honey 🐝

Three minutes later he leaned over and whispered, "do you have a pen?" She handed him one. Five minutes after that, "highlighter?" She handed him one without looking. Ten minutes later, "do you have-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

She deadpanned. "You came to an exam review without a backpack."

"I have pockets."

That should have been the entirety of her involvement with Frank Langdon. Instead, he followed her out afterward. Then he found her the next morning in the library. Then the following week he appeared beside her in the dining hall with two trays and announced that he had bought her lunch because she had lent him the pen and he believed strongly in settling his debts. The pen had cost seventy-nine cents, lunch cost twelve dollars. He considered that an acceptable exchange rate.

Mel thought he was ridiculous. Frank thought she was funny. It took him nearly a month to realize nobody else did. Not because Mel wasn't funny. She was exceptionally funny, actually. She just delivered every joke with the same composed expression she used to discuss mitochondrial dysfunction, which meant half the room rarely realized she had made one. But Frank always did.

And so, that was the beginning of it. Not of falling in love, but of a deep recognition.

Frank discovered quickly that Mel disliked crowded bars but could be lured if they had outdoor seating so she could eat greasy bar food while everyone else shouted over music indoors. She hated being interrupted but didn't mind Frank talking while she studied, provided he didn't expect her to answer. She could forget meals for twelve hours and then become mysteriously furious at everyone around her until he placed food in front of her.

Mel found that Frank's brain moved faster than his mouth, which was impressive considering how quickly he spoke. He lost everything except important things. He forgot deadlines but remembered birthdays. He could sit through a three-hour lecture tapping his foot hard enough to shake an entire row and still absorb every word.

They fit together. Not elegantly, nothing about Frank was elegant. But naturally, like mismatched pieces from two different puzzles that, through some clerical error of the universe, happened to lock perfectly together.

By twenty-three they were inseparable. By twenty-four everyone assumed they were sleeping together. They weren't. Frank would have liked to. Though that wasn't quite the whole truth. Frank would have liked to take Mel to dinner and hold her hand underneath the table. He would have liked to kiss her outside her apartment building and spend twenty minutes afterward pretending neither of them wanted to go upstairs. He would have liked to wake up beside her and annoy her before she'd had breakfast and know that, despite the murderous look she would inevitably give him, he belonged there.

But twenty-four was also the year Mel's mother died. And then, seven months later, her father. Whatever part of Mel's life might once have had room for something frivolous disappeared overnight. Her twin sister needed somewhere to live. There were bills, lawyers, insurance companies, estate paperwork. Counselors and center pickups, and grocery lists. And medical school. Mel handled grief the way she handled everything else: by constructing an invisible scaffolding around it and continuing to function.

Frank watched her do it. He watched her fall asleep over textbooks because she'd spent the evening arguing with an insurance company. He picked her sister up from her center when Mel got trapped in anatomy lab. He learned which grocery store stocked the cereal her sister liked. He spent Christmas at their apartment because Mel insisted she didn't celebrate Christmas and then became irrationally angry when he suggested that meant she probably wouldn't mind being alone.

He stayed. And somewhere in all of that, Frank decided wanting anything from her would be selfish. She had enough. She needed a friend. So he became one. A very good one. A spectacular one, if he were being objective. He drove her car when she was too exhausted. He brought food, he checked her tires, he memorized the look she got approximately twenty minutes before sensory overload made her want to crawl out of her own skin. He learned when to talk and, more importantly, when not to.

Mel noticed all of it. Unfortunately, Mel also possessed enough self-doubt to reinterpret every romantic instinct she had as delusion. Frank touched everyone. Frank flirted with everyone. Frank remembered things about people. Frank was warm. Frank was affectionate. Frank Langdon could probably make eye contact with a parking meter and convince it they had shared something profound.

So whenever his fingers lingered around her wrist or his knee pressed against hers beneath a library table or he looked at her with something dangerously soft in his expression, Mel quietly informed herself that she was imagining it.

Frank, meanwhile, took her complete lack of response as confirmation she didn't feel anything at all.

Thus began several years of two academically gifted people demonstrating that intelligence had absolutely no correlation with common sense.

Then Frank met Abby. And Abby was magnetic, even Mel could admit that. She was studying theater, all dark curls and enormous brown eyes and the kind of easy confidence that made strangers turn toward her when she entered a room. Frank met her at a graduate student party Yolanda had dragged them to near the beginning of their final year. Mel had stayed home to study. Frank texted her at one in the morning.

Met someone. She's incredible.

Mel stared at those four words far longer than necessary. Something small and unpleasant lodged beneath her sternum. She ignored it.

Six months later, Abigail was pregnant. Three days after that, Frank proposed. It wasn't elaborate, there was no grand plan. No photographer crouched behind a hedge, no romantic declaration of love. He bought a ring, took Abby to dinner, and asked.

When he told Mel, she smiled so convincingly she briefly impressed herself. "You're getting married."

Frank watched her face carefully. "Looks like it."

She hugged him. There was one terrible second when his arms tightened around her and neither of them moved. Then Mel stepped away.

"Congratulations."

Something passed across Frank's expression. It vanished too quickly for her to identify.

"Thanks, Melly."

She went home that night and sat on the kitchen floor for almost an hour. Then she got up, because that was what Mel did. She got up.

She accompanied Frank when he went looking for suits because Yolanda threatened homicide after he suggested ordering something online. She coordinated clinical rotations around rehearsal dinner obligations. She listened to Frank talk about nursery furniture. She smiled when Abby rested one hand over her rapidly growing stomach and complained that the baby kicked whenever Frank spoke.

Mel did all of this with the grim professionalism of someone assisting with her own execution.

Then, two months before the wedding, Frank cornered her outside the hospital cafeteria.

"I need to ask you something." He looked nervous. That alone was enough to keep her on edge. Then he spoke so quickly she almost missed it. "I want you in the wedding."

She blinked. "You want me to what?"

"Stand with me. Be a groomsman. Er— groomswoman."

Mel shifted her weight to her other foot. "At your wedding."

"That's generally where it happens."

"Frank."

"I already asked Yolanda to be best woman."

"Yeah, well, Yolanda already owns a suit."

"So?"

"I don't."

"You can wear a dress. You can wear whatever you want. Just— please. I can't be up there without you, Melly."

There it was again. That thing she had spent years convincing herself wasn't real. Mel swallowed.

"Okay."

Frank exhaled as though he'd genuinely expected her to say no. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay."

He grinned and immediately pulled her into a hug. Her face disappeared against his shoulder. Mel closed her eyes. Just for a second, that's all she would allow herself. Then she stepped back.

And life continued on toward the wedding.

