mimi

A tiny, shiny, ridiculously detailed thing hanging from your badge reel, half-hidden against the pocket of your scrubs. It swung every time you moved, catching the fluorescent light of the ED in little flashes of colour. Most people would not have looked twice at it. Most people would have seen it as just another piece of plastic merch, something cute and bright attached to a tired med student trying very hard not to look like they had no idea where they were supposed to be.

Parker noticed it immediately.

You were standing at the nurses’ station with Lena beside you, nodding along while she pointed out where things were kept, where you were allowed to stand without getting trampled, and which attendings were likely to teach versus which ones would make you regret choosing medicine. Abbott was behind the desk, already looking halfway done with the night even though it had barely started. Cruz was restocking a drawer with the concentrated frustration of someone who had done it three times already and knew nobody would keep it organized. Shen passed by with a chart tucked under one arm, offering you a polite smile that made you feel only slightly less like you were being dropped into deep water without floaties.

And Parker, who had been listening to precisely none of this, looked at your badge reel and said, “Is that the limited drop from the anniversary set?”

Lena stopped talking.

Abbott looked up.

Cruz’s hand froze inside the drawer.

You blinked, sure for one second that you had hallucinated the question out of stress, sleep deprivation, and the vending machine coffee you had chugged in the parking lot.

Then you looked down at the keychain.

Then back at Parker.

Your whole face lit up.

“Oh my God,” you said, with the kind of startled joy that made it impossible to pretend you were calm. “You know what this is?”

Parker’s expression barely changed, but something in her eyes sharpened with quiet amusement. “I know what it is.”

“That is not the same as answering the question.”

“I answered the question.”

“No, you dodged the question.” You held the keychain up between two fingers, the nerves of your first shift suddenly pushed aside by sheer disbelief. “This was online for nine minutes before it sold out. Nine. I had three tabs open and my phone in my hand. I nearly cried when the order confirmation came through.”

Parker tilted her head slightly. “That seems like an intense response to a keychain.”

“It is not just a keychain.”

“Clearly.”

“It is from the anniversary set.”

“I know.”

“And it’s the version with the alternate costume.”

“I can see that.”

“And the tiny symbol on the back is actually from episode seven, not episode eight, which means whoever designed this knew what they were doing, because most people confuse those two episodes even though the emotional context is completely different.”

For the first time since you had walked into the ED, Parker smiled.

It was not a big smile. It was barely even a smile, honestly. More like the corner of her mouth gave up resisting gravity in the opposite direction for half a second. But it was enough.

Enough for Abbott to stare. Enough for Lena to glance between the two of you with interest. Enough for Cruz to mouth, What the hell? to Shen across the desk.

You did not notice any of it. You were too busy looking at Parker like she had just revealed herself to be the only other person in the hospital with taste.

“You’ve seen the show?” you asked.

“No.”

Your excitement stumbled. “You haven’t?”

“No.”

“But you recognized the keychain.”

“Yes.”

“So you know the merch, but you haven’t seen the show?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That is suspicious.”

“It’s not suspicious.”

“It’s extremely suspicious.”

“I collect limited releases.”

You stared at her. Parker stared back, perfectly composed.

“Limited releases,” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Of anything?”

“Mostly.”

“That is somehow nerdier than if you just watched the show.”

From behind the desk, Abbott made a soft choking sound that might have been a laugh trying to escape and getting strangled halfway up. Parker glanced over once, flatly, and Abbott immediately became very interested in the chart in front of him.

You realized, belatedly, that you had just called an attending nerdy on your first night in the emergency department. Your stomach dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “That was not professional. I didn’t mean—well, I did mean it, but not in a disrespectful way. More in a very impressed and slightly confused way. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Parker looked at you for a beat too long.

Then she said, “Don’t.”

You blinked. “Don’t… stop talking?”

“You were explaining episode seven.”

“Oh.” Your fingers tightened around the badge reel. “Right. Okay. So episode seven is actually where the whole thing shifts because up until then you think the main conflict is external, but it’s not. It’s about identity and memory and whether you can still be yourself if everyone around you only recognizes the version of you they need you to be—”

Lena slowly lowered her hand from where she had been pointing toward the medication room. Cruz had abandoned the drawer completely. Shen, who had only meant to pause for a second, remained paused and Abbott leaned back in his chair, watching Parker Ellis—Parker, who treated casual conversation like an unnecessary invasive procedure—stand in the middle of the nurses’ station and listen to a brand-new med student explain fictional lore with total, unwavering attention.

Parker did not interrupt you. She did not check her watch. She did not look around for an escape route. She simply stood there, arms loosely crossed, eyes on you, occasionally asking a short question that somehow proved she had actually been following every word.

“And the symbol?” she asked.

You lit up again. “Exactly! The symbol is the whole point.”

Abbott looked at Lena. Lena looked at Abbott.

Cruz whispered, “Are we all seeing this?” Shen whispered back, “I think so.”

Santos, who had picked up a double and was already regretting every choice that had led her there, rounded the corner with a stack of discharge papers and stopped dead. “Why is Parker talking to the med student?” she asked.

Nobody answered. Mostly because nobody knew.

By the end of the shift, you had survived two laceration repairs, one patient who called you “sweetheart” until Parker appeared beside you and corrected him without raising her voice, three cups of terrible coffee, and one near-death experience involving a supply closet door you opened directly into your own forehead.

You had also somehow ended up in Parker’s orbit. Not intentionally. At least, not at first. She was just there.

When Lena sent you to observe a patient evaluation, Parker was the one doing it. When Abbott asked someone to grab you before a trauma came in, Parker was already pointing you toward gloves and telling you where to stand. When you forgot where the clean blankets were, Parker walked past and said, “Second left, bottom shelf,” without even slowing down.

It was not warm, exactly. Parker was not warm in any obvious way. She did not fuss or soften her voice or make things easy just because you were new. She still expected you to keep up, still corrected you when you missed something, still gave you that unreadable look when you answered a question too quickly and not carefully enough.

But she also noticed.

She noticed when you were overwhelmed and sent you to get water before you could embarrass yourself by swaying in front of a patient. She noticed when your hands were shaking after your first code and quietly gave you a task simple enough to anchor yourself to. She noticed when your badge reel got caught on a drawer handle and untangled it before you accidentally yanked the whole thing off your scrub top.

And every now and then, in between blood work and imaging orders and the constant restless motion of the ED, she would ask something that made your brain short-circuit.

“So episode seven,” she said two weeks later, while washing her hands at the sink beside you. “That’s the one with the memory reveal?”

You almost dropped the paper towel dispenser key Lena had trusted you with. “You remember that?”

Parker looked mildly offended. “You talked for twelve minutes.”

“You timed me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely timed me.”

“I estimated.”

“That’s worse.”

She shrugged, drying her hands. “Was I wrong?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too obviously. “No.”

“Then keep going.”

So you did.

You told her about the memory reveal, then the cast interview, then the theory that had been floating around fan spaces for years. Parker listened while checking a medication order. She listened while walking with you to the vending machines. She listened while you both stood in the break room at three in the morning, the hospital humming around you, your untouched coffee going lukewarm in your hands because you were too busy explaining why one line of dialogue had changed the entire interpretation of a character arc.

Somewhere between those conversations, between exhausted midnight coffees and stolen moments beside supply carts, Parker stopped being the intimidating attending who had recognized your keychain and became Parker. Just Parker.

The person who remembered your favourite character even though she still refused to watch the show.

The person who sent you a link to a merch restock at two in the afternoon with no message except, This yours?

The person who once showed up to shift with a tiny enamel pin in her palm and said, “Found it,” like she had not spent actual time tracking down something you had mentioned once while half-asleep.

The person who kissed you for the first time outside the hospital after a shift that had left you both quiet and wrung out, her thumb resting gently against your jaw, her expression calm but her eyes careful, as if even then she was watching for the smallest sign that you wanted her to stop.

You did not want her to stop.

After that, it became both easier and more complicated. At work, nothing changed. Or at least, nothing obvious changed.

Parker was still Parker. She still had the social patience of a locked door. She still gave Abbott a deadpan stare whenever he tried to joke his way out of paperwork. She still told Santos, “No,” before she even finished asking for favours. She still made Cruz roll his eyes at least four times a night and could reduce an overconfident intern to humble silence with one raised eyebrow.

But with you, she softened in increments so small nobody should have noticed them. Nobody should have noticed the way she always left the last decent coffee pod for you. Nobody should have noticed how she angled her body toward you when you spoke. Nobody should have noticed that when the ED got too loud, Parker somehow always found a reason to send you somewhere quieter for thirty seconds.

Nobody should have noticed.

Unfortunately, the night crew noticed everything.

“I think she adopted you,” Shen said one night, as you both restocked gloves.

You frowned. “Who?”

“Parker.”

You shoved a stack of mediums into place and tried very hard to keep your face neutral. “She did not adopt me.”

“She definitely adopted you.”

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

“It’s a weird thing to watch.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that mean?”

Shen shrugged, too casual. “She doesn’t glare at you.”

“She glares at me all the time.”

“No. She looks at you. Different thing.”

You were saved from answering by Cruz calling for help from trauma two, and you spent the next thirty minutes convincing yourself that Shen was just observant in the annoying way all good doctors were.

Then, an hour later, Abbott caught Parker handing you a granola bar. He stared. Parker stared back. You took the granola bar and pretended this was very normal.

