Work Text:
By the time Frank Langdon steered his truck into the warehouse grocery store parking lot, Mel felt approximately one inconvenience away from dissolving into static.
It had been that kind of shift.
The kind where the emergency department never fully exhaled. Twelve straight hours of fluorescent lighting, adrenaline, irritated attendings, and one drunk man who had called Frank “Grey’s Anatomy with back pain.”
Frank had thanked him.
Mel had nearly aspirated coffee laughing.
Now rain drizzled steadily across the windshield while giant red letters glowed against the wet asphalt outside.
Frank turned the truck off and sat there for a second with both hands resting on the steering wheel.
Neither of them moved.
This had become a routine over the past year or so.
Once a month, usually after a shift terrible enough to chemically alter their personalities, Mel tagged along while Frank did his massive grocery run at the warehouse store because:
1. Frank had the membership card.
2. Mel found buying things in bulk emotionally stabilizing.
3. Neither of them liked going alone anymore.
Nobody had ever officially acknowledged this arrangement.
Like many things between Mel and Frank, it had simply become true through repetition.
Frank glanced over finally.
“You alive?”
Mel considered the question honestly.
“Emotionally? No.”
“Physically?”
“Debatable.”
Frank nodded solemnly. “Good enough. Let’s get frozen chicken.”
Mel snorted softly and climbed out after him.
The cold air smelled like rain and pavement and distant fryer grease from the food court near the entrance.
Frank grabbed one of the oversized carts immediately while Mel shoved her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“You got the list?” he asked.
Without a word, Mel handed him two stapled pages.
Frank stopped walking.
“…Why is it highlighted?”
“It’s categorized by section.”
“Melissa.”
“What?”
“There’s a system.”
Frank stared down at the color-coded grocery list like it had personally insulted him.
“You made a legend.”
“It’s efficient.”
Frank shook his head, deeply amused, before pushing the cart toward produce.
The thing about grocery shopping with Frank was that it felt alarmingly domestic.
Not romantic.
Not overtly intimate.
Just easy in a way that quietly destabilized her.
Frank knew which bread she liked without asking now. Mel knew he always forgot dish soap unless reminded. They moved around each other automatically, splitting off down aisles and reappearing again without discussion like people who had done this too many times to think about it anymore.
Which they had.
Mel reached automatically for avocados while Frank inspected tomatoes with the seriousness of a man making life-or-death decisions.
“That one’s bad,” she said.
Frank looked offended. “I know how to pick tomatoes.”
“You picked the squishy one.”
“I like a challenge.”
Mel smiled despite herself and traded it for another from the pile.
An older woman nearby watched the interaction with visible fondness.
“You two are adorable,” she said casually before continuing past them.
Mel nearly dropped an avocado.
Frank barked out a laugh.
The woman disappeared before either of them responded.
Mel focused aggressively on the produce section.
Frank still sounded amused beside her.
“We gotta stop accidentally acting married in public.”
“We do not act married.”
“Sweetheart, you just corrected my tomato selection with the confidence of a woman who’s seen my tax returns.”
Heat climbed immediately into Mel’s face.
Frank noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His grin widened slightly.
The worst part was that he wasn’t flirting intentionally half the time. Frank Langdon simply existed in a state of chronic devastating charm.
It should’ve been illegal for a man who looked that good exhausted to also be funny.
Mel moved toward the next aisle before her brain could linger there too long.
The store was crowded tonight.
Too crowded.
Children ran between carts while overhead announcements crackled every few minutes through cheap speakers. Metal rattled constantly against concrete floors. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off polished surfaces.
Usually Mel tolerated it fine.
Tonight every sound seemed sharper than normal.
She followed Frank through dry goods while he tossed absurdly large quantities of food into the cart.
“Why are you buying forty-eight granola bars?”
“Tanner eats them like a raccoon.”
“That feels medically concerning.”
“He’s seven. Everything’s medically concerning.”
Mel smiled faintly.
Talking about Frank’s children always softened him around the edges.
Not visibly enough for most people to notice.
But Mel noticed.
She noticed everything about him.
The way his shoulders relaxed when Penny called him Daddy.
The way he rubbed the back of his neck after difficult pediatric cases.
The way exhaustion made him quieter instead of cruel.
She loved him a little for all of it.
Which remained deeply unfortunate.
Frank held up two pasta boxes suddenly.
“Okay. Important question.”
Mel blinked.
“Why do you buy the ridged pasta?”
“Because sauce adherence matters.”
Frank stared at her.
“Sauce adherence.”
“Yes.”
“It’s noodles.”
“It’s architecture.”
Frank laughed loudly enough a nearby man turned to look at them.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re buying inferior pasta.”
“Pasta shouldn’t require structural engineering.”
Mel reached over and swapped the box in his hands for the correct one.
Frank looked down at her with helpless amusement.
“See? Married behavior.”
“We are literally coworkers.”
“Mm.”
That sound.
That stupid noncommittal sound he made when he thought she was being ridiculous.
Mel ignored the strange tightness in her chest and continued toward frozen foods.
Unfortunately, frozen foods were where the overstimulation finally caught up with her.
