There's such instant, unexplained relief at seeing Hanna Callan's face in a crowd. Melody places a kiss against the stubble of Justin and separates from him, rushing over in that way one does when seeing another part of oneself. The distance close and Mel is hugging the other, hair tickling her nose, a squeal leaving her throat. As if she has not seen her best friend in eons, when the opposite is true. "Killer outfit, babe," she says, pulling back. She had not been there, when Hanna had gotten ready: a ritual they had performed so often in the years prior but had not performed tonight. No curling iron around her hair, held by Hanna, no fashion show, no exchanging eyeshadow shades. And still, they both looked stellar. ( That such a thing was possible seemed strange. )
As her hand journeys back to her side, it lingers for a second, tapping Hanna under her chin. Mel smiles, bright and all teeth, all sincerity. “Congratulations on both of our gorgeous degrees. Heard someone call it the 'Big D', earlier, and thought that was ... well, patriarchal, but rather fucking funny too. You got a drink yet?” A hand reaches out again, feeling the fabric of Hanna's clothing, so desperate to touch a piece of her. “I really love this outfit, is it new?”