The wedding was held at a hotel whose lobby had marble columns, two chandeliers, and enough fresh flowers to pay off a meaningful percentage of Mel's remaining student loans. Frank's family had money. Not obnoxious money, or private-island money, but enough money that the Langdons could arrange an extravagant wedding on short notice without anyone developing heart palpitations over the invoice.

Abby's family could not. Frank quietly made sure everything was covered.

The ceremony was scheduled for six. At five-twelve, Mel discovered that the shirt beneath her tuxedo vest had acquired a microscopic makeup stain near the collar.

At five-fourteen, she decided this was unacceptable.

At five-sixteen, she entered the large private bathroom connected to the bridal suite because it contained actual stain-removal wipes instead of the decorative soaps the public women's restroom had.

The bridal suite appeared empty. Mel stood at the sink, bent toward the mirror, and carefully dabbed at the offending spot. Then the outer door opened and voices spilled inside.

Mel froze. She recognized one of Abby's bridesmaids immediately. Rachel, or was it Rebecca. Something with an R. Mel wasn't certain. There were seven bridesmaids and they seemed to travel exclusively in packs.

"Don't start," the woman said.

"I'm not starting anything."

"You've been making that face all day."

"What face?"

"The face."

There was the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Then another voice. "This is fucked up."

Mel stopped dabbing.

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm serious."

"Today?"

"When else am I supposed to say it?"

"Preferably never."

Mel slowly lowered the wipe. The bathroom had a small alcove separating the sinks from the dressing area. They hadn't seen her. She should announce herself. Obviously. Immediately. She opened her mouth to say something.

Then one of them said, "does Frank even know?"

Mel's mouth closed. The world became very still.

"Do you really think he would be going through with it if he knew?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Abby says it's his."

"Yeah, well, Abby says a lot of things."

Mel's fingers tightened around the edge of the sink.

The second bridesmaid lowered her voice. "The dates don't even make sense."

"They could."

"But they don't."

"You don't know that."

"I was there, Rachel."

Rachel. Mel had been right. A profoundly useless victory under the circumstances.

The other woman continued. "I was there when she hooked up with Evan after the showcase."

Mel stared at herself in the mirror. For one bizarre moment, her brain refused to interpret the sentence. Hooked up. Evan. After the showcase. Frank. Baby. Wedding.

"Oh my God," Rachel whispered.

"And again in December."

"She told me that was just once."

"It wasn't."

"Does Evan know?"

"Obviously."

"And?"

A bitter laugh. "And what? Evan has forty-three dollars and an IMDb page with one student film on it."

"That's horrible."

"I'm not saying it's okay."

"You basically are."

"I'm saying Abby made her choice."

There was a pause. Then Rachel muttered, "Some choice."

The other woman sighed. "Well, it's either a rich doctor-to-be or an actor wannabe."

Mel stopped breathing. There were moments in medicine when the brain separated itself from emotion. A body came through the door bleeding and suddenly everything became sequence. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Do the next thing. Then the next. Then the next. Mel's mind did that now.

Frank met Abby in September. They started dating in October. Pregnancy discovered March. Abby said she was approximately six weeks. Due date October. Seven months pregnant now. Showcase. December. Evan. Again.

Mel's stomach turned. The bathroom door opened and closed. Silence returned. Mel remained at the sink. She gripped the counter. This wasn't happening. Not now, not here, not thirty-four minutes before Frank's wedding.

There were rules about these things, surely. Some cosmic statute prohibiting catastrophic revelations after the flowers had been delivered.

Mel walked out of the bathroom. Someone tried to hand her champagne, but she ignored them. She found Yolanda in the groom's suite adjusting her cufflinks.

"I need you."

Yolanda looked up. Mel's face must have communicated something alarming because Yolanda immediately stopped smiling.

"What happened?"

Mel shook her head. "Not here."

They stepped into the hallway. Yolanda folded her arms. "Mel."

"I overheard Abby's bridesmaids." Yolanda's expression sharpened. "They didn't know I was in the bathroom."

"Okay."

"Abby slept with someone." Yolanda's eyes widened. "While she was with Frank." Mel continued quickly because if she stopped she might lose all her nerve. "Possibly around the time she got pregnant. They said his name is Evan. He's an actor. Apparently Abby slept with him more than once. One of them said the dates don't make sense and asked whether Frank knows."

"Son of a bitch."

Yolanda turned toward the groom's suite. Mel grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

"Telling Frank."

Mel tightened her grip. "No."

Yolanda stared at her. "No?"

"We don't know for sure."

"But we know Abby cheated."

"I overheard gossip."

"From her best friends."

She looked at Yolanda with pleading eyes. "They could be wrong."

Yolanda turned to fully face her. "And if they're not?"

Mel looked toward the closed door. Frank was behind it. Probably laughing, probably pacing, probably asking where he'd put his cufflinks after Yolanda had already placed them on his wrists.

He had been happy all morning. Nervous, yes, but happy. Mel felt sick.

"Frank loves her."

Yolanda's expression changed. An almost pitying look. "Mel."

She shook her head. "It'll crush him."

"Mel."

"He thinks he's having a baby."

"Melissa."

"And maybe he is. We don't know."

Yolanda stepped closer. "He needs to know before he marries her."

Mel looked down. Yolanda studied her for another second. Then she said quietly, "It needs to come from you."

Mel's head snapped up. "What?"

"You tell him."

"Absolutely not."

"He's going to want you."

"He'll want his best woman."

"I'm his best woman because he knew you would refuse to give a speech."

"Well that's because public speaking is barbaric."

"You're telling him." Yolanda grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door.

"No, no, no." Mel dug her heels in and leaned her body back to get away from Yolanda. Futile, in the end. Yolanda had always been stronger than her.

"Mel."

"I can't."

Yolanda's face softened just slightly. Mel hated her for it. "He trusts you more than anyone."

"Exactly."

"Exactly."

Mel shook her head. "He loves Abby."

Yolanda stared at her. Then, slowly, "No."

Mel frowned. "Excuse me?"

"He doesn't. Not really."

"He's marrying her."

"He's marrying her because she's pregnant."

"He proposed," Mel countered.

Yolanda scoffed. "Because she's pregnant."

"He loves her."

"He cares about her, sure."

"That's the same thing."

Yolanda looked at her likes she was crazy. "No, it's really fucking not."

Mel stepped back. "This isn't relevant."

"It's actually extremely relevant."

"Yo—"

"Do you seriously not know?" She sounded exasperated.

The hallway suddenly felt too warm. Mel frowned. "Know what?"

Yolanda looked genuinely astonished. Then horrified. Then, apparently, deeply amused by the sheer stupidity of everyone involved. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're both idiots."

"That's— what— okay?"