Abbott pointed at it. “Where did that come from?”

“My pocket,” Parker said.

“You carry snacks now?”

“No.”

“You just had that?”

“Yes.”

“For who?”

Parker’s face went blank in the way it did when she had decided she was finished with a conversation. “For people with low blood sugar.”

Abbott looked at you. You looked at the granola bar. Parker walked away. Cruz appeared at Abbott’s shoulder, eyes narrowed. “That was weird, right?”

Abbott nodded slowly. “Very.”

“It’s like watching a wolf feed a baby deer.”

“Don’t say that where HR can hear you.”

By the time the trailer dropped, you and Parker had been dating for three months. Nobody knew. At least, you were pretty sure nobody knew.

The thing about dating Parker was that she did not become a different person. She did not suddenly turn sweet in a way that felt false, did not start using pet names in public, did not drape herself over you or make a show of affection in places where people could see.

Parker’s love was quieter than that. It lived in the details. In the spare hoodie that appeared in her car because you always forgot one. In the way she learned your takeout order without asking twice. In the fact that she never once made you feel silly for caring too much about fictional worlds and limited-edition merchandise and characters that felt real enough to hurt.

So when the trailer dropped during the slowest stretch of a Tuesday night shift, you forgot where you were.

Completely.

You had been standing near the nurses’ station, trying to update a patient note while your phone buzzed in your pocket once, then twice, then so many times in a row that you knew something had happened. Your fandom group chat only became that unhinged in very specific circumstances: a casting announcement, a cancellation scare, a surprise merch drop, or a trailer.

You checked your phone. Your heart stopped. Then restarted somewhere in your throat.

“Oh my God.”

Lena glanced over. “Everything okay?”

You did not answer. Your thumbs moved faster than your thoughts. The trailer thumbnail stared back at you, dramatic and glossy and real after months of rumours. You pressed play for exactly three seconds before realising you could not process this alone.

You looked up.

Across the station, Parker was charting beside Abbott, her face set in its usual expression of quiet irritation as Santos explained something with too many hand gestures.

“So I’m just saying,” Santos continued, “technically, if the patient said he swallowed one battery, but the girlfriend says she saw him with three—”

“Order imaging,” Parker said without looking at her.

“I did.”

“Then why are you still talking?”

Santos blinked. “Because I was providing context.”

“You provided it.”

Abbott snorted. Parker’s jaw tightened.

You moved before you could overthink it, crossing the station with your phone clutched in one hand. “Parker.”

Her head lifted immediately. Not slowly. Not with annoyance. Immediately.

“What happened?”

“The trailer dropped.”

Parker stared at you for half a second. Then, with complete seriousness, she said, “The trailer?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “The trailer,” you repeated.

Something shifted in her expression. Recognition, not of the trailer itself, but of your excitement. Of the scale of it. Of what it meant that you had come to her first. She turned away from her computer. Abbott’s typing slowed. Santos looked between you. “Trailer for what?”

Neither of you answered.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice like the two of you were discussing test results instead of television. “I haven’t watched it properly yet. I saw three seconds and paused because I think the opening shot is the archive room.”

Parker frowned slightly. “The archive room was destroyed.”

Your mouth fell open.

Abbott stopped typing completely. Cruz, who had just arrived at the desk with a stack of labs, froze. Lena looked up from a chart. Shen, passing behind them, slowed to a halt.

You stared at Parker with open adoration. “You remember that?”

“You complained about it for two weeks.”

“Because it mattered.”

“I know.”

“You said that like you actually know.”

“You explained the structural importance of the archive room.”

“I did.”

“Twice.”

“Because the first time you were half-asleep.”

“I was awake.”

“You had your eyes closed.”

“I was listening.”

You pressed a hand over your chest. “This is why I like you.”

The sentence came out too naturally. Too softly. Too honestly. For half a second, the air around the desk changed. Parker did not react in any dramatic way. She did not look startled. She did not look panicked. She simply held your gaze, mouth relaxing at one corner in that almost-smile you had learned to recognize as something private.

“I know,” she said.

Cruz’s eyebrows shot up. Abbott leaned back in his chair. Santos looked personally betrayed by the fact that she was clearly missing several chapters of context.

You, blissfully unaware of the way the entire night crew had started watching, leaned your hip against the edge of the desk and held your phone between you and Parker. “Okay, so look. This is the opening frame. That is absolutely the archive room, right?”

Parker leaned in. Actually leaned in. Her shoulder nearly brushed yours as she studied the screen with the kind of concentration most people reserved for scans and abnormal labs.

“Could be a reconstruction,” she said.

You gasped. “That’s what I thought!”

“Or a memory sequence.”

You pointed at her with your phone. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Casually drop a good theory like you haven’t been pretending not to care for months.”

“I don’t care.”

“You care a little.”

“I care that you care.”

That should have been nothing. It was not nothing. It landed softly between you, almost hidden beneath the noise of the ED, beneath the beeping monitors and distant voices and the squeak of Santos shifting his weight because he was apparently incapable of standing still. But you heard it, and Parker knew you heard it, and for one small moment the hospital seemed to narrow down to the two of you and the glow of your phone screen.

Then Cruz whispered, “What did she just say?”

Abbott whispered back, “I don’t know, but I’m uncomfortable.”

Lena, who looked far more delighted than uncomfortable, whispered, “I think it’s sweet.”

Santos leaned toward Shen. “Has Parker always been able to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Listen.”

Shen shook his head slowly. “Not to us.”

You started the trailer again, keeping the volume low enough that you had to lean closer to Parker for both of you to hear. The first few seconds played, dramatic music swelling from your phone speaker. You paused every few frames to explain something, rewinding when Parker asked a question, zooming in on background details that would have meant absolutely nothing to anyone else.

Parker followed all of it.

Not with the glazed patience of someone waiting for their turn to speak, but with real attention. She asked why one character’s jacket being a different colour mattered. She asked whether the symbol on the wall was the same one from your keychain. She asked if the actor in the final shot was the one you had sworn could not come back unless the writers were undoing an entire season of development.

You answered every question with increasing enthusiasm. The more you talked, the softer Parker became. Not obviously. Never obviously. But it was there in the way her shoulders loosened, in the way she stopped pretending to chart, in the way her eyes stayed on your face more than the phone because she seemed less interested in the trailer than in the way you looked while explaining it.

Around you, the department continued moving, but the nurses’ station had become a small island of stunned witnesses. Abbott stared like he was watching a rare medical anomaly. Lena rested her chin in her hand. Cruz looked between you and Parker with the intensity of someone solving a mystery. Shen seemed quietly vindicated. Santos looked offended.

“I asked her about my patient,” Santos muttered, “and she told me to stop talking.”

“She did not tell you to stop talking,” Lena said.

“She said, ‘Why are you still talking?’ That is worse.”

Abbott nodded. “It is more efficient.”

Santos pointed toward Parker. “But look at her. She’s letting the med student explain costume symbolism.”

“Character symbolism,” you corrected automatically, without looking away from your phone.

Everyone went silent. Slowly, you looked up. Five faces stared back at you.

Parker looked up too, and whatever softness had been there a second ago vanished behind a flat, dangerous calm.

“Do none of you have patients?” she asked.

The spell broke instantly.

Abbott turned back to his computer with suspicious speed. Cruz lifted the labs and pretended he had been reading them the entire time. Lena smiled into her chart. Shen coughed. Santos raised both hands.

“I’m going,” she said. “I am going. I just want it noted that this is strange.”

“It’s noted,” Abbott said.

“By who?”

“Everyone.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Was I being too loud?”

“No,” Parker said immediately.

Cruz made a tiny sound. Parker’s eyes flicked toward him. Cruz stopped.

You lowered your phone, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I know I kind of ramble when I get excited.”

Parker looked back at you. Her face was calm, but her voice, when she spoke, was quieter than before.

“I know.”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“It wasn’t criticism.”

“No?”

“No.”

Your fingers tightened around your phone. “Does it bother you?”

Parker held your gaze like the answer was the easiest thing in the world.

“No.”

You searched her face, waiting for the joke, the teasing edge, the dry follow-up that would let you both move on without making it too tender. It did not come. Instead, Parker said, “You get excited. I like listening.”

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. So Parker that they almost sounded clinical. And still, they made your heart ache.

You looked at Parker and forgot, again, that you were standing in the middle of the ED.

“Okay,” you said softly.

Parker nodded once, as if that settled it.

Then a call came in over the radio, pulling everyone back into motion. The incoming trauma scattered the station with practiced urgency, and the moment folded itself away into the rhythm of the hospital. Parker straightened, all focus again, already reaching for gloves. You moved with her automatically, shoving your phone into your pocket, the trailer forgotten for now beneath the rush of work.

But as Parker stepped past you, you noticed the collar of her scrub top had folded awkwardly beneath her jacket.

Without thinking, you reached out.

“Wait,” you said, catching the edge of the fabric.

Parker stopped.

You smoothed the collar down with quick, familiar fingers, then patted it once. “There.”

Parker glanced at you.

“Thanks,” she said.

Then, so briefly you almost missed it, her fingers brushed your wrist.

Not enough to be dramatic. Not enough to be a declaration. Just enough to be intimate. Just enough to be known.

Then she was gone, heading toward the trauma, already asking for vitals, already back to being Dr. Parker Ellis, unreadable and sharp and impossible to distract.

