live a little, get around

By the time he was able to make some initial assessments and pass him off to an ophthalmologist, Frank had a headache and a persistent itch at the top of his spine. He needed a minute to breathe. He needed an aspirin, or a coffee, or maybe just- 

"Hey, Dr. Langdon," Mel said, appearing suddenly beside him, a shot of adrenaline. (She didn’t usually startle him like this - he’d always had a pretty good radar for where she was in relation to him.) "Are you okay?"

Frank groaned theatrically, ready to embellish his story about the confetti cannon asshole for her, when she reached up and placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck. 

It was out of body. He didn’t understand it - he wasn’t used to her touch. Sometimes, recently, it felt like they were both going out of their way to not touch.

Her fingers curled under his collar, and every last one of his arm hairs stood on end. Her knuckles brushed the top of his spine and he felt it in his knees. She was digging around under his scrubs, under his undershirt, skin on skin.

What the fuck is happening right now? 

She'd asked him a question, hadn’t she? He couldn’t bring himself to remember.

"Got it," Mel said, sliding some foreign thing out from under his shirt. 

She held it up between her middle and index fingers: a single piece of confetti, soft pink and delicate.

Frank faintly realized the itch was gone.

"Sorry. I noticed it slipping down and it was going to drive me nuts," she said. Then she looked away from him, down at the floor, like she was embarrassed. 

Frank shoved his hands in his pockets before she could notice them shaking.

"Yeah, me too." He said. "Thanks."

Mel was already walking away. "Mmhmm, no problem,” she mumbled back, without turning around.

He watched as, a few steps down the hall, she absentmindedly slipped the piece of pink plastic into her pocket.