𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ summary: you're moving to pittsburgh to work at a new tattoo & body piercing shop, only you still need to find a place to stay. thankfully, an old friend can hook you up with a coworker who recently had an extra room open up.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ tags: worlds saddest mel (she's ok), reader x santos x mel friendship yippee, alcohol/hangovers mentioned, some cursing, potential inaccuracies with the medical + piercing professions i'm doing my best, r swapping jewelry (nothing gross, some irritation mentioned), anxiety, overstimulation / major shut down, masking, one very brief mention of mel + becca’s mom when she was sick. nudity mentioned?? kinda??, omg feelings, gayyyyyy, mel doesn't realize she's queer (yet... rubs evil fly hands), reader is prob nd too, eventual smut bc duh.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ notes: only one chapter for this update sorry, but it's a long chapter... it didn't feel right separating it into two idk ALSO biggest sad mel since the first chapter be warned. that nd life fr go from ﾟ.♬ happy happy happy ﾟ.♬ to a saw trap real quick.
Trinity’s consciousness floated back into place before she had even opened her eyes. She let out a soft, complaining huff and rolled over to hide her face from the light sneaking in between the blinds. Her head still ached, and all she wanted was to sleep in, not even caring when she bumped into you on all the bedding the three of you had piled in the living room. Well, you and Trinity piled in the living room, tipsy and excited about a sleepover while Mel occasionally piped up to argue against a certain blanket or pillow touching the floor. Her body nudged yours, lying facedown in front of you on your side, prompting you to mumble something unintelligible and then roll over the other way. You fell right back to sleep. Lucky. She tried to force it, but her body still made its case for her usually being up this early. It wasn't until closer to 8:00 when she finally accepted it, sitting up with a miserable expression, makeup smudged and hair messy.
Slouched in her spot, she felt another wave of exhaustion that she tried to appease with simply closing her eyes.
“Morning!” Mel chirped from the hallway, and Santos immediately crumbled back into the blankets and pillows, groaning.
“Oh, sorry!”
ʚɞ
You thanked Trin with a weak grunt of acknowledgement when she passed you the to-go container of hash browns. Considering her body refused to let her sleep in, she eventually accepted her bitter fate and ordered breakfast. Meanwhile, Mel was already up and showered by that point, still too cheery in Santos’ opinion, but she was too tired to have any snark. At first, the two doctors barely got a response from you when they tried waking you to ask what you wanted. Mel had tried from a spot outside of all the blankets and pillows, earning her half a sound and nothing else.
This was far too quiet of an attempt, which Trin knew, so she clumsily stepped over the sea of bedding to incessantly nudge the dip of your waist with her foot.
“Food. Breakfast. Get the fuck up,” she said, certainly getting more out of you than Mel had, but you rolled over to lay on your front. When she said she was ordering food, you eventually muttered what you wanted into the strawberry cat Squishmallow you were now burying your face in.
“No eggs,” you suddenly spoke up with as much urgency as you could muster moments later, your sleepy voice briefly strained from stretching while you rolled over again. You settle into an odd angle, arm thrown over your eyes.
“Mel can’t do eggs, not even the smell of them.”
“I told her already,” Mel said happily, unable to contain how much that made her smile. “But thank you!”
You only hummed in response, falling asleep yet again between then and the food being delivered. Once the order was dropped off, Trinity woke you up by throwing one of the heavier couch cushions at you.
You and Trin were practically melting into the small dining table while you ate, both of you constantly closing your eyes, lying to yourselves that it was more sleep. Mel, on the other hand, was sitting up straight and very happy about her blueberry pancakes, her hash browns kept on a separate plate.
“I think I’m dying. Could one of the professionals here check my pulse?” you muttered when you let your forehead rest on the table with a soft “ow” after landing harder than you had intended.
Despite how tired the whole group was after leaving the club last night, you and Trinity still took shots to keep the energy going while you waited for the late dinner you had promised them. And both of you certainly knew better than to drink too much and eat right before bed, and yet…
Mel blinked at you, wiping her hands despite being perfectly clean, then leaned over to feel the side of your neck. She only shifted the angle once, looking off at nowhere in particular while considering the beat against her fingers.
“Your pulse is good.”
“Thanks, Dr. King,” you got out, face still pressed to the table, enjoying the coolness of the surface while it lasted before it was officially lost to your damn body heat.
Trin raised an eyebrow over how smiley Mel got when you referred to her that way, but the closest thing she came to commenting was letting out a heavy sigh through her nose. She was too tired to make the most of that.
"Meanwhile, what kind of doctor are you? You would’ve let me die here,” you joked to Trin as you finally raised your head to show your face of sleepy betrayal.
“I just know the fakers when I see ‘em,” she sighed playfully, letting out a small laugh when she looked up from her plate.
“Stay there,” she said, taking out her phone. You furrowed your brow and raised a hand like, "Where would I even be going right now?” right as she took a picture of you.
Trin cackled a bit over the photo before finally reaching out to pluck the delivery receipt off from where it had apparently stuck to your forehead. She promptly sent it to the group chat she had originally made to share any pictures she took last night with you and Mel. Every shot of or with Mel was cute, if not a bit shy, since Trin obviously gave her more warnings. Most of the pictures she took of only you were blurry or the type of unflattering/ridiculous that you knew one of them would be her new contact photo for you soon.
When she was done eating, Mel pushed her chair back with a grating sound that she apologized for, then went further into the kitchen to bring out her dishes. She stopped by the list on the fridge after to happily check multiple boxes based off her accomplishments from the night before. You tilt your chair back slightly and squint to see which ones she was picking, setting the chair legs back down with a sharp clack.
