frank langdon’s chain

you do not have to be good

kingdon childhood friends to lovers au | 5k | @kingdonweek different first meetings | mature

“Uh, yeah. Well, it’s Frank. Langdon. Langdon’s my last name,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “nice to meet you then, Frankie.”

He shuddered.

“It’s just Frank. Only my dad calls me Frankie so that means I hate it.”

She tilted her head in question, her eyes examining him carefully.

“Let me make it mean something else then,” she said.

Exactly one pair of heels, simple and black with a delicate strap across the ankle, sat on the top shelf of Mel’s closet, the shelf where she put the things she didn’t need to reach. She had to use the step ladder to reach them again, a layer of dust from the lack of wear since her med school graduation, before that since her mother’s funeral.

Her first date with Frank was the first time she had really wanted to dress up. She spent all day giving herself butterflies at the thought of his smile when he saw her, hair down and outside of the harsh hospital light. So, she spent the evening primping herself; blowdrying her hair so it bounced the way she loved, running the practical, multi-use pink tint she could justify purchasing over her lips and cheeks, and even blinking on some mascara (although it annoyed her, when her lashes touched her lenses). Then, she slipped on her dress, green satin clinging to her hips, and into the heels she had climbed for.

The preparations worked, she was fairly sure, almost exactly the way she anticipated. His jaw dropped open for a second when she opened the door, eyes trailing down the bare skin of her legs, adjusting his expression to a smile when he saw the shoes.

“You look beautiful,” he said, just like he did in her daydreams.

He picked a spot he thought she would love for dinner, a historic restaurant on the water with gentle live jazz, and he was right. It was perfect, the candlelight and the food and the music and his face as he hungrily glanced over her body. She felt like she was in a dream. Until after dinner.

He led her down the walkway by the waterfront, a rough cobblestone path under her skinny heels. She wobbled, catching herself, her ankles twisting painfully as she the balls of her feet started to throb with overuse.

“Mel…”

“Mhm?”

She turned to look at him, his smile poorly hidden. Adjusting her stance, her foot went completely sideways, and she winced as she regained her balance, trying to act natural.

“You can have mine,” he said, squatting to untie his laces.

“What? No, it’s—“

“Mel,” he said, standing to grab her arms, “I don’t want to stop talking yet. I’m having a great time, like the best date of my life great. So just take my damn shoes.”

She nodded and found a bench nearby to unbuckle her own shoes from. Frank placed his, comically oversized, dress shoes onto her feet and tied them. He wrapped the straps of her heels around his hand, slinging them over his shoulder as they walked their way down the path.

i’m imagining her, twenty-six or so with the job she secured straight out of undergrad at an advertising agency or an accounting firm— something where she dresses well in clacky heels and feels accomplished. i see her coming home to the now empty apartment she usually shares with a roommate, one of her sorority sisters from college. she secretly hopes that frank will ask her to move in, once he finally graduates med school im a few months. it wouldn’t even make a lot of sense really. he’s still broke and won’t be making much even once he starts his residency. they haven’t even been together half a year, anyway. but she hopes he still might.

was she alone, when she took the test? pacing around her bathroom with her hands on her head, waiting for the longest two minutes of her life to go by? were they always careful, or was she reckless, too wrapped up in the whirlwind of their sexual connection without stopping to think twice about the consequences? was she scared about the results, or did she already know deep down?

i can picture her sitting on the edge of the tub, heart pounding in her chest as her hearing goes fuzzy, turning the test over in her hands with two distinct lines, not even questionable in the slightest. i can’t help but wonder if she considered not telling him at all. was she worried about his reaction? that he’d get angry at her because he was about to enter the most stressful four years of his life, even if it was nobodies fault? did she think he would be excited? was he? was she?

i can’t help but wonder about who suggested the marriage first. was it her, terrified of being left alone? was it him, bound to his desire to be everything for everyone? did they agree? did they fight? did she think the day of her wedding would be the happiest day of her life?

warning! sexually explicit 🚨😋🤞

A few weeks after his first shift back, the air-conditioning broke in the ED. Frank still had ten hours left in his shift.

“Back up generator?” he’d suggested to Dana, one ear on the phone with the repair company.