The freezer section was brighter than the rest of the store. Loud in a different way too — compressors humming beneath the fluorescent buzz while carts clattered endlessly over concrete.
Too much movement.
Too much sound.
A baby started crying somewhere nearby and the noise scraped sharply across the inside of Mel’s skull.
She stopped walking.
Not intentionally.
Her body just… stalled.
Frank noticed immediately.
He was halfway through explaining why Penny suddenly refused dinosaur-shaped nuggets unless they were “emotionally crispy” when he cut himself off mid-sentence.
“Hey.”
Mel stared at the freezer doors.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Frank said gently. “You’re just doing the thing where you stop blinking.”
Mel swallowed hard.
God.
That was humiliating.
Except Frank didn’t sound annoyed.
Didn’t sound embarrassed.
Just observant.
He shifted the cart slightly without comment, blocking part of the aisle around her to create space between Mel and the constant stream of passing people.
The movement was subtle enough most wouldn’t notice.
Mel did.
Warmth bloomed painfully beneath her ribs.
“When’d you last eat?” Frank asked.
“…Lunch.”
Frank looked at her.
“Mel.”
“Maybe around noon?”
“It’s almost nine.”
Frank sighed quietly through his nose before reaching into the cart for the crackers they’d already grabbed.
He opened the box immediately.
“Incredible,” Mel murmured weakly. “Crime in the grocery store.”
“You gonna narc on me?”
“You’re not emotionally equipped for prison.”
Frank held out a cracker.
Mel took it automatically.
He waited until she actually ate before speaking again.
“Better?”
“A little.”
“Okay.”
That was it.
No dramatic fussing.
No drawing attention to her.
Just Frank recalibrating the situation around her needs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Mel looked down at the sleeve of crackers in her hands.
“You always know.”
Frank leaned against the cart casually.
“Know what?”
“When it’s getting bad.”
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Frank looked genuinely confused by the question.
“Well,” he said slowly, “yeah.”
Like the answer was obvious.
Like of course he knew.
Mel felt suddenly emotional enough to be irritating about it.
Most people only noticed her discomfort once it became inconvenient.
Frank noticed before she even spoke.
Sometimes before she understood it herself.
“You get quieter,” he said simply. “And your shoulders tense up.”
Mel stared at him.
Frank shrugged one shoulder.
“I pay attention to you.”
The words landed softly.
Heavily.
Frank didn’t seem to realize what he’d just done to her internal organs.
A woman pushing another cart squeezed past them with a knowing smile.
“Long day?” she asked sympathetically.
Frank laughed softly. “That obvious?”
“Honey, you’re feeding her crackers in the freezer aisle wearing scrub bottoms.”
Mel wanted the earth to open beneath her immediately.
The woman smiled at them both.
“My husband used to do that for me in crowded stores.” Her expression softened fondly. “Twenty-seven years married.”
Then she walked away.
Silence.
Frank stared after her for a second.
Mel looked very hard at frozen vegetables.
Finally Frank said, “In our defense, you do look a little like you’re seeing ghosts.”
Mel laughed helplessly.
The sound escaped her before she could stop it.
Frank’s entire face softened instantly at hearing it.
There it was.
That look again.
The one that had started ruining her life lately.
Too warm.
Too careful.
Like Frank looked at her and saw something precious.
Mel’s chest tightened painfully.
Before she could think better of it, she admitted quietly:
“You make this easier.”
Frank stilled.
The freezer aisle hummed softly around them.
Mel wished immediately that she could swallow the sentence back down.
But Frank just looked at her for a long moment.
Then, very gently, he reached over and brushed damp hair back from her forehead.
The touch lingered.
Not accidental.
Not entirely friendly either.
Mel stopped breathing correctly.
Frank seemed to realize what he was doing at the exact same moment she did.
His hand paused briefly against her temple.
Something shifted in his expression.
Recognition maybe.
Want.
Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and kissed her forehead softly.
Quick.
Warm.
Instinctive.
The entire world narrowed violently around that single point of contact.
Frank pulled back slowly.
Mel stared at him.
Frank looked slightly stunned himself now.
Like his body had acted before his brain caught up.
Neither of them spoke.
Somewhere nearby, a forklift beeped in reverse.
Mel’s pulse thudded painfully in her throat.
“That…” Frank cleared his throat once. “That might’ve crossed a line.”
Mel should’ve agreed.
Instead she whispered:
“I think maybe we crossed it a while ago.”
Frank looked at her then.
Really looked at her.
And suddenly Mel understood with terrifying clarity that she was not alone in this anymore.
Whatever this thing between them had become —
this soft domestic gravity pulling them constantly back toward one another —
Frank felt it too.
The realization settled between them quietly.
Heavy.
Certain.
Then Frank glanced down into the cart and sighed.
“We forgot the oatmeal.”
The tension snapped instantly.
Mel laughed so hard she nearly choked.
Frank grinned helplessly at the sound.
And somewhere between freezer burn, bulk groceries, and emotional support crackers, both of them realized their lives had already started intertwining long before either of them found the courage to name it.