“Are you also checking off number twenty-two?”
“Yep!” she chirped happily, capping the pen then returning it to its designated spot on top of the fridge.
Trin leaned over to see the list, but she couldn’t from that angle. She settled her cheek on your arm once she had officially spent her extra energy on that motion.
“Well… what did you discover about yourself then…?” you asked carefully, both you and Trin silently in agreement about what you were anticipating.
“I don’t like kissing,” Mel said simply with a single nod and a smile. Trinity and you could feel in the air that there should’ve been a live audience in that moment, going from the hopeful “Ahh…?” to a disappointed “Aw…”
“I don’t think it’s the kissing that’s the problem…” Trin whispered under her breath, sliding from your arm to rest on the table again and lazily nudged your leg under the table after you did it first.
“Well, that’s good to know about yourself,” you responded with an encouraging smile, adding an additional “it is” and rubbing Mel’s arm when she was by the table again, her smile a bit more bashful now.
Then your phone started buzzing where it was on the table, and you groaned.
“I hate phones. I only want to communicate in person and maybe by letter,” you complained as you dipped your head into the crook of your arm on top of the table, your to-go container pushed out of the way. Trinity stole berries from it with a casual stab of her fork.
“Oh! It’s your boss,” Mel informed you after she leaned over to look for you.
You let out a hum, finally shifting to sit up again, cradling the side of your head in your hand. You stared at the screen and tried to find the momentum in your body, only reaching out to finally tap on it when you felt it was probably going to end soon.
“Hey…” you got out. “What’s up?”
“Ugh, you sound rough.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your candor,” you huffed in response to Mabel, who only laughed before moving on to why they were bothering you.
“I like them,” Trin mumbled with a nod.
“We got a walk-in—well, actually, he booked a consult with you at 5:00—but he’s concerned about his septum piercing? Guess he tried to take it out at home.” You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling at that. Of course he did. “Jess is out on her kid’s field trip.”
“He’s really worried about it,” they added in a hushed tone. “Like considering heading to PTMC kinda worried, but he doesn’t wanna sit in an emergency room all day just to have it ripped out by some asshole who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
“Preach,” Trinity muttered against the lip of her mug, sipping her coffee while she tapped her free index finger and pad of her thumb together in a silent applause. You gave her an amused look before returning your focus to the call.
“Does it look like it’s that bad?”
“I mean, I don’t think so?? It looked a little red, but you’re the piercer, not me.”
“Fantastic… Okay…" you sighed, rubbing your eyes and trying to think what your schedule looked like for the day. He was your only booked appointment since the two friends that wanted matching navel piercings got cold feet. At the start of this week, you thought of coming in early for any walk-ins. Now you wanted to cry at the thought of even leaving the apartment.
“I think he was here when we opened, but he said he’s had this piercing for a while,” Mabel added, although you already knew that you hadn’t done that piercing.
Send him elsewhere… gain a good rep here, maybe a new loyal client… send him elsewhere…
“Alright…” you finally sighed, glancing at Trin and Mel. The blonde had perked up so much, you figured you might as well offer.
“Field trip?”
Mel grinned and nodded quickly. When you glanced at Trinity, ready to let her know she could stay back, she shrugged with a mutter about not having anything better to do.
“Jess won't be the only one taking a field trip today,” you informed Mabel playfully, clasping your hands together in a single clap, hoping it would convince your body to have more energy. The sound only hurt your head.
“Be there in twenty.”
ʚɞ
You and Trinity both approached the shop with sunglasses, aspirin, and breakfast keeping you afloat. Oh, and Mel happily trailing behind you as she looked around, carrying a reusable water bottle that she insisted you take sips from “as a friend, not a doctor.” When she tried this with Trin, she gave her such a death glare that the poor girl was too scared to try it again.
You took out your keys to use the employee entrance, where Mabel waited for you to give you an update (also just in case you forgot your keys). The guy was a bit irritable, but they honestly felt that it was only because he was anxious. Once inside, they still kept the door cracked just enough to get a hit from their vape and blow it outside as if they were still the tattoo apprentice sneaking it back at the old shop.
“Hey, I’m Mabel, by the way,” they smiled and waved to the others with you as a mint-scented cloud puffed from their mouth.
“Trinity,” she offered an awkward, closed smile, still barely awake.
“Hi! I’m Melissa, but everyone calls me Mel." The blonde grinned as she held out her hand to shake Mabel’s, fighting back the urge to end up in a similar discussion that led to you making your only roommate rule. They laughed lightly over her enthusiasm, understanding what you meant the few times you had mentioned how endearing she is.
Mabel finally let the door shut after the handshake ended, noting it was cool to finally meet both of them. They held polite conversation while you were over by one of the decorative mirrors, tucking your sunglasses away and putting in eyedrops. Mel looked at the hallway you were in that led to the front, finding everything to be so colorful and nicely decorated.
“Mind if I have them with me? They’re doctors,” you offered that fact to Mabel playfully as if it really mattered, blinking up at the ceiling so the drops wouldn’t immediately roll down your cheeks.
“I don’t care. You got two apprentices today if you want,” Mabel replied, patting your back on their way to the front.
