lay all your love on me

by capythusiast

Summary:

Mel perked up a bit. “I’m an ER resident at Pittsburgh Trauma Center. Mostly day shifts, which explains the near-misses.”

“Shame,” Parker said, and smiled again, slightly crooked, slightly teasing. It made Mel’s stomach do a little flip.

 or: Mellis neighbors au

Notes:

ya'll i got bit by the mellis bug baddddd. anyways enjoy part 1 of this two shot.

Chapter 1

It had been three months since Mel and her sister moved into the new apartment complex when she finally met their neighbor.

Mel was cooking a late dinner, homemade mac and cheese casserole, when she noticed Becca out on the balcony talking to someone. Her sister often sat out there, perched at the little coffee table with a throw blanket and a glass of juice, content to nature or people-watch. But tonight, Becca was animated, grinning, and mid-conversation with someone Mel couldn’t quite see.

Once the casserole was in the oven, Mel wiped her hands on a dish towel and stepped out onto the balcony, brows furrowed with curiosity.

“—and I told him, ‘If you’re gonna break the damn cooling line, at least have the decency to pretend you read the manual,’” a woman’s voice said. It was low and rough around the edges.

Becca giggled, clutching her blanket to her chest. “You said that? No way.”

“Cross my heart. The look on his face? The man was offended I even suggested he could read.”

Mel followed the sound to the neighboring unit, just a few feet across, and finally got a good look. The woman was leaning against the railing of an identical balcony, half-laughing, clearly relaxed. Mel realized she had seen her before. In passing, mostly. By the mailboxes, in the elevator, in the hallway. They always seemed to cross paths when Mel was rushing out to a shift or coming home with Becca in tow, her mind already three tasks ahead.

She’d never really taken the time to see her before, not fully. But now that she had, it was hard to look away. The woman was tall, with deep brown skin and dark eyes that held a quiet sharpness. Her locs were gathered into a loose bun at the crown of her head, and she wore an oversized hoodie and worn-in basketball shorts, casual as anything. And yet, there was something about her, some effortless steadiness in the way she carried herself that made her look entirely composed.

“Oh—hi, Mel,” Becca said brightly, noticing her sister. “Is dinner ready?”

“Just about. I put the casserole in,” Mel said, still glancing between them.

“Cool.” Becca turned back to the woman. “See you later, Parker!”

Parker chuckled and gave a lazy wave as Becca disappeared inside. Silence settled in her wake, gentle but noticeable. For a moment, Parker’s gaze lingered, curious, thoughtful, tracing over Mel with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Mel felt a sudden warmth bloom beneath her skin, rising uninvited to her cheeks.

“I feel like we’ve seen each other around,” Parker said.

“Oh, definitely.” Mel gave a sheepish smile. “I’m Melissa, by the way. Everyone just calls me Mel. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself sooner.”

Parker’s smile was warm, easy. “No worries. I’m Parker.”

“And I guess you’ve already met my sister.”

“Yeah, Becca’s awesome.” Parker said. “Has killer taste in music.”

Mel grinned. “Was she blasting ABBA out here again?”

“Can’t blame her.”

Mel shifted her weight and studied the horizon for a second before asking, “Do you work nights or something? I feel like I always see you either before or after my shift.”

Parker nodded. “Yeah—night shift at Riverside MedTech. It’s my night off, technically, but my sleep schedule hasn’t gotten the memo yet. I’ll probably be up for a while.”

Mel perked up a bit. “I’m an ER resident at Pittsburgh Trauma Center. Mostly day shifts, which explains the near-misses.”

“Shame,” Parker said, and smiled again, slightly crooked, slightly teasing. It made Mel’s stomach do a little flip.

She opened her mouth to respond, but both the oven timer went off inside. She jumped slightly, and looked back through the sliding door to see Becca already turning it off, eyes fixed expectantly on the oven.

“Well,” Mel said, recovering. “I should probably head in. It was nice officially meeting you, Parker.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Mel smiled, one hand nervously brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before heading back inside, heart beating just a little quicker than before.

 

 

 

The next time Mel stepped out onto the balcony after a shift, Parker was already out there, settled into her usual chair with headphones on and a laptop balanced in her lap. When she noticed Mel, she slipped one headphone off and offered a smile and a wave.

“Night off?” Mel asked, cradling a warm cup of hot chocolate between her hands.

Parker nodded. “Four nights on, three nights off.”

Mel, without thinking, committed that to memory. She sank into her own chair, and for the rest of the time, neither of them said another word. But the quiet was comfortable and companionable. The company, more than enough.

 

 

 

It became a thing after that.

On Parker’s nights off, Mel would find herself drifting out onto the balcony with a cup of tea or hot chocolate in hand, and there Parker would be, already settled into her seat on the neighboring balcony, headphones draped around her neck or a book cracked open in her lap. Without needing to say anything, Mel would settle into her own chair, and they’d sit there separated by a few feet of space and a shared sense of ease.

Most nights, Becca would join them too, curling up with a throw blanket and a snack, chatting away with Parker about anything and everything, from the new vending machine at her care facility to what song was stuck in her head that day. Mel would listen with half an ear, eyes skimming the screen of her tablet, occasionally looking up to watch her sister laugh at something Parker said.

It was comforting, in a way Mel hadn’t realized she needed. Becca was clearly in her element: easygoing and chatty. She had told Mel stories before about the friends she’d made at the care center, about the board game tournaments and the aides she liked. But hearing about it wasn’t the same as seeing it for herself. Watching Becca light up like this, with someone who wasn’t family, was different. It was something new. It made something in Mel's chest unclench.

Other times, it was just Mel and Parker. 

It was later than usual when she stepped out onto the balcony, the mug in her hand still steaming. She hadn’t expected Parker to be out there. Becca had already gone to bed after yawning her way through the last fifteen minutes of their movie night. But there she was, reclined in her chair next door, long legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a soft playlist humming through a little speaker on the balcony ledge.

Parker looked up when she heard the door slide open. She offered Mel a smile, warm and a little sleepy around the edges. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mel echoed, easing down into her usual chair with a quiet sigh. “Didn’t think you’d still be out here.”

Parker shrugged, one shoulder rising lazily. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Mel nodded, cradling her mug between her hands. The music, lo-fi, barely more than a pulse and a chord progression, carried the silence gently. Crickets chirped in the background. Somewhere across the complex, a dog barked once and then went quiet again. The two of them sat like that for a while. Not talking. Not needing to. Mel glanced over once, catching Parker with her eyes closed, head tilted back against the chair. She looked peaceful.

She took a slow sip of her drink, letting the warmth seep into her chest. It struck her, in that quiet hour with the city hushed and the air just a little cooler than it had been earlier, how easy this had become. Just being near Parker. No expectations or pressure to make small talk. Just a sense of mutual understanding, like their little side-by-side balconies were some kind of shared world carved out from everything else.

Parker cracked one eye open. “What’re you thinking about?”

Mel smiled faintly into her mug. “Not much. Just… this is nice.”

Parker’s lips curled into a small smile. “Yeah. It is.”

Neither of them said anything after that. Eventually, the playlist ended, and neither of them reached to start it again.

 

 

 

Thunder cracked low in the distance, a rumbling that rolled across the sky like a warning whispered through the clouds. The heavy summer air had shifted, thick with humidity and something earthy, like wet pavement waiting to happen. Becca bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide with excitement, hair catching the breeze as she tilted her head toward the sky. She loved storms, always had, and the promise of rain made her practically vibrate with anticipation.

“Do you think we’ll see lightning?” she asked, peeking through the slats in the balcony railing.

Mel stepped outside and saw Parker already on her own balcony, her face lit faintly by the glow of her phone screen.

“We’re betting on how long ‘til the downpour,” Parker called out with a grin. “Becca says five minutes. I give it twenty.”

Becca held up five fingers proudly.

Mel leaned over. “I’m siding with Becca. She has a sixth sense when it comes to rain.”

Parker laughed, full and genuine. “That explains a lot.”

When the sky finally broke open ten minutes later, Becca whooped, sticking her hands out into the rain. Mel went to pull her inside, but Parker just stood there watching them, an easy smile on her face as the storm rolled in.

 

 

 

The sky over Pittsburgh was heavy with clouds, streaked in the dull orange of streetlights. Parker leaned on the rusted railing of the balcony, cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazy and slow into the humid night. She’d just taken a drag when the sliding door creaked open behind her.

“You know those things increase your risk of lung cancer by like… 25 times?”

Parker glanced over to the neighboring unit and paused.

Mel stood in her doorway, framed by the warm light of the apartment behind her. She wore loose pajama pants and an oversized crewneck that read Property of Pittsburgh Trauma Center in peeling block letters. The sweatshirt nearly swallowed her, the sleeves bunched at her wrists, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Her hair was loose, soft waves tumbling over her shoulders in a way Parker had never seen before. Her glasses were slightly askew, were slipping down the bridge of her nose. 

And damn if she didn’t look cute.

The kind of cute that hit Parker somewhere low in her gut. The kind that made her want to walk over and tuck Mel’s hair behind her ear just to see if she’d lean into the touch. Instead, Parker just smiled and looked away, hoping her voice wouldn’t give her away. “Twenty-five, huh?”

Mel stepped out onto the balcony, barefoot and unimpressed. “Yep. And that’s just lung cancer. We’re not even touching heart disease, stroke, emphysema…”

Parker exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “You always throw CDC stats at people during casual conversation?”

“Only when they’re out here slowly killing themselves in front of me.”

Parker let out a soft chuckle and tapped the ash into the tray. “It’s a vice. We all have one.”

Mel gave her a look, leaning against the railing a few feet away. “Mine’s usually ice cream. Or weird podcasts.”

“Much safer,” Parker said, grinning.

The silence that followed was filled with the electric hum of the city and something unspoken between them. Mel didn’t go back inside. She stayed, watching the night unfold in flickers of headlights and faraway sirens.

“Have you ever thought about quitting?” she asked after a beat.

Parker shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Mel hummed. “I’ve got a nicotine patch in my bathroom drawer, if you ever get serious about ‘sometimes.’”

Parker looked over at her, and for a second, she forgot about the cigarette entirely. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, a little softer this time.

Mel smiled faintly. “Good.”

 

 

 

Mel had settled into her usual evening routine, Becca already asleep, the hiss of white noise filtering from her room. The air outside was warm and sticky, a midsummer heaviness that clung to the skin. Mel leaned back in her chair on the balcony, letting the tea cool while scrolling idly through a game on her phone. Her eyes flicked toward the apartment next door. The lights were on.