You turned back toward the desk, still half-smiling.

The remaining night crew was staring at you.

This time, you noticed.

“What?” you asked.

Lena pressed her lips together.

Shen looked at the ceiling.

Santos stared at you like you had just calmly performed a magic trick in front of her and refused to explain it.

“You and Parker,” Abbott said slowly, from several feet away.

Your stomach dropped.

“What about me and Parker?”

Cruz pointed vaguely between you and the trauma bay. “That.”

“That what?”

“The collar,” Santos said.

You blinked. “Her collar was folded.”

“So naturally you fixed it.”

“Yes?”

“And naturally she let you.”

You frowned. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Nobody answered right away. That was when it hit you. The trailer. The questions. The leaning in. The I like listening. The wrist touch.

The fact that none of those things looked normal to people who did not know that Parker had kissed you in parking lots and cooked you breakfast after night shifts and kept a limited-edition keychain you had given her tucked safely beside her keys.

Your face went hot.

“Oh,” you said.

Lena smiled. “Yeah.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then looked toward the trauma bay like Parker might somehow rescue you from a situation she had absolutely helped create.

Santos crossed her arms. “Since when?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That was terrible,” Cruz said.

“Awful,” Abbott agreed.

Shen nodded. “No one believed that.”

You lifted your chin, attempting dignity despite the fact that your entire face was probably glowing. “I am going to check on my patient.”

“You do that,” Lena said, still smiling.

You walked away as calmly as possible. Which was to say, not very calmly at all.

Behind you, Santos whispered, “Since when?”

Abbott sighed. “Apparently long enough for Parker to know lore.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It answers several questions.”

Across the ED, Parker glanced back just once, catching your eye from the trauma bay doors.

Her expression did not change. But yours did. You smiled despite yourself. Parker’s almost-smile appeared for half a second before she turned away again.

And the night crew, watching from the station, finally understood the one thing you and Parker had somehow failed to hide.

Parker had not adopted the med student.

You knew she was a doctor because of a few screaming hints: her black scrub pants, her issued hoodie with a yellow and blatant Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center print, and the badge reel hanging on her hip with a bright green stripe that read DOCTOR. If you knew anything about information literacy, these three details could only lead to one conclusion. 

The girl was a very pretty doctor. Much too pretty to be working in a monstrous state hospital where she likely lost hair ties frequently and stained her creamy skin with blood. As her blonde head of hair bobbed through the sliding doors and towards the counter, your brain ran through about four different scenarios in which you could get hurt and trap her into saving you, each of them consistent with necessary mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. 

You blinked when she reached the desk, shifting weight between her left and right foot, and you were unsure as to what you might begin with. You, of course, had to welcome her in and ask if she needed help. But your tongue felt like cotton. Was that medically qualifying?

The beautiful doctor smiled tightly, like she had to remind herself of the expression’s importance, and she said, “You guys are still open, right?” The timbre of her voice was smooth and deep. Like a saxophone. Or Superwoman. 

“Yes! Why?” You spat out, brain catching up with mouth.

The doctor glanced around and smiled. “It seems pretty dead. But the sign was still on.”

You hummed eagerly and leaned on the counter, hand wrapped around the book scanner for emotional support. “Oh, yeah. Well, we don’t get a lot of latecomers, but we close at eleven. You’re just in time.”

The doctor nodded curtly and tucked a rogue lock of golden hair behind her ear. They were incredibly round ears, ones you could picture in a Disney movie. She was pretty enough to have walked right off the animated set of Tangled. You felt yourself revving up to blabber, and a nervous rhythm began to thump inside your chest. 

“Well, welcome in! Can I give you a hand with anything tonight?”

She scratched her temple and shrugged. “Yeah, actually, um… I was hoping to set myself up with a library card?”

Your ears perked up. A card. A card indicated there would be multiple visits. Books to find, books to touch, books to put in her long-fingered, wide-palmed hands, hands that looked like they could slot nicely with yours, fingers that looked like they could notch nicely in places not work-appropriate. “Absolutely! I can get it done right now. It’s easy.”

“Cool,” she smiled wide, and her teeth broke through this time. White and round as a rabbit’s. Christ, there was no winning. 

“Um, yeah, so…” You blinked, trying to remember what you needed to start a library account. This was literally the most basic and common routine you did every day. You needed… shit… “Oh! Sorry. Right. Your license. Could I just peek at your license? For, like, identification purposes.”

“Oh, sure.”

The doctor dug into her pocket, the same pocket her hospital badges were clipped to. Your gaze flickered down to see a whitewashed photograph of her with a neat braid and glasses– she looked the same now, without the braid, and much more tired– and in black letters, you made out the name. Melissa King. Her name was Melissa King. Doctor Melissa King from Pittsburgh Trauma, one of the largest trauma centers in the country, only a few blocks up the road. You heard the sirens all day long. She likely took people out of those ambulances with those sirens. Saved their lives. And she wanted a library card from you at 10:30 p.m.

You took the little slab of plastic and smiled at her, reading the name you already memorized. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. King.”

“How did you– oh. Right,” Melissa grinned down at her appearance. “I sort of scream it, don’t I?”

“A little. Just wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Melissa crossed her arms and leaned against the desk as you scampered away to the card copier along the back wall. All day you pressed these buttons and spat out cards for newcomers who would show up once or twice and then forget they had an overdue book and never return. You hoped to God she wasn’t one of those people. 

You punched the right sequence to assign her a fresh card with its own number, Melissa’s number, on the back. This number could follow her around the entire county. She could go to other libraries if she wanted and return the books to you. Wouldn’t that be fun?

You could print either a white card with a black logo, or a black with a yellow, and seeing as her work garb was running with the yellow motif, you picked the coordinating choice. A little square came hot off the press and you retrieved it, turning back to the counter. You slid her license back to her and plucked a Sharpie from the pen cup, scribbling her name on the special line. 

“So, do you like being a doctor?” You regretted trying to make small talk the second you said it, but it just popped out. 

“Yeah, I do. It’s great, y’know, doing something important every day.”

Her sincere answer made your heart flutter. “I can only imagine.”

“I mean, you do something important every day, too.”

You lifted your head as you capped the marker and laughed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like… protecting literacy. Giving kids a place to have imaginations. Giving adults a place to remember they had one once.”

Melissa crossed her arms and tilted her head, offering you a twinkling look that made you grateful the counter was there for purchase. “I wouldn’t say I do all that.”

“Libraries are important. That’s why I’m getting a card.”

“Usually people get cards because they don’t want to buy books.”

“That, too,” she teased. 

You giggled awkwardly and passed her the card, flipping it over to show her the barcode on the back. “Just show this when you check books out. The library has a cap on five books at a time, and they’re due back three weeks from the day you took them. You can call or come in if you need a renewal. You also have free access to all kinds of stuff here with it, like we have study rooms and a recording studio, and we have a huge movie and audiobook section, and there’s CDs and cassettes and–”

“You seriously have all that?” 

“Mhm,” you smiled, “and we do a lot of community events, if you’ve got family or friends, a boyfriend you like to take out.”

Melissa’s cheeks pinked as she scrunched her nose. “No, no boyfriend. Not my type. A sister, though. Although, she’s been busy with her boyfriend as of late… really busy… and I work so much I bet I wouldn’t ever have time to make it, I’ll probably mostly be coming by at night, so– well– you didn’t need to know all that, actually.”

A warmer laugh erupted inside you, and all you could think was how absolutely sweet she seemed. And no boyfriend. No boyfriend was good. Not her type. “It’s okay. A lot of people like to talk to us.”

“Us as in librarians?”

“Sure. I guess we have friendly faces.”

“You do,” Melissa said, and then seemed to realize what she said, and swallowed thickly.

You shared in her nerves and tapped your nails on the counter. “Well, um, was– was there anything else?”

“Huh? Oh, no! Just the card. I should get home, anyway. You gotta close up, I think.”

Your eyes darted to the clock above the door, and sure enough, it was ten to close. Being the only librarian on staff at night was great until you had to clean everything by your lonesome. “Ah! Yeah. I do. Okay.”

“Thanks for your help,” Melissa tucked the card into her wallet and flipped it shut. “Are you usually here at night?”

“Yeah. I’m the resident owl.”

“I bet I’ll see you soon, then?” she offered, her voice upturning with hope.

“I’ll be here,” you gushed, unable to help yourself. You felt like gummy worms were crawling inside your stomach.

“Cool. Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Dr. King,” you lilted.

On her way out the door, she looked back. “Mel’s better.”

You caught it just in time. “Mel it is.”

As the sliding doors zipped shut and the dark street swallowed Mel’s figure, you slumped against the desk and groaned in metaphorical pain. That was really great, you scolded yourself, bumbled like a true idiot. You didn’t even want to close up. You just wanted to stand there, behind that desk, in your old cardigan and unfortunate boots until Mel came back. You wanted to show her every book you had and then kiss her promptly on those life-saving lips. In just twenty minutes, you had made a fool of yourself and fallen into a deep and predictable infatuation. You read too many romance novels, you decided, as you pushed off the counter and got to work.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Mel had let a week pass before she came back to the library. She was incredibly nervous to do so, because the last time she showed her face she had encountered you, and you were proving to be horrific trouble. 