After shoving the small bottle back into your bag, you also went down the hall with Grumpy and Happy trailing behind you. Mel continued to observe the hallway decor and enjoyed the faint buzzing of tattoo machines in two other private rooms, as well as the grumbling music that stuck consistently to its vagueness—well, vague to her ears. You listened to a wide variety of music over the weeks you spent moving in, but you were her gradual introduction to some heavier genres. By now, Mel had realized she didn’t mind the screaming or growling singing as long as it stayed that way. It was when a song flip-flopped between being completely incomprehensible and traditional singing that bothered her. She didn’t like how it made her only privy to some of the song’s content rather than all or none of it.
You pulled from your usual script as you turned the corner into your piercing room, starting to greet and thank the client for waiting until you got a better look at him. You remembered talking to him during opening day, hoping that would play in your favor, even if he had annoyed you a bit. At the time, he had been looking at the larger jewelry display by the front desk, and you had humored his complaints about prices. You bit back your sassy remarks to stick with a tried and true "Yeah, no, it feels like a robbery, but it’s totally worth it.”
Honestly, you didn’t think the prices were bad for the materials and quality, but what did you know? Not like this was your profession or anything.
“Hey Chris,” you smiled, glad to attach a face to the name in your schedule again, taking a quick glance at his nose.
“I see we found a replacement for that horseshoe we were looking at last week…”
“Well, yeah, man,” he started as you washed your hands at the sink, drying off before putting on gloves. “Why spend an arm and a leg when I found the same thing online, y’know?”
You nodded, pretending to be busy with getting your second glove on while you were really considering a better response than the one ready on the tip of your tongue. So true, bestie, at least you’re only spending the cartilage in your nose.
“Yeah, but they don’t have the good shit like we do, c’mon,” you drawled with a playful familiarity after pulling the glove into place.
Then, as you settled onto your rolling stool, you realized Mel was still waiting by the door, looking curiously into your piercing room. Trinity had walked off to melt into one of the waiting chairs up front, her head tilted back, and her bucket hat over her face.
“Oh, do you mind if I have someone shadowing me today?” you asked, and Chris glanced at the door before shrugging and saying he didn’t care. With a nod in addition to all the other confirmations that it was okay, Mel grinned and walked in.
“Um… should I put on gloves?” she asked, and you shook your head, gesturing to the sink while letting her know she could wash her hands if she wanted to, but she’d only be observing.
“Anyway,” you continued with a little sigh, continuing that lighthearted banter as you focused back on the client. “We wouldn’t do you like this, man. Plated jewelry is never the call, even with healed piercings.”
“It’s not plated; it’s titanium, just like you have in the display." Chris lazily gestured to a small, encased jewelry display you had. “I just wanted to take it back out.”
Mel looked curiously over at the display while she washed her hands. She had a feeling that “it’s not plated; it’s titanium…” was your version of things she heard, like "No, I haven't been drinking.”
You got a better look at it after moving forward on your stool, immediately spotting where the thin coating of metal over the main body of the piece had already been rubbed off and scratched from his attempts to take it back out. The bezeled “crystals” that made up the decorative beads were also plastic, without a doubt. Mel found a good spot a few steps behind you and off to the side.
“Dude,” was all you said at first, giving him a look. “I will personally throw some cash towards getting you the better ring if you’ll be so for real with me right now.”
He could've been frustrated over being called out, but instead he gave you an amused grin, feigning innocence as he rubbed the back of his neck. At least he was a little less nervous.
“Well, I’m gonna say 'yeah, it’s plated' now even if it’s not.”
“Isn’t it, though?” you replied, keeping your accusatory tone playful before returning to the main issue.
Mel tilted her head with a thoughtful expression. She appreciated the way you handled things. While she couldn’t bribe patients, beyond rewarding good behavior with access to the decent pudding, she wished she could pull off that “c’mon you know me” attitude. As you took another look at the piercing, Mel was curiously hovering closer but tried not to be in the way. She was interested in seeing you work. Sure, part of her excitement had come from never being in a shop like this before, but most of it was from wanting to watch you.
“Good news is it doesn’t look that bad,” you reassured him, and he sighed with a nod. “It’s a little irritated, probably from you trying to remove it, but it shouldn’t get in the way of me taking it out, okay?”
He sighed in relief, and thankfully, from what Mel could see, she also didn’t notice any signs that warranted a trip to the emergency room.
“So, who are you? An apprentice?” Chris asked her while you put a warm saline compress together with some gauze. Mel’s eyes widened a bit, parting her lips but not knowing what to say. Mabel mentioned apprentices, but she wasn’t an apprentice and didn’t want to lie.
You glanced over your shoulder at Mel and then shrugged as you looked at the client again.
“She’s a doctor, actually," you explained, your tone more teasing when you looked at her, giving her a little smile. “Curious about the work of piercers and tattoo artists to be more informed.”
“They’re doing that now? Finally,” Chris huffed and looked at Mel. “If you get nothing else outta this, just never fucking give a person shit for being scared of needles just 'cause they got their nose pierced or they have a full sleeve.”
He gestured to the tattoo along one of his arms, and you laughed a bit but still glanced at her to make sure she didn’t look stressed or upset. Mel simply blinked and offered a firm nod. She never gave anyone a hard time anyway. Needles could be scary.
“Okay, um…” she replied with a shy breath of a laugh. “Absolutely.”
You gave Chris a glove to wear on the hand he’d be holding the compress with. Once you made sure he was doing it properly, you discarded your gloves, and set a timer on your phone. Honestly, you didn’t think it needed a compress before taking it out, but at this point it was more about soothing him than the actual piercing.