Then came the familiar click of Parker’s sliding door unlocking, and Mel’s heart, completely of its own volition, lifted a little. She told herself it was just the comfort of routine. Parker had the next two nights off, and lately, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm of small talk and longer silences. She liked that rhythm. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Parker who stepped out. 

The woman was stunning. Mel registered that first. Tall, radiant, with rich brown skin and curled hair pinned up like a crown. Her dress clung to her body like it had been poured on: black, strapless, and just wrinkled enough to show that she’d been out tonight. Maybe clubbing, or a bar downtown. Her heels clicked lightly on the concrete as she stepped out to peer over the railing, phone in hand. Mel blinked. The woman noticed her and offered a small, dazzling smile. 

Mel’s lips curled into something polite, but her throat was suddenly dry. She glanced away, trying not to seem rude. But the twist in her stomach told her she didn’t imagine the flare of disappointment, or something dangerously close to it. She heard it, then. A voice from inside the apartment. Parker’s voice. Muffled, low, familiar. The woman smiled again, turned her head slightly, and said something back before slipping inside and gently closing the sliding door behind her.

She stared at the balcony for a long moment after. Her tea was cold now. Her phone buzzed, but she didn’t look at it.

A minute later, she went back inside. She rinsed out the mug, turned off the kitchen light, and pulled her noise-cancelling headphones from the drawer in the hallway. She hesitated a second before slipping them on.

 

 

 

It was just past sunset when Mel stepped onto the balcony, stretching the stiffness from her back. She'd just finished prepping meals for the week, Becca's favorites, and the smell of roasted vegetables and garlic still clung faintly to her hoodie. The air was cool, sharp in a way that hinted at the first breath of fall.

Next door, Parker sat slouched in her usual chair, one leg bouncing slowly as she scrolled on her phone. Mel was about to give a casual wave, maybe ask about her day, when her eyes caught the flash of white on Parker’s hand—a bandage wrap that was loose around her palm and thumb, the edge tinted a rusty pink.

Mel's chest tightened. “Parker?”

Parker looked up, a little surprised at the sudden shift in tone. “Hey, Mel.”

Mel stepped closer to the railing. “What happened to your hand?”

Parker followed her gaze, lifted the hand in question and inspected it with a nonchalance Mel didn't quite buy. “Oh, this? Just a small accident at work. One of the machines caught when I wasn’t looking. It’s fine.”

Mel frowned. “That doesn’t look fine. You’re bleeding through.”

“It’s not bad. I’ve had worse,” Parker said with a crooked smile. “It’s already wrapped, see?”

“Yes, poorly.”

Parker raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Okay, doctor.”

Mel crossed her arms. “I am a doctor.”

That earned her a soft laugh.

But Mel didn’t smile back. “Come over. Let me take a look.”

Parker tilted her head. “You want me to come over? Inside?”

“I’ve got proper gauze and ointment and clean hands,” Mel said simply. “I don’t like seeing blood seeping through a wrap.”

Parker studied her, that quiet, measured way she had. Then she stood, flexing her hand a little. “Alright. You win.”

A few minutes later, Parker stood awkwardly in the middle of Mel’s kitchen, her injured hand tucked into her jacket pocket. She glanced around the space like she didn’t quite know where to put herself. A candle flickered low on the counter, nearly spent, its scent faint but lingering, something herbal. Thyme, maybe. Or rosemary.

Mel crouched beside a cabinet drawer, rummaging through the contents with practiced purpose. A few quiet clinks of glass and metal, then: “Found it!”

She popped up holding a compact first aid kit, its latch frayed from overuse.

“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

Parker obeyed, lowering herself onto the stool, careful not to bump anything. Mel turned the faucet on and washed her hands, fingers moving in quick, methodical circles beneath the stream. She dried them briskly, then laid out gauze, ointment, a small bottle of antiseptic, scissors, and medical tape on a clean dish towel.

“Do I get a lollipop after this?” Parker asked, mostly to break the tension, her voice low and almost sheepish.

Mel arched an eyebrow without looking up. “You get to not get an infection.”

Parker slowly extended the injured hand and Mel took it without hesitation. Her fingers were steady but gentle as she began to unwind the stained bandage. Parker didn’t flinch, but Mel could feel the tension in the tendons beneath her skin, the way her hand was held just a fraction too still, the faint tremor in her fingers as the gauze pulled away.

“You weren’t kidding about it being a small accident,” Mel said softly as the last of the wrap came free.

The wound was raw and pink, a jagged scrape cutting across the heel of her palm. Not deep enough to require stitches, but inflamed, irritated, and definitely neglected.

Parker gave a vague shrug. “Didn’t wanna make a big deal.”

You’d say that with a severed hand, wouldn’t you.”

Parker smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

Mel held the injured hand lightly in her palm, bracing it while she uncapped the antiseptic. She glanced up. “This’ll sting.”

“I can handle it.”

Mel didn’t doubt that. She dabbed carefully around the edges of the wound, her motions steady, her touch tender. The scent of alcohol filled the air. Parker hissed once, softly, but didn’t pull away. It wasn’t until Mel started applying the ointment that she noticed the texture of Parker’s skin. Rougher than she expected, but not unpleasant. Callused, worn in, like the palms of someone who worked with machines and lifted heavy things without gloves. But underneath the callouses, there was warmth. Solidity. The ridges of her knuckles, the soft give of the skin between thumb and forefinger.

Mel realized, suddenly, acutely, that she liked the way Parker’s hands felt. She liked the way Parker let her do this without fuss or flinching. Trusting her.

“You’re good at this,” Parker murmured once Mel began wrapping the clean gauze around her palm.

Mel shrugged lightly. “Years of patching up people who don’t listen to medical advice.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Mel cut a strip of tape and sealed the bandage in place, smoothing the edge with her thumb. When she looked up again, Parker was watching her, expression unreadable.

“There,” Mel said, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Her hand was still cradling Parker’s, their fingers relaxed together. The contact wasn’t romantic, not overtly, but there was something about it that made Mel’s chest feel warm. Tethered. Like this moment, small as it was, had weight.

Parker smiled then. It was soft. Uncertain. “Thanks, Mel.”

“You’re welcome,” Mel said quietly. And she meant it.

Parker stood slowly, flexing her freshly bandaged hand before slipping it back into the pocket of her jacket with care. Her other hand brushed the counter absentmindedly. “Guess I should head back,” she murmured.

Mel nodded from where she still stood by the sink. “Okay.”

There was a pause, long enough to feel deliberate. Like neither of them wanted to be the first to shift the moment into the past. Then Parker cleared her throat. “Do you, uh. Want to trade numbers? In case I do something else stupid and need a medic again.”

Mel’s lips curved into a small, amused smile. “You mean in the next forty-eight hours?”

“Give or take.”

She grabbed her phone from the counter and unlocked it, holding it out to Parker. “Here you go.” 

Parker took it with her good hand and typed quickly, then passed it back. “And you?”

Mel added her own number to Parker’s contacts with a practiced rhythm. When she handed the phone back, her thumb brushed Parker’s knuckles. Just a glancing touch. Barely anything. But it buzzed through her. 

Parker’s voice was quiet. “Thanks again.”

Mel gave a small shrug. “Anytime.”

Parker looked like she wanted to say something more, something that hovered on the edge of a thought. But instead, she turned toward the door and stepped out into the hallway, her boots muffled against the carpet. The door clicked shut behind her.

 

 

 

It was late afternoon, the sun low enough to cast soft golden light across the balcony railings. Mel had the day off for once, and she was halfway through a cup of lemonade and flipping aimlessly through her tablet when she heard the sliding door open.

Parker stepped out.

Mel looked up—and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Parker was fresh from a run or a workout, judging by the light sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin. She wore a black sports bra and a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that rode just barely above her hips. Her hair was pulled back into a hasty bun at the base of her neck. The muscles in her arms and shoulders flexed as she stretched one arm overhead with a soft groan, and Mel had to swallow, actually swallow , like her throat forgot how to work for a second.

“Hey,” Parker said, breath still a little uneven as she leaned on the balcony railing beside her. “You off today?”

Mel blinked, struggling to assemble a sentence. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, just... slow day.”

Cool. Very smooth.

Parker smiled and leaned on her forearms, letting the breeze cool her skin. Her sports bra revealed the contour of her back, the faint trail of a tattoo just visible between her shoulder blades. She was relaxed, open, completely at ease in her own body. Mel could barely look at her and not feel heat creeping up her neck like wildfire. She turned her gaze back to her tablet, not reading a single word, heart tapping a little too fast in her chest.

She wasn’t going to look again. She wasn’t.

She looked again. Parker caught her.

Mel darted her eyes away, but she heard Parker laugh under her breath, warm and good-natured. “Everything okay over there?” she asked.

“Totally fine,” Mel said, definitely not fine. “Just hot out.”

“Mm.” Parker smiled, turning back to the view. 

Mel took a long sip of her lemonade, letting the ice clink against her glass. She didn’t look again, but the image had already burned itself into her mind. And it would be hours before her heart slowed back to normal.

 

 

 

It was nearly 1:30am when Mel’s phone buzzed.

She was still awake lying in bed with the lights off, eyes stinging from a day that had lasted approximately seven years, body too tired to move but mind too loud to sleep. The screen lit up with a name:

Parker

hey. you up?

Parker 

woah

that came across really wrong didn’t it

Mel smiled fondly, thumb hovering over the reply keyboard. She considered sending a quick it’s okay or can’t sleep either. But instead, she hit Call . The line clicked once. Twice. Then—

“Hey,” Parker said, her voice low and rough with sleep, though she’d clearly forced herself more awake by the second. “Sorry. I didn’t weird you out with that text did I?”

“You didn’t.” Mel insisted. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

They didn’t speak for a long moment. Mel could hear the faint creak of Parker shifting in bed on the other end of the line, and it felt weirdly intimate, like being in the same room without really being in the same room.

“You okay?” Parker asked eventually.

Mel hesitated. “Long shift.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Mel turned onto her side, tucking the phone against her cheek. “Not really. Sorry, I don’t know why I called. I think I just needed to hear someone else’s voice.”

That earned a soft, sleepy chuckle. “Well, you’ve got mine. Scratchy as it is.”

“I like your voice,” Mel said before she could stop herself. 

Another pause. Then, warm and honest: “Thanks.” 

Mel smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the soft glow of her nightlight across the room. “Can I ask you something kind of random?”

“Shoot.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

Parker hummed thoughtfully. “An astronaut.”

“Really?”

“Dead serious. I was obsessed. I made my mom let me paint glow-in-the-dark stars all over my ceiling. I wanted to float.”

Mel giggled softly. “That’s adorable.”

