Chapter Text
“I need your help,” Becca says abruptly and without preamble.
Frank glances away from the episode of Dawson’s Creek playing on the King sisters’ smart TV (the sisters had been scandalized upon learning that he’d never watched an episode and took it upon themselves to rectify the situation with what they’d dubbed the “Creek-a-thon”, weekly three episode minimum binge sessions at the Kings’ apartment, from pilot to finale – they’re now well into season three, Mel’s favorite), shifting on the couch to face Becca. “Sure, Becs. What’s up?”
Becca scoots towards him from her end of the couch, her phone in hand. “Which of these photos do you like more? This one -” the phone is thrusted into his face, the proximity of its screen to his nose making his eyes cross momentarily before adjusting and settling on an image of Mel in denim shorts and a well-worn Bon Jovi t-shirt (her mother’s, she'd told him), smile bright and broad “- or this one?” A deft swipe of Becca's finger pulls up another image – Mel in profile, chin propped on her hand and hair loose around her shoulders, staring serenely out the window of the diner around the corner from the PTMC. (Frank remembers taking both photos - the first on an outing to the zoo with Tanner and Michelle, the second during breakfast after a particularly hellish night shift two weeks ago. The diner photo pops up on the screen of his phone whenever she calls.)
“Hard to choose,” Frank answers honestly, “they’re both great photos of Mel.”
Becca murmurs in agreement, retracting her extended arm.
“I guess it would depend on what you want to use them for?”
“Mel’s dating profiles - I’m updating them.”
Frank’s brain enters rainbow wheel mode as it attempts to process the underlying implication of Becca’s words: Mel is on dating apps (“just Hinge and Bumble,” Mel will clarify later when she joins them on the couch. “Tinder is a bit overwhelming.”).
He doesn’t quite know or understand why he feels as dumbstruck as he does. It isn’t news to him that Mel is an attractive and very dateable human being (mostly because he’s felt that warm flicker of attraction - a twinge in his chest, a flutter in his stomach - on more occasions than he’d like to admit), but he still can’t help that the revelation that she’s active on dating apps feels like a sucker punch to the gut. (“Maybe it's because it was just an abstract thought exercise until now,” his sister will analyze later, squinting at him over FaceTime. “Like, you knew that this was a probability, but now this concrete evidence crystallizes that probability into actuality and makes it really real, you know?” “Yeah, maybe.”)
“You’re updating Mel’s dating profiles,” Frank hears himself parrot back eventually, as if saying it himself may wriggle loose a switch in his brain and bring it back online. In the background,
“Yeah, I’m in charge of them because, according to Mel, she doesn’t have the time and, according to me, I know better than Mel what she needs in a boyfriend.”
He nods like that makes all the sense in the world. "Right.”
“Specifically,” Becca continues, pointing to the TV where Joey and Pacey are being told in no uncertain terms that their atrocious no-ribs-touching dancing was symptomatic of some serious unresolved sexual tension, “what Mel needs is a Pacey.” (The King sisters were firmly, brook-no-argument Team Pacey.) “But finding one is so hard when there are a lot more Dawsons than Paceys in the real world.”
Frank nods some more (he couldn’t disagree) and wanders which he is, a Pacey or a Dawson. He thinks maybe the latter - a little selfish, more than a little emotionally obtuse, weird floppy hair.
When he voices as much, Becca shakes her head. “Well, in a way, every boy is a bit of a Dawson because boys in general are pretty stupid.” She pauses for a dramatic eyeroll. “But I’ve thought a lot about it and have reached the conclusion that you’re more of a Pacey. Or at least when it comes to Mel. Because I can tell you really care about her and want to protect her, and you always put her first and can tell when she lies about being okay even though she's not.” She considers him for a moment. “Plus, I think you would buy her a wall.”
Frank doesn’t know what that last bit means, but assumes it’s a positive thing (his hunch is confirmed during the following week’s Creek-a-thon session). “Thanks, Becs,” he says quietly, suddenly feeling bashful. “That means a lot.”
Becca scrunches her nose. “Why? It’s just the truth.”
He smiles. “Well, I guess I just appreciate you laying out the facts for the benefit of the Dawson in me. Sometimes he can be a little clueless.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” she huffs in response, eyes rolling. “I wouldn’t need to update Mel’s dating profiles if your inner Dawson would just smarten up a bit.”
Frank blinks, grasping for the meaning underlying Becca’s words.
“Anyway,” she says, moseying back to her end of the couch, “I’m just going to use both.”
“Both?” he asks, thankful for the segue away from his apparent idiocy.
“Photos of Mel. I thought I only wanted to replace one, but I can think of another photo that’s definitely not as nice as these two.”
“Oh, right.” Frank rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry, I don’t think I was very helpful with that.”
“You weren’t,” Becca says matter-of-factly, focus turning to editing said photos, expertly cropping and adjusting the brightness and contrast, “but I don’t know what else I was expecting from a boy.”
Frank breathes out a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”