jas

what if u were MISSING AN ELBOW and you'd just defeated the eldritch horror who spawned you via MITOSIS to reach your first WIMBLEDON FINAL. and you had to play your BIGGEST RIVAL against whom you'd suffered the most heartbreaking loss of your career only 1 MONTH ago who also happened to be the 2-time DEFENDING CHAMPION. and you lost the first set and everyone was calling you a FRAUD. but then you harnessed the power of the POPE and approx 20 TUMBLR LESBIANS and proceeded to break his 24-match win streak (and 5-match win streak against you) to WIN THE CHAMPIONSHIP. and then u got drunk and danced with IGA SWIATEK and posted 5 BILLION instagram posts. well i'm happy to report that smth similar happened to my friend jannik sinner

The game goes on for a couple rounds, getting progressively raunchier the longer it goes and the more alcohol is consumed. They’ve gone around the table a few times, with Langdon there to toss in a joke or cutting remark now and then (usually directed at Trinity). Everyone except Mel are teetering towards drunk, while she’s a comfortable tipsy. She has her day off with Becca tomorrow and doesn’t want to risk a hangover ruining it. Langdon is, of course, stone cold sober. 

Trinity leans against the back of her chair, finally ready to pounce. “Never have I ever masturbated while my roommate was home.” She says triumphantly, and her locked look on Dennis tells Mel that she’s trying to catch him out. He sputters and looks at the others helplessly. 

“Trinity, come on, have some dignity!” He screeches, and she just cackles. 

“No can do, buddy boy. I need the truth. Do you bust one out when I’m in the adjoining room?” Dennis pales, which Trinity takes as an admission. Dennis turns to the others, beseeching. 

“We work almost the same exact shifts! We’re in separate rooms! The videos are muted for Christ’s sake! What am I supposed to do?”

The others grimace and want to leave the two of them to argue about it, but Trinity feels compelled to include them for some unknown reason. “Let’s poll the table! Is it okay for my gross straight male roommate to rub one off with me under the same roof?”

 Langdon coughs but, surprising Mel, doesn’t add anything. 

“Got something to add, Langdon?” Trinity fires off. 

“Nope. All my roommates were dudes until I got married. Dudes living with dudes is different.” Mel wonders what, exactly, this means but isn’t about to ask. The others seem to accept it without comment.

Victoria downs the rest of her drink, and mutters, “Better roommate being at home than your parents.” 

Samira nods and adds, “Yeah, which is why I got a studio. It’s the size of a storage closet, but at least there’s no… whatever this is.” She gestures between Trinity and Dennis. 

With Samira and Victoria’s comments said, all eyes turn to Mel, clearly expecting her to contribute. Which is sweet, she guesses. But also unnerving. Mel clears her throat. 

Whitaker and Santos get into a huge blowup fight 10 months after PittFest. It’s ugly. Whitaker has been hired on as an intern for the ED and is finally making money for once, but Santos doesn’t want to admit she feels bad for Huckleberry, so she won’t accept rent from him—

And Whitaker storms out in the middle of the night and spam texts Mel about the whole thing (they’re kinda friends now, bonding over their mutual love and hatred of Star Wars and sharing breakroom snacks). Becca’s recently moved in full time with her care center, so Mel happily offers Dennis a place to crash for awhile in her spare room—she doesn’t make a fuss when Whitaker insists on contributing to the grocery fund. Instead she just slips the same hundred dollar bill back into his wallet without him noticing.

It’s two weeks of this before Frank overhears Dennis asking Mel when she’s headed back home, he’ll meet her at their bus stop, their bus stop, and realizes THE TWITCHY NEW INTERN IS LIVING WITH MEL.

Langdon’s Mel.

And she didn’t tell him. Not when they got dinner last week. Or on their phone call the night before. His mind scrambles. Why wouldn’t she tell him? He’s not bothered. No. Why would he be bothered? It’s not like he’s in love with Mel or anything. It’s not like he’s jealous.