“What about you?”

Mel hesitated. “A veterinarian. But I was also scared of snakes and allergic to cats, so. It didn’t work out.”

“I could see you doing it, though,” Parker said. “You’ve got that gentleness. Animals would’ve loved you.”

Something tugged in Mel’s chest—soft and aching and warm. They drifted after that. The conversation loosening at the edges, no longer about anything in particular but still too meaningful to end. Parker told her about the cartoons she used to watch religiously before school, something about talking hamsters that formed a band. They moved on to ice cream flavors then. Parker was an espresso chip loyalist, while Mel admitted that she still loved the birthday cake flavor.

“—even though it tastes like fake vanilla.”

“I will not tolerate any birthday cake hate at this hour,” Parker replied. “That stuff is elite.”

Then came music. Parker confessed to knowing every lyric of a certain boy band’s discography from middle school. Mel revealed she had an entire playlist of emotional film scores she only listened to while cleaning.

“I knew you were dramatic,” Parker teased. “You clean to John Williams.”

“It helps!” Mel exclaimed. “My cabinets have never been cleaner.”

There was a yawn on the line—low and drawn out.

“Sorry,” Parker murmured. “Didn’t mean to. It’s just—I have to be up in like… five hours.”

“Oh, then I should let you go.”

But Parker was quiet for a second. Then: “Nah. I’m good.”

Mel went still, warmth fluttering in her chest. Parker didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. Neither of them moved to end the call.

Eventually, Mel whispered, “You’ll be tired tomorrow.”

Mel could hear Parker’s smile through the phone: “I’ll survive.”

 

 

 

Parker leaned against the railing, arms folded, a half-finished beer sweating in her grip. The streetlights below painted everything in a soft, amber haze—too warm, too still, like the world was holding its breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mel. Cross-legged in her chair, still in her work clothes, a mug cradled between her hands like it anchored her. She looked tired, not the kind that sleep fixed, but the kind that lived behind your eyes. And still, something about her presence felt steady. Quiet. A touch of calm in a long week of chaos.

Parker exhaled, then heard herself say it before she could think better of it. “I almost quit last week.”

Mel’s head turned slowly. “What?”

Parker didn’t look at her. She took another sip of beer, then stared down at the street, watching a car glide by like it had somewhere better to be. “The line was down for six hours. One of the maintenance guys left without logging a fault, and by the time we caught it, half the run was shot. Everyone looked at me like I had the solution. Like I’m supposed to keep the whole damn place from falling apart.”

Her voice felt flat. Detached. Easier than admitting the way her chest had tightened when the supervisor pulled her aside. Easier than saying she’d stood in the break room staring at her locker and wondering what would happen if she just walked out.

“I didn’t quit, obviously,” she added with a dry laugh. “Came back the next night. Cleaned up the mess. Fixed what I could. That’s what I do, right? Patch it up and move on.” She rolled the bottle between her fingers. “I used to love it, you know? The puzzle of it. But lately it feels like all I’m doing is bailing water out of a boat that’s already sinking.”

Mel set her mug down on the table beside her, slow and deliberate. “Why didn’t you quit?”

That made Parker pause. Her grip on the railing loosened. “Because I don’t know what I’d be without it,” she admitted after a beat. “It’s dumb. But the job is stable. It makes sense. People expect things from me there, and I know how to give it to them.”

Mel didn’t rush to reassure her. Didn’t try to fix it. She just said, with that soft, maddeningly gentle voice: “You sound tired.”

Parker looked at her then—really looked. Mel’s face was open, eyes steady in the dark. Not prying.  And for the first time in weeks, Parker felt her guard waver. “I am,” she said quietly.

The air between them stilled, thick with something unspoken. Somewhere in the distance, a siren echoed faintly, swallowed by the hum of night. Then Mel tilted her head slightly. “Do you wanna come over for a bit?”

Parker blinked.

“I’ve got ginger tea,” Mel added, her voice soft but sure. “Or ice cream. Or a couch if you need a second to breathe.”

Parker felt something shift in her chest. Just a little. She nodded. “Yeah. I could use that.”

Mel stood, unlocking the balcony door with that same gentle ease. As she slid it open, she looked over at Parker with something tender in her eyes and said, “You don’t have to keep holding everything up tonight.”

Parker hesitated for a moment—then pushed off the railing and headed inside.

 

 

 

The door buzzed just after seven.

Becca was already halfway to the entry by the time Mel called out, “I’ll get it.”

Too late. Becca was bouncing on her toes, grinning like she was hosting a red carpet event instead of a casual movie night in their tiny living room.

“Hi!” Becca greeted as she swung the door open. “You brought snacks, right?”

Parker held up a plastic grocery bag. “As requested: Twizzlers, microwave popcorn, and the fancy root beer in glass bottles.”

“You’re the best,” Becca declared, stepping aside dramatically so Parker could enter.

Mel, standing by the couch in pajama pants and a worn zip-up hoodie, gave Parker a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Parker replied, closing the door gently behind her. “Smells like popcorn already.”

“Becca insisted on a test round,” Mel said, nodding toward the half-finished bowl on the coffee table.

Becca flopped onto the couch, leaving only the middle cushion and the far end open. “Okay! Parker gets the middle. I call the end seat. Mel, you hate sitting in the middle.”

Mel frowned. “Since when?”

“Since always,” Becca said, without looking up from the remote. 

Parker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as she lowered herself onto the middle cushion. Mel followed a second later, hesitating just a beat before sitting down. The cushions dipped toward the center, and their knees almost brushed. Almost.

The lights were already dimmed, the windows glowing faintly with streetlight haze, and Mel’s small living room was warmed by the low hum of the heater and the salty-butter smell lingering in the air. As Becca started the movie, Elf , again, Mel braced herself. She was about to sit through one hour and thirty-seven minutes of unfiltered Will Ferrell chaos.

Becca was already laughing before the opening credits were done. About twenty minutes in, Parker was clearly enjoying herself too, laughing in short, unexpected bursts that made Mel glance sideways more than once. Her laugh was warm, unguarded. Like she wasn’t trying to be cool about it.

“Do you like this movie?” Mel asked, keeping her voice low.

Parker leaned slightly closer. “Unironically. It's brilliant.”

The couch was small enough that their shoulders were now brushing, just slightly, with every shift or reach for the snacks. Mel could feel the heat radiating off of her, the texture of her hoodie sleeve against her own bare arm, and tried not to think too hard about it or about the fact that Parker smelled like something piney and crisp, probably her laundry detergent, and also a little like the peppermint bark she’d brought last time.

Every time Becca reacted to something in the film, Mel gave her a fond look. “You’ve seen this movie twenty times.”

“Twenty-seven,” Becca corrected proudly. “And Parker’s coming over for the twenty-eighth!”

Parker laughed at that, and Mel couldn’t help but smile again. Becca was glowing—utterly content, squished up on the end of the couch in her fuzzy pajama pants, face illuminated by the television. Mel watched her for a moment, then glanced down. Her hand was resting on the couch cushion, inches from Parker’s. Not touching, but close enough to feel the proximity like static. The temptation to shift her pinky even a little was ridiculous and strong and completely ignored. She wasn’t going there. Not with Parker. Parker was… a friend. A friend who laughed too easily and smiled with her whole face and looked really good in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. Mel folded her arms over her chest to give herself something to do.

The credits rolled with a cheerful jingle, and Becca let out a dramatic sigh from her curled-up corner of the couch. “I love this movie,” she mumbled, voice slurred with sleep.

Mel glanced over. Becca’s eyes were barely open, her head tilted against the armrest, legs curled under a knit blanket that had mostly slipped to the floor.

“I think that’s the sleep talking,” Me said softly.

Parker smirked. “Nah. I believe her.”

Mel pushed herself upright, brushing popcorn kernels off her lap. “Okay, Becs. Time for bed.”

“Mmm, ‘m fine here,” Becca murmured without opening her eyes. “Comfy.”

“You’re going to wake up with a stiff neck and yell at me like it’s my fault,” Mel said, standing fully now.

Becca didn’t move.

Mel sighed. “Okay. I’ll just grab her blanket.”

“No, come on,” Parker said, rising smoothly. “Let’s get her to bed.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ve got it,” Parker insisted gently. “Where’s her room?”

Mel hesitated, then nodded toward the hallway. “First door on the left.”

Parker stepped closer to the couch and crouched down beside Becca. “Hey, Becca,” she said in a low voice. “Think you can stand up for a sec?”

Becca groaned, but half-lifted her arms toward Parker. Mel opened her mouth to protest, but Parker had already scooped her up, gently but easily, arms tucked under Becca’s knees and back like she weighed nothing. Becca nuzzled into her shoulder with a content hum. Mel followed behind, heart doing something weird in her chest. Parker nudged the door open with her foot, then leaned down to place Becca on the bed with care. Becca barely stirred as Parker arranged the blanket over her, tucking it under her chin. She turned onto her side, hugging her pillow, already drifting deeper.

Mel stepped forward and turned off the bedside lamp. They stood in the dim quiet for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of Becca’s breathing.

Then Parker whispered, “She’s great.”

Mel smiled. “Yeah. She is.”

They backed out of the room slowly and shut the door behind them. Mel turned, arms crossed over her chest, trying not to think about how effortlessly Parker had lifted her sister, or how nice that little smile had looked in the dark.

“Thanks,” Mel said as they padded back into the living room. “I mean it. You didn’t have to.”

Parker shrugged. “Didn’t mind.”

Mel dropped back onto the couch with a sigh, and Parker sat beside her, sinking into the cushion. They were quiet for a beat. The TV screen had gone to black, faint reflections of streetlight glimmering in it. The apartment felt dim and small and strangely cozy, the popcorn scent still lingering in the air, mingling with the faint mint of Parker’s cologne. Parker leaned back, arms draped loosely over her lap, fingers absently tracing the seam of her jeans.

“You’re good with her,” Parker said softly. “Like really good.”

Mel tilted her head. “She’s my sister.”

“I know, but it’s more than that. Some people… they show up because they’re supposed to. You show up because you want to.”

Mel didn’t answer right away. That familiar tightness settled in her chest again, low and aching, like a bruise pressed too hard. Something she wasn’t quite ready to look at directly, not even now. Not with Parker sitting so close.

“After our mom passed away,” she said softly, eyes fixed on the grain of the coffee table, “it was just Becca and me.” Her voice didn’t waver, but it thinned around the edges. “Becca made it easy. She had this way of seeing things, like the world was still this huge, glittering place. And taking care of her gave me something to hold on to.”

“I’m glad you guys had each other,” Parker said, voice quiet now. “I like Becca. She’s funny. Doesn’t pretend to be anyone but herself.”

