Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The hotel corridor was quiet.

Mel had lost her flower crown somewhere between the bar and the walk to their hotel. She didn't remember dropping it. She didn't remember much after the pillar, to be honest.

She was quiet too.

She couldn't believe what she had done. She had kissed Frank. Or he had kissed her. Did it matter? At first it had been a joke. Everybody else was doing it. With the mead and the loud music and the laughing, it hadn't felt that serious.

But it got serious so fast.

Because if a kiss like that was meant to be playful, then what would a serious one feel like?

Thinking about it made her blood run hot. She breathed out. Damn.

What the fuck had she done.

She was getting married. She shouldn't think about her best friend like that, or kiss him like that for that matter.

The real issue was that a single kiss had changed Mel's whole vision of what she should feel like when someone touched her. She thought she had it all figured out by now. Intimate relationships were a no brainer. She knew what she liked, what felt nice, what felt right.

Didn't she?

She started to doubt every single one of her senses. Because when Frank's lips touched hers, when his body enveloped her, when his heat transferred to her through her clothes, she felt a thousand times more than she could ever imagine. It felt like the entire universe made sense, all of a sudden. She felt a sense of true belonging. 

Wasn't that fucked up? She was about to be married to someone who she loved. Who made her feel amazing and understood and-

"Nighty-night Mel!" Victoria peeled off at the third floor with a wave.

Mel blinked. "Good night," she said, distracted.

"Are you okay?" Becca asked, taking her hand.

"Yeah. Mm-hm." Mel squeezed her sister's hand once.

Becca stared at her for a moment, like she knew Mel's mind was somewhere else. But instead of asking questions, she kissed Mel on the cheek and went into her own room.

Now Mel was standing in the corridor of the fourth floor with her key card in her hand and the silence pressing in on all sides.

She went into her room. There was a window that looked out over the river, the lights of the bridges doubled in the black water below. She kicked her shoes off and stood in the middle of the room in her bare feet and her green dress.

She touched her mouth.

The kiss came back in flashes. The pillar behind her head, cold. His hand on her hip, his fingertips sinking into her flesh. The way he had looked at her right before, his blue eyes focused on hers, wanting, so clear, so openly gone. The way his mouth had felt, slow at first, then not slow at all. She had grabbed his shirt because she needed something to hold onto and she had kissed him back and she had wanted to, she had wanted to so badly it frightened her.

What are you doing, she asked herself.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight. The mead had worn off somewhere after that kiss. The cold air on the walk back had finished the job. She was sober now, or close enough, and the kiss was still there.

She was a few days from her wedding. Sloane was back in Pittsburgh, probably asleep, her phone on the nightstand, waiting for a goodnight text that Mel hadn't sent.

She was engaged, and she had kissed Frank Langdon while her friends were twenty feet away.

She stood up. It was sudden, a decision she almost didn't believe she was making. She picked up her key card and looked at it. Fuck it. She needed to know. She put her shoes back on and walked out into the corridor.

She stopped in front of his door. She had no idea if he would be inside. Her heart was pounding. Her throat was dry. She was so tired of not knowing what she wanted.

She didn't knock. It didn't occur to her that the man who had been pressing her to a pillar an hour ago would be accompanied. And more than that, that it would be by one of her best friends, thrown on top of him, wearing nothing but a see-through negligee.

Mel looked at them.

They looked at Mel. Almost as if in slow motion, frozen in place. 

Nobody said anything.

"Sorry," Mel said, blinking, her voice came out steady. She didn't know how. "Wrong room."

She turned and walked back down the corridor. She kept her shoulders straight and her steps even. She made it back to her own door and got the key card in on the first try, which felt like a small, stupid miracle.

"Mel. Mel." Frank was running after her. "Mel, please wait. Wait."

He grabbed her elbow. When she turned around she couldn't hide the tears streaming down her face. Her heart was racing for a completely different reason now. It felt like it had been broken. Literally.

His eyes softened. They were both breathing too hard. She looked at the wall behind his head.

"Heather came to my room," he said. "I didn't invite her. I didn't know she was going to show up like that. She was drunk. She was upset. Nothing happened."