"Frank is in love with you."

Mel stared at her. Somewhere nearby a waiter pushed a cart over uneven carpet. Glasses rattled. Someone laughed behind a door. Mel heard all of it with extraordinary clarity. "What?"

Yolanda rubbed both hands over her face. "Jesus Christ."

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me." Mel shook her head. "You absolutely did."

"Frank isn't in love with me."

Yolanda dropped her hands. "He has been in love with you since second-year anatomy."

"That's not true."

"He skipped his cousin's wedding because your sister had pneumonia."

"He said he forgot to RSVP."

"He slept on your couch for a week after your mom died."

"He said he was having plumbing issues..."

"He changed his residency ranking because you were considering Pittsburgh."

Mel stopped. Yolanda's eyebrows rose.

"He told me Pittsburgh was his first choice."

"It wasn't."

Mel could hear her own pulse. "Yolanda."

"He had Penn above it."

"Frank hates Philadelphia."

"Frank hates being away from you more."

The hallway tipped slightly. Mel leaned against the wall. "No."

Yolanda looked at her. "Mel."

"No, because if that's true—" She stopped. Yolanda waited. Mel's throat tightened. "If that's true, then what the hell have we been doing?"

Years wasted. Every almost moment, every lingering look, every night he had fallen asleep on her couch. Every time Mel had convinced herself she'd imagined the way he looked at her. Every time Frank had stepped closer and then stopped.

Yolanda exhaled. "Being incredibly stupid, apparently."

Mel laughed incredulously. It sounded close to a sob. "This is a terrible time to tell me this."

"I didn't think I'd have to."

"He's getting married in twenty-eight minutes."

"Which is why you need to go talk to him."

Mel looked toward the groom's suite. "I can't destroy his life."

Yolanda's voice softened. "You're not." Mel looked at her. "Abby did that."

Frank was alone when Mel entered. He stood near the window adjusting his tie for perhaps the twentieth time. He saw her reflection in the glass. "Melly." He smiled and turned around. Mel nearly lost every coherent thought in her head. He looked handsome. Of course he did. His suit fit perfectly, and his hair was combed back. "Where've you been?"

"Bathroom." She knew she looked nervous, and he was always so good at reading her.

"Everything okay?"

"No."

His smile vanished immediately. "What happened?" Frank watched her as she closed the door.

She wrung her hands and shook them out, a poor attempt at releasing the tension. She couldn't do this. She could perform a cricothyrotomy. She could tell parents their child had died. She could manage a crashing patient while three people shouted conflicting information. She could not tell Frank Langdon that the woman he was supposed to marry in twenty-six minutes might be carrying another man's baby.

"I overheard something."

Frank's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Abby's bridesmaids were talking." He waited. Mel clasped her hands behind her back because they had started trembling. "They said Abby slept with someone else." Frank didn't move. "Evan." Nothing. "They said it happened after some showcase. And again in December." Frank stared at her. Mel forced herself to continue. "They were talking about the baby."

Something in his face changed, barely, but Mel knew him. She had spent years learning every version of Frank's silence. This one was new.

"What about the baby?"

Mel swallowed. "They don't think you're the father."

The room became completely silent. Frank looked away. He nodded once, then again. A strange, automatic motion. "Okay."

Mel's chest hurt. "Frank."

"Okay."

"I don't know if it's true." She attempted to reach out to him, but he walked toward the dresser. Picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. "Frank."

"December?"

"That's what they said."

He nodded. The color had drained from his face. "They're sure?"

"I don't know."

"Right."

"They didn't know I was there."

"Right."

He sat on the edge of the bed. Mel stood several feet away. Every instinct told her to cross the room. Every fear told her not to. Frank looked at his hands.

"I asked her."

Mel's heart sank. "What?"

"When she told me she was pregnant." He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "I asked if there was any chance."

Mel stared at him. "Why?"

Frank rubbed his palms together. "Because we'd broken up for, like, four days."

Mel hadn't known that. "December?"

"End of November." He looked up. "She said no."

Mel closed her eyes. "Frank."

"She said there was no one else." He stood abruptly. "Fuck." He pulled at his tie.

"Frank."

"Fuck." He crossed the room, turned, and crossed it again. Mel watched helplessly. Then Frank stopped. "Does Yolanda know?"

"Yes."

"You told her first?"

"I panicked."

He nodded, and there was the faintest flash of him beneath everything. Mel almost smiled. Almost. Frank stared at the floor, then he looked at her. "Do you think it's true?"

Mel's throat tightened. "I think you need to ask Abby."

"That's not what I asked." Mel hesitated and Frank knew immediately. He laughed once and looked away. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Okay." Mel hated that word now.

She crossed the room. "Frank." He looked at her. "I am so sorry."

For several seconds neither moved. Then Frank stepped forward and folded himself around her. Mel caught him automatically. His face pressed into her shoulder. She held him and his grip tightened. Suddenly Mel was twenty-four again, holding him outside the library after his grandfather died. Twenty-five, asleep against him on her couch. Twenty-six, watching him make pancakes for her sister. Twenty-seven, standing in a hotel room while the man she loved quietly came apart in her arms.

"I've got you," she whispered. Frank went still. Mel winced. Had she said the wrong thing? He pulled back to look at her, his hands still around her waist. Or maybe exactly the right thing. Mel's hands rested against his chest. They were too close. Catastrophically close. Frank looked at her. Then his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. Mel's heart stopped. She had not imagined it this time. It was not ambiguous nor friendly. Nor was it Frank being Frank. This was want. Years of it.

Mel's breath caught and Frank noticed. His expression changed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Mel."

"This is not the time."

"For what?"

She stepped back and his hands fell away. Frank stared at her. Mel looked toward the window. "Yolanda said something."

His face immediately tightened. "What did she say?"

Mel should have lied. Instead, it came out of her before her brain could catch up with her mouth. "She said you're in love with me."

Frank stopped breathing. Mel wanted the floor to open immediately. Ideally with enough depth to ensure death on impact. He stared at her. "She what?"

"I told her she was wrong." He said nothing. Mel's stomach dropped. "Frank."

He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. "You told her she was wrong?"

"Obviously."

"Why obviously?"

Mel stared at him. "What?"

Frank let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

He looked almost offended. "How did you not know?"

Mel's mouth opened and closed without so much as a sound. She blinked at him. Frank just stared. He laughed again. "Melly."

"You don't get to laugh."

"I am currently having perhaps the worst day of my life."

"And somehow you've found the time to mock me."

"I'm not mocking you, sweetheart." Sweetheart. He'd called her that before, but she didn't have the context she does now.

"You are."

"I'm amazed, is all."

"At what?"

Frank stepped closer. "That you didn't know."