“Yeah,” Mel said, her throat catching a little. “Exactly.”

The silence settled again. Mel glanced sideways. Parker’s posture was relaxed, her profile soft in the low light. Her hands were resting on her thighs, calloused and steady. Mel’s gaze lingered on them a second longer than she meant to. The way her fingers curled slightly even when resting. 

Then Parker said, not quite looking at her, “I like hanging out here.”

Mel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s… warm. Feels good.”

Something fluttered in Mel’s chest—surprise, gratitude, something else unnamed. “Good,” she said, almost too soft. “That’s good.”

Parker stood, stretching lightly. “Alright. I should go before I crash on your couch. “G’night, Mel.”

“Night, Parker,” Mel smiled. 

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

 

 

 

The diner was half-full and humming with quiet conversation, silverware clinking against ceramic. Mel sat across from Becca in their usual booth, and the scent of mint and lemon drifted up as steam curled into the air. Becca was halfway through a strawberry milkshake and had already arranged her chicken tenders to allow them to cool. 

It was their Friday night ritual—post-shift comfort food, no cooking, no stress.

Becca stabbed a fry into her ketchup, then said casually, “Parker says your cooking is better than her factory cafeteria.”

Mel didn’t look up from her tea, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s not exactly a high bar.”

“No,” Becca said seriously, “She said your lentil soup made her want to cry happy tears. She said that to me while we were walking around the park last weekend.”

Mel picked up a spoonful of her soup and tried not to smile. “She did?”

Becca nodded. “And she asked if we were watching anything tonight.”

Mel tilted her head slightly. “Did she want to come over?”

“I think so,” Becca said, smiling around a bite of her chicken. “She didn’t say it like that. She just said, ‘Anything playing tonight?’ Which is, like, Parker-code for ‘Can I come over.’”

Mel snorted into her tea. “Well, maybe she should just ask me herself next time.”

Becca leaned forward, elbows on the table like she was letting Mel in on a secret. “Maybe she’s shy.”

“Parker?” Mel raised a brow.

“She’s only cool and tough on the outside.” 

Mel shook her head, smiling helplessly.

Becca plucked up another fry and added, “Parker also said your voice makes her feel calm.”

Mel froze for half a second, then turned back to her soup like it hadn’t landed squarely in her chest. She didn’t say anything right away, just dipped her spoon again, eyes down, cheeks warm. But the soft smile on her face didn’t fade for the rest of dinner.

 

 

 

Parker Ellis had a crush on her neighbor.

The kind of crush that was quiet and slow and a little embarrassing. The kind that snuck up on you like smoke slipping under a door. It wasn’t obvious, not even to her at first. Just a flicker of interest when she spotted Mel on the balcony that first week. She looked tired. Not in a sloppy way. In a worked-a-ten-hour-shift, saved-twenty-lives, hasn’t-sat-down-since-lunch kind of way. But still, composed. A little reserved. And when she laughed at something Becca said, Parker had felt it like a small click behind her ribs.

She told herself it was nothing. That Mel was just nice to look at, that it was normal to notice someone who lived ten feet away and had warm eyes and a voice that made even mundane words like gauze or infection sound gentle. But then balcony evenings became routine. Becca would wave her out with a loud “Parker’s here!” like they’d been friends for years, and Mel would glance up from whatever she was reading or reviewing, giving her that tired smile that always managed to make Parker’s chest go a little tight.

They didn’t always talk. Sometimes they just existed side by side, Mel curled up in a chair, tablet balanced on her knees, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. Sometimes she wore soft flannel pajama pants covered in tiny cartoon cats. And every time Parker noticed something new, a scar on Mel’s wrist, the slope of her collarbone, the way she chewed her lip when focused, it only got worse.

So she tried to do the reasonable thing. She went out. Said yes to drinks with a friend-of-a-friend who had a good smile and a quicker sense of humor. Let herself be distracted by soft lips and compliments and conversations that didn’t require second guessing. It helped for a night. Maybe two. But it never stuck.

She’d come home late, slip into her apartment, and see the faint light on Mel’s balcony. The soft glow of her tablet still on, a blanket slung around her shoulders. Sometimes she’d be talking to Becca, voice muffled through the railing, and Parker would stand at her sink and stare through the blinds with a sick sort of ache in her stomach. Nothing was ever going to feel like that. Like quiet domesticity and shared air and the comfort of being let into someone’s ordinary moments.

She didn’t know when she started memorizing the sounds of Mel’s laugh. Or noticing how she liked her coffee (sweet, but not too sweet). Or how her hands always moved with intent, whether it was folding a blanket around Becca or rewrapping Parker’s bandaged palm like it was the most important thing in the world.

That moment stayed with her. Mel’s hands on hers, steady, clean, precise. Now, every time her phone buzzed with a text, she felt a stupid flutter of hope it might be her. And most of the time, it was. Something small. A joke. A meme Becca made her send. A dinner invite.

Still, Parker told herself it was nothing. That she was being ridiculous. Mel was just nice. Just kind. Just neighborly. But crushes had a way of setting roots. And Parker was starting to realize hers was already blooming.

 

 

 

The stairwell was cool and quiet, a sharp contrast to the buzz of fluorescent lights and steady chaos inside the emergency room. Mel sat two steps from the top, her back against the railing, shoulders sagged with the kind of tired that went bone-deep. She let her head fall back against the wall and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose. Just five minutes. That’s all she needed. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her scrubs.

She ignored it for a second. Then buzzed again. And again. With a sigh, she fished it out.

Parker

becca says i’m not allowed to microwave fish in the kitchen anymore

do I feel judged? yes

will i do it again? probably

Mel huffed a laugh. Another buzz.

Parker

you hanging in there today?

Mel

Sort of. 

Parker

working tonight but you should come over for dinner tomorrow

i’m cooking

becca requested something with no green stuff

Mel smiled. Really smiled. It bloomed across her face before she could think to suppress it, bright and open and automatic. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she typed:

Mel
Okay.

Just don’t microwave any fish.

Parker
no promises

She stared at her screen a few seconds longer, then tucked the phone away, still smiling faintly. Her cheeks were warm. Back inside, the buzz of hospital life closed back around her: beeping monitors, urgent footfalls, the low hum of gossip at the nurses’ station. Mel stepped back into the fray like flipping a switch, shoulders straightening as she reached for a fresh pair of gloves. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” came a voice from across the hall.

Samira Mohan, tablet in hand, stepped out of one of the exam rooms. Her curls were frizzed at the edges, and there was a smudge of something—maybe pen ink?—under her left eye.

Mel blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you just won the lottery or someone slipped a love letter in your locker.” Samira narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me someone did.”

Mel shook her head. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Sure,” Samira said, falling into step beside her. “You’re practically humming.”

“I’m not humming.”

“Mel. You literally hummed just now.”

“Maybe I’m delirious,” Mel said, trying not to smile harder.

Samira gave her a look that said bullshit in about five different languages but let it go with a playful sigh. “Alright, keep your secrets,” she said, bumping Mel’s shoulder gently. 

Mel chuckled under her breath, adjusting her glasses again. But her phone buzzed again in her pocket, and the smile came back before she could stop it.

 

 

 

Parker was still holding the empty popcorn bowl when Becca turned to her with narrowed eyes. They were alone in the living room, sort of. Mel had disappeared into the bathroom a few minutes ago, claiming she needed to brush her teeth and “scrub off the popcorn grease,” whatever that meant. The credits were still rolling on the TV, but the sound was low. The couch cushions were still warm.

Parker didn’t look up right away. She was too busy pretending to be fascinated by a stray kernel at the bottom of the bowl.

“You like her,” Becca said bluntly.

Parker blinked. “Huh?”

“You liiike her,” Becca repeated, drawing out the word this time, the way she sometimes did when teasing Mel about something silly. “You’ve got a crush.”

Parker let out a laugh that sounded like it was trying too hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

Becca gave her a look. Not smug. Not mean. Just certain . Like she was telling the weather. Like Parker’s feelings were obvious, simple, factual.

“I mean,” Becca said, “you get that face.”

Parker glanced up. “What face?”

“That one. You’re doing it now.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“Yes you do. It’s like—” Becca scrunched her nose, exaggerated her eyes, clasped her hands together in mock swoon. 

Parker opened her mouth, then closed it again, the words snagging somewhere in her throat. Her hands felt too warm all of a sudden, so she set the bowl down on the coffee table with a soft clink. Across from her, Becca tilted her head, patient and perceptive in that quiet way of hers, just waiting.

“I do like her,” Parker said quietly.

It was the first time she’d said it out loud. Even to herself. The moment hung between them, fragile and trembling, like the air had shifted just slightly, waiting for the words to settle. Parker’s chest felt tight.  She hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that. It just… slipped out, raw and unpolished, too honest to take back. And now it felt like there was no way to pretend she hadn’t been carrying it this whole time, this quiet, growing thing that had been living in her chest every time Mel smiled at her or brushed her arm or said her name.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was delicate, though, almost breakable, as if even breathing too loud would shatter it. Becca didn’t fill it. She didn’t giggle or tease or press her for more. She just watched her with that steady, bright-eyed patience that Parker sometimes found disarming. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Becs,” Parker added.

“It’s okay.”

“She’s…” Parker trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “She’s Mel . She’s smart and steady and good. She’s not looking for whatever this is. And even if she was, I’m not—”

“You’re really nice,” Becca interrupted. “You help with dishes even when I say you don’t have to. You ask about my day. You never treat me weird, not even when I say something that doesn’t make sense.”

Parker just looked at the floor. Her throat felt too small.

Becca reached over and nudged her knee, and repeated: “It’s okay.”

The bathroom door creaked open down the hall. Parker’s heart gave a startled little thud. She straightened instinctively, spine snapping into place like she hadn’t just laid her heart bare. Her fingers scrambled for the popcorn bowl, grabbing it off the table like it might anchor her, like holding something would make her feel less exposed. She kept her eyes on the screen, too aware of the sound of Mel’s footsteps approaching, of the way her pulse quickened, just slightly, like it always did when Mel re-entered a room.

Beside her, Becca said nothing. But a quiet, knowing smile curled at the edge of her mouth. Some part of her already felt lighter. Like saying it, finally, finally saying it, had made the air just a little easier to breathe. Even if Mel had no idea.

 

 

 

Mel stood on her toes in the kitchen, arm stretched toward the top shelf of her spice cabinet. She could see the turmeric, bright yellow cap, wedged way in the back, but her fingers kept grazing just short.

“Ugh,” she muttered, trying a small hop. The jar shifted but didn’t fall. Taunting her.