While you set up your tray, Mel observed your room more, looking at the certifications you’ve mentioned before, as well as your decorations. You were busy going through the storage you kept on your workstation, so she didn’t get too close, but she wished she could look at all your supplies. She wanted to see the sterilization room too, but she kept her questions inside. Her attention only strayed from indulging her curiosity as much as she could, whenever your client thought of anything else she should know. Then, your timer went off, and she was grateful for the chance to feel useful. She shut it off for you, although it was a bit awkward to get to your phone in your pocket, your arms raised to avoid touching anything that could contaminate the gloves you just switched out.
When you took the compress away, you looked at the state of the piercing, lightly wiping at one spot before nodding to yourself and discarding your trash. She wondered if you had an internal monologue the way she did when she went over every step and if it was as informal as you usually are or if you kicked into a different gear in your mind while working.
Mel sucked in her lower lip, tilted her head, and calmly folded her hands in front of her abdomen as she watched you open autoclave packages. She forced herself as much as possible to hold onto an air of professionalism, even when she wanted to voice her excitement about any of the tools you unwrapped that she also used at work, like the needle holder you used to clasp onto the new piece of jewelry. A curious hum came from the back of her throat while she watched you use some cylindrical thingy to unscrew one of the decorative ends on the piece of curved metal.
“Mind tucking your hands under your legs for me?” you asked him. Mel instinctually did her equivalent to the request, folding her hands behind herself while the person you were actually addressing followed your instructions. Her gaze briefly flicked to his face, doing a double take before hesitating over whether she should mention he was looking a little off. She was finally parting her lips to speak up when you caught the way he was paling the longer he looked at your tools.
“You wanna tell me about the piercing you booked a consult for?” you asked casually, while having him relax back as you stepped on a pedal attached to the chair to lean it back more. Once he was laid back, you had him tuck his hands away differently. You still wanted to avoid any reflexive swatting at you or the piercing, but you didn't want too much pressure on them either.
He talked a bit about the ear piercing he was currently hoping he had the anatomy for, thankfully losing that concerning tone to his skin as he discussed this with you.
Once he felt ready, Mel watched you pick up another one of those cylindrical things again and sigh.
“Okay… so I’m sure you know the deal, but I like to let people know everything I’m gonna do before I do it and as I do it,” you started, going over to one side of the reclined chair. “If you want, I can always shut up and go for it. Just let me know.”
ʚɞ
It was fascinating to hear you explain each step to him, even when you were only unscrewing the end of the ring he had in (apparently the cylindrical thing was simply called a ball remover tool). The client had been quick to shake his head when you offered to do everything without talking through it, and Mel had a deep appreciation for the emphasis you put on not wanting to surprise him. You didn’t count down, but let him know you’d always ask him to inhale before you did something. She subconsciously followed along each time, inhaling and exhaling when you instructed the client.
Deep breath in—you got the jewelry out. Exhale. Deep breath in—you slid the new piercing into place with your tools and a swift motion. Exhale. It was all such a smooth process. You finished with the first ball remover tool to now reattach the ball at the end, the needle holders clicking when you released the new ring. Mel thought you moved with impressive precision, finding something satisfying in the way you’d angle your hand or move your wrist or the way your fingers moved with your tools, even if it was just the solid hold you had on them. She supposed it was her brain recognizing and enjoying the similarities to someone performing a procedure at work.
Chris’ eyes were watering, but he sat well, which Mel quietly complimented him on with a little smile. He gave her a thumbs up in place of a verbal response—unfortunately busy fighting that urge to sneeze that you had warned him about. He let out a breath as it passed, looking over at you the moment you returned to his side with a small candy jar in your freshly washed hands.
ʚɞ
“That was so cool!” Mel grinned as the three of you returned to the parking lot, bouncing excitedly while holding onto your arm. You were leaving a little later than expected since the guy had already been there, so you moved up the consult for him. Technically, it wasn’t one of your assigned days to really stay at the shop for walk-ins either, so Mabel shooed you out.
“I was just taking out Temu jewelry,” you laughed, tugged off to the side and nearly tripping over your feet each time she bounced while clinging to your arm.
It felt warmer than it probably should outside, but for now it was a nice contrast to the freezing shop. One of the tattoo clients was prone to hot flashes, so Mabel was blasting the AC to the point that you felt like you were thawing the second you stepped outside. Unfortunately, the air was still thick with enough humidity, though, that you could tell the warmth wouldn’t be welcome for very long.
“I can’t believe he said it costs an arm and a leg,” Trinity muttered playfully, considering the decorative jewelry he had wanted had been in the $40-$50 range. “Two limbs are way more expensive.”
Mel held onto her smile as she listened to Trinity’s contribution to the conversation. After, she went right back to looking at you.
“You did such a good job, though! You’d be a great medical professional.”
“Thanks, Mel, ow—" You laughed lightly even as she accidentally tugged your arm at a weird angle, and she immediately let go with a quiet apology.
ʚɞ
On the ride home, Mel’s energy gradually declined. She started off asking you any new questions now that she'd witnessed you work, and you did your best to answer while also trying to drive with the lingering remains of your hangover. As she became less talkative and had a visible shift in attitude when you glanced back at her in the rearview mirror, you hoped you hadn’t come off as irritated with her.
Despite her best efforts, Mel couldn't always grasp when these moments might hit her. When all of a sudden, her energy would crash to the point of no longer caring about whatever she had been talking about or fighting to continue giving her attention to someone else. It began to sink in when the three of you were stalled by some traffic and sat in the sun, which cast streaks of light through the windows. Mel shifted uncomfortably, squinting against it and cringing away from the heat on her face. The whole car gradually became saturated with heat, and, to your credit, you had tried to start the air conditioning, but it wasn’t working. With a frustrated huff and a mutter about getting it fixed, you shut it off again, rolling down the windows instead.