You were so cute. Plump like a peach, curved in all the right places. She could see your soft tummy when you pressed against the counter. The violet of your sweater made the tones in your skin sing. Your teeth shimmered when you smiled. Mel was convinced that she could draw you from memory after only looking at you for at most twenty minutes, and if she was already at that stage, there was no getting herself back. She wasn’t good with crushes, and so naturally, she avoided it.

But she was bored. So, so bored, and so alone. Becca was no more than a series of rushed phone calls recently since she moved in with Adam and started spending their dedicated weekends and Elf Fridays with her boyfriend. Mel’s apartment was a mess of unwashed clothes and uneaten pizza, and without her sister to give her any reason to keep it clean, the poor girl had ended things with her vacuum. But even more than that, she hated being by herself. It was bearable when each night was just a few hours of sleep because then she barely saw the place, but on her days off that were once scheduled for Becca, Mel had nowhere to go and no one to see. Trinity had invited her to karaoke a few times, and that was great, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of Samira and Frank and Parker was enough. Mel thought maybe if she picked up a hobby, the time would go by faster and she would find herself at work again. Work was the only place she felt comfortable anymore– however twisted that was, she did not need to know. 

That was the point of the library card. It was close to the hospital, so she could go on her lunch (if she got one) or after her shift. It was a huge library, four stories of stuff to absorb, and it wouldn’t cost her a thing. She barely used the resources in the city while she instructed patients all day to drain the system for what it was worth, and so taking her own advice would be a good step forward. Except now she knew what waited for her at the library, and so the question became this: Be alone, or be infatuated?

As she trekked down the sidewalk in the balmy summer heat, she had decided to go with the latter. 

The glass doors slid open in greeting. Mel crossed the threshold anxiously, peering at the front desk. You weren’t there, which initially was a relief, and then a colossal letdown. As the doctor walked further in and studied the first floor laid out before her in a maze of shelves wrapping around a lit staircase, she heard a soft rustle and turned around again. 

You poked your head out of a shelf and called, “Welcome in!”

Mel’s heart fluttered at the sight of you stationed behind a book cart. There was a pencil spearing your hair and failing to keep it out of your eyes, and a pair of glasses perched on your nose. You had no glasses last time. She walked deeper down the aisle until she could see you up close. 

“Hi again.”

You startled and whipped around to see the beautiful and elusive Dr. Melissa King, and immediately your face went up in flames. “Oh! You!”

“Me,” she bantered, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“No, it’s okay! It’s great! I’m glad to see you, Mel, I was wondering if you’d use that card!”

Mel watched you beam, and it made her wonder what in the ever living fuck she was doing avoiding this place. You clearly were this place. You were in its fabric, warm and real and there for anyone to admire. She huffed out a breath and rocked on her heels. 

“I was hoping you could help me find something.”

“Like what?” You rolled the cart away, unlocking her entry to the row. She was in scrubs again, top and bottom this time, and her hair was pulled back in a springing ponytail. Little tendrils of yellow coiled near her ears. 

“I wanted to try something easy. I’m not a big reader, all I get around to are medical journals these days,” the doctor admitted. 

Your fingertips buzzed with the request. To do the job you loved, to hunt down the perfect source, for the most gorgeous girl in the world was like hitting the lottery. “Oh, sure! What kind of genres do you like? Classics? Romance, fantasy, thriller?”

Mel blinked at your enthusiasm and flushed. “Uh, I like history, actually.”

Your lashes fluttered as you slipped past her and waved the girl down the aisle. “Historical fiction is an awesome genre. More research than you think goes into it, those authors spend forever getting the details accurate enough to plop a composite character in… ah, Ws, here– follow!”

Mel trailed after you like a puppy, because she would be a fool to waste this chance to watch your hips sway in that long satin skirt. You halted abruptly in the middle of the row, running your finger over some spines before plucking a green paperback off. 

“How do you feel about Arthurian legends?” You asked, holding out the book to her. “This is a historical fantasy fusion. White used the legends from Malory and took them down in novel form so they would be easier to read. It redefined what a contemporary fantasy novel should be, it was a big hit, and now it’s a classic. I’ve read it a few times, it’s a favorite of mine.”

Mel flipped curiously through the pages, smiling to herself. “I’ve read the Death of Arthur, I had to in college. You like this better?”

Your eyebrow quirked in surprise. So she’s trained in some classics, you thought, that’s hot, and very good news. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.” 

“Definitely. Malory is great, and you have to pay homage, but truthfully it's so dense that it feels like homework. This is a great way to enjoy the legends without torturing yourself.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully and glanced back up to see your big eyes watching her every move. You had on a jean jacket tonight, with a little square neck tank underneath. You were what they tried to make librarians look like on television. You were unreal. 

“I’ve never read it. But I think I want to, since you’re so good at selling.”

“Good choice,”

“Yeah, well, you made it for me.”

“I guess I did.”

Mel’s mouth tingled as she held the book under one arm and glanced you up and down. “Is this the sort of thing you read when you’re not working?”

With a hammering heart, you turned to weave back towards your restock cart. “I read all sorts of things.” 

“Like what?” Mel hummed, following at your heels and watching you hustle. She ducked into the next row and followed the top of your head, catching quick glimpses of you between the books. 

“Um, I mean, I love English classics a lot. I was always into them in college. But I love sci-fi and fantasy, realism, um, and plays, too. It’s hard to pick.”

Mel’s face opened wide with interest. “I guess you have to be well-read to be a librarian."

“It’s kind of a requirement,” you giggled, pausing and stacking a book into the space she stood across from. 

“Makes sense. I never got much of a chance with med school, and now with my residency, but I’ve recently had some time free up, so I’m hoping it’ll keep me busy.”

“How long have you been a doctor?”

“I’m doing my third year residency, so technically three. I’ll get paid like one after my next year.”

You slid a few returns back onto the shelf and tugged the cart along, playing the game of predicting when Mel’s eye would peep through a space. “Wow. So you’re the real deal.”

“You could say that,” Mel nudged at the carpet with her toe, watching your manicured nails fill slots. “What about you? How long have you been a librarian?”

“Well, I started working here part-time when I got my bachelor’s, and I only just finished my master’s a little over a year ago. So that’s…” you did the mental math, “about four years.”

Mel toyed with her fingers, trying to expend the pent-up energy she felt just watching your sweet head try to remember the time passed. “And you like it?”

You tucked a lock behind your ear, a thoughtful expression creasing your brow. “I do. It can be difficult, especially recently with all the federal funding cuts. We rely on those a lot to help us give back to the community, y’know, with our events and stuff. We do a lot more fundraising now. But it’s all worth it, really. I get to be around books all day, and talk to interesting people from all over. It’s never boring like people assume libraries are.”

By the time you stopped, the doctor was at the end of the row and leaning against the shelves. Mel watched the way your mouth moved, rounding out vowels and punctuating each word with those plush lips. You chewed on them when you thought hard and she could tell. There were little red patches beneath your front teeth where you picked the skin. She could listen to you and watch that mouth move for hours. What a dream that would be.

“That’s great,” Mel said. Intelligent, she winced. 

“Yeah,” you flushed and glanced at the cart. It was empty now. “Um, did– did you want to check that out?”

Mel stared at your mouth. “Huh?”

“The book.”

The girl snapped out of it and stood straighter, mustering a tiny chuckle. “The book! Yes. Definitely.”

Focusing hard on not tripping, you shot her a smile and dragged the cart back to the atrium where the desk was. Mel took her time to admire you as you scooted around, docking the cart against the wall and scurrying back to sit at the dusty desktop. Mel leaned on the counter and rested her chin in her palm, sliding the book towards you. 

From beneath your lashes, your eyes fluttered up. The doctor was still grinning with her bunny teeth, and it was rapturous. “You remember the rules?” you solicited, taking the book and scanning the code on the spine. 

“Due after three weeks, call or come in to renew,” Mel recited softly, “although I hope it shouldn’t take that long.”

“No shame. You’re busy cutting people open and touching their guts and stuff,” you smirked, click-clacking away on the computer. 

Mel snickered softly. The sound drew her attention to your nails, which were a short shape with a deep blue polish, almost black, carving them out. The square edges were what made all the ruckus. She very quickly fell down a rabbit hole about those fingernails and what they might be capable of.

“Okay, Mel, you’re all set,” you quipped, pushing the rims of your glasses up the bridge of your nose. Sliding the book back into her hands, you promised, “It’s really good. Tell me how you like it.”

Her nails, barely manicured and bitten to the beds, looked awful compared to yours. Maybe you’d paint them for her if she asked. Maybe you’d make them pretty again. Something her patients could enjoy, and something that would remind her she could pull her life together if she tried hard enough. 

“Mel?”

“Hm?”

“You zoned out for a second.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, brows jumping. “It’s been a long day.”

“I bet. You should go home, get some rest.”

Mel gazed down at you, all tucked into that desk chair like some guardian angel, and she felt threads that have been fraying for a while coming loose. It stoked a fire in her chest. 

“It was nice to see you again,” she offered, smoothing her ponytail with her hand as she squeezed the book into her bag. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” you sighed in a way that made your face turn pinker and her eyes shine brighter. 

As Mel headed for the doors again, you called, “You’ve got three weeks!”

“I won’t need them,” Mel shot back, flinging a wink over her shoulder. 

It was enough to knock you on your ass. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Mel didn’t need three weeks. She blew through the stories in one day and came back on the second, itching for another chance to see you. 