The apartment door clicked shut behind her.

“Need a hand?” came Parker’s voice, warm and amused.

Mel startled, immediately dropping flat-footed. She turned just as Parker stepped fully into the apartment, a six-pack of root beer in hand.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Mel said, pushing her glasses up her nose and pretending like she wasn’t flushed from a spice-related exertion.

“I knocked,” Parker said with a grin, kicking off her boots. “Door was already unlocked.”

Mel cleared her throat and turned back to the cabinet. “It’s fine. I’ve almost got it.”

Mel stretched onto her toes, fingertips brushing the top shelf of the spice cabinet. The jar sat smugly in the back corner, just out of reach. She huffed through her nose and gave a another tiny, hopeful hop. No dice. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she reached again, spine lengthening, muscles straining in that last-ditch effort. Then, suddenly—warmth at her back.

A hand, large and steady, slid around her waist. Not grabbing, not rough, just there, firm and grounding, the heel of Parker’s palm pressing into the curve of her side like she knew exactly how to hold her steady. Mel’s breath caught mid-reach. Before she could turn, Parker leaned in close enough that Mel could feel the soft brush of fabric and skin at her back. Her body tensed, not out of fear, but in some reflexive, electric kind of awareness. Every nerve suddenly felt awake, alert. Hyper-tuned to the scent of sun-warmed cotton and the faintest trace of cedar on Parker’s skin.

“Which one?” Parker asked, her voice low and near her ear.

“Turmeric,” Mel managed, voice thinner than usual.

Parker reached past her so easily. The shift in height was so stark it made Mel’s breath catch again. Parker’s arm slid smoothly along hers, and for a second, Mel didn’t know whether the goosebumps rising on her skin were from the chill of the kitchen or the heat of the moment. The jar was retrieved in one clean motion, but Parker didn’t step away. Not immediately. That hand on Mel’s waist lingered, thumb brushing idly across the hem of her t-shirt. The contact was so light she could’ve imagined it. But she didn’t. She felt it: a subtle, possessive warmth that lit a quiet fire just beneath her skin.

For a split second, Mel wondered if she leaned back, if she turned just slightly, whether their mouths might meet halfway.

But then Parker let go. The air rushed back into the space between them like a tide coming in.

“Got it,” Parker said casually, setting the jar down on the counter like nothing had happened.

Mel turned slowly, trying not to sway, her pulse doing wild things behind her ribs. “Thanks,” she said, softer than she meant.

Parker flashed her that crooked grin. “No problem.”

And just like that, she stepped away, cool as ever. Meanwhile, Mel stayed standing by the spice cabinet, hand hovering over the turmeric like she’d forgotten what she’d even needed it for.

“You always keep the most essential spice on the top shelf?” Parker asked. 

“I was reorganizing.”

Parker gave her a crooked little smile. “Well, let me know if you need anything else from that top shelf.”

And just like that, she crossed the kitchen and started unpacking the beer into the fridge like it was just another Saturday night. Mel stood frozen by the spice cabinet, heart hammering, hand still tingling where Parker had touched her.

 

 

 

Parker was just locking her apartment door, travel mug in one hand, tool bag slung over her shoulder, ready to face another graveyard shift at the plant. The hallway smelled like detergent and somebody’s takeout. Same as always. She’d just stepped into the cool evening air when she heard the click of the front door opening behind her.

“Hey, Parker!”

And then, there she was. Mel.

But not Mel in her hospital clothes or oversized hoodie. No, this was another Mel entirely.

She stepped outside in a floor-length gown that shimmered a deep navy-blue under the hallway lights, clinging in all the places Parker’s brain immediately told her not to look at. Her hair was down. Soft, shiny curls framing her face. No glasses either. Just her dark, bare eyes, lined subtly, and her smile, easy and bright like this was the most casual thing in the world.

Parker stared.

She recovered just in time to keep her jaw from hanging open.

“Well damn,” she said instead, keeping her voice even. “You, uh. Clean up alright.”

Mel laughed. “Thanks. There’s a hospital gala tonight. One of those fundraising things. I wasn’t gonna go, but my boss guilted me into it.”

Parker nodded, trying to keep it casual, like she wasn’t momentarily rethinking every look she’d ever seen Mel in. “They make you dress like that to ask rich people for money?”

“Apparently,” Mel said with a shrug, clutching her little silver clutch tighter under her arm. “There’s a string quartet and lobster rolls, though, so it’s not all bad.”

“Fancy,” Parker muttered, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “You look… good.”

That last word slipped out a little too honest, a little too soft.

Mel didn’t comment, just smiled at her. “Thanks.”

Right then, the low hum of an approaching van made them both glance up. A dark car pulled up at the curb, and through the tinted windows Parker could see other women inside, also dressed to the nines in gowns and updos, laughing as one leaned out to wave.

“That’s my ride,” Mel said, stepping lightly off the stoop. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Parker said, watching her go. “Have fun.”

Mel turned, just before the van door slid open. “Wish me luck.”

Parker raised her coffee mug like a toast. “Knock ‘em dead, Doc.”

Mel grinned and disappeared inside. The door shut. The van pulled off into the night. And Parker just stood there, alone on the sidewalk, staring after the tail lights. It took her a few seconds to remember how to breathe.

Then she muttered to herself, “Jesus Christ,” and finally started walking toward her car.

 

 

 

Mel shut the door to the apartment as softly as she could. Becca had already gone to bed, Mel had made sure of it, quietly going through the nightly motions, brushing her teeth beside her sister, tucking the extra quilt around her even though it wasn’t that cold. She’d smiled, answered gently when Becca asked if everything was okay.

“Just tired,” she’d said. “Long day.”

That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. Now, with the hallway dark and quiet behind her, Mel slipped out onto the balcony and pulled the door shut. The air outside was thick with the late-summer heaviness of Pittsburgh in August, the sky dull and colorless except for the soft orange haze clinging to the edges of streetlamps. A single moth flitted near the light above her. Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled. 

Mel sat on the metal chair, still in her scrubs, still in the shoes she hadn’t unlaced. Her shoulders were stiff. Her hands smelled faintly of antiseptic. Her head was full.

The patient’s name was Mr. Cardona. Early fifties. Admitted two weeks ago for something routine that wasn’t routine anymore. He’d coded suddenly and violently. She had pressed her palms into his chest over and over until her arms screamed, had shouted over monitors, had heard the flatline and hated the sound. She had called time of death. 

Now, everything inside her was too loud. The quiet of the night didn’t help. If anything, it made the noise in her chest and head echo louder. Her thoughts raced in messy, overlapping loops, each one tangling into the next until they were impossible to pull apart. She curled one leg beneath herself on the balcony chair, shoulders hunched forward like she could fold inward and disappear. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap, left hand gripping the right, knuckles tight, then switching, then squeezing again like she didn’t know what to do with them. It was a grounding motion, something she did when her nerves frayed and her skin felt too tight.

She hummed quietly under her breath, not a tune exactly. It was a habit she’d picked up as a teenager when hospitals and grief had gotten too heavy. A thread of sound to cling to when the silence made it worse. Out past the railing, the apartment complex lot stretched dim and quiet. A few porch lights still glowed faintly, warm little pockets of life, but everything else was still. Mel sat with it. Let herself feel the full weight of the day. The failure. The helplessness. The exhaustion. All of it knotted up behind her ribs.

Then, the gentle creak of the balcony divider. Parker’s. Mel stiffened, instinctively straightening, as if someone had just turned on a light and she wasn’t dressed for it. She wasn’t crying. But she could feel the ache behind her eyes, the kind of throb that threatened to tip into something sharp. She heard Parker’s door open. Then close. Then footsteps. Quiet ones.

“You okay?” came Parker’s voice from the other side of the divider.

Mel hesitated. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You sure?”

Mel swallowed. “Yeah, just… rough shift. I’m fine.”

Parker didn’t say anything for a beat. And then she turned and walked back inside. Mel furrowed her brow. Thirty seconds passed. Then—a knock. At her front door. Mel blinked. Her heart picked up, startled. She stood slowly, walked back inside, and opened the door to find Parker standing there, slightly out of breath, like she’d moved faster than she meant to.

“Hey,” Parker studied her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Mel hesitated. Her instincts screamed yes . Her smile was already halfway formed, soft at the edges, but she caught herself just before it broke through. Old habits tugged at her like gravity. The kind that said you shouldn’t take up space , or you’re supposed to be the strong one . She’d learned, over the years, to swallow things down. To stay composed. To keep the worst of herself tucked neatly away where no one could touch it.

But then Parker looked at her. And there was no urgency in her gaze, no pushing, no expectation. Just that quiet, unshakable steadiness Parker always seemed to carry, like she had all the time in the world and didn’t mind spending it here, just waiting for Mel to decide. That was what made the difference, Mel realized. It wasn’t just the offer of comfort. It was the way Parker offered it, gently, patiently, like it was hers to take or leave without consequence. And maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the emotional hangover from a day that had already cracked her open.

But mostly, it was everything that had built between them over the past few months. The balcony nights. The silent companionship. The texts. The gentle teasing. The quiet moments that had stitched a kind of safety net beneath her without her even noticing. That net was Parker.

“No,” Mel admitted, voice small. “Not really.”

Parker stepped forward. “Can I come in?”

Mel nodded and stepped aside. Parker kicked off her shoes at the door like she’d done this a hundred times. Then, without another word, she opened her arms. Mel stood there a beat longer, heart hammering. And then she stepped into them. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no tears, no breaking down. Just her head against Parker’s shoulder and Parker’s arms wrapping tight around her, warm and real and steady. Parker didn’t ask questions. She just held Mel like it was the most natural thing in the world.

After a while, Mel mumbled into her shoulder, “I lost a patient today.”

Parker didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“I did everything I could.”

“I know you did. Wanna sit down?” Parker asked gently.

Mel nodded. They ended up side by side on the couch. Parker didn’t press for details. She didn’t try to fix anything. She just sat there, one knee bouncing gently against Mel’s, her presence enough to soften the edges of a terrible day. Parker didn’t let go. Even as Mel’s breath hitched and she tried to hold it in, Parker just held her tighter, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of her head like she was something precious. She smelled faintly like laundry detergent, grounding and clean and warm.

Mel's face pressed into the soft cotton of Parker’s hoodie, and the tears came before she could stop them. Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet, shuddering tears that slipped down her cheeks and soaked into the fabric. Mel’s hands clutched the sides of Parker’s hoodie without realizing it, gripping tight like a lifeline. Her body trembled, and Parker swayed them just slightly, like the motion might help. Like she’d done this before. Like she understood the exact kind of silence Mel needed. The tears slowed eventually. Not all at once, but in waves. She could feel the ache settle into her chest again, familiar and tired, but there was a softness under it now. A steadiness. Like maybe she didn’t have to carry it alone. She let herself breathe.

