouth. You yelp when her lips seal around your clit over your panties, pain sparking from where you’re pulling at her hair, keeping her against you in a way you like. A way that she likes too–where your taste and the squeeze of your thighs as you rock against her makes her brain go quiet from its rambling so all she can think about is you.

The whining never stops from you. Little sounds that you would describe as pathetic if you were in your usual state of being in your head. Except, you’re not. Not with the sudden warmth and attention that Mel provides. Not with how your bed feels like it’s enveloping you and her into this bubble of time where it’s just her taking care of you. Making your muscles feel like they’re melting as your mouth falls open and your chest heaves. It does feel different. The way she follows each grind of your hips with gentle sucks that has you gushing into your panties, not letting you escape the sensation. Forcing you to lie there and take it as that tingly sensation that would stop growing in your stomach once you got to a certain point, once your patience ran out, finally began to twist into something tighter. 

You’re trembling. Probably crying a little. But you don’t care, not when Mel finally tugs your underwear to the side and swipes her tongue over your throbbing bud, and you feel yourself finally let go. 

A half-formed gasp of her name leaves your mouth again as your back arches, pushing against her as the euphoria spreads through your body in a crescendo that you’ve been curious about your entire life. Your brain blanks apart from the pleasure that warms your spine and inner thighs and stomach, hands clinging for any part of Mel you can reach just to ground yourself as little black dots dance behind your eyelids. She’s murmuring something against your cunt, but you can’t really tell what it is. Not until the waves of pleasure slowly begin to subside, leaving you worn and panting beneath her comforting ministrations. 

Little tremors still wrack through you, but your mind finally returns with a few deep breaths. 

Then, Mel and more of her gentle kisses. Back up your body to your mouth, tiny pecks that seem lighthearted and almost relieved as your eyes flutter. “Was that okay?” she whispers, hands moving to cup either side of your face as her eyes run over your probably flushed cheeks.

“Better than okay,” you sigh, a kind of lucidity settling in your muscles. “I can understand why people take meds for this now.”