She met him with slow shake of her head. It had nothing to do with the power, just a failed compressor or capacitor or something he was only half listening to, fixated on the sensation of sweat dripping down his spine.

Frank ran hot. Always had. It was like he’d feel himself roasting from the inside out, the heat of the air around him absorbing directly into his bloodstream. He was miserable, drenched in sweat, distracted, and getting more irritable by the second. He snapped a little, at a patient in his fifties who wouldn’t stop complaining about the temperature. Mel pulled him into the break room after that.

“I’m fine, Mel, I’m just cranky because-“

“You’re hot. I get it. But you’re acting mean and you need a break,” she said.

Even her delicate touch was unwelcome to him in his current state, his skin sticky and red, but he let her lead him by a hand on his bicep to the freezer. She opened it up and gently tapped on his back, encouraging him to lean in. The frosty air whipped around his face as he felt his shoulders drop for the first time all day.

“Popsicle?” she asked, reaching past his shoulder to pull out two.

She stuck a green one in his hands, and he enjoyed the stinging cold of it in his palm. She unwrapped her red one, the only kind she would eat, she explained. He made space for her to lean into the freezer next to him, frosty breeze blowing at the hairs that had come loose from her braid.

They faced each other, sheen of sweat visible on their cheeks, hair sticking to their foreheads. He watched as she closed her lips around the popsicle, sucking the juice with a satisfying pop. The juice stained her mouth, pouted and round like a ripe cherry. She stuck her tongue out, soft and pink, to drag the popsicle down the length of it, swirling around the tip.

Frank’s mouth fell open when she met his eyes, cheeks hollowing as she sucked it into her mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered, bunny teeth scraping into the ice when she reached the end. He could feel his dick springing up in scrub pants, leaning further into the fridge.

“Starting to cool down a little,” she sighed, leaning into her hip. “Feel good?”

The juice of his own snack began to melt onto his hand as he stared.

“Feels great. Thanks.”

“We always monitor Vitamin C levels with Crohn's Disease. Malabsorption occasionally leads to scurvy,” said Robby.

A reminder during rounds, based on a close call overnight, but Mel chuckled at the memory they shared on their first days. South sixteen went quiet as she caught herself, hand over her mouth to hold the laugh inside.

But her eyes met Langdon’s in the crowd, bright and blue, a knowing smile on and eyebrows raised, always finding a way to say, “I remember, too.”

Santos asked Mel about her and Becca’s zoo trip and Mel babbled on happily, drawing out the story with details. Langdon pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping, refilling his mug. 

“That’s riveting stuff, Melody,” she said, half-listening, “but I have a case of chlamydia to diagnose. Later.”

Mel looked up at Frank with what he could only describe as the eyes of a shelter cat, the shy one curled up in the corner, who watches you intently. 

“I didn’t know they put in a butterfly exhibit. Haven’t taken the kids yet. Would you go back?” he asked, taking the seat next to her. 

She could tell he was having a rough day; dark undereyes, face unshaven and stubbly in a way she wished she enjoyed less. 

The drunk patient set him off, the one who was handcuffed to the bed because he picked a fight with his teenage son and lost. He saw the sobriety bracelet on Frank’s wrist next to the one that said “dad” and made one too many jokes about the similarities between them. She could see him teetering on the edge of something, just before he looked at her. 

She nodded towards the ambulance bay, and wordlessly he understood what she was saying:

“You’ll get through this, like you always do, and I’ll help you do it, like I always will”

His breathing had already slowed down by the time they met outside, her arms wrapping around him.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him, not after last night, not when each glance offered flashbacks; her hands tangled in his hair, his mouth on her neck, their bodies held against each other.

He was getting a kick out of it, she could tell, the way he could easily melt her now that the floodgates were broken. 

Mel got through the day relatively unscathed, pleased that she managed to maintain her composure as she changed out of her scrubs. It was just her luck that Frank and Garcia walked in, both of their eyes glancing over the exposed skin of her shoulders and neck. 

“Jesus Christ, are you hooking up with Dracula?” said Garcia, laughing as she walked past Mel, who had gone pale. 

Frank was frozen in place, his eyes glazed over and hungry as they met hers, his mouth curling into a devilish smirk.