#classic move

He knew it as soon as it happened. He hadn’t hit anyone in a long time—not that it had ever been a habit, or anything—but at least he’d remembered not to tuck his thumb in, which was more than he could say for his opponent. The guy had stumbled but swung at Frank anyway, clipping his shoulder with a hit that he knew would bruise later—but the guy’s hand made an ugly snapping sound, and Frank knew exactly what that meant.

In any case, Frank’s knuckles were suddenly bloody and aching, and he was gearing up for a second punch when Mel was suddenly grasping his arm, pulling him back with a force he didn’t know she was capable of.

He was in a daze after that. He doesn’t remember how he came to be inside her apartment, but he clearly had, because she’s currently sitting across from him at her tiny kitchenette table, a tactical first-aid kit spread out before them.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Mel says quietly, oddly still for the moment. She’s not looking at him, but instead at a random spot on the table, and Frank doesn’t know where to start.

“But he threatened you,” Frank says, astounded by her lack of reaction. It’s almost as if she were all too familiar with this kind of behavior, which—which is not good, he thinks. It’s actually bad, even. Very, very bad. “Wait a second, has this happened before?”

Mel sighs as she finally moves, angling her body so one of her knees slots in between his as she pops open the first-aid kit. She doesn’t answer him; instead, she slowly reaches her hand out to examine his, but he jerks it away before she can take it. “Mel—answer the question. Has this guy been harassing you?”

“Frank,” she says, her voice small. She’s looking at him in the way she does when he’s doing something she doesn’t like, but Frank doesn’t soften this time. Her lack of response is all the confirmation he needs, and suddenly his anger returns tenfold, twentyfold—he doesn’t even know, really, but—he can’t believe she’s living in such a shitty apartment complex in the worst part of town, all alone, with the creepiest, sleaziest tenants who—

“Jesus Christ, Mel,” he says, and then he’s standing, turning to head back toward her front door. He’s going to make it very clear, very quickly, that this apartment and its occupants are not to be fucked with.

“Wait!”

He hears her footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t stop on his own accord. He’s only brought to a halt by Mel herself, her hands gripping his forearm so tight they feel like a vice—and, as he faces her again, because she’s looking at him with such a panicked expression that it makes his heart seize.

“I’ll answer your questions, okay? Just—just don’t go back out there. Please.”

She’s breathing heavy, and it does something to him that he can’t explain with rational thought, so he gives in. “Fine,” he’s saying, his voice low and weighted. “But please tell me what’s going on. I’m—I’m worried about you.”

Mel swallows at that, her eyes big and brimming with moisture he hadn’t noticed until now. She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek, and Frank’s fury dissipates into mist. He folds like a piece of goddamn paper, his hands reaching out to cradle her face.

“Mel, baby,” he says, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “I won’t go back out there. I promise, okay? I just—”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, and Frank’s thumbs continue to swipe softly across her cheeks. “Nothing’s ever been that bad before—just the typical cat-calling or lewd remarks, and never around Becca—so I think—I think he’s started to notice you coming around with me, and—”

Something hot flashes through Frank, his right hand tightening under her jaw. “Well, too bad it’s none of his fucking business—”

Mel flinches. “I know, okay? I didn’t have a lot of options when Becca and I first moved here; the center ended up costing a little bit more than I thought it would, and I couldn’t—I need that help, Frank—”

“I know you do,” he says, and God, he hates how hopeless she sounds. How is it fair that Mel—who does nothing but put good back into the world—is left to this? He can’t stand it. “But if this is what’s waiting for you—and Becca—at the end of every single day, I’m not having it, Mel.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to come in here like a—” she hesitates, her throat shifting as she swallows.

Frank honestly doesn’t know what she was about to say. There are so many avenues she could’ve gone down, but for some reason, he actually thinks he might have an idea. They’ve been dancing around the formality for weeks, and it’s been killing him inside, but he doesn’t want to rush her. Mel needs to come to things on her own terms, and he’s more than okay with that.