“Thanks for putting up with the random side quest, guys,” you said by the time you were pulling into the apartment’s parking lot.
Mel reiterated what a good time she had in a subdued version of her earlier excitement, swiping at the stray hairs that had flown from her braid when wind had tunneled through your car. She had been grateful for the way it cooled her face down, but she always hated the way wind whipped through the windows during a drive.
Trin gave a thumbs up with one free hand, holding up a little bag containing a new pair of earrings in the other. She had not been shy about using the family/friend discount you were allowed to share with a few people.
“Worth it.”
At this point, when you were all getting out of the car to go into the building, it was just past noon and officially, absurdly hot for May. You had all hoped it had only been the way your car had been heating up under the sun, but it was still just as miserable outside.
“Why the hell is it so gross out?” you groaned, dropping your bag to the floor and kicking your shoes off once you were through the apartment door.
"Pittsburgh" was all Trinity said, muttering with so little exertion her mouth barely even moved. She went to the fridge to find anything cooling in the freezer, only to simply stick her head in it instead.
Mel was too irritated by the dampness she felt on the small of her back to truly care that your shoes weren’t properly placed on the organizer beside the coat rack. She was stiff, wishing the sensation away, but also trying to avoid how much worse it would feel if she shifted enough for her shirt to stick to it.
“Do we have AC?” you asked Mel, who silently shook her head.
“Seriously?” She nodded.
You groaned, walking over to the multi-colored, multi-patterned cloud of pillows and blankets still spread on the couch and the rug. After touching the surface to feel how cool they were from being left untouched, you slunk on top of them with a happy sigh, facedown and enjoying the sensation while it lasted.
“We 've fans,” Mel muttered in such a way that she was a distant, unintelligible sound to you.
“What?” you sighed, rolling over and already disappointed by the blankets holding onto your body heat. Mel sighed with tamped-down impatience, miserably looking up at the ceiling from her spot on the couch.
“Fans,” she replied. If it weren't for the fact that she was so overwhelmingly uncomfortable to the point of shutting down, she would have explained that she had only been here since late September. Plus, ACs were heavy and relatively expensive.
“She has fans,” Trinity clarified from her place in the freezer. You heard it snap shut as you said, "Yeah, I got it that time.”
“Where are they?” you asked next, moving off the blankets.
You saw Mel on the couch, still stiff with her hands clasped together. Unfortunately, the usual comfort from the gesture was significantly lessened by the heat she felt trapped between them. Her shoulders were bunched up close to her ears, and she was angling her body away from you as if your question were like a physical, tangible thing she was dodging. Her mouth was pulled into a tight scowl, and her eyebrows dipped. You had only bothered to tilt your head to see her because she hadn’t answered, your discomfort briefly pushed aside by your concern.
“Mel…?” you bent your arms at your sides and pressed into the floor just enough to raise your upper body.
Trinity walked out from the kitchen, her body language heavy with fatigue.
“Seriously, I am five seconds away from being butt-ass-naked in this apartment if—” Trin started, and Mel tried to ease herself by rubbing her hands over her legs instead, attempting to wipe away the sweat accumulating between them.
The fibers of her jeans felt like they had been amplified into something else entirely, grating against her skin.
“I don’t—I don’t know, just—” she huffed, getting up off the couch.
It wasn’t true; she did know. The fans were in the closet near the bathroom, but it was like the two of you talking to her or around her, one after the other, was starting to feel like an assault to her system. She opened that closet to grab a towel and spared some energy to tug one of the box fans forward, leaving the slotted door open before going straight into the bathroom.
“What’s up with her?” Trinity murmured, stuck between feeling slighted and wondering if she should be worried.
You weren’t entirely sure what to say. It reminded you of how she could be after a shift, but it felt worse, maybe because it was so unexpected. Either way, you just kind of shrugged, tired and not entirely comfortable with the idea of discussing Mel in hushed tones.
ʚɞ
Mel tugged at her clothes, nearly brought to the brink of tears when her shirt caught on her glasses on its way off her body. Frustrated, she grabbed at her glasses to discard them onto the counter, her hair elastic tossed next and accidentally sliding into the sink.
Everything was gross and awful and too much until she got in the shower. She knew better than to shock her system with ice-cold water, so she started with lukewarm, still decreasing the temperature probably too soon. She huffed, grasping her arms over her chest as the chilled water cascaded down her back. Mel then gathered her hair up in her hands to feel it hit the back of her neck before moving further into the water. She sighed in relief as it soothed the excessive warmth radiating from her scalp next; her arms briefly slackened once she let her hair drape down her back again. The sigh that escaped reminded her to focus on breathing and calming her heart rate. Every so often, she'd turn to have the water cascading over the front of her body instead and then back again.
She had been dealing with this particular feeling at this level for months, off and on. Sometimes she went a week without it. Sometimes it was several times per week or even in one day. It was basically consuming her before you moved in, but she still got pangs of it in moments that she didn’t find very necessary. She's found those moments felt even worse than the ones triggered by the harder times in her life. She hadn’t felt this overwhelmed since Becca moved out, but if she were to look back on that, it would at least be reasonable to her. What didn’t feel reasonable was when she was having a good time or felt relatively neutral just for her body to betray her, sinking her stomach or suddenly filling her system with TV static. So, she’d force it down and wait for it to pass, usually while she listened to, watched, or felt anything to help ground her, no matter how temporary. She didn’t understand why her existence had to be so difficult or why she couldn’t always push it down. There was an answer somewhere in a corner of her mind, but it was muted, despite herself.