She let herself exist there, wrapped in the warmth of another person’s arms, in a room lit only by the glow of the kitchen light down the hall.

 

 

 

Mel’s phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand, shattering the silence. She sat up in bed, already tense. The caller ID glowed: Pittsburgh Trauma, ER.

She grabbed the phone and padded barefoot into the hallway. “Hello?”

“Mel, it’s Dr. Abbott. We’ve got a multi-car pileup coming in, and we’re short tonight. Can you come in?”

Mel didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty.”

She hung up, heart already racing, but paused just before heading to get dressed. Her eyes drifted toward the living room, where Becca’s weighted blanket was still folded on the couch, her favorite mug half-full of lukewarm hot cocoa on the table. Becca had had a long day. And she hated waking up alone in the apartment if Mel wasn’t back before morning. Mel's fingers hovered over her contacts list. Then, almost on instinct, she tapped Parker. It rang twice.

“Hey.” Parker’s voice was groggy, warm, and distinctly sleepy. “Everything okay?”

Mel glanced at the clock—2:12am. “Sorry. I wouldn’t call unless I really had to.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just got called in for an emergency shift,” Mel said quietly, walking into the kitchen and flicking on the light. “Car accident. It’s bad. I… I don’t like leaving Becca alone overnight when I don’t have to.”

There was a pause, then a soft inhale. “Do you want me to come over?”

Mel let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Would you mind? You don’t have to stay up or anything. I just— I think she’ll sleep better if someone’s here. Even if she doesn’t wake up.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Parker— thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mel,” she said, voice firmer now. “Go save lives. I got Becca.”

They hung up, and Mel moved fast after that. Clothes, shoes, ID badge, stethoscope. She checked on Becca once more before heading out, brushing hair from her forehead, whispering a promise to be back by morning. By the time Mel opened the front door to leave, Parker was already coming down the hall in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, holding a bag of snacks and her phone charger.

“Hey,” Parker said softly.

Mel felt momentarily thrown. The hallway light spilled in from behind, casting a soft, golden glow over Parker’s frame. Her black silk hair wrap shimmered faintly, catching the light. She wore a worn-in t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, one socked foot peeking out beneath the hem. She looked dangerously cozy, like warmth embodied, like someone Mel could fold into without a second thought.

“I owe you,” Mel murmured.

Parker shook her head. “Go. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Mel squeezed her arm once, quick but meaningful, before slipping past and down the stairwell. And Parker stood in the doorway a second longer, listening to the retreating footsteps, before quietly letting herself inside.

 

 

 

It was one of those still, soft autumn mornings where the sky hung low and pale blue, hazy with leftover warmth from the night. Parker sat cross-legged on her balcony chair, a mug of coffee resting on her knee, letting the rising sun warm her shoulders. Mel had needed to run to the hospital late last night, and she had called Parker to watch over Becca. Now, Becca sat beside her and crunched quietly through a bagel layered thick with strawberry cream cheese.

It was peaceful. Simple. The kind of morning Parker was beginning to crave more and more lately.

Her gaze drifted down to the street out of idle habit, and that's when she saw her. Mel was walking up the sidewalk toward the apartment, her clothes wrinkled and her braid nearly loose. Parker smiled before she could stop herself. But her smile dimmed just a touch when she noticed the man walking beside her.

He looked just as disheveled, and he walked close—too close, maybe. He said something that made Mel laugh, and Parker felt an odd little flip in her stomach. She couldn't hear the conversation, but the way Mel's body angled toward him said enough. Parker narrowed her eyes slightly, mug paused mid-sip.

“Oh,” Becca mumbled, mouth still half full. “That’s Dr. Langdon.”

“Dr. Who?” Parker asked casually, squinting over her mug.

“Langdon,” Becca repeated, her nose scrunching. “He works in the ER with Mel. He brags a lot.”

Parker raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Sounds like a treat.”

They both watched as Mel and Langdon paused at the front of the building, laughing about something. He touched her elbow lightly, and Parker’s jaw twitched. She didn’t even realize she was gripping her coffee mug harder until Becca glanced over.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Parker said quickly. Too quickly. “Just... don’t like his face.”

Becca giggled. “You’ve never even met him.”

“I can just tell.”

Becca gave her a look, eyebrows lifted, impish little smirk curling at her lips. Parker slouched back in her chair and looked up at the sky, feigning indifference.

“I mean,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her, “some people just give off that energy, you know? ‘Look at me, I’m very important, I probably golf.’ I don’t trust it.”

Becca giggled again, louder this time. “You’re jealous.”

Parker nearly choked on her sip of coffee. “Am not.”

Becca grinned at her like a cat. “It’s okay if you are.”

Parker didn’t say anything. Below them, Mel disappeared into the building, leaving Langdon behind on the sidewalk with a wave and a smile. Parker didn’t look away until he was fully out of sight.

 

 

 

The balcony was quiet, wrapped in the low hum of autumn insects and the soft rush of distant traffic, a kind of gentle white noise that settled around them like a blanket. Mel leaned against the railing, both hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile tea, the steam curling up into the cooling night air. Parker stood beside her, the sleeve of her hoodie shoved up to her elbow, fingertips resting lightly on the rail. They’d just finished dinner—a simple pasta Parker had thrown together while Mel napped on the couch, worn out from her shift.

Becca was off on a weekend community outing with a group from her care facility, some kind of glamping trip at the nearby state park. She’d been buzzing with excitement all week, but what she was most looking forward to, without question, was the s’mores. She’d packed her favorite marshmallows and talked about them like they were VIP guests.

Parker had come over to keep her company. She always did lately, like it was second nature now.  They hadn’t spoken much in a while, but Mel didn’t mind. Her eyes were half-lidded, her mug warm between her palms as she took slow, steady sips of chamomile. Her body still ached from the shift, but the ache didn’t feel as sharp now. Not with Parker nearby. From the corner of her eye, she noticed movement, the subtle turn of Parker’s head. Another glance. She was getting good at catching them now. The way Parker would sneak a quick look, her lips around a can of LaCroix, only to flick her gaze away a second later like nothing had happened.

After a while, Parker cleared her throat. “So I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, keeping her voice light. “That doctor. Langdon.”

Mel turned toward her. “What about him?”

“Is there, like… something going on there?” Parker asked, her tone casual—too casual.

She blinked, caught off guard. She turned slightly to face her. “What?”

Parker kept her eyes ahead, like she regretted asking. “With you and Langdon. I just… I don’t know. You two seemed kinda close.”

Mel stared at her for a beat too long before answering. “No. There’s nothing going on. Why?”

The moment stretched. Too still. And that’s when it clicked. The glances. The questions. The way Parker had been quieter lately, more reserved when Mel brought up her day. Mel's heart gave a soft, startled thump. She tilted her head slightly, watching Parker’s profile. There was a flicker, not of guilt, but of something more fragile. Hopeful, maybe. Vulnerable. And it hit Mel, fast and quiet, like a sudden draft of cool air, that Parker wasn’t just asking this out of friendly curiosity. 

Mel had been stubborn about confronting her own budding feelings, always caught somewhere between long shifts at the hospital and caring for Becca. Not that either ever felt like a burden. They were simply constants in her life, anchors she didn’t question. So she’d convinced herself that whatever was happening between her and Parker was just that, something happening to her, in her own head. A passing crush, a harmless projection. It usually was. But now, looking at Parker, the way she stood there, vulnerable in a way Mel hadn’t seen before, something shifted. She felt it like the soft give of a locked door finally opening. And suddenly, Mel wasn’t so afraid to admit it. Not when Parker was looking at her like that.

“I heard you,” Mel said. 

Parker furrowed a brow. “What?”

“That night. After we watched Elf. I was in the bathroom, but… I heard you talking to Becca. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Mel said quickly, setting her mug down with both hands. “But I heard you say it. That you had feelings for me.”

The silence stretched between them, weighty now.

Parker swallowed hard and looked out at the trees below. “Yeah,” she said, quietly. “I did.”

Mel turned to face her more fully, waiting.

Parker finally looked back at her, her eyes steady but nervous. “I’ve liked you since the first night you said hi to me on the balcony.”

Mel smiled widely, “Really?”

“But it wasn’t just that. It’s been... all of it,” Parker said. “Every time you let me sit out here with you. Every time you laugh at one of Becca’s jokes. The way you talk about your patients, even when it’s been a shitty day. The way you make tea at night and hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening.”

Mel’s breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t think I had a shot,” Parker added. “You’re… you. You’ve got this big heart, and this full life, and I didn’t want to make anything harder or mess things up between us.”

There was a pause. Then Mel whispered, “You didn’t.”

Parker looked at her, hopeful and hesitant all at once.

Mel gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

Silence stretched between them again, thick with anticipation, and there was a hum beneath it, something soft and electric, as if the air itself had leaned in to listen. Not quite excitement, not quite fear, but the shimmering edge of something becoming . Something new, delicate, and full of possibility. Parker’s confession still lingered in the air, and it wrapped around Mel like warmth, dizzying in the best way. It was all she could feel. All she could hear, even through the quiet. And in that moment, all she wanted, more than breath, more than sense was to—

Mel swallowed, then let out a quiet breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Parker turned to her, her expression open, eyebrows gently raised. “Yeah. Anything.”

Mel hesitated. Her voice, when it came, was careful. “Can I kiss you?”

Something in Parker's face cracked wide open—just for a second. Surprise, then something gentler. Her mouth twitched like she might laugh, but instead she just nodded, slow and certain. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, you can.”

Mel leaned in, tentative at first. She was close enough to see the contours of Parker’s face, the slight rise of her chest as she inhaled. She was close enough to smell her, cologne and warmth and something faintly citrus. Parker met her halfway. 

The kiss was soft. No fireworks, no rushing heartbeat, just warmth. Slow, deliberate, a quiet exhale into the space between them. Mel’s hand drifted up, brushing against Parker’s jaw, holding her steady like she was afraid she might float away. When the kiss ended, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the space between them. Mel felt a thrum in her chest she hadn't felt in years. Not just attraction, but relief, longing, want. Parker’s thumb brushed the inside of Mel’s wrist, and Mel’s breath hitched.

Then Parker murmured, low and rough: “You can kiss me again. If you want.”

Mel didn’t hesitate this time. She leaned in and kissed her again, harder, deeper. Less careful now. Parker met her with the same intensity, her hand finding Mel’s waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them, and Mel made a soft sound against her mouth. 

