She wanted to cry. The email on her phone all but screaming at her.
Management expect the attendance of the following staff members at the UPMC Annual Fundraiser:
Melissa King (MD Emergency department.)
Formal attire mandatory.
Who the hell would pick her for a social event? She of the clueless directness? Her stomach churned at the thought. The old fear of being at the end of some mean prank. Being asked out by the most popular person in school and just getting torn to shreds.
‘You look like I feel.’ Dr Mohan sat down opposite her with a cup of water and two protein bars. One outstretched to Mel. Her smile felt tight and wobbly as she took the offered bar.
‘Feels like high school.’ Immediately she could tell that Dr Mohan didn’t really get what Mel was saying. At least on the level Mel had experienced. She’d seen it not felt it.
Mohan rubbed at her temple. ‘I barely know how to wash my face. They expect me to be all dressed up.’
‘I may break my ankle? I don’t do well in heels.’
Mohan’s face blanched. ‘I didn’t even think of the shoes.’
Both women sat in horrified silence. ‘And scrubs are not appropriate attire.’ Mel flinched as Dr Mohan’s head hit the table. The noise she utter may have been a shriek but it did morph into laughter.
Mel found herself joining in easily. Some days, increasingly often days felt more like herself in her black scrubs. Maybe Becca was right. She needed more time out of them. Garcia stormed into the room. Her hair fraying slightly. ‘You two invited to this shindig too?’
Her angular face frowned at the both. ‘Why do you look like someone just died?’
‘I’m not going.’ Dr Mohan pouted, crossing her arms and staring up at the ceiling. Slightly undercut but the reddening mark on her forehead.
Garcia leant over the table. Mel backed up quickly. ‘Hate to burst your bubble but Al-Hashimi is on the warpath about it.’ Mel winced. Dr Al could be tenacious at best. The surgeon turned to Mel with just as much fire. ‘And don’t think about faking a sister emergency. There will be consequences.’
‘But I don’t know how to-’
Dr Mohan gestured at herself. Panic in her voice and her trembling hands. Mel got it. Garcia’s head whipped back and forth. Her sigh was weary and worn. And if Mel wasn’t kidding herself, there was a good deal of fondness in it. ‘This is going to be a fucking montage isn’t it???’
And given the dark plum backless silk dress she picked out ended up on Frank’s floor barely half way through the gala. Garcia should have become a stylist.
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Draco sent him a post on Instagram and that is where it began.
Pov: you are enemies, but you want him to pin you and your hands to the wall and kiss you.
Harry: Did you send this by mistake or was this intentional?
Draco: If you like it, it was intentional. If you don't and if you don't want to pin me and my hands to the wall and kiss me, it was a mistake. You choose.
Harry: Draco
Draco: Harry
Harry: Say, I do want to pin you to the wall and kiss you?
Draco: So, do it. Besides, I had to send you that post because you are dense, and you won't kiss me.
Harry: WE'RE ENEMIES
Draco: Harry, if you've been enemies for 7+ years, you're not enemies, you're gay and in love.
Draco: Harry???
Draco: I will block you if you don't text me back in the next two seconds, Potter.
Harry: ......
Harry: Kinky fucker. I'm on my way.
tags (because this is funny and it might make you laugh/smile)<3 @inflation-of-mind @missdrarrydawn @sorry-i-ship-drarry @harryandginnydeservesbetter @dearly-devoted-dawdler @textrovert-01 @phoebe-delia @nv-md @slytherinnbitch @jooncookie (it's floof) @rockingrobin69
Over the word count. Could not get it under or a. Not a hope in hell.
-------------
‘Will your far lesser half ever get up to sing?’ Santos elbowed Mel none to gently. She looked at her... friend? Mel struggled to define their relationship. One moment it was a verbal battle Mel hated, the next such deep emotional vulnerability that felt far too raw.
So they were... something friend adjacent.
‘It’s up to him. Not everyone likes to sing publicly.’
‘And some people shouldn’t.’
Mel puffed up her cheeks. Refusing the take the obvious bait. Two ginger ales. Dr La- Frank was watching the current singer with a forced pleasant look on his face. The current singer was... middling at best. ‘Thanks Mel.’ They both flinched as the woman butchered the last note of Defying Gravity. ‘Oh thank god.’ His face was exaggeratedly relieved as she made her way off the stage. ‘She was... enthusiastic.’