Mel shook her head. "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"Yes, I do."

"No. You really don't." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Whatever you do with whoever you want to do it with is none of my concern."

Frank stared at her. His jaw tightened. "None of your concern?"

"That's what I said."

"Mel, why are you crying, then?"

"I'm tired. It's been a long day."

"You know I know you better than that."

She laughed. It came out wrong. Too sharp, and too loud. "I'm crying because I'm getting married in five days and I just kissed my best friend in a bar and it was clearly a huge mistake and fuck, Frank... I'm just tired. That's all."

"Stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying."

"You are." He stepped closer. She didn't step back. "You kissed me back. You wanted it. You wanted me."

You wanted me. Me. The words made their way to her chest in her chest. He sounded so vulnerable. She had never thought of Frank as somebody vulnerable.

Her breath caught. "Frank-"

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"Tell me," he said. His voice was low and desperate. "Tell me why you were standing outside my door."

She couldn't look at him. She looked at the wall, the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere but his face.

"It's just... it's nothing," she said, repeating. "I'm just tired. I have a lot to plan tomorrow."

"Mel. You're... that's not-" He exhaled, nervous. "Tell me you felt nothing with that kiss."

She felt everything with that kiss. Like her eyes had been wide open, a deep understanding what people described on sonnets and love songs and books.

"I felt nothing."

His face looked like he didn't buy it for a second. 

"You don't mean that."

"I'm getting married." Her voice cracked as she cut him off "Whatever you think happened, it's just in your head. Yeah? I'm... I have to go."

He held her wrist. Her skin pricked with the memory of being held by him just moments ago

"Melissa." 

She closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him. If she looked at him she would break, and Mel was tired of being broken by Frank Langdon. She was done with it.

"You can't be serious" he said. "Mel, you don't kiss someone like that, come to their room and then get married to someone else and few days later." He said.

"I was a mistake," she almost yelled. "I AM getting married in five days. And if you can't handle that, maybe it's for the best if you just... step aside."

The words came out steady. Inside she was shaking. The words hit him like a physical thing. She saw him flinch and retreat. 

Frank didn't let go of her wrist. His thumb moved, just once, across her pulse point. He could probably feel how fast her heart was beating. 

"Is that what you want?" he asked, quietly.

She opened her eyes. His face was right there. Close, too close. She could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his jaw was set, the way he was looking at her like she was the one breaking his heart, and not the other way around.

"It's for the best." She whispered. 

Mel pulled her wrist free. He let her go the second she moved. She turned around and opened her door. Moving away from him was the hardest thing she had ever done. And she had done several hard things in her lifetime.

"Mel." His voice was weak.

She stood there with her hand on the knob. Her whole body was shaking.

"Good night, Frank," she said.

She walked inside and closed the door. She leaned against it and pressed her forehead to the wood. She could hear him on the other side. She could hear him breathing. She could hear him not walking away.

She stayed there for a long time. Her hand was still on the knob. Her cheek was pressed against the door. She could feel the cold wood against her skin, the slight vibration of the hallway beyond. Eventually, she heard his footsteps, slow and Heavy as he was moving away.

She pressed her forehead harder against the door and closed her eyes. And she hadn't cried like she did that night in a long time.

*****

Nobody said much on the drive back.

Victoria was passed out, her head against the window, mouth open. Samira had her earbuds in, staring at nothing. Heather sat behind Frank, and he could feel her there, a presence he didn't know what to do with.

And Mel didn't ride the passenger seat for the first time in years. Instead, she switched seats with Becca, who was scrolling through her phone absentmindedly.

Frank hadn't slept. He'd spent the night staring at the hotel ceiling, going over it again and again. Over how he almost had her. Almost. 

He kept going back to the kiss. Then Mel at his door. Her face when she saw Heather. The way she'd said step aside like she was dismissing a servant.

Heather had shown up drunk. That was the truth of it. She'd pushed past him into the room, started talking about the past, about how he'd hurt her, about how she still thought about him sometimes. He'd been trying to calm her down, trying to find her shoes, trying to get her to leave