Parker crowded her against the railing, her back pressed against the metal, and Mel gripped Parker’s hoodie tighter, grounding herself in the soft fabric and the firm muscle beneath it. Parker's hand slid up her waist, fingers brushing under the hem of Mel’s shirt, not far, not indecent, just enough to spark heat low in her belly. The kiss was messier now, needier. Mel tilted her head to let Parker in, let herself melt under the slow, deliberate drag of Parker’s lips and tongue. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her thighs tightening instinctively. This wasn’t like any kiss she'd had before, not clumsy or frantic. It was hungry . Like Parker was memorizing her with every touch.

Mel’s legs wobbled slightly, and Parker must’ve noticed, because she tightened her hold just slightly, murmuring against her mouth, “You okay?”

She nodded, barely able to find her voice. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I just… Can we go inside?” 

Parker let out a soft laugh, wrapping both arms around her now, steadying her. “Yeah, okay.” 

They moved together, quiet and breathless, the sliding glass door whispering shut behind them as they slipped into the apartment. The living room was dim, bathed in the soft, amber glow spilling in from the kitchen. Mel’s heart pounded, loud in her ears, but her hand never hesitated as Parker’s fingers laced through hers. It was Mel who took the first step, who led them down the hall, every inch of her alive with anticipation. And the moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, Parker was on her again, all heat and hands and breath.

Mel let out a soft sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—as Parker kissed her like she meant it. Like she’d been holding herself back all this time and now couldn’t anymore. Mel’s back hit the wall next to the dresser, Parker’s body pressing close, her hands braced on either side of Mel’s head. Mel could barely think. Parker’s mouth moved down, kissing the hinge of her jaw, then lower, the scrape of teeth just under her ear making her knees go weak. 

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” Parker murmured against her skin.

Mel let her hands roam over Parker’s broad shoulders, the defined muscles of her arms, the soft curve of her waist. She wanted to touch everything. She was touching everything, and it still didn’t feel like enough. Parker’s hoodie and undershirt came off in one smooth pull, and Mel barely registered that she’d tugged it off until she was staring at the curve of Parker’s neck. Mel pressed her mouth there, emboldened, and Parker let out a breathy “ fuck ” that made Mel feel like her skin was glowing.

They kissed again, messy and unrestrained, and Parker’s hands slipped under Mel’s shirt, this time with more purpose. Fingers splayed across her lower back, then slid upward, dragging fabric with them until Mel broke the kiss just long enough to help pull it off over her head. The air felt cooler without it, but Parker’s gaze burned. 

Mel suddenly felt exposed, but Parker leaned in, her hands cupping Mel’s waist. “Can I touch you?” she asked, voice low and steady.

“Yes,” Mel breathed, no hesitation.

Parker kissed her like a promise and then walked her slowly toward the bed, one backward step at a time. They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to. When the back of Mel’s knees hit the mattress, she sat, then leaned back, her hands guiding Parker with her. The weight of Parker settling on top of her felt safe. Grounding. But also lit every nerve in her body on fire.

Mel wrapped her legs around Parker’s hips without thinking, pulling her closer. Their mouths found each other again, their kisses deeper now, almost desperate. Parker’s hand slid up her ribcage, slow and reverent, and Mel arched into the touch, one hand fisting the sheets, the other buried in Parker’s locs. She was warm everywhere. Inside and out. Mel had experienced messy kisses before, mostly from boys back in high school or college who didn’t know how to kiss properly. But this kiss… This kiss felt dirty. In the best way. In the only way she ever wanted from now on. It made her stomach flutter and tighten. Made her want to stay under Parker like this forever.

“Parker,” she whispered, and that was all it took, her name, for Parker to kiss her harder, her hand sliding down Mel’s side and gripping her hip. Slowly, deliberately, Parker slipped her thumbs beneath the waistband of Mel’s shorts, and Mel lifted her hips in silent permission. The fabric slid away, discarded without ceremony to the floor.

Mel, growing impatient with the space between them, reached to unclasp her bra and toss it aside with ease. Each article of clothing joined the growing pile on the bedroom floor, a quiet testament to the heat that had been simmering between them for days, maybe longer. And then, for a moment, the pace stilled. Parker leaned back just slightly, gaze raking over Mel’s now-bare form in the dim light. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just looked. 

Mel felt it immediately, that vulnerable flicker beneath her skin. Her arms twitched like they wanted to rise and cover something, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t used to being seen like this, not really. She’d had sex before, but normally it started and ended too quickly for her to feel insecure. 

But then Parker’s eyes softened, her voice filled with something tender when she finally said, “You’re beautiful.”

Mel blinked, the instinct to deflect rising in her throat, but the words never made it out.

“Really,” Parker murmured, her fingers trailing slowly—almost shyly—along the bare skin of Mel’s stomach. “I’ve thought about this for ages. Have you?”

Mel could only nod, breath catching. “Yes. Yes .”

Parker’s hand paused. “What did you think about?”

Mel swallowed, heat blooming at the memory. She thought of the quiet nights in her apartment, the muffled sounds from Parker’s, the way she’d pressed her pillow or her headphones over her ears and failed to block out the ache it stirred. “I thought about… you touching me. Making me feel good.”

At that, Parker pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Her voice was low, steady, coaxing. “Will you show me?”

Mel paused. “Show you what?”

“How you touched yourself when you were thinking about me.”

The words hit her like a spark, lighting up every nerve. A flush crept up Mel’s neck, and she swallowed hard, her breath hitching at the boldness of the request, at how gently it was asked. Parker didn’t push. Instead, she shifted, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, her legs spread just enough for space. She patted the spot between them. “Come here.”

Mel moved carefully, crawling into the space Parker had made for her until she was seated between her legs, her back pressed to Parker’s chest, skin against skin, warmth wrapped all around her. Parker’s hands came to rest lightly on Mel’s thighs, grounding her. The silence between them pulsed with permission, with trust. With want.

“Only if you want to,” Parker whispered against her ear.

And Mel, breathless, nodded again. Her body felt warm all over, like every inch of her skin was aware of Parker's touch. She exhaled shakily when Parker leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Mel turned her head toward it, instinctively chasing the closeness, but their timing was off. The kiss landed crooked, more lip than cheek, clumsy and off-center.

“I want to know,” Parker dropped a chaste peck to the reddened curve of Mel’s ear. “What makes you feel good.”

As she spoke, Parker took Mel’s hand and gently guided it to her own stomach, her palm settling over Mel’s like a shadow, like a whisper of intent. It was almost ceremonial, the way she moved with deliberate slowness, coaxing rather than commanding. When Parker’s hand shifted, Mel’s followed, drawn along as if tethered by invisible thread. Together, they drifted lower, skimming just beneath her navel, then veering inward, brushing along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The touch was light but electric. Mel’s spine gave a subtle jolt, her muscles twitching beneath the weight of sensation. She drew in a sharp, hissing breath between her teeth, her body already answering before her mind could catch up.

Mel’s knees fell open a little more and she exhaled shakily when Parker reached around her with her free hand to cup her breast. Mel’s head tipped back against Parker’s shoulder, sighing as both of their fingers parted her slowly with a slick sound. Parker bowed her head to kiss the curve of her neck, and Mel let out an involuntary moan. 

Parker scraped her teeth against Mel’s shoulder. “You can do better than that.”

Mel slipped two fingers inside herself, arching her lower back into the sensation. A strangled, whine like sound escaped her lips as Parker pressed her own hand against the top of Mel’s. She drove her hips upwards so that Mel was pinned between her and their hands. Mel sank her fingers up to the knuckle, gasping out a ragged moan.

“That’s it,” Parker said, her voice sounding just as wrecked as Mel felt. “That’s so good, Mel.” 

Parker tried to pull her hand back, but Mel firmly held it in place. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted towards the ceiling, and her hairline was damp with sweat, a mess across Parker’s shoulder.

“You know what you like,” Parker murmured. She pressed the heel of her palm against Mel’s wrist and ground down in a way that made Mel whimper. “Much better than I do.”

She’d never done anything like this before, nothing that felt so shameless and so good all at once. There was something wildly intoxicating about it, about being seen and wanted this way. But more than that, it was the way Parker focused on her, on Mel’s pleasure, her comfort, her response, as if that was the point. As if the act itself mattered less than how it made Mel feel. It was so disarmingly attractive that Mel had nearly come undone the moment Parker suggested it.

Parker kissed at Mel’s neck and squeezed her breast before rolling a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She drew out Mel’s fingers only to press them back in. When she did it again, Mel stopped her and instead teased both sets of their fingertips across her clit, circling lightly then more firmly. Gradually, Parker’s hand went still, until she wasn’t doing anything at all, until it was only Mel, working their slick fingers together, circling around herself then curling inside of herself, thrusting into her own palm and making small desperate noises that slowly built into a low crescendo. 

“Parker,” Mel cried, head tipping back again. “I think I’m— I’m close .” 

“You’ve done such a good job, baby.” Parker said, kissing and biting at whatever skin was in reach. “Why don’t you make yourself come for me?” 

Mel moaned and nodded at the words just as Parker slid her hand beneath Mel’s wrist so she could keep rubbing her clit while Mel's hands worked frantically between her own legs. She kept thrusting into herself until her hips bucked, until her feet slipped against the sheets, until her voice rang out in a wordless cry. The noise cracked in the back of Mel’s throat when Parker didn’t stop, when neither of them stopped, and Mel made a sound that wasn’t as loud as it was filthy, in a way that she’d never done before. 

The both of them stilled, their bare skin sticking together from a light sheen of sweat wherever they touched. Mel swallowed thickly, trying to get a hold of her breathing before adjusting their weight so that she wasn’t leaning wholly upon Parker. Parker pulled their hands away from the crux of Mel’s thighs, her fingers curling around Mel’s wrist before bringing it to her mouth.

She couldn’t help but whimper at the sight of her fingers in Parker’s mouth, her tongue stroking at the webbing between the digits and sucking, tasting her. When she finished, she set Mel’s hand back down against her stomach, leaving a smear of wetness that glistened across her skin. 

Mel turned toward her, unable to hold back any longer, and surged forward to kiss her again. Her lips met Parker’s with more urgency this time, and a flicker of heat pulsed through her as she tasted herself faintly on Parker’s mouth. It startled her how intimate that felt. Parker's fingers slipped into her hair, threading through the loose waves. Mel had unbraided it earlier that evening, the strands still soft and slightly crimped. Now, with Parker’s fingertips massaging gently at her scalp, Mel melted into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a beat. 