Out in the living room, you and Trin had set up the fans in front of the windows, steadily lowering the temperature in the apartment. You didn't want to feel the sweat that had already seeped into your clothes cooling against your skin, so you went to your bedroom to change into a tank top and comfortable shorts. Trinity had thrown off her shirt, not caring where it went, and when you walked back out, you let her know you had left a pair of boxers out on your bed. She didn’t want to strip down to her underwear completely for reasons that would risk a very unwanted discussion with Mel. Honestly, even her silently knowing would still trigger Trin’s ire from the pure vulnerability of it.
Once she was in your room, you hesitated by the bathroom door, questioning whether you should check on Mel or if it would make things worse. Your knuckles hovered over the landlord-specially painted wood, trying to feel some sort of intuition somewhere in your body on whether your knuckles should rap against it or not.
Eventually, you couldn’t get past the worry and the complete silence on the other side beside the soft ambience of the shower.
“Mel?” you asked carefully, knocking gently. “Mel, do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?”
You cringed from the lack of response at first, keeping your ear to the door.
“Yes, please,” a voice croaked out on the other side so quietly you had only caught the “please.”
“Okay,” you kept your response brief.
You went to her bedroom, wanting to set up a fan there anyway, but stopped at her drawers first. The first thing you noticed was the unexpected pile of clothes on a chair by her closet, the dress she had picked out yesterday thrown on top. Had she been that lost trying to find something? You wondered, hands resting on the edge of her pajama drawer. She could’ve told you before she had even walked into your room with that dress. You would’ve helped her.
The sound of your bedroom door opening startled you, resetting your focus back to the task on hand as you swallowed back the concern that Mel wasn’t quite as happy as she seemed. You grabbed some underwear for her, unsure if she’d still prefer to have a bra on even in this heat, but you got one anyway, along with a pair of socks for the same reason. With shorts, a tank top, and a t-shirt added to the selection, you walked back out.
“Can I come in?” you asked from your side of the door, no longer hearing the water running.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to keep my eyes closed?” you added, feeling an overwhelming guilt over giving her more things to answer. You caught sight of Trinity sitting in front of a fan in your periphery, looking over to see the silent question she asked by tilting her head. You shook your head, and she hesitantly accepted that for now.
“Um… no, it’s fine,” Mel said. A body was a body, or at least when it was hers, and she had a towel around her anyway.
When you walked in, she looked so small, wrapped up in a towel and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Water still dripped from the showerhead and spout, seeming to fill the small room with the sound at first.
“I brought you underwear—I know you’re not big on going without a bra, so I brought one. Socks too. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with a t-shirt or a tank top, so I have both,” you informed her as you set the pile on the sink counter, wishing you weren’t talking as much as you were. Thankfully, she didn’t look as pained by someone talking to her as she had before.
“Thank you… and sorry,” she murmured, only glancing at you until she saw you were looking at her and immediately looked down again.
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“I was… rude.”
“No,” you countered quietly while you picked up her glasses. You walked over to her, careful of her toes when you knelt down. “It looked like you were pretty overwhelmed.”
You put her glasses on for her and wiped away a few droplets on her cheeks that you were really hoping were from the shower. She looked grateful but was still too embarrassed to say anything.
“Do you want me to leave?” She shook her head.
“Okay… well, do you want some help?” you offered, and she let out a soft sigh through her nose. She did. She didn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure. She finally lifted her hands to adjust where her glasses sat on her nose, lazily swiping a hair out of her face, which you immediately tucked back before she could feel it fall forward again.
“Could you braid my hair for me?” she asked. You answered with an “of course” that fell from your lips so willingly, you hoped it hadn’t sounded as overly gentle bordering on patronizing as you thought. You found your wide-toothed comb where you always left it in your shower caddy and a new hair elastic from the medicine cabinet.
Mel hugged the towel tighter around herself, muttering an apology when she realized she should probably turn around, but you shook your head.
“Nope—no, it’s okay,” you reassured her, stepping around her before she could move. Two doctors in the apartment or not, you really hoped you didn’t slip and die in this tub, but you didn’t want to make her adjust for you when she was the one feeling like this.
Settled behind her, you gently combed her hair, missing the way she sleepily shut her eyes. She usually used a hairbrush, whether her hair was wet or dry, and now she wondered if you’d mind her using this comb again. She liked the way the thick teeth of it dragged against her scalp whenever you slid it back toward you. She let out a brief hum when she felt you start to section her hair.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she murmured before she could filter her thoughts. You weren't entirely sure if she meant she was grateful for this very moment, just in general for having moved here, or both. You didn’t bother her for clarifications.
“Me too,” you smiled lightly.
You briefly settled your hands on the sides of her arms as a silent signal when you were done, even if the light tug of the elastic being wrapped around her hair was probably enough.
Stepping out of the tub carefully, you quietly exhaled the breath you held until you had made it without slipping on anything. When you turned around, ready to ask if she needed anything else, you paused over how red her eyes and cheeks were. She sniffled and attempted to hide it from you by turning her attention to her hands a little too late.