This was a bad idea, she knew it. You’ve never seen her out of her scrubs. Mel was not stupid, and it was very obvious that uniforms added a certain… attractiveness to people. Cops in their coats, firefighters in those pants, and doctors in their scrubs. All she had on was a pair of blue jeans and a grey shirt. Her hair was down in that wavy sort of way it dried, which wasn’t terrible, and she had found the one lipgloss she owned lost beneath her dresser, but other than that, Mel looked like anybody. She hoped you would recognize her. She hoped you would still smile how you did. 

It was just past dinnertime on her second day off, and in the waning summer daylight, the library attracted plenty of business. When she came through the doors, there were clusters of cardholders all over the place; mothers and children reading picture books in the kids section, elderly couples puttering about, teenagers lounging on the couches and climbing up and down the stairs. It lightened her heart to see so many people using the building, because she thought it must make you so happy. Speaking of you… you weren’t behind the counter, once again. 

Instead there was an older woman, a brunette with red-jelly glasses hanging from a beaded string. As the off-duty doctor approached the counter, the librarian looked up with barely an ounce of your enthusiasm. She asked after you, to which the lady only offered, “Third floor.”

That was a relief, at least– you were here. She had hoped she didn’t come too early. Her ‘thank you’ went unappreciated by the desk clerk, but she was too anxious to care. Mel trotted up the steps, peeking at the activity of college kids on the second floor– had to be the one with the study rooms, she figured– and crested the stairs on the third, looking for your cart or your head of hair or revelatory grin. She had to make a lap around the edges before finding you tucked away in the biology row. Quietly, she held onto the strap of her messenger bag and came closer. Seeing as you didn’t hear her footsteps on the wiry carpet, she took her chance.

“Hey, bookworm.”

She laughed as you jumped and let out a tiny yelp, but the look on your face was worth it. Your skirt fanned across the ground between stacks of donated textbooks, and the little platforms on your boots thunked the ground like happy tails as you beamed up at her. You recognized her, thank God.

“Hi, Mel!”

“Hey,” she melted, kneeling to sit beside you. 

“What are you doing here? No work today?”

“Nope. Came to get a new book.”

“You finished it already? You’re screwing with me, right?”

“I did, and I’m not,” she chuckled, “it was really good.”

You gave her an incredulous look. “I’m impressed. You’re a fast reader. I bet that’s how you got through med school, huh?”

“Still is. I’m the only one who can get my charts done these days,” Mel jutted her chin, and when your head tilt led her to believe you didn’t know what charting was, her chest clenched tighter. “How’s it going?”

“Great, now that you’re here,” you gushed, pausing after you blurted it. Way to play your cards, you thought. 

Mel’s throat jumped, and she ran her clammy palms down her jeans. “Actually, I didn’t just come to get a new book.”

You leapt at the chance to bury your lapse in judgement. “I can help you with anything you need, it’s my job.”

“Actually, um…”

It truly wasn’t fair how you could sit there, expression so trusting and aching for affection. She knew this was stupid. She’d only met you twice before. But there wasn’t a free second where her mind didn’t drift back to the warm, dust-mitey depths of the library, where you skittered around like a breathtaking thing, casting light everywhere you went. She was enamored with you.

You were in no better position, which would be nice for her to know. Historically, you never learned how to mask your emotions. When you were taken, it oozed from you in every direction, sinking into the music you had on repeat and the books you picked up, into the colors you wore, the way you did your hair. You wore love like a gift, and it was ridiculous and unfounded, but you couldn’t get enough of her. Just sitting there and waiting for her to speak was like being suspended in a state of bliss, where you had her attention and everything was alright. 

Mel cleared her throat, lashes fluttering as her nose scrunched. With a big breath, she summoned the courage. “I was wondering if you’d want to go out. On a date. With– with me, like… romantically.”

What was that you heard? Angels humming? The trumpets of Heaven sounding over the galaxy, calling, Rise, people, rise, the girl is getting what she wants? Whatever it was, it was deafening. It sounded like the doctor’s voice, resonating inside your bones like a blessing. 

“Yes,” you wheezed. 

“Really? You’re into girls like that?”

“I am into girls, and I am incredibly into you. I want to go on a date. I really, really do.”

Mel was certain she would perish on the spot. That was a good reaction. “Well… great! Good! I– mhm,” she stammered, “a date. When? When can we go on a date?”

“I take an hour break in twenty minutes.”

Mel’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “Oh!”

“Too soon? Shit, sorry,” you chewed your lip, “I– you probably wanted to plan it, right? That’s fine, I can wait–”

Mel’s hands shot out to grip your arms, feeling the soft flesh as she halted your rambling before it could get going. “No. Twenty is fine. As long as you don't care that I’m in jeans.”

Your stomach flipped, and you couldn’t help how fondly the words slipped out: “You could be covered in blood for all I care.”

Mel laughed, “I usually am.”

The textbooks sat abandoned around your legs, and the thought of working another second made you nauseous. You wanted to leave now. You could hypothetically quit if it meant getting to a date with the beautiful doctor as soon as humanly possible. But before you could commit to a life-altering choice, Mel hopped to her feet and leaned down to tuck some hair behind your ear, as she saw you do before. 

“I’ll wait downstairs. We can get something to eat when you’re done?”

You pushed into the touch like a shameless, shameless cat. “Please.”

“Okay,” she confirmed. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah,” you pulled back, feeling her fingers slip from your hair. 

Mel left you there like a lovesick pile of mush, practically skipping down the steps. In her head she began to run through every dinner option up and down the street, and then a five block radius, and whether you liked ice cream, or how strict you were about kissing on the first date. She nearly tripped over a child in the process, but it didn’t matter. She had a real date. 

Life hadn’t felt this good in a long time. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

One date turned into three, and then five, and then you stopped counting. Whatever number tonight was might have been nice to know, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you knew was that this was the one, you told yourself. This was the night you would be brave enough to ask for what you want. 

Things were going so much better than you could have hoped for. After a few weeks of meeting Mel after work, you started to wonder when it would go downhill. She was always so eager, bouncing on her heels and following you around the library, taking you out for ice cream, inviting you to watch television at her place. It all seemed so right, like she was meant for you, and the little voice in the back of your head thought surely no girl as wonderful as Mel could be sustained. But she stayed, and you were absolutely lost. 

You had always loved girls, but never liked this. Her every move was magical. You could tell she probably had the touch for needles, because sometimes when she grabbed your hand, you barely felt it. Like air, brushing you affectionately. After the first few dates, it became second nature to pick up every habit. There were no bad ones. For example: Mel rubbed at her neck pretty often, and tugged the strings of her hoodie if available, because that was where her stethoscope sat all day, and it soothed her to feel the ghost of it. Another one was Mel’s tendency to stop talking when your eyes flitted away, assuming you had stopped caring, only for you to turn again and prompt her with a Keep going, I’m listening. Mel bit her fingernails enough that she always had on a layer of top coat to try and deter her by taste. Mel only liked hot coffee, never cold, but never hot tea, always cold, because of her passion for boba. Mel did not like romance books, but she loved history, and with enough prodding, you could get her to try anything. Mel never liked to see the same movie twice, she always wanted seconds when you cooked, and when she sneezed, her nose twitched once, twice, three times. From top to bottom, you memorized every action and reaction, every love and hate, and by the time three months of seeing her rolled around, you were utterly in love. 

Tonight, Mel asked you to meet her in the park across from the hospital when you took your break. You walked down the street at lightning speed, thrumming with excitement at seeing her face. When you wound down the walkway, you spotted the girl in black scrubs perched on a drug-rug blanket. Your cheeks pulled tight with joy as you walked across the grass. 

“Melly,” you sighed, “a picnic?”

The doctor was trying to arrange a handful of strawberries on a plate when she heard you. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she sat back and patted the blanket, affirming your observation. There was a little cooler with two sodas, what looked like Chinese takeout boxes, and a whole lot of strawberries. 

“Do you like it?”

You sunk to your knees on the ground and laughed sweetly, tugging her in to peck her lips. “I love it. This is so sweet.”

“Mira suggested it,” she flushed, “she’s a lot better with what to do on dates than me.”

“I knew I liked her. I’ll have to meet her.”

“Come to the hospital one day,” Mel offered, cracking open a can for you. 

You took it gratefully and crossed your legs. “You want me to?”

“Sure. Whenever you want.”

You struggled to contain your blissful jitters as you sipped your soda. Mel had this habit of staring at you when she wanted you to do some talking, and she was employing the strategy now, sinking her teeth into a berry and tracking you with her hazel eyes. You hadn’t even eaten anything yet, but maybe that was better. Nothing to puke up if you got rejected. 

“Mel, um, I was… I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s up?” The doctor scooted closer and nudged the plate towards you, trying to make you pick up a bite. You felt the tip of her sneaker knock against your ankle, and part of you just wanted to die. 

“Well, I guess– y’know, we've been seeing each other for a while.”

“We have,” she hummed, focus drifting to your mouth. 

“And I really like you.”

“I like you, too.”

“We spend all our free time together.”

“We do.”

“Your sister likes me,” you added, reminiscing the movie night you shared with Becca and Mel a few weeks ago. You giggled your way through Elf like a champ in the heat of August.

“She does.”