Then Parker’s hands shifted, drifting down to her waist with steady confidence. She gave a subtle, guiding pull, wordless but clear, and Mel followed the cue, rising up slightly to straddle Parker’s thigh. Her breath hitched as she settled there, the pressure and closeness dizzying in the best possible way. Parker’s hands stayed firm at her hips, anchoring her, steadying her in the growing heat between them. Mel was still sensitive from her orgasm, her hips still twitching a bit at the pressure from Parker’s thigh. 

“I thought…” Mel began, her voice rougher than she expected. It felt scraped up from somewhere deeper. “I thought you wanted to touch me?”

There was a flicker in Parker’s eyes, something warm and just a little amused. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in and kissed Mel again, slow and deliberate, a promise tucked into the softness of her lips. Then, with careful hands, she reached up and removed Mel’s glasses, her thumbs brushing lightly against her temples. She set them on the nightstand without looking away. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’m just getting started.”

The words landed like a spark in Mel’s chest. Her breath caught from the way her whole body reacted, alive with anticipation, with want. She felt bare in every sense, exposed and seen, but not in a way that made her shrink back. Parker reached forward again to tuck some of Mel’s hair behind her ear, and Mel leaned into the gentle touch, leaning in to close the distance between them. 

People always assumed Mel hadn’t done much. Maybe it was the way she talked, soft-spoken, sometimes awkward, or the way she could ramble about her favorite TV shows instead of flirting. But most people seemed surprised when they found out she’d had sex at all. She didn’t go out of her way to correct them. It wasn’t anyone’s business.

Her first time was with a boy back in high school. She hadn’t hated it, not exactly. But she’d laid awake afterward, staring at the ceiling and wondering if that was all it was supposed to feel like. There was no spark, no afterglow, just a vague discomfort and a deep craving to crawl out of her own skin. Things changed in college. Not dramatically, but enough. Her first time with a woman was in a dorm room with too-thin walls, both of them fumbling and nervous, laughing more than moaning. It was better. Not perfect, not always, and not with everyone, but there was something gentler, more intuitive about it. 

She felt seen in a way she hadn’t before. Even when it was awkward or brief or nothing lasting, it felt more honest. She began to understand her body in fragments, in small revelations. But this , this with Parker, was something else entirely.

Quickly, that desire from a few moments ago kicked up again as Parker’s hands started to move. Her fingers traced the slope of her back, moved along the muscles in her stomach, cupped her chest and squeezed until Mel whimpered into her mouth. Parker smiled as Mel’s hips began to move against hers, a slow, stuttering rhythm that betrayed how ready she was again. Mel’s lips were parted slightly, her eyes hooded as she let out a soft little whine when Parker’s hands guided her to grinding against her thigh.

“Feels— feels good,” Mel mumbled, shifting so her forehead could rest against Parker’s shoulder. 

She was so turned on again, even after just having an orgasm, that she almost wanted to cry. Her hips bucked forward on their own accord, clutching tight to Parker. Her nails left half moon indents against the skin of Parker’s neck as Parker slid her thumb against her clit. 

“ Parker ,” she begged softly, trembling, overwhelmed by the moment, suddenly. 

“I’m here,” Parker reassured, moving her thumb slowly, just barely, kissing her neck. 

Right now, it’s almost hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began, especially Parker’s fingers delicately slipped inside of her, curling experimentally. Mel kept moving her hips in time with Parker’s thrusts, panting and whining every time Parker's thumb rubbed tight circles against her. She’s so wet, probably all the way down her thighs, against Parker’s palm. Her cheeks burned as she realized that she was most likely making a mess, but it felt too good to even care. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” Parker told her, looking at Mel now with something close to hunger. “Making a mess of yourself.” 

“Close,” Mel mumbled, breath catching in the back of her throat, the rhythm of her hips growing erratic. She was already burning up from the inside, already chasing her release like her life depended on it. 

“ Fuck , you’re gorgeous,” Parker groaned. “Can you come again for me?” 

Mel nodded, head tipping back. She could barely keep her eyes open anymore. 

“Can you kiss me?” she breathed, and Parker did so immediately, swallowing her moans with every drag of her tongue against Mel’s. 

Mel was trembling now, soft little noises escaping from her throat until she came with Parker still inside her, shaking, rocking herself harder onto Parker’s hand as she nipped at her bottom lip softly. They’re practically breathing each other in as Mel rode her, whimpering, her eyes finally fluttering open as her body grew heavy, Parker’s thumb still moving against her until it became too much to handle. 

Parker gently shifted her, guiding Mel off her thigh with careful hands, then eased her back onto the pillows. The sheets felt cool beneath her skin, a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth still humming through her body. Mel was still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow waves. Little bursts of light danced at the corners of her vision like stars caught behind her eyelids.

“Good?” Parker asked, her voice low and teasing, a smug little smile tugging at her lips.

Mel groaned softly, lifting her forearm to cover her eyes. “Good,” she mumbled, then let out a breathless, giddy giggle. It came out before she could stop it—loose and unguarded, like the rest of her.

The drowsiness crept in quickly, like a tide rolling over her. Her limbs felt heavy, boneless, the adrenaline slowly giving way to exhaustion. Still, a flicker of guilt nudged at her chest. She hadn't gotten to touch Parker, not really. The thought pulled her halfway back into consciousness.

“Um,” she murmured, forcing her eyes open, “just give me a minute and I’ll—”

“Hey,” Parker said, cutting her off gently. She lay down beside Mel, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close until their bodies aligned, warm and soft and safe. Her voice was a whisper in the dark. “You don’t have to do anything right now. It was more than enough to see you like that.”

Mel exhaled, the tension slipping from her body as Parker’s words settled over her. The closeness was everything. Parker’s steady breath at her back, the comforting weight of her hand on Mel’s hip, the faint scent of her skin. It made the last flickers of urgency ebb away. Her eyes fluttered shut again, heavier this time. The room had gone quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the subtle rhythm of Parker’s heartbeat beneath her ear. 

“I really like you,” Mel whispered, barely audible, not sure if Parker even heard it.

But she felt Parker press a kiss to her shoulder, and that was answer enough.

 

 

 

When Mel woke again, it was to the soft hiss of running water from the bathroom. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and she blinked at the digital clock on the nightstand. Just past midnight. The room was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of the street lights outside filtering through the curtains. Her body still felt warm, her limbs wrapped in that pleasant post-afterglow heaviness. The sheets were rumpled around her, still holding Parker’s scent.

A moment later, the faucet shut off, and she heard the quiet creak of the bathroom door opening. Footsteps padded softly across the floor, and then Parker’s silhouette reappeared, backlit by the hallway light. She moved quietly, careful not to wake her fully, but Mel turned her head slightly anyway, offering the sleepiest of smiles.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

“Hey yourself,” Parker whispered back, smiling as she climbed back into bed. She pulled the covers over both of them, shifting until her body curved around Mel’s from behind. One arm slipped around her waist, palm splayed gently over her stomach, and her legs tangled lightly with Mel’s.

Mel let out a soft hum and nestled back into her, the warmth of Parker’s chest against her spine a kind of balm she hadn’t known she needed.

“You okay?” Parker asked. 

Mel nodded. “Mm-hmm. Just missed you.”

For some reason, maybe the way Parker’s body fit so perfectly against hers, or the soft rhythm of her breath against the back of her neck, heat began to bloom low in Mel’s belly again. It was slower this time, more languid. She shifted slightly under the covers, hyperaware of every place their bodies touched: the curve of Parker’s chest pressed to her back, the warm weight of her arm across her waist, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

Without thinking, Mel reached down and found Parker’s hand where it rested against her stomach, her fingers curling around it. Slowly, deliberately, she guided it lower, between her thighs, her breath hitching at the anticipation She felt, more than heard, the quiet laugh Parker gave, a warm puff of air against her neck, as her smile curved into Mel’s skin.

“I didn’t take you for the insatiable type,” Parker murmured, voice husky and amused.

Mel bit her lip, her cheeks flushing even as her body pressed back into her. “Please?”

Parker let out a groan at the plea, already beginning to tease and stroke through wet heat and over her aching clit until Mel was panting, canting into Parker’s touch. It didn’t take long for Parker to slip into her with two fingers, already setting a rough pace. 

“ Fuck ,” Mel rasped, reaching back to thread her fingers into Parker’s hair, 

“Language, baby,” Parker whispered into her ear, slipping out of her only to tease her entrance with three fingers. “Tell me what you want.” 

Mel swallowed, “More fingers. Please .” 

“Good girl,” Parker murmured as she pushed back in slowly with three fingers. 

Mel writhed at the stretch, moaning low. She couldn’t think. Not at the pace Parker set, unrelenting and merciless. Not when this new angle of Parker’s hand felt so good, being stretched out and filled like this with insistent fingers, making her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. Canting her hips back into Parker’s relentless thrusts with desperate bucks, her free hand clenched around her pillow until she was coming hard with a rough shudder and a loud cry, whimpering into the sheets as Parker guided her through it. 

“Thank you,” Mel panted when those fingers finally went still, but remained within the heat inside her. 

“No need to thank me,” Parker said, leaving soft kisses along her shoulder and neck. “I’m the one who wanted to make you feel good.” 

Mel shifted gently, turning in Parker’s arms until they were face to face. The sheets rustled softly between them, and she reached up, cradling Parker’s jaw as she leaned in to kiss her again. She lingered there for a beat, savoring the closeness, the grounding steadiness of Parker’s presence. When she finally pulled back, her expression had changed. The flush on her cheeks had cooled, replaced by something quieter. Thoughtful. Her eyes searched Parker’s face, and for the first time since they’d stumbled breathless into this moment, uncertainty crept back in.

“We should…” Mel began, her voice soft. “We should probably talk about this, right?”

There was no hesitation in Parker’s response. She simply nodded and wrapped her arms around Mel again, tugging her close until there was no space between them. Mel let herself be drawn in, nestling against her chest and tucking her head beneath Parker’s chin.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Parker murmured, her voice low and warm, fingers tracing light, absent circles along Mel’s back. “Let’s just get some rest for now.”

Mel closed her eyes, letting herself exhale fully for the first time in hours. The kind of exhaustion that followed wasn’t just physical, like something deep in her had finally loosened. Her limbs relaxed, her breathing slowed, and Parker’s touch kept her anchored as sleep began to pull her under again. She wasn’t sure what tomorrow’s conversation would bring, or what this meant for them exactly. But for now, wrapped in Parker’s arms, with the quiet hum of the night around them, Mel felt safe. 

She drifted off like that, her fingers lightly curled against Parker’s chest, as if holding onto the beginning of something she wasn’t ready to let go of.