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    Summary

    mel at least had the clarity of mind to recognise how good he looked like this; an old, tight band t-shirt he got at a show like, a million years ago, when frank was in his first year of med school and mel was a college freshman, a small age gap but one he takes sick pleasure in reminding her of. grey sweats, strings dangling, tantalisingly untied. his hair wet, thick arms on display; mel felt a shiver when she realised she was the only person who saw him like this. it distracted her enough that she almost forgot what she said, awakening from her second frank induced trance of the day when she heard his rejoining question.

    ‘what the fuck, mel?!’

    he walked over to stand in front of her, hands on his hips, and mel decided there was something wrong with her when he moved one hand to her chin and forced her to look up at him and lightening shot through her body. he raised an eyebrow in annoyance and oh, fuck, she’s definitely calling her therapist like, first thing in the morning, she needs to be institutionalised.

     

    mel discovers she likes physical touch more than she thought. unfortunately, frank’s decided he’s keeping his hands to himself.

    Language:
    English
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