“So… I… I mean… I guess what I wanted to say was…”

Mel’s smile grew wider and wider, and she could read it all over your face. Mel knew a thing or two about you– how you repeated yourself and trailed off when you didn’t want to say something, how you only liked the warm syrup in diners and never from a bottle because it ‘didn’t taste the same’, the way you took your iced coffee, your shoe size, the coworkers from the library who grinded your gears. Mel adored you like she never had anything in the world, and if you were about to ask what she thought you were, she was going to be made a very, very happy woman. 

“Tell me,” she urged. 

You locked eyes with her and took a deep breath, and you came straight out with it: “I want to be with you for real. Like a girlfriend.”

After a beat, the doctor asked, “Like a girlfriend, or my girlfriend?” 

That was another thing. Mel often teased just to see you get annoyed. 

“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!”

She threw her head back in laughter and crawled across the blanket, knocking you onto your back. You fell with a thump, and with your hair all fanned out behind you, she could barely breathe.

“I would love nothing more than for you to be my girlfriend, and for me to be yours.”

Your heart soared. “You mean it?”

“Do I mean it?” Mel scoffed, and without warning, she dove down. 

You surrendered to her mouth willingly, back arching off the ground as her lean, strong arms slipped beneath you to hold you tight and squeeze. She crowded you against the ground and ran her hands from the backs of your knees to the pits of your arms, screwing up your skirt and vest and eventually your hair. The sharp tang of fruit passed between your tongues as she worked your jaw open, and you whined softly into the mix, head reeling and hips aching. Mel had to find the strength to pull away because she had a creeping suspicion you would make out with her until you lost consciousness. 

Panting through the rush, Mel confessed, “I might love you.”

It wasn’t too soon. Not at all. 

“Might?” You smirked.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

With a couple months of dating under your belt, you were itching to see Mel’s workplace. She’d visited you at the library so many times now, exchanging books and following you around while you restocked or dusted or worked on table displays. She had kissed you in many a dark corner. But all you caught a glimpse of was her scrubs, and you were eager to see what life was like when she was working. You wanted to match names to faces and hear what she sounded like when she treated patients. It would be satisfying to know how accurate your image of her being the best living doctor was in person. You resolved to bring her an unannounced cup of coffee on a Wednesday midmorning, figuring it would be a safe enough time for a dull emergency room. 

When you walked in the front entrance, the waiting area full of chairs was sparsely seated. The air-conditioning was out, which was unfortunate for such a warm October day, but you were emboldened by the idea she might not be busy. You had heard horror stories of Friday nights and weekends, and they seemed nothing like this. 

As you approached the front desk, a short clerk with a name tag that read Lupe lifted her head in a comforting smile. Her finger flicked the microphone on, and she asked, “Checking in?”

You shook your head and held up the coffees in your hand, asking hopefully, “Um, no, I was hoping I could see Dr. Melissa King, if she isn’t busy?”

Lupe’s eyes narrowed in playful recognition. “Oh. You’re the librarian girl.”

Your face heated up in an instant. “Um… yes.”

“She never stops talking about you,” Lupe smirked. A buzzer rumbled the glass partition, and the lock on the door to your left clicked. “Go on in, honey, down the hall and to the right. The doctors at the nurse’s station can help you find her.”

“Thank you!” 

The long, tiled hallway was relatively quiet, but the closer you got, the louder the beeping, humming, and buzzing became. You turned the corner and saw Mel’s world open up before you. A white hospital wing crawling with doctors and nurses barreled down and branched off. Patients on gurneys were passing by or stashed along the walls. You spotted four custodians wiping at the floor. All around was the bustle of a busy hospital, and you could barely imagine your mild-mannered girlfriend functioning in such a fast-paced environment. Her explaining it was one thing, but seeing it was another. It was just another reason to admire her. 

You walked in, clutching the cups tight and avoiding oncoming healthcare professionals as they sped around the halls. At a big desk clump in the center, you saw a tiny blonde woman with an expression best described as having seen enough, and a tall, bearded man with a stethoscope around his neck and little professor-eqsue glasses perched on his nose. They were seemingly deep in conversation. A lightbulb flickered over your head, recalling a certain nurse and doctor who frequently get into it from Mel's tales.

“Excuse me?”

The pair whipped around at your voice, and the nurse smiled warmly. “Hiya, sweetheart. Lookin’ for a family member?"

  “Hello– um, no. Is Dr. Melissa King around?”

The doctor squinted at you, a slow grin tugging at his cheeks. He outstretched a palm. “I’m Dr. Michael Robinavitch, and this is our charge nurse Dana Evans. You must be the girlfriend our Mel mentioned.”

You shook his strong palm nervously and nodded, ears burning. “The lady at the desk said the same thing…”

“Trust me, honey, that girl never shuts up about it. Robby can show you around, she’s with a patient.”

“I guess that works!”

Robby swooped out from behind the desk and gave you a wink, placing a courteous hand on the small of your back and guiding you down the hall. 

“I hope you’ve never been here before,” he quipped. 

“Oh, I haven’t. Lucky me.”

“Yes, lucky you. Mel is one of our best residents. Hard worker, fiercely intelligent, great with patients. How did you guys meet?”

You chuckled softly as you peeked down the halls, catching shadows of men and women in black scrubs hopping between rooms and nurses carrying clipboards around with an air of urgency. “If it’s what it sounds like, then Mel probably already told you that.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day that family comes to see us at our jobs. Most people stay away from the stress of this place. You must be a pretty special one to show up unannounced.”

You glanced up at Robby. His eyes were so dark, and something very calming settled over you. Mel once described him as ‘the hospital’s dad’, and you felt that was a very fitting image. 

“Well, I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. You work her pretty hard,” you quirked an eyebrow. 

Robby’s laugh rattled in his chest. “Only because she’s the best to do it. You should see her in action. She’s one of the best I’ve seen in a long time, and I’ve been at this for thirty years.”

It made your whole body tingle with pride to hear Mel praised so genuinely. You knew she was good, you could just see it when you looked into her eyes; but to know other people thought so was twice as nice. 

“She’s a wonderful person,” you gushed, following the curve of the hall. 

“She says the same thing about you.”

Curtain areas full of beds stuffed with patients passed as you looped the department. A few doctors perked up at the sight of you, and it made your face glow– just how much did she tell them? Do they all have a picture of you in their wallet or something? You saw a few faces with details that rang bells– a pretty Indian girl, a brunet beanstalk of a man, a short farmboy type… 

As Robby asked you about your job at the library, the nurse’s station came into view again, and you saw Mel standing at the desk, lording over a clipboard. Robby patted your back and whistled, “You have a visitor, Dr. King!”

Mel’s head darted up at the sharp sound, and you wished you had your camera out when her face twisted through a rapid set of surprise, confusion, and glee, all in a second. She abandoned her chart to rush to you, showing off her teeth. 

“What are you doing here? Hi!” She exclaimed, hands hesitating between hugging you or taking the coffee first. 

You put them both down on the desk and grabbed her face, pressing a soft smooch to the skin of her cheek. “I thought I’d surprise you. Dr. Robby was just showing me around.”

Robby threw Mel a wink and slinked away, looking like a happy little hyena. She burned bright red and groaned, “He didn’t say anything embarrassing, right?”

“Only that you talk about me nonstop. I think everyone knew me without even saying hello.”

Mel’s eyes blinked in horror. “I– well– it– y’know–”

“I think it’s sweet,” you giggled, wrapping the end of her braid around your finger. You leaned against the desk and cocked your head, studying how she looked no different– still beautiful– in a place that wasn’t the library, her place, or yours. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“No, no, God no. My patients are all inbetween being observed. I’m good.”

“I brought you coffee,” you hummed, and Mel leaned in closer, seemingly charmed. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Is there a rule against kissing in your hospital?"

“Probably,” she grinned. 

You grabbed the ends of her stethoscope and tugged her in, slotting your mouth against hers. Mel let out a tiny grunt against your mouth, her voice thick and warm, and her hands slid around the soft stuff of your hips. Your nose smushed against hers and you sighed softly, relieved to finally have a fix again. Mel was two seconds away from shoving her tongue down your throat when another whistle sounded, starling you two apart like dogs. 

“The lounge, Mel,” Robby called, his wolfish teeth peeking from behind a knowing look. 

Mel could only wince and tug you along, grabbing her free coffee. “Come on. I’ve got twenty minutes.”

“I like him,” you teased, and Mel gave you a chiding glance as she dragged you towards the doctor’s lounge. “Can I meet the others?”

“Me first,” she purred.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ 

  Mel’s bed was incredibly comfortable, especially in the slow transition to winter. You had come to appreciate this when you slept over after the fourth date, and even more after the fateful picnic, where the title of girlfriend raised the flag for you both to tear into each other in the way you’d wanted to for forever. As you lay in it now with one hand in the beautiful doctor’s hair and a book in the other, you hoped you might sleep in it for the rest of your life. 

“You should really go to bed. It’s late,” Mel rasped, heavy eyes drooping. 

“Says you. You’ve got work in four hours.”

“Well, I wanted to see you,” she murmured. 

You put your book face-down on your thigh and coaxed your nails through her golden locks. “I know. You still need more sleep than me.”

Mel peeked up at you, seeing the enticing little roll of your chin that she wanted to climb up and bite. She let out a huff and rolled over, inching onto her knees and perching herself on your lap. You grinned and jutted your chin out as she leaned in to press a slow kiss to your lips, waking up the butterflies that had only just caught a break.