“Like what?” he asks, and it comes out like a dare. A sexy dare, even, but he can’t rein it in. She’s looking at him like he’s ready to go to war for her, and he is—if only she’d let him.

She licks her lips as she looks down, embarrassed. It takes her a few seconds for her to make eye contact again, and when she does, he waits with bated breath. “Like an overprotective boyfriend, or something.”

Ah. So he was correct, then. He gives her a slight nod, his hand still bloody and raw, but he couldn’t care less. “What if I were to tell you,” he starts, as gently as he can, “that that’s exactly what I am?”

Mel takes in a breath, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Her voice is soft when she says, “I’d say that I’m sorry that you have to be. Overprotective, I mean,” she adds quickly, her cheeks reddening.

He can’t believe it. He’d expected her to shy away, expected her to be afraid of how serious this Thing between them had been blooming lately, but maybe he’d misread her. He certainly knows how he feels—he’s insanely in love with her, has been for a long time—but he hadn’t wanted to scare her. Not this early, not when they had been “officially” dating for only six weeks. Maybe, though, he can afford to be more straightforward at the present moment.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And,” he says, his voice low between them, “at the risk of sounding like an overprotective boyfriend, I have to ask—what’s the penalty if you break your lease?”

She heaves a deep sigh before she says, “It’s actually up at the end of next month, so if I can make it until then, I’ll—”

Frank drops his hands from her face, stepping away as he does some mental math. “Wait, you’re out of here in—36—no, 33—days?”

Mel nods mutely.

Before he can stop himself, he lets out a winded laugh. “Oh, this is so decided, then—go pack a bag, Mel.”

She blinks at him, her expression confused at first, but then he spots the exact moment she understands his meaning. She shakes her head, gesturing wildly between them. “Frank, I’m not moving in with you—”

“It’s not permanent,” he interrupts, shaking his head. Yet, he thinks. “We’ll look at places for you and Becca to move into for March. But—come on. You can’t stay here.”

Mel hesitates, but he can tell she’s close to acquiescing. He just needs to sweeten the pot a little, is all.

“You can even have your own bedroom, if you want. Becca can take the spare, and then I’ll have Tanner and Sarah share for a little bit so you can take Sarah’s—”

“But you just completely redid Sarah’s room!”

Frank waves his hand, dismissive. “It’s for a month, Mel, and they’re kids. They love you! Sarah would actually be happy to give you hers—she’d probably want to stay with you, though, if we’re honest.”

His trick works. Mel lets out a small laugh, her expression breaking into the sweet smile he knows and loves. She stills after a second, though, her eyes finding his. “You know this is crazy, right? We haven’t even—I mean, these are extenuating circumstances, and—”

God, he loves her. He loves her and he loves her mind and—sometimes he thinks he might be sick, walking around with all this goddamn emotion for her inside his body. “I know,” he says, nearing her again. He reaches out to touch her, but then she catches sight of his bloodied hand and she recoils, her palm flying to her forehead.

“Oh my God, your hand!” she exclaims, her eyes wide. She tugs him by the wrist toward her kitchenette, and he lets her, but he pulls back once she starts piling up the necessary medical supplies.

“Baby, please go pack a bag. I can do this myself.”

“But it’s your right hand—”

“But nothing. I can handle this, I promise,” he says, and he makes a show of popping open a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “And you should remember that I’m ambidextrous, or do I have to remind you of that, too?”

Mel flushes at his words, a deep crimson blush blooming across her cheeks, and Frank sends her a final smirk. “Go.”

After a moment, Mel gives him the tiniest nod. “Okay,” she says softly, her feet padding down the hall. Only a few seconds pass before she pokes her head out of her bedroom, her eyes narrowed. “But I mean it, Frank. It’s only temporary, and we’re not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, a lazy smile crossing his face. He waits until she disappears from view as he repeats in a mock whisper, “Temporary.”