It’s not like he only feels like he can breathe when Mel, golden and kind and all things good, enters the room.

Or as if when she cries, nose going pink, big eyes wet with tears, his heart feels like it’ll implode in on itself until she smiles again.

Or every time he scoots past her in Trauma One, his nose fills with the scent of her shampoo — strawberry hibiscus — and he feels the closest thing to euphoria since he kicked the benzos.

Or when Mel off-handedly offers to babysit his kids if he and Abby ever have plans, he imagines her holding his daughter on her hip, smiling softly. He has to sit down for five minutes before he can get back to work.

(He strategically informs Princess after that conversation that he’s very divorced. Like the most divorced a man can get. Has been since he got out of rehab. He sadly asks for her discretion and she agrees eagerly.)

(The whole ED knows by the end of the hour.)

(Mel sadly gives him a warm sweet-smelling hug in the breakroom once she hears the news. “I’m so sorry, Langdon,” she says in her small voice. Frank feels like the hugest pervert in the world because all he can think is that his divorce lawyer was worth every penny if all he gets is Mel’s arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest).

He reassures himself: it’s not like Whitaker and Mel are a thing. She probably just feels bad about Whitaker having to live with Santos. Yeah. Who wouldn’t feel bad for the poor shmuck?

And then he sees Mel pat Whitaker’s arm gently in sympathy when Robby gives him a problem patient (vomit, irritability, a recipe for disaster). And he no longer feels bad for Whitaker, actually the opposite, he wants to strangle him where he stands.

But he can’t do that, because Mel would be very upset with him.

So when he finds her on the roof after a her shift humming to herself and her face brightens with a smile, he can’t hold it back — “Are you and that kid dating?”

And Mel has to recalibrate, brow furrowing, fair eyebrows scrunching like when she’s confronted with a social cue she doesn’t entirely understand. She’s sitting criss-crossed, looking up at him, vulnerable and soft and small from this angle.

“Who? Dennis?”

And oh fuck, they are dating, she calls him by his FIRST NAME, and she’s never once called him Frank and…

He is fucking in love with her.

“No,” she says. His world stops imploding in an instant. She doesn’t even seem offended. She merely blinks. “Dennis and Trinity are in a fight. I’m letting him crash in Becca’s old room until they make up.”

“Oh. That is… very generous of you, Mel,” says Langdon stiltedly, a rush of relief running through him so quickly, he feels dizzy.

“Yeah. And actually, it’s nice having another person in the house since Becca left,” says Mel wistfully. “She hasn’t wanted to come back since she’s so used to her routine at the center.”

She’s told him about this over ramen cups in her warm, colorful kitchen. Deep green curtains, an amber lamp washing her in red and gold light. Her eyes, misty and lonely. Her chin in the curve of her palm.

He has to stop himself from telling her to kick Whitaker out and he could move in instead. Because that would be crazy and irrational and impulsive.

Fuck it. “I don’t like him living with you, Mel.”

Her eyes widen. “Um. Why? Whitaker’s a perfectly reasonable roommate. He does his dishes and is very neat for a man.”

“No, it’s not that.” Langdon feels like he’s on the edge of a steep precipice, like how he feels looking over the edge of the hospital roof, like the rush of adrenaline after a tense save. “Because I want to be the one to keep you company. To come home with you after a long day. I want to take care of you. If you’ll let me.”

Mel’s mouth opens and shut. She’s shocked. He knows the minute details of her face, the flutter of her pale eyelashes, the tense curve of her mouth. “I… I don’t…”

“I’m in love with you, Mel,” he says, and keeps talking, even though his ego is blistering to admit, “and I’m actually going kind of crazy from jealousy over here. Like behavioral room type crazy. I keep imagining that you and him are…”

“No!” Mel is suddenly on her feet. She looks like she’s glowing. In the distance, there are the wail of car horns and the sounds of the city. The flare of ambulance lights. But all Langdon can do is stare at Mel King. The rest of the world doesn’t really exist. “You’re serious, right? This isn’t, um, a joke or—”

“I would never do that to you, Mel.”