Against her lips you asked, “What are your days off this week?”

Mel’s hands sunk into your hair. “Mm… Sunday and Monday.”

You arched into her a bit and swiped your tongue along her bottom lip. “We can do something Sunday… park, zoo, something…”

“Stop talking,” she mumbled.

Mel loved to kiss you. You loved to kiss Mel. It was arguably what you did most, and for good reason. It had been a lifetime for you of wanting love and never getting it, putting your career first, hoping that one day someone would walk in and change everything. And with Mel losing her parents, and down the line her sister to another love, kissing you was her opportunity to finally regain the connection she had been searching for as life dragged her down. Here, in her bed, you could put your hands on her and find her perfect. She could squeeze your tummy and your thighs and mumble questions about books while she made you whine; she could tuck her fingers in warm places and tell you that you were everything she ever wanted. 

Kissing and loving was so incredibly easy, and together you had realized that maybe everyone else was just stuck in a love that wasn’t the right kind. All this talk about making things work, about how work hours and separate lives can be too hard to reconcile, none of that made any difference to you. You worked nights at the library because Mel usually stayed late. You came home and ate eleven o’ clock dinners and slept in the same room. You woke with her to have coffee and fall back asleep when she left. On her days off she came to your job, and on yours you repaid the favor. Mel learned to take a day off now and again so she could live her life with you. Suddenly, in everything people said made love hard, you found moments that made the wait worth it. Months were a short period of time, but within them you realized how much real love smoothes the edges of everything, promising to get you through a hard day for the sake of coming home to a kiss. And it didn’t seem crazy at all, or impossible. Maybe it was a miracle, or maybe it was just Mel. These days, they felt one and the same. 

When Mel pulled away, she tucked her face into your neck and peppered her lips across your collarbone. “Read to me?”

You melted like butter beneath her, and as she curled in your lap, you picked up the book again. She was a precious thing when her body was drained. “You’re so pretty. Did I tell you today?”

Mel grinned. “A few times, I think.”

“Well, you are.”

“So are you, bookworm,” she whispered, nudging up to kiss you one more time. 

You released her with a sheepish expression and snuggled closer, finding your spot on the page. You would read until she fell asleep, and then you would shut the pages and stare at her face for a while until the image remained when you closed your eyes. And you would love her forever, because when you thought about the future, she was all you could see, stretching in an endless line. From where you stood now, it was easy to imagine. It felt good to think so. 

having a girlfriend who worked night shift wasn’t for the weak of heart. unless of course, you worked the same exact shift just on a different floor, then it was quite easy, really. working night shift can be disorienting for anyone. going into work in the dark and coming out to light always messes with your head a little, no matter how much you try to get used to it, but it helped a bit going home with someone who understood your schedule. although you mostly worked on the same days, there were a few outlier shifts where one of you would go into work while the other would have a single night off between shifts, and this happened to be one of those nights.

it’s not like you didn’t enjoy having an off night. it allowed you to watch the shows you’d been meaning to catch up on, and time to catch up on household chores you had been putting off all week. but when you work night shifts all week, it’s hard to change your schedule for one day and attempt to sleep when you are usually working, and without your girlfriend at that. and with parker being home from about 6 pm at night to 6 am the following morning, it’s not exactly like there were very many public things open to occupy your sleepless night. so like usual, you were just spending your night wandering around the house till parker got home, so you two could fall asleep together.

it was around four in the morning, and you were in the middle of wiping down the kitchen table, one of the housewives series blasting on the living room TV as your background noise, when suddenly you could hear the familiar jingle of the front door unlocking. your eyes flick over to the clock displayed on the microwave to double-check the time, thinking perhaps the hours had slipped away from you amidst your cleaning, but your stomach drops a bit when you realize that it wasn’t even close to the time your girlfriend was expected to be home. but you didn’t have much time to dwell on your anxiety before you could hear the door open, and within seconds, the voice of your girlfriend was calling out a little, "baby, where are you?"

you immediately release the little breath you didn't realize you were holding until then, before tossing aside your rag. you take a few steps until you're around the wall separating your kitchen and living room, and you can see parker sliding off her shoes in the foyer. you take a moment to watch as she shrugs her coat and bag off, sliding them over a decorative ottoman before you whisper out a little "what happened? are you okay?" you didn't need to ask why she was home early at the moment, you knew the center well and knew there was no good reason she would be two hours early from her shift. and you could already tell from the little familiar furrow in her brow and the way she was basically ripping her work shirt off, so she was only the gray tank top she wore underneath, that whatever had happened had more than pissed her off.

"had a family who fucking-they fucking refused treatment on their kids- their little fucking five year olds-highly infected eye because they didn't believe in intervening with a 'set plan' whatever the fuck that means" parker basically spits out, her eyes glued to the door as she relocks it and latches the top lock. "took us three hours to convince them to not just leave and go home and to at least let us transfer them to a faith based faclity a few miles down. i mean, their kids' eyes at least going to be fucked up for life, and they'll be lucky if he doesn't lose it, or worse at this point." you could hear how bothered she was by the way she was gritting her words out slightly, like she was reliving the anger she felt in the moment. you didn't say anything, just stood there waiting, you knew she would explain. she always did.

parker took a few moments to press her palms to her eyes, taking a breath before huffing and letting her hands fall back to her sides as she looked up at you. "i flipped the fuck out on the dad, and shen sent me home." you weren't surprised. you knew how bothered she got about these sorts of cases, ones where children suffered due to the actions of their parents. "honestly ,if one of the HR reps had been down there when it happened i probably would have gotten worse than just sent home early, im sure the whole floor heard what i said." your girlfirend continued, sinking into the corner of your couch as she did so.

"im sorry, honey" you immediately cooed, taking the few short steps until you were standing right in front of where she was sitting "what can i do to make you feel better?" you knew your girlfriend better than anyone, and you knew that she was much more frustrated by these parents than she was upset at being sent home. you also knew that when she had frustrating days like this, she didn't want you to immediately press her to talk about her feelings or the thoughts running through her head, she would much rather be offered some sort of distraction and time to process, and she would come to you when she was ready. so instead, when times like this came about, you just tried to be there in any way you could be, anyway she wanted you to be.

after a few seconds, you hesitantly reach down to her belt, eyes flicking up to hers to ask for permission, when suddenly your wrist is being grasped by her and being pinned to her thigh instead. you suck in a small breath at the speed of her actions and instantly go to apologize, thinking you had misread her mood and offended her by offering something she would usually be ecstatic about. but before you could utter your words, a little "please" was leaving parkers lips. "please. every case i've had tonight got away from me in some way, i only saw three cases all the way to discharge and two of them ended badly. so please." her hand moves from pining down your wrist to cupping your face in moments, "please, just let me see something through i know i can do well"

you couldn't even ask what she meant before she was adjusting your positions till she was no longer sitting on the couch but kneeling beside it, while you were lying back against the back cushions, your legs spread slightly to give her room to get between them. her hands were running slowly up and down your thighs, teasing the edge of the loose pajama shorts you were wearing whenever she reached them, but didn't slip her fingers below the fabric yet. her eyes flick between her movements and your face, waiting for permission to take over this little interaction. which of course you grant her, giving her a breathy "whatever you want." your consent is immediately rewarded by her thumb brushing past your shorts. ellis had been expecting to find your panties, only to be met with her thumb brushing straight across your clit. the motion made your hips buck into her hand, which only made her give you a small chuckle and use the hand not currently running back and forth over you to hold your hips down to the plush couch.

"whatever i want?" she muses, "thats a lot of power, baby, you must really trust me." the hand that had pushed your hips back down was now trailing up the oversized t-shirt you were sporting. when it reached your breast, she began to knead it softly, thumb rubbing over your nipple to see it peak, before she went back to just massaging you. you knew she was looking for reassurance, for you to tell her you trusted her with this, with you. "more than anyone in the world," you respond almost instantly, not giving her mind a second to wander to self-deprecating thoughts. you can see the praise gives her confidence with the way her back relaxes slightly, but her grip on you tightens.

"gonna take these off, 'kay?" parker murmers, more so giving you a warning than asking, because she doesn't wait for a response before she was gripping the hem of your shorts and yanking them down to reveal your already glistening pussy. "why're you walking around here with no panties on, huh?" she teases, giving your clit the lightest little smack before her thumb goes back to rubbing circles around it, too slow to work you up too much, which she knew very well. "its like you were waiting for me to do this." her voice comes out quiet and low, and she wasnt focused on your face anymore but instead she was locked into the way you were twitching underneath her hands, hips squirming as if you wanted to escape but at the same time pressing up for more. parkers hand not rubbing over your clit trails down to your entrance, her index finger running over it. she just sits there for a moment, hands working over you, before leaning in until her nose is bumping against your ear and letting out a little "gotta get you all ready for me so it doesn't hurt when i fuck you later."

her words are so casual, it makes you flush, and they are accompanied by her sliding her index finger slowly into you. she gives you a second to adjust to the feeling, the circles on your clit becoming a tad harder to make up for the small stretch you were likely feeling. "shh, sweetheat, i know, just give it a second, baby," she whispers sweetly as she begins to pump her finger in and out of you, causing your breath to hitch and your hand to grip onto her tanktop for some stability.

she continues to finger fuck you, slowly adding in fingers until you were stretched and whining around 3 of them. when she felt you were adequately prepped for her later on, her fingers began to slow down until she had a slow, steady rhythm going, one that gave you the stretch you were so desperately craving, but not fast or deep enough to make you cum. when you realized she had slowed down a bit, you began to whine out a "parker what-why-" in protest, only to be cut off by her fingers sliding out and delivering another little slap, this time over your entire cunt.