Mel's heart started pounding. "Frank."

"I've been in love with you since college." The room went silent. Frank's expression sobered. "Probably longer than I should admit."

"You never said anything."

"You were dealing with your parents." He reached out to cup her cheek.

"That was years ago."

"Then your sister." He stepped even closer and tilted her head up towards him.

"Frank," she whispered.

"Then med school."

"Frank."

"And you never seemed interested."

Mel made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke, and shoved him back playfully. "You never seemed interested."

"I asked you to dinner six times, Mel."

"You said we were getting food."

He shrugged. "That's dinner."

"That's not asking someone on a date."

"I brought flowers that one time."

She looked at him incredulously. "They were condolence flowers."

"They were not."

"My mother had just died, Frank."

Frank paused. "Okay, so, retrospectively, poor timing."

Mel put both hands over her face. "This cannot be happening."

Frank's voice softened. "Mel."

She lowered her hands. "I thought I was imagining it."

His face changed. "What?"

"The way you acted around me."

"How did I act around you?"

She gestured aimlessly towards his general direction."Like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you loved me." Frank went completely still. Mel's eyes burned. "I thought that's just how you were."

"Mel."

"I thought you were a very committed friend." Frank stared at her. Then he started laughing. Actually laughing. Mel shoved his shoulder. "I hate you."

"You love me." Mel's entire body went rigid. Frank's smile disappeared. He studied her face. "You do." Mel looked away. "Melly."

"Don't," she warned. There was no sense in admitting her feelings when nothing could happen between them.

"How long?"

"Frank."

"Mel, please. How long?"

She closed her eyes. "Also college."

He rubbed at his eyes. "Which year?"

"Does it matter?"

"It's the only thing that does right now."

"Second."

Frank stared at her. "Second year?" Mel nodded miserably. He turned away, putting both hands on his hips. Looked at the ceiling. Then laughed once. "You have got to be kidding me. You could've said something."

She reared her head back. "Well, so could you."

"You were busy."

"And you were dating half of Pittsburgh."

"I was trying to get over you."

Mel's mouth fell open. "That is… incredibly irritating information, Frank Langdon."

Frank turned. "You're telling me."

She looked at him for a moment. "It doesn't matter. You're getting married." That stopped him. The laughter vanished. The reality of the room returned. Music beginning faintly somewhere downstairs made Frank look towards the door. Mel's stomach dropped. "I'm sorry."

"No."

"I shouldn't have—"

"No, Mel." He looked at her, then glanced down at himself. At the suit, the boutonniere. He thought of the guests waiting downstairs. "I'm not getting married."

Mel froze. "Frank."

"I'm not."

"You need to talk to Abby."

"I will."

"You don't know about the baby."

"I know she cheated. And I know I was about to marry someone because I thought that was the right thing to do." He looked at her. "And apparently everybody but you knew I was in love with somebody else."

A knock sounded at the door, and Yolanda's voice came out muffled. "Five minutes!"

Frank and Mel looked at each other. Then, despite everything, Frank smiled. Small and crooked. "What?" she whispered.

"Five minutes to figure out how to tell my parents they just wasted forty grand."

"Oh, Frank, that isn't funny."

"It's a little funny."

"You could do with a sense of poise and rationality right now."

"That's what I have you for." He smiled. "My fiancée may be carrying another man's child, I think I'm allowed to be a little bit of a mess." He reaches out for her hand. "Besides, I just confessed that I've been in love with you for years. And though that part's actually going pretty well, it has thrown me a little off-kilter to learn it was never unrequited." Frank's smile widened.

"You are incorrigible."

Another knock. "Frank?" Yolanda again. He opened the door. Yolanda looked between them. Her eyes narrowed. "Abby's asking for you."

Frank's expression changed. He nodded. "I need to talk to her."

Mel stepped back and he looked at her. There were a thousand things left unfinished between them. A thousand questions. He walked back over to Mel, and reached for her hand. His fingers brushed hers, deliberate and brief.

"I'll find you."

Mel looked up. For once, she didn't convince herself she'd misunderstood. "I'll be here."

Frank nodded, then he walked out.

Yolanda started after him, but Mel caught her arm. "Yolanda." She turned. Mel hesitated. "Thank you."

Yolanda stared at her for a second, then smiled. "Don't thank me yet."

From somewhere down the hall came Abby's voice, then Frank's, then silence.

Yolanda winced. "That's going to be ugly."

Mel looked at the closed door. Downstairs, the string quartet continued playing for guests who had absolutely no idea the wedding had ended before it began. A hundred people staring expectantly toward an aisle no bride would ever walk down.

Mel leaned against the wall. Yolanda joined her. After a moment, Mel said, "they're going to lose the deposit."

Yolanda turned slowly. "That's what you're thinking about?"

"It's a very expensive hotel."

Yolanda laughed, and reached over to the bar cart for two glasses of Pittsburgh's finest prosecco. "Well, this calls for a toast." It felt inappropriate, but twenty minutes ago Mel had believed Frank Langdon would belong to someone else for the rest of his life.

mel had enough on her plate w school loans, becca's fees, her apartment that has a leaky faucet that won't quit tapping away at the bottom of her sink while she tries to rest after a gruelling shifts - it's all So Much. when frank hears about the faucet, he gives her a plumber's number and sets her up w a friends and family discount (by this point, she's neither). when he hears about her breakfast skipping issue, he grabs extra snacks before he leaves the house. when he hears she has an awful pebble in her shoe, he forces her off the ER floor so he can shake it out and send her off with a smile. when he hears she needs a hinge profile, he helps her craft one (w victoria's help). when he hears she need to let out some steam, he offers her a baseball bat and her son's piñata a week before his birthday (they go to the store to buy him a new one before the party). when he hears she has trouble sleeping, he buys her an eye mask with extra foam padding to block light.

and when frank hears mel needs to hump her pillow at night to summon an inkling of sleep? you best believe he shows up to her apartment with his hand ready to administer 10mg of melatonin and two orgasms.

frank waits for his family to finish dinner before he slips out for an hour. he brings mel anything she'd enjoy off the langdon family dinner menu and a quick convenient store run so his wife finds cigarettes in his car and doesn't wonder if he's seeing another woman. everything is so neatly planned out, he just wants to put in his efforts to see his friend when she needs him.

nobody's needed him in a long while. his kids are growing faster then their height charts can keep up, his wife doesn't say she loves him as a greeting or farewell, his dog has an automatic feeder. he just wants to be needed again. so enter mel.