Something about saying out loud how glad she was to have you around tore a hole to let warm tears get past her usual mental overrides and roll down her cheeks the entire time you braided her hair. She was so silent, you hadn’t even caught it, but the instinct to keep her shaky breaths and choked whimpers silent was too deeply ingrained. There were too many times she had to keep these moments private, to keep Becca from hearing and getting scared about whatever updates on their mom she had kept from her until she knew how to communicate them. Or when everything was too much while she felt overwhelmingly not enough in her attempts to care for Becca alone. She never wanted to make her sister worry. Not that it really worked very often, considering Becca was too finely attuned to her twin sister no matter what someone may broadly assume about her ability to grasp emotional cues. Still, the instinct was there.
“Mel…”
She shook her head quickly, clearing her throat before trying to say something that never made it out. Her hands briefly lifted to cover her face until she remembered it would be useless, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Sorry—um,” she cleared her throat again. “Sorry…”
“I just wish sometimes I could have fun like everyone else does…? I don’t… know why I can’t…” Her voice cracked and her head temporarily tilted in a cringe. “And I want things to change, but I want everything to stay the same, and even when everything is good sometimes it's still too…and then it was so hot outside and I just…um…yeah...”
Mel looked at you at the end of her nervous rambling, and you nodded, eyes sad. She looked away again, focusing on her hands in her lap.
“So, did you not have fun last night…?” you whispered. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do things you don’t want to. I know Trin cracks jokes about having to do things, but believe me when I say if she knew how upset you are—”
“I had fun,” she insisted, and she was being honest, except you caught the slightest bit of hesitation in her tone. Feeling your eyes on her, she continued: “It’s just that sometimes everything is… too much… Not! Not you or Dr. Santos, and it’s not just about being somewhere like that. I had fun…”
You doubted that and now any potential future plans to bring her to the club, but you didn’t want to keep pushing right now.
Mel deflated slightly, knowing she wasn’t communicating as well as she wanted to, even if you weren’t mad at her. She wished for one second she could take her thoughts and feelings and place them in your brain to be sure you understood. She turned her attention away to look sadly at her pile of clothes, like their being on the sink counter still folded instead of already on her body had been a very deep and personal affront. She kept thinking about getting up and wanting to get up to change her clothes, but she just sat there. You had slid your comb back into your shower caddy in the closet to give her a moment without feeling your attention focused solely on her. When you glanced at her again, you noticed her line of sight.
Quietly, you picked up her clothes and set them on top of the hamper under the towel hanger beside the shower.
“I like watching movies with you…” you said suddenly, but gently, handing her the undergarments before turning away to give her some privacy. “Or sitting on the couch together just for the sake of sitting around—even making myself send out emails is easier with you around.”
You only heard some movement, and the only time she said anything it was more of an incomprehensible mumble to let you know when she was covered. She was still fixing her t-shirt over her upper body when you turned back to her.
“I like you, Mel," you emphasized. You don't have to earn that, you wanted to add, but it felt too dramatic and presumptuous of what she wanted.
Her gaze avoided yours, her expression so slackened and sad by the way she felt and by how exhausted she was from having to feel it. She tried to look where it made sense, just below or above your eyes or watching your lips when you spoke, her constantly shifting gaze an attempt to keep tears from building up, which included avoiding the overwhelming sympathy in your eyes.
“You don’t have to do anything on that list,” you reminded her, aware she'd probably argue, and she had opened her mouth to do exactly that, but she closed it again. You sighed and fixed her glasses, which had dipped a little low on the bridge of her nose when she pulled her shirt on.
“You don’t have to do it all at once,” you offered her instead, and her gratitude was visible in the way her cheeks briefly twitched up, even if she still looked sad. “And if you want to do something and then feel differently at any point, you can say that. It’s okay.”
Her nod was barely present. You reached out to slide your hands over her arms.
“Okay?”
She breathed in deep and then exhaled as she finally gave a more confident nod. “Okay…”
Mel made herself look at you without constantly looking away for the first time since coming home. Now that her body was receptive to being touched again, she missed the soothing gesture of your hands rubbing the sides of her arms when you took them away again, worried she still needed more space. She felt too shy to say otherwise.
“Thanks…” she offered quietly, which you accepted with a reassuring smile.
Her gaze escaped yours again, anxious for something else to focus on, finding her dirty clothes still on the floor. With a quiet "oh," she picked them up and put them in the hamper, which was too full to close after that. She tried pushing it down more, then closing it again. Mel held her hands together, but the lid refused to stay closed, which was starting to pull a frustrated hum from her.
“It’s—” you started in a soft tone, waiting to have her attention again, still looking at her as you slid the hamper closer to yourself by the handles. “It’s okay.”
The laundry room had a humid climate of its own even when it wasn’t like that outside. Today it would likely be the world’s worst sauna, with the smell of old basement and laundry detergent in the dense air. It was the last thing she needed.
ʚɞ
Trinity quietly observed the blonde emerging from the bathroom to go to her room, closing the door behind herself. You left shortly after, carrying a very obviously full hamper. You offered her a reassuring, albeit sad smile.
“Wanna add your clothes? I know you have work tomorrow too.”
“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, attempting to keep her usual casual approach. “That’d be cool, thanks.”
She uncurled her leg from underneath herself to get up, actually glad to not be directly in front of the fan anymore since she was starting to get cold.
The apartment was too quiet beyond the hum of the fans, making you feel like you were bathing in how sad everything felt. Trin brought her laundry over but insisted on carrying it, figuring she’d join you to help out anyway.