Mel giggled a little. ‘Careful you might alter your reputation.’ Frank shook his head with a fond grin. Santos was a little annoyed that Mel had invited him to karaoke. But she had invited half the department – and Dr Garcia. And Mel wanted him there.
‘Perish the thought.’ Whitaker took the mic. Mel tried to arrange her face in an intrigued expression. A gentle nudge at her shin had her checking under the table. Frank’s eyebrows lifted a little. ‘Careful you might harm your reputation.’
While Whitakers song choice of Ed Sheeran wasn’t exactly groundbreaking or inspired. His voice was beautiful. Everyone was thrown by it. Santos had dropped her drink on Dr Garcia’s shoes. ‘Can’t believe I am sympathising with Santos.’ Frank exhaled with an exaggerated face. ‘I’ve been there.’
‘Well at least Trinity has more options for apologising than you did.’ She winced. Why did she say the stupidest things?? Frank stared at her silently for a long moment. Then snorted.
Through loud pearls of laughter he managed to speak. ‘You are fucking hilarious.’ Mel glowed. People thought her weird. Or laughed at her. Never that she was hilarious. Until him.
Dr Garcia knocked a still laughing Frank on the shoulder. ‘You’re the only hold out.’
‘I’m an observer not a participator.’
Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Oh you will participate.’ Mel frowned as Garcia hissed something in his ear. Panicked blue eyes glanced at Mel. Why?
Dragged to the stage, they continued having hissed argument stage.
A single note rang out. Frank jolted to attention.
‘Oh god he was a fucking emo as a kid wasn’t he? Eyeliner the full thing.’ His voice was lovely. Deep and rich but Mel mostly appreciated how unafraid he was to get into the music.
Mel had always like the emo kids. They didn’t pick on her. And were nice. The idea of Frank’s eyes surrounded by dark liner. Mel felt a little guilty for thinking things like that about her married friend.
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"Draco?" Harry spoke softly while he came into their bedroom to find Draco beneath a blanket fort with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, "love, what's wrong?"
But he heard a soft sob instead, "Mind if I sit with you, love?"
"Please," Draco whispered, a breath caught in the back of his throat and Harry went to him in the split of a second, "Results for the healer exam - I didn't score well."
"Oh, Draco." Harry brushed off the tears with his thumb and kissed his eyelids for good measure, "do you want a reassurance, or do you want us to outweigh our options for a solution?"
Draco rested his head on his chest and said, "Both, tonight?"
"Sure, we'll do both and I bought us ice cream and rented your favourite movie."
"I want to write you a song." Harry whispers to him, a secret spoken in the night light that will be held between them forever, "I'm not a writer but I do, I want to write you a song."
Draco trails the back of his fingers over his cheek, "What would it be like?"
Harry kisses the back of his hand, "A song that is beautiful but sad, a song that would describe what it's like when you and I are not together."
"Heartbreak is what is it, love."
"It is, isn't it?"
A tear slides down his cheek, "Will you promise that you'll write that song for me?"
It's not over yet.
"I wish I could, baby."
Draco rests a hand over his heart, "No, we can win the war, you don't have to sacrifice yourself."
A knot forms in his throat.
It's not over yet.
A soft light rustles through the trees. The castle behind them is in ruins. It's not over yet, "I want to write you a song, one to make your heart remember me so that when I'm gone you can hear it and sing along."
Harry kisses him softly one last time with a whisper of I love you, "I want to write you a song."
The flames of the fireplace dance through the amber liquid of the glass in his hand, the hearth fire has now burnt down to embers and it casts a soft, warm light over the room and he is not sober.
Shocker.
Harry trails his fingers down his arm, to his hand and slots their fingers together. He would hold on forever, if he could, "I'd sell my own soul for emerald stones because green is your favourite colour."
"Harry," Draco rests their foreheads together and traces a thumb over his cheekbone, "Green is my favourite colour because it's the colour of your eyes and no emerald stones can beat the green of your eyes."
A knot forms in his throat.
"Thought it was because you were a true slytherin."
"Why, what's your favourite colour?"
Soft silver, dove-grey, ocean blue, the winter, summer and autumn lights caught in those colors, "The colour of your eyes change with the light - whatever is the colour of your eyes becomes my favourite."
A delicate rosy blush tints Draco's pale cheeks and that becomes his favourite colour too, "All the colors of you become my favourite."