Mel takes a shaky breath. “Oh. I know that.”

“It’s okay if all you want is a friend,” says Langdon, even though that would be excruciating. “Tell me to kick rocks, if you want. I just couldn’t keep it inside for any longer. I couldn’t go a day without letting you know that you’re loved.”

He wants to say more, but he can’t. Because Mel is kissing him.

Her arms are around his neck. Her lips hot on his. It’s awkward and clumsy, because he’s taller than her and she’s on her tip toes, and he hasn’t kissed anyone in a very long time, but then he slides his arms around her waist and yeah. She makes a noise, a sweet noise deep in her throat, and he chases that sound, deepens the kiss, and he forgets about Whitaker, about the ER, about the long hot shower he was looking forward to after work, because Mel is in his arms, her braid loosening under his hands, and she tastes like mint gum and Diet Coke and love.

When they separate, her mouth is flushed and her eyes are glossy. A wisp of honey gold hair brushes her cheek. “Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he whispers back.

“Let’s go on a date soon?” she asks, because she’s the smartest person he knows.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says and then nothing else for a long time, his mouth occupied with far more important things.

- Langdon is the most divorced man of all time

-Mel visits him in rehab

-Mel and McKay are nice to him when he comes back , unlike everyone else

Whitaker and Santos get into a huge blowup fight 10 months after PittFest. It’s ugly. Whitaker has been hired on as an intern for the ED and is finally making money for once, but Santos doesn’t want to admit she feels bad for Huckleberry, so she won’t accept rent from him—

And Whitaker storms out in the middle of the night and spam texts Mel about the whole thing (they’re kinda friends now, bonding over their mutual love and hatred of Star Wars and sharing breakroom snacks). Becca’s recently moved in full time with her care center, so Mel happily offers Dennis a place to crash for awhile in her spare room—she doesn’t make a fuss when Whitaker insists on contributing to the grocery fund. Instead she just slips the same hundred dollar bill back into his wallet without him noticing.

It’s two weeks of this before Frank overhears Dennis asking Mel when she’s headed back home, he’ll meet her at their bus stop, their bus stop, and realizes THE TWITCHY NEW INTERN IS LIVING WITH MEL.

Langdon’s Mel.

And she didn’t tell him. Not when they got dinner last week. Or on their phone call the night before. His mind scrambles. Why wouldn’t she tell him? He’s not bothered. No. Why would he be bothered? It’s not like he’s in love with Mel or anything. It’s not like he’s jealous.

It’s not like he only feels like he can breathe when Mel, golden and kind and all things good, enters the room.

Or as if when she cries, nose going pink, big eyes wet with tears, his heart feels like it’ll implode in on itself until she smiles again.

Or every time he scoots past her in Trauma One, his nose fills with the scent of her shampoo — strawberry hibiscus — and he feels the closest thing to euphoria since he kicked the benzos.

Or when Mel off-handedly offers to babysit his kids if he and Abby ever have plans, he imagines her holding his daughter on her hip, smiling softly. He has to sit down for five minutes before he can get back to work.

(He strategically informs Princess after that conversation that he’s very divorced. Like the most divorced a man can get. Has been since he got out of rehab. He sadly asks for her discretion and she agrees eagerly.)

(The whole ED knows by the end of the hour.)

(Mel sadly gives him a warm sweet-smelling hug in the breakroom once she hears the news. “I’m so sorry, Langdon,” she says in her small voice. Frank feels like the hugest pervert in the world because all he can think is that his divorce lawyer was worth every penny if all he gets is Mel’s arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest).

He reassures himself: it’s not like Whitaker and Mel are a thing. She probably just feels bad about Whitaker having to live with Santos. Yeah. Who wouldn’t feel bad for the poor shmuck?