she has all these needs she put off for ages, or willfully ignored (he knows a thing or two about that) to keep her life chugging along. everything is fine if u say it's fine. mel has little issues that need squashing so he squashes. every single on that rises eats at her nerves and he can't have his best resident off her feet. her head needs to be in the game so he puts his head between her thighs to help her fall asleep. a few orgasms here and there. abby never gasped so loud scrunched her face so adorably when he ate her out - not that he had done that this year but he didn't keep track of it anymore, whatever. mel scratched an itch he didn't realize he had.

her needs in turn becomes his because he cannot quit providing her solutions. he figures mel doesn't care enough to inquire into his perfect marriage. it's so perfect that it's no longer a topic of conversation, just a fact of life. like yeah frank langdon is married. they'll put it on his headstone: loving husband, father, retired er doctor, a true friend.

he doesn't know that mel borrows his feelings and now feels the same. she worried at first - he has a family, she forgot what it was like to have a full one of those - still, she knows not to break them. what they were doing never broke his family. he granted her favours like normal! like a true friend!

frank has his family the way mel has becca. none of it threatens their dynamic. they'll always be mel and frank. even when abby finds them giggling at her annual friends and colleagues barbecue where she served 60 of her friends and his colleagues. so what if she caught mel with her leg swung over frank's shoulder as he drilled into her relentlessly? abby doesn't know mel just wants to give sex a trial run with a friend before the real thing with her hinge date later. that doesn't stop abby from calling mel a horrendous string of names she couldn't repeat.

mel never felt like a thief or a conniving little whore who had an eye for other people's husbands. she'd never been called selfish and evil in such crude, unfeminist language. none of it was true of course, she was his friend - and she'd tell abby that if she let her and frank just explain this was a misunderstanding before she threw his clothes in the year and slammed the door in their faces.

truth is, they never wanted abby to find out their friendship led them in such odd places but they couldn't help it. lighting never strikes twice in the same place and they both knew if they didn't grab hold of each other right now, they'd never have this spark with anyone else. wives and hinge dates included.

Mel King doesn't believe in superstitions, but Trauma Room West 13 does seem to be a cursed room in the Pitt. There's always some sort of commotion in there. It seems to attract the craziest or, sometimes, the most aggressive patients. Many times, she's heard someone tell a story of a crazy patient only for them for them to realise at the end of the tale–"oh yeah, that was in room 13 too!"

It wasn't like it was intentional. Dana had started putting the simpler, calmer cases in there to help dispel the curse rumours, but it kept happening. It was like the minute someone stepped into that room, the energy of madness took over.

Today was no different, as Mel watched Frank take a swig from his Red Bull at the West Bay nurses' station just outside of room 13. There was a crash of something which sounded like it hit the floor, a scream, and a code 'hula hoop!' shouted out the door by Perlah. Mel stood up from her chair to assist, but Frank pushed his foot in front of her before she could step forward. "Let me." He told her quickly as he shouted over to ask Ahmed for backup.

Mel watched as Frank and Ahmed dragged a redheaded woman, who kicked, screamed and thrashed her arms, and repeatedly screamed "cheater!" into the room.

A blonde woman quickly came out of the room, dressed in a red sparkly dress. Her makeup ran down her face as she sped walk in the opposite direction. Mel struggled to place where the woman looked devastated or embarrassed—maybe a blend of both.

Mel followed Perlah as she exited the room, determined to help in some way and check if her colleague was okay. "Were you hurt?" Mel asked as Perlah sat down at the central hub. The nurse was, for some reason, laughing a little and shaking her head.

"We're going to need a two-people-at-all-times rule in that room, for God sake." Dana sighed as she grabbed her phone, likely using it to complain about the incident to Robby or someone upstairs.

"As far as Room 13 incidents go, that one was pretty funny." Perlah laughed again.

Mel felt Frank step next to her, who also laughed as he made eye contact with Perlah.

"Did she leave willingly?" Perlah asked with a laugh.

"Once Ahmed mentioned calling the cops she was in the first cab she could flag down." Frank chuckled as he moved his hair out of his face.

"OK, I'll bite." Cassie said as she slid up to the group. "What was so funny about that?" She asked, as she squinted her eyes.

"OK. The guy in there–a magician by the way–had a hypoglycemic attack. The blonde lady in the red dress is his assistant. They seemed pretty friendly to me, but not romantic necessarily, like they weren't touchy with each other or anything. She just seemed a normal level of worried about him, like you would be for your boss, right?" Perlah explained.

Mel found herself enwrapped in the story now, too, and nodded along with the group that gathered to hear it.

"Then, the red-head lady—the wife!—walks in and I don't think anything of it at first. But she's immediately angry, barking things like "Why weren't you checking your blood sugar?" and "Why do you have so many high heart rate notifications on your phone?" She just keeps asking all these questions that they're both awkwardly avoiding. Then she just straight up asks if they're having an affair." Perlah continued, stretching out the word "affair" for dramatic effect. Mel watched as Frank's throat bobbed as he gulped while listening.

"Without a beat, the husband goes "no! no!", and then he tells the wife that they were just you-knowing next to each other but didn't "actually touch each other" like that makes it any better! The wife goes insane, of course. Then the mistress or whatever runs out crying—it wasn't funny, funny—but I can't believe the husband actually thought that would work." Perlah said, shaking her head with a chuckle.

"That's disgusting." Victoria weighed in; she soured her face as she said it.

Jesse joined the conversation and shrugged. "I mean—I guess they weren't strictly cheating." He laughed, but everyone in the group silently stared until he made eye contact with Frank.

"I know Langdon agrees with me!" Jesse added.

Mel hates when they get into these sorts of debates. She finds it difficult to participate—or even understand why they want to debate these things. On all her school reports growing up, her teachers would always write, "Mel has a sensitive side, and she can become quite upset if she feels things are wrong." Over and over again, year after year, teacher after teacher—it'd be the same thing. Mel always knew she had a strong sense of justice. She also knew she was sometimes guilty of black-and-white thinking with no room for nuance, but she was getting better at it. She was beginning to think that seeing all these patients with complicated lives could shake up that kind of all-or-nothing thinking in anyone.

Frank, shook his head, which distracted Mel from her thoughts. She heard him laugh and shrug, too. "It's not strictly cheating, yeah." He smiled, which made Dana, Cassie and Victoria make a disgusted "ugh" sound towards Jesse and Frank.

"So if Abby came home and said she got off next to another guy, you'd just be like "cool, honey, you didn't cheat!"?" Donnie, who had also joined the conversation, asked.

Mel couldn't help but watch Frank's reaction. He rarely brings up Abby around her, and quickly changes the topic of conversation anytime anyone else does.

"I didn't say that!" Frank grinned as he threw his hands up in the air. "I'm just saying it's more of a…grey area. Like strictly in a court of law—the jury would find that he didn't touch her; therefore, did they really have an affair?" He added with a smirk. But Mel felt that he avoided eye contact with her as she stared at him, as if he didn't want to disappoint her with his opinion.