Despite feeling nearly smothered by the silence in the apartment, the two of you remained quiet and mentally distant from each other (and yourselves) while you walked to the laundry room down the hall. It only had a few units, but thankfully they were all open except one. Clearly no one else wanted to be in this miserable room today, and they were smart for that. You were only willing to feel how suffocatingly heavy the air was in there because it meant Mel could avoid it.
“So…” Trinity broke the barrier first, and it would've startled you if it wasn't for the fact that you had felt this coming. “Is Mel…?”
She trailed off. You shut the washer door, using the laundry card, before starting it. When you looked at her, curious if you were getting the gossiping version of Trinity, she immediately averted her gaze before forcing it to meet yours again. She wasn't shy as much as she was avoiding what was already obvious to you.
“She’s okay,” you reassured her, and she held back her sigh of relief, forcing it into a normal exhale through her nose as she nodded. “Just… overwhelmed. She’s been through a lot lately, so I think it’s hitting her now.”
“Been there,” Trin sighed, ending with a brief, quiet laugh.
The two of you were walking out again, all of her clothes and the dirty laundry Mel had pushed into the hamper, split between two washers. The laundry basket was significantly lighter as you carried it back with you.
“Was it…” Trinity started the conversation again, halfway to the door, and you turned around to see her crossing her arms.
“Y’know... something I said or…?” She asked, turning her gaze to the ceiling at first, flicking it back to you after she asked her question and her arms had settled comfortably in their brace in front of her chest.
“I don’t think so, no,” you replied with a soft smile. She nodded slowly, all nonchalant.
“Cool, cool…” she concluded, nodding while pressing her lips together.
Trin concluded her nod while pressing her lips together, following you the rest of the way. As you walked back into the apartment, you spared her by keeping your smile to yourself.
ʚɞ
Mel had gone to sleep in her room, more drained than she had realized by being up late last night. She knew the risk naps posed to her circadian rhythm and usually avoided them. In this case, though, she figured the benefits outweighed the risks.
When she woke up, it was nearly 6:00 PM, and she felt groggy but lighter. She left her bed only to hesitate at her door when she walked over to it. Mel stopped to consider how embarrassed she should be about earlier but swallowed it down.
“God, I couldn’t stand her,” she heard Dr. Santos say and froze in her now open doorway. “Still can't, actually. Most obnoxious fuckin’ girl—”
“I know,” you groaned with a laugh. “You made it known basically every day. She was starting to think you were just jealous.”
Mel furrowed her brow in confusion before her body began to relax again.
“Oh please, I could’ve had you if I wanted you," Santos scoffed, and Mel heard you laugh again.
She was finally walking down the hallway, squinting against the warm glow of the lamp you had on in the living room the closer she got.
“We would actually kill each other if we dated,” you were pointing out when you noticed Mel emerging from her nap, squinting against the light.
“Hey,” you smiled, speaking to her in a softer tone, but it didn't feel like mocking. It actually soothed her, and she felt it flow through her before it landed somewhere low in her stomach.
Mel toyed with her hands, glancing at the TV to see it paused on a scene of whatever reality show that had spurred this conversation between you and Santos.
“Hi,” she said simply, her voice still sounding sleepy.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Mm, okay, I guess. Better.”
She was looking at the two of you on the couch, eyeing the open spot beside you but worried she was intruding.
“We made dinner if you’re hungry. We literally just ate, so the rest’s still on the stove.”
Mel never really liked eating right after she woke up, but she was grateful nonetheless. You noticed the way she was looking at you two on the couch and held your arms out to her while unfolding your legs.
“You’re so gross,” Trinity groaned, as if truly disgusted by your behavior.
You laughed, uncaring, because Mel was shyly making her way over. You pulled her in, hugging her from where you stayed on the couch, squeezing her to finally relieve how badly you had wanted to hug her earlier.
“She doesn’t even realize yet and you’re still merging,” Trinity added to her ribbing, making you roll your eyes as if you didn’t have your arms wrapped around Mel with the side of your head resting on her tummy. The blonde still blushed most of the time over how affectionate you were, but she was getting used to it. She had removed her glasses, just barely keeping her awkward hold on one of the arms while she rubbed her eyes.
“Merging?” she asked on the tail end of a yawn.
Mel tilted her head curiously once her glasses were back on, then blinked at you when she felt you gently tugging at her. Once she caught up to what you were trying to tell her, she yielded to finally kneel on either side of your lap. You helped her shift so she could sit comfortably beside you, her legs draped over your lap. Through your bitter amusement at Trin, you reassured Mel that she was just giving you a hard time, but you avoided explaining it further.
“I’m not merging,” you said now as you gave Trinity a look. “If anyone’s merging with their blonde roommate, it’s you.”
“Don’t make me barf.”
“I saw his haircut, Trinity," you pointed out. "He didn’t look like that before. You’re queer eyeing him.”
“Duh, and he’s lucky I am,” she countered. “You’re just being a lez.”
“No, I’m not, she gives me cuteness aggression now, that’s all. I told you she’s like Scruffles,” you answered playfully.
Mel's brows raised, looking at you curiously when you paired your comment with reaching over to briefly squish her at an awkward angle. Santos eyed you both, assessing with an unamused expression.
“I’m holding in jokes for your sake right now," she finally said. "I hope you know that."
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos used in this post do not belong to me. the content in the gif does not belong to me but i did make it!
also find it intriguing when there’s a “gross mel” tag on smth and it’s just cause she likes the smell of pussy before she eats it. okayyy… is that not common??? god a girl can’t even get a whiff anymore
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