And then he sees Mel pat Whitaker’s arm gently in sympathy when Robby gives him a problem patient (vomit, irritability, a recipe for disaster). And he no longer feels bad for Whitaker, actually the opposite, he wants to strangle him where he stands.

But he can’t do that, because Mel would be very upset with him.

So when he finds her on the roof after a her shift humming to herself and her face brightens with a smile, he can’t hold it back — “Are you and that kid dating?”

And Mel has to recalibrate, brow furrowing, fair eyebrows scrunching like when she’s confronted with a social cue she doesn’t entirely understand. She’s sitting criss-crossed, looking up at him, vulnerable and soft and small from this angle.

“Who? Dennis?”

And oh fuck, they are dating, she calls him by his FIRST NAME, and she’s never once called him Frank and…

He is fucking in love with her.

“No,” she says. His world stops imploding in an instant. She doesn’t even seem offended. She merely blinks. “Dennis and Trinity are in a fight. I’m letting him crash in Becca’s old room until they make up.”

“Oh. That is… very generous of you, Mel,” says Langdon stiltedly, a rush of relief running through him so quickly, he feels dizzy.

“Yeah. And actually, it’s nice having another person in the house since Becca left,” says Mel wistfully. “She hasn’t wanted to come back since she’s so used to her routine at the center.”

She’s told him about this over ramen cups in her warm, colorful kitchen. Deep green curtains, an amber lamp washing her in red and gold light. Her eyes, misty and lonely. Her chin in the curve of her palm.

He has to stop himself from telling her to kick Whitaker out and he could move in instead. Because that would be crazy and irrational and impulsive.

Fuck it. “I don’t like him living with you, Mel.”

Her eyes widen. “Um. Why? Whitaker’s a perfectly reasonable roommate. He does his dishes and is very neat for a man.”

“No, it’s not that.” Langdon feels like he’s on the edge of a steep precipice, like how he feels looking over the edge of the hospital roof, like the rush of adrenaline after a tense save. “Because I want to be the one to keep you company. To come home with you after a long day. I want to take care of you. If you’ll let me.”

Mel’s mouth opens and shut. She’s shocked. He knows the minute details of her face, the flutter of her pale eyelashes, the tense curve of her mouth. “I… I don’t…”

“I’m in love with you, Mel,” he says, and keeps talking, even though his ego is blistering to admit, “and I’m actually going kind of crazy from jealousy over here. Like behavioral room type crazy. I keep imagining that you and him are…”

“No!” Mel is suddenly on her feet. She looks like she’s glowing. In the distance, there are the wail of car horns and the sounds of the city. The flare of ambulance lights. But all Langdon can do is stare at Mel King. The rest of the world doesn’t really exist. “You’re serious, right? This isn’t, um, a joke or—”

“I would never do that to you, Mel.”

Mel takes a shaky breath. “Oh. I know that.”

“It’s okay if all you want is a friend,” says Langdon, even though that would be excruciating. “Tell me to kick rocks, if you want. I just couldn’t keep it inside for any longer. I couldn’t go a day without letting you know that you’re loved.”

He wants to say more, but he can’t. Because Mel is kissing him.

Her arms are around his neck. Her lips hot on his. It’s awkward and clumsy, because he’s taller than her and she’s on her tip toes, and he hasn’t kissed anyone in a very long time, but then he slides his arms around her waist and yeah. She makes a noise, a sweet noise deep in her throat, and he chases that sound, deepens the kiss, and he forgets about Whitaker, about the ER, about the long hot shower he was looking forward to after work, because Mel is in his arms, her braid loosening under his hands, and she tastes like mint gum and Diet Coke and love.

When they separate, her mouth is flushed and her eyes are glossy. A wisp of honey gold hair brushes her cheek. “Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he whispers back.

“Let’s go on a date soon?” she asks, because she’s the smartest person he knows.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says and then nothing else for a long time, his mouth occupied with far more important things.