"I agree, the wife asked if he was having an affair, so he was technically right when he said no." Jesse laughed. Mel couldn't tell if he was trying to purposely get a rise out of everyone; Dana accused him of that more than once.

"You guys are so vulgar." Cassie rolled her eyes.

"It's a grey area," Frank repeated again with a shrug, opening another Red Bull. Then, he finally looked at Mel and smiled as he offered her a sip. Mel smiled back at him and shook her head. He always offers, but Mel only drinks energy drinks on the roughest of shifts.

Victoria watched the interaction and smiled back at the rest of the group. "What do you think, Mel?" She asked.

"About what?" Mel said, looking down at the ground. She wasn't purposely playing coy, but she didn't involve herself in the conversation before, and she doesn't really want to now.

"Do you think it's a 'grey area'?" Victoria asked, she quoted 'grey area' in a voice like Frank's, like she was poking fun at him.

"She doesn't have to answer that." Frank frowned and raised his a brow at Victoria.

Mel shook her head. "I don't know—I've never really been in a relationship so I don't have much authority on the matter." She shrugged. "But strictly speaking, like if I was on a jury on the matter, I guess the patient wasn't completely wrong. He ultimately didn't touch her...I think there's a bit of a grey area there." She added.

She watched as Frank gulped and frowned as she finished her spiel—did he not want her to agree with him?

"Don't side with the boys, Mel." Victoria complained, but Cassie and Dana eventually laughed and shrugged her off as the crowd of debaters dispersed.

"Sorry—I didn't mean to get you roped into that." Frank whispered with a frown.

Mel met his eyes and smiled softly. "Don't be sorry! No one forced me to speak on it." She offered.

"Do you really think that? Or were you just backing me up?" Frank smirked. He leaned his back against the nurses' station. Mel winced when she heard it crack. It always stresses her out when he does this; she's convinced he's going to pull something or tweak his back in a bad way doing that.

"No—I just happened to agree. I'm not saying the magician was completely in the right, but I don't know if he was completely wrong either." Mel explained.

"Jesus, I forgot that guy was a magician. Makes the whole thing even better." Frank laughed as he took another big swig of his drink and looked up at the board.

Mel felt herself staring at him. It's a bad habit, she knows it is. She thought it would've worn off by now—the crush she has on him. Even though 'crush' doesn't really feel like the right word. It sounds too juvenile. Too simple, really. It's not like she thinks she's in love with him either. She's just pretty sure he's the closest friend she's ever had, and that he's the most beautiful person she's ever seen in her life—so whatever the word for that is, that's what he is to her.

She watched as his head moved away from the board and his blue eyes darted back to her. A loose strand of hair followed. Her mouth twitched upwards in sync with his, and he showed his teeth to her. He's got one of those winning smiles; it could be annoying if it weren't so genuine.

She thinks it's almost as if he moves in slow motion when she watches him sometimes, like he could be one of those male models that would be in a perfume ad with someone like Keira Knightley, where they run through a beach or a museum and pretty music plays.

Sometimes she thinks it's impossible not to just marvel at him—she's seen plenty of patients do it before. She's heard them whisper everything from "he's so handsome" to "I would ride him until I literally died". She's seen med students on rotation blush and giggle around him, regardless of their gender; it's like everyone wants him. He has a flirty personality, maybe, as far as Mel can tell. He flirts with almost everyone, she's pretty sure.

Trinity once told her he doesn't pay "special attention" to everyone, and wouldn't elaborate with more than an eye-roll and a comforting pat on her back when Mel asked what she meant by that.

"Can I ask you something?" Mel enquired; she wanted her tone to sound confident, but she's pretty sure it doesn't come out that way.

"Anything." Frank smiled down at her.

"Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't care if Abby did–she gestures her eyes back to room 13–that with someone else?" Mel whispered. She's not really sure why she asked; the conversation really should've been over and done with. But there's something in her, the endlessly curious version of herself, that has to push, has to know.

Frank's eyebrows raised as she asked the question. His eyes bulged a little, and he shook his head. "Um." He gulped. "Well, I wouldn't love it, if she did that with someone. But hey, I guess I'd be happy one of us was getting off. We haven't had sex in well over a year." He sighed and pursed his lips in a downward frown.

Mel accidentally opened her mouth in a silent gasp. They don't discuss his marriage very often, other than the odd time that Frank will confess they had a fight or that he did something with the kids that Abby didn't approve of. It's not like she's spent significant time thinking about Frank's sex life within his marriage, but she wouldn't have guessed at what he just confessed to.

Mel's lack of response and the probable shocked expression on her face—which she really does try not to make obvious—led Frank to close his eyes and wince. "Sorry. Probably shouldn't have said that." Frank added quietly. She could've sworn there was even a slight blush on his cheeks.

"Why?" Mel gulped. She doesn't really know she felt the need to continue this conversation, but there's a part of her that can't help it. She made a mental note to check if she's ovulating on her cycle tracker app.

"Well, HR would probably frown on it." Frank chuckled. He smiled at her with the soft, gentle grin that he always saves for her.

"I thought we were more than just co-workers." Mel shrugged and added a grin herself, but Frank took in a deep breath when she spoke and furrowed his brows at her.

"We're friends." She added with a small smile to try and resolve the worried expression on his face.

Frank smiled again and nodded. "I guess friends can talk about these things." He said, cautiously.

"And friends do things for each other, right?" Mel replied. She regretted it the moment she said it as she watched his face fall. His eyeballs bulged too, like he was somehow in immediate pain.

"Mel—" He started, in his quiet, sweet way, before she cut him off.

"Remember I mentioned my smoke detector was beeping? Do you think you could change the batteries for me? My landlord is still being useless about it, and I can't reach up to it." Mel chirped up, smiling and bouncing on her tiptoes.

"Sure." Frank smiled softly. Mel thought she could see a look of relief flood his face, which she tried not to overthink.

"I can follow you home after our shift finishes tonight?" He said, then winced. "That sounded creepier than I was intending." He added. That got a giggle out of Mel.

"That works for me." Mel grinned. The smoke alarm thing was genuine. The beeping had been driving her crazy and keeping her up all night for a week. But a part of her just wanted to spend a little more time with him. 12 hours (plus plenty of overtime) is never enough to get her fill of him. She knows it's wrong to take this man away from his wife and kids to go to her home, but she wants him there.

It's all innocent, at least. It's just changing batteries. So she tries her best to ignore the swirling guilty feeling that builds in her stomach when she pictures the image of Frank standing in her apartment.