"i know what i'm doing," parker says, her tone firm and steady, in a way that made your mouth immediately fall shut "i don't need your input, just lie back and let me make you feel good."

and of course you do, who wouldn't?

ellis keeps eye contact for a second, looking for any sort of protest from you, before her fingers slide back inside you and begin to pump that steady slow pattern again. she sits back on her knees for a moment, watching the way you were stretched around her, before pressing forward and going in on your clit. her lips latching on and not giving you a moment to breathe as she worked you. with the fingers inside of you as well as the continuous stimulation against your clit had you writhing with pleasure. your hands tangled in parkers hair as you try to hold back and try to breathe through your moans, not wanting to cum too fast.

almost as if she could sense you were holding back on her, parker pulled back only to huff a, "god, even you're being stubborn today, huh?" against you before diving right back in, this time suckling on your clit even harder, her fingers pounding into you at a faster pace, as if to push you over the edge as quickly as possible.

and it worked. within the span of seconds, you were being pushed over the edge, that knot that had been building in your stomach snapping with a hot fury that left you squirming.

it took a few seconds for you to float back down from the high the climax gave you. and as you did parker continued to pump into you slowly, letting you ride it out for as long as possible. and when you had caught your breath, she was slowly pulling away from you and slowing the fingers inside you down to a stop before pulling them out entirely.

you both sit there for a moment, your girlfriend's non-soaked hand finding your head and wiping a bit of sweat from the edge of your forehead before leaning in to give you a tiny kiss over the spot she just wiped. but when you go to sit up, you are met with that same hand pressing you gently back down into the couch,

"i said i was getting you ready, did i not?" parker asks softly, her tone slightly condescending as she presses herself up from where she was kneeling. she takes a second to run her hand over your thigh, giving it a few comforting squeezes before she stands completely.

You shutter, barely feeling her thumb against your clit. She was always such a tease. "She?" Your head was foggy. Your critical thinking went out the window with your third orgasm.

"I think you know what I meant by that, Love." But just to help you, her hand cupped itself before coming down to give your puffy cunt a little spank. Watching you clench around nothing. "Oh, I think she likes it, don't you think?" She kept her hand against your glossy skin, rubbing side to side, giving you a little stimulation to the bundle of nerves.

"F-fuck. Ells, I like it" your hip jerked. Letting out a sigh of relief as her hand rubbed over the stingy area up and down your slit, her warm palm smoothing the slick covered folds.

Parker gently pinched your clit for the mistake. "Baby," Her voice carried a knowing tone as one of her eyebrows raised.

"She…she likes it." You nod your head eagerly as your hips rolled against her hand.

"That's right, honey." Her hand traveled down and over your thigh. "You think she's got one more for her?"

"Yes baby. One more. She's got one more for you." You reached down to her chin, guiding her to get closer. "Kiss?"

She smiled, "You don't have to ask me twice." She closed the distance. Her lips connected with yours. You could taste yourself still on her tongue. "You taste that? My favorite fucking taste." Her lips were mere inches away from yours, her breath fanning over yours.

"You wouldn't believe what mine is?" You say, teasingly, rolling your hip against hers. Wishing she was as naked as you were right now. To feel her skin against yours more.

She let out a dry laugh. "I think I got an idea."

She started her kisses slow and light, her lips starting with your jaw, then your neck. Her mouth stopped at your exposed chest. She could spend hours giving them the attention they need. She started with the right one, her tongue flicking out to the pebbled nipple.

Lips quickly wrapped around the bud, pulling back slightly, tugging lightly.

You let out the sweetest little moan, almost made her want to skip all the teasing and bring her tongue where she really wanted. Instead, she took her right hand up to your knee, rubbing the skin before moving her hand farther up. Her fingers dancing over your inner thigh watching your softened muscles clench under her fingertips.

"So responsive today. You missed me as much as I missed you?" Her lips unlatched from your nipple as she spoke, leaving the skin glistening from the light from the lamp on the side table near the couch. Not moving that far away as she kissed the other neglected one.

"Of course, I missed you," your voice was airy, hips grinding against her hand. "Thought about you the whole time I was gone." Your hand came up to her hair again. Tightening your grip once her lips your other nipple to fend against the cool air of the room. ’T-those pictures didn't help."

"Like them? Which one did you like the most?" Her kisses trailed down your stomach until she got to your mound. Clearly waiting for a response before continuing.

"I think…shit" Her fingers clearly didn't get the memo as two fingers pushed past your folds, being welcomed by your tight walls.

"Keep going. I'm listening, baby." Her voice was low and calm.

"The gym one," you stated slowly. "I like the way your back muscles looked in the first one." Your voice trailed off as your head tilted to the side. Eyes closed, trying to focus on your response to Parker. "Umm" as you try to think back on the other pictures, Parker's voice cut through.

"Eyes, baby. I want to see your eyes."

You turned your head back to face forward. Looking down to see her eyes were indeed already on you. Because she looked so fucking good on her knees like that, the way the light made her glow.

You took a breath like she taught you. "I like the little smirk that you had in the second one…where you were flexing your biceps. Even though I thought that day was legs…your voice started to get quiet as this feeling at the back of your throat started to build up.

You gasped, her lips finally embracing your clip again after all that teasing, but this time, with the company of two fingers curling inside you, which made your brain want to stop working, but of course, your girlfriend wouldn't be so nice.

"Keep going, I remember sending you a couple more. What do you like about them?" In all honesty, she just wanted to hear you talk. The way you try and fight to keep your voice even and not let those sounds shine through always fails. She learned to read you like a book. But always excited to read what's on the next page.

"I—I don't remember…"

"I think you do. Or would that voice message you sent me jog your memory?" Her voice carried a tone that came off as teasing.

You shuttered the night you sent it. You remember it was late, you were running all over the place, barely able to check your phone if it wasn't a call or email. You had just settled in the bed of the hotel you were staying at.

You and Parker were sending voice messages all day, not having time to type. You had just listened to her final voice message which mentioned some pictures to help you relax.

You thought it was going to be something cute and sweet like the others from earlier that day. Your eyes widen. Did she? Your fingers moved fast to your photos to see if any photos were added to a folder that you two shared together. Yup, there it was three things were added.

Two pictures and one video. The hottest thing you have ever seen and the best thing you need at the moment.

Your hands moved before your brain could talk yourself out of it. You dropped your phone to besides you were fumbling with your button down. Hands quickly going to your pants, stripping yourself down to your underwear. Using one hand to hold your phone, click on the first picture.

She just had to get out of the shower. The picture was cut off, so nothing over the chin showed, her in a towel that was barely high enough to cover her chest. Water droplets still clinging to her body. Her hair was down, she probably washed her hair too.

You thumb swiped to the next picture as your free hand teased your nipples through your bra. Your eyes scanning the second picture. She was lying in bed now, she was in one of your shirts from years ago. She didn't have a bra on. Fucking you felt like such a perv for noticing the way her nipples were strained against the fabric. Her chain lying so pretty against her neck.

Then your thumb swiped to the video. You played it, eyes studying the video like it was some type of game film. You felt your breath hitch hearing her smooth voice admitting from the speaker of your phone. Which was just high enough you could hear. 'Did she make a video of her talking me through it while she…'

You were taken out of your thoughts by Parker. By the look on her face, it wasn't the first time she had called your name.

"Hey, hey. Where are you going?" Her fingers slowed down until they came to a complete stop and were removed from your greedy cunt who didn't want to let her go. She wanted to get a sense of where her head was at.

You shook your head. "Just thinking about the pictures… and video." Pushing the few locks that fell on her face, smiling as you got to see her face better. "It really helped me unwind, I appreciate it."

"You know I'm always going to be there for you. Come on, put your legs over my shoulders, Sweetheart." Her hands moved to take both of yours into hers. Resting all your hands against your hip area, keeping you in place.

"Want me to keep going? Go ahead, tell me what you want." Her voice was velvety, keeping her tone even just how she knew you liked it.

Nodding your head eagerly, you pulled at her hair, gently urging her to go exactly where she knows you want her.

"Mhm," she hummed before she continued, "That's it, take what you need, Love." Your hips grinding against her mouth, the sounds of you both mixed together. Parker could tell you were close when your hips faltered from the pace too often, or the way you tried to pull away.

Parker kept his hands in hers, her face following your hips, her tongue lapping all your sweet, tangy juice that was practically leaking from your entrance. "You going to cum? Go ahead. Be my good girl"

That was the last thing you needed, your back arching off the couch, your thighs trembling around her head as your hand squeezed Parker's tight, letting out a moan.

"That's right, Honey. Just ride it out for me."

Your legs finally relaxed around her head. The only thing that filled the air at first was your heavy breaths and the faint sounds of Ellis's lips against your warm skin.

After a couple of of moments, you were able to catch your breath. Head picking up to look down at her girlfriend. Your thumbs rubbing against the back of her hands. "All this because I was gone for a couple of days?" You let out a breathless laugh. Your hands tighten its hold with hers.

"What can I say? I missed my girl." She smiled, looking up at you, placing a kiss on your inner thigh.