"I have a little step stool, if you need it." Mel says, watching as Frank inspects the beeping, high-pitched noise the smoke detector at the top of her stairs makes.

"It's alright." Frank huffs. "I can reach."

Mel tries to keep her jaw shut as she watches him. He's a little sweaty and breathing through his mouth as he reaches up on tiptoes and uses a screwdriver to open the smoke detector cover. His position is making his white t-shirt slide up his stomach, and Mel can see the hair that trails down to the waistband of his Calvin Klein's. She's determined to commit this look to memory. She literally stares, then closes her eyes like she's taking a literal mental picture with her brain. She wants to remember how he huffs his breath and sticks out his tongue in concentration as he works.

"Can you hand me that?" He asks, breaking Mel out of her trance. Her eyes fall on the new battery, and she hands it over, letting her skin meet his warm hand. He's always so warm–so physically hot.

"Your hand is freezing." He notes, smiling before he returns his focus to the smoke detector.

"I know. I don't even have an iron deficiency or anything, I get that checked when I donate blood. I'm just naturally cold-blooded, I guess." Mel shrugs.

Frank laughs, softly. "You're the furthest thing from cold-blooded, Mel." He adds, leaning back to examine his handiwork on the alarm.

"I'm going to press the tester button now to make sure it works. It's gonna be really loud if you wanna put your AirPods in or something?" Frank says. It almost makes her want to cry. She's never had someone in her life so considerate of her feelings…and her oddities. Never. And he does it so casually, like he doesn't realise it means more to her than she could ever even explain.

"Yeah, actually I'd like that if you don't mind. Find me in the living room after?" Mel smiles.

"Deal." Frank grins as he watches her pop her AirPods in and walk to the living room.

Mel puts them into noise cancellation mode and selects a rainforest playlist to listen to. She settles on the couch and closes her eyes, just barely hearing the faint buzz of Frank testing the smoke detector upstairs.

She doesn't exactly mean to, but the vision comes to her. Frank's arms reaching up and changing the batteries. His biceps. Jesus. She doesn't know how he finds the time to work on them.

His hands are beautiful, too. Mel has caught herself staring at them more times than she'd like to admit. She's studied the blue veins that trail across them. She's found the calloused marks on his fingers that have come from using his hands every day.

His stomach–particularly the hair across his stomach. It's, quite literally, made for him. Mel couldn't imagine a world where Frank was hairless on his chest. It wouldn't be right. She's thankful for whatever higher power intervened in the creation of him and added all the hair.

It feels wrong to be thinking of him, like this, while he does a favour in her home for her. It feels even more wrong when Mel starts to feel her heartbeat settle between her thighs and a familiar urge to part them. It's what she's trying to suppress when she feels Frank's hand waving very close to her face, not quite touching, but making a cool breeze of air against her skin.

"Oh." She says, removing her AirPods and looking at his smiling face. He has his hands on his hips, too, which Mel finds weirdly attractive, then she tries to ignore that thought.

"You okay?" He asks. "Sorry if the noise bothered you. I tried to be quick." He says, gritting his teeth.

"I'm great. I barely heard it." Mel replies, trying to avoid his eye contact. It's so intense to have him above her as she sits below him. He looks like an ancient statue of some kind.

"You want a soda? Becca makes me keep Dr Pepper cans here. Tastes like metal to me." Mel offers, standing up so she makes level eye contact with him. That's slightly easier to manage.

"Sure." Frank smiles, collapsing on her couch. His legs go all the way under her coffee table, like he's a comically large giant in her comparably tiny home. Mel skips over to the kitchen before she can linger on the image too much.

She smiles politely as she hands him the can, then questions whether she should sit next to him on the couch or find another spot to sit. She decides not to make it weird and settles next to him.

Mel folds herself against the edge of the couch but because Frank is so spread out–he never seems to grasp the concept of personal space–their outer thighs are making contact. The closeness makes energy rush between Mel's legs again. It spreads dangerous happy hormones to her brain that make her speak without thinking, makes her say things like "So you and Abby really haven't had sex in over a year?" out loud.

Fuck, she really said that out loud.

Frank immediately chokes a little on his Dr Pepper and looks at her with his mouth agape. "Mel… I don't know if we should talk about that." He finally says.

Mel hangs her head a little. "Why not?" She asks quietly. "Don't you want to…get off?" She adds, before she can stop herself.

Frank gulps and Mel thinks for a second that he looks like he could devour her. "I do." He whispers, like he's unsure of this whole conversation topic.

"Don't you…touch yourself? Just touch yourself. It's okay." Mel shrugs. She doesn't know what has come over her.

"Mel—" He protests, but Mel sits up on her knees in front of him.

"Please, Dr Langdon. You said it yourself—it's not really wrong. We're just friends. It's just two friends getting off, right?" She asks with a desperate frown.

Frank takes a deep breath as he takes her words in. "I said it's a grey area… it's all a technicality." He sighs.

Mel flops him away from his view and gets back into a sitting position. "Sorry. It's okay if you don't want to." She whispers, desperate not to cry in front of him. Our friendship is over. She thinks. I always push it too far. I always push people away like this.

Before she can spiral anymore, Frank is right next to her face with his hands on her knees. "Of course I want to. Jesus, Mel, this is like the theme of every wet dream I've had about you for months." He says, as Mel finally looks into his eyes.

"I just… I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do. I don't want to corrupt you, I guess." He shrugs, taking in a big, deep breath through his nose.

Mel shakes her head in confusion. "You're not corrupting me. I asked you, Langdon." She says. They both stay silent for a beat. "You're not making me do anything, it's kind of the opposite, actually. My whole life, I've done what my parents asked me to do in order to care for Becca. Then care for my parents themselves when they were sick. Then care for Becca full time when they were both dead. I just… I want to do something for myself for once. I want to be selfish for once." She adds, feeling her skin start to melt under the weight of his hands on her knee.

Frank nods, maybe even smiles a little, then leans back, removing his hand from her knee. "You're right. You're just touching yourself and I'm just touching myself. And we just happen to be next to each other. There's nothing wrong with that, right?" He says quietly.

"Right." Mel says, and she can't help but smile a little.

"So touch yourself." He whispers, his eyes roaming down her body. "Touch yourself." He repeats.

Mel nods and slowly slips a hand down her leggings and in front of her underwear, running her palm against her already soaking centre.

She makes eye contact with Frank as he watches her with undivided attention then nods, mostly to himself, like he's giving himself permission to give in. His fingers find the button on his jeans which releases with an audible 'pop' and the sound of his zipper quickly follows. His legs wiggle out of his jeans and he throws his socks off too before he strokes himself over his boxers.

"Is that how you touch yourself when you're alone?" He says, very quietly. Mel has continued to tease herself over her underwear this whole time but breaks concentration to shake her head.

"I'll usually get naked." She answers.

"Then get naked." He shrugs, like it's the most simple thing in the world.

So she slides her leggings down, follows his lead and throws off her fluffy socks, shakes her t-shirt over her head–her sports bra goes with it too. She stares at him, only in her panties, as he throws off his shirt too so he's only in his boxers.

"That's not naked." He says, flippantly.

"You're not naked either." She says, in a tone that kind of shocks herself. She sounds like a brat. She doesn't know what's come over her, but it only makes Frank tilt his head up at the ceiling and crack a big smile.

"I guess not." He smiles, and rolls his boxers down his hips. Mel physically gasps when she sees his hard length spring free from the tight constraints of his boxers. Then she feels embarrassed, but he grins smugly.

He's huge. Bigger than anything she's seen on any cadaver or patient she's ever worked on. On par with actual porn stars she's seen on videos late at night. And he knows it, obviously, and he grins while tugging at the pink, needy tip, already leaking pre-cum.

She's almost glad they're just sitting next to each other and touching themselves tonight, because she's genuinely not sure if she could handle all that inside her.

She doesn't get another second to contemplate before Frank makes eye contact with her. "You've seen mine, now show me yours." He winks, which makes her want to melt in the best way.

Mel closes her eyes and she slides her practical purple underwear down her legs. She parts her legs, just a little, and strokes her clit once again. "Perfect. Perfect." Frank remarks, like he's saying it to himself.

Frank stops for a second and wrestles with his wedding ring, for once stuck firmly in place on his finger, like he's going to slide it off. "No. No. Please, Dr Langdon, don't take the ring off. If you take the ring off…it means we're doing something wrong. And we're not doing anything wrong, right?" She says, as if she isn't in front of him, getting wetter and wetter as she teases her own clit.

Frank hesitates, frowns and then nods. "You're right." He huffs, and goes back to stroking himself.

"But no more of this Dr Langdon stuff, please, Mel. Call me Frank, at least for tonight, call me Frank." He whines, going between staring at her face and what her fingers are doing.

"It feels too intimate." Mel protests with a frown.

"Please." He wobbles. He really does sound desperate. And it's totally normal for friends to call each other by their first names, everyone in work calls her Mel, after all.

"OK. Frank. I'll give you that." Mel says, her breathing becoming a little more erratic as her other hand has found itself teasing her nipples.

"Fuck. I love hearing you say that." He hums, quickening how strokes himself. She watches as he sticks out his tongue a little, something she's seen him do many times while deep in focus in work. It makes her lean up against the edge of the sofa and spread her legs a little more. She's sure he can see just how wet she is. A slick glistening is probably settling between her thighs.

"Frank." She repeats, in a low, breathy tone, which seems to excitedly spur him on.

She finally lets herself give in, and places two fingers inside herself, stretching her own thumb to continue to pat against her clit. He turns to face her, and his skin goes pale then back to pink as he watches her.

He audibly moans then, which makes her do the same. For a while they sit like that, in perfect tandem. Every stroke she makes with her fingers, he makes with his hand. For every moan she releases from her throat, he lets out a similar groan or whimper. Every bead of sweat, every lift of their hips, every breath, in sync. Eyes on each other. It's like they're doing some kind of fucked up pre-choreographed dance. But they're not, it's all second nature to them, like it always has been.

It oddly reminds Mel of doing a procedure in work. It comes so naturally to them, like the first STEMI they did together. Their like a mirror to one each other. You move, I move.

She knows where his hands are going before he moves them, he knows what tool she's about to reach for…the paper she's about to reference when discussing a patient's care. She's never had that sort of relationship with anyone before him. And she's pretty sure he hasn't either, not even with wife.

By the time Mel is so desperately wet that she can hear the sounds of her pussy every time she moves her fingers and she's moaning so loudly she's almost shocked it's her making these noises, Frank's mouth opens wide as he stares at her.

"I wish I could cum on you." He announces, in a tone that almost sounds like he's in pain.

"But that'd be cheating." They both say in sync, which makes them both release a bout of nervous laughter. We're perfect for each other. Mel thinks, then tries to drown it out.

"But I wish you could too." She admits with a desperate whine, closing her eyes tightly as she feels the familiar closeness of her orgasm reach the nerve endings of her clit.

"I wish I could finish inside you." He counters, tugging on his cock so roughly that Mel almost wonders if he's hurting himself.

"You can't talk like that." She whines.

"Why not?" He huffs, exasperated, staring into her eyes.

"Because we're just friends." She hums then swallows down a gulp.

Frank tugs himself more frantically, and Mel swipes at her clit more quickly, biting her lip as Frank turns his head to her again.

"We're more than friends and you know it." He hums. Mel lets out a desperate moan that she's not sure was meant in protest or agreement and it's not a second later that they both finally cum.

Mel's orgasm comes in quick, spirited gushes and for a second she thinks it might never end as she feels the beating aftershocks in her core.

She's sure it might never end as she leaks around her fingers and Frank whispers a string of pretty phrases–"that's it, baby", "let go for me", "you look so fucking good right now."

Frank cums hard and fast against his own hand and across his stomach. There's so much cum, it even covers his wedding ring.

Mel wishes more than anything that could've been inside her, but she's not a cheater. She's not the other woman. They're just friends, still just great friends, according to any court of law or character witnesses. Mel and Frank? Just really close friends.

That's what she repeats in her head over and over again as he reaches over for tissues to clean himself up, gets his clothes back on and kisses the top of her head with a quiet and simple "goodbye sweetheart."

"I can't believe you've let this debate carry on to day two." Cassie huffs, after Jesse brings up the magician and the whole debate again. Mel thinks the same as Cassie as she feels Frank skin burn and his face turn red next to her.

"You know I might be changing my position on the whole thing, actually." He remarks.

"What?" Frank says, his head tilting in confusion.

"I spoke to Chris about it last night and he brought up a good point. Was it only the getting off next to each other or was there an emotional aspect to it? Because it's kinda more intimate than sex, in a way." Jesse says with a shrug.

Mel takes a small step away from Frank in a motion that she tries to not make obvious.

"If I found out Chris was having an emotional affair it'd probably hurt more than if he just got off next to someone. Hell, even if he had sex with them. Like if he had inside jokes with someone else, laughed with someone else, had deep conversations with someone else. Relying on someone else to get through his days at work…yeah that'd kill me. So I guess I'm only standing with the magician if it was just a purely sexual release." Jesse laughs, throwing his hands in the air.

Everyone else goes on to debate about something else but Mel and Frank just stare at each other. Their skin is mutually flushed and they have a guilty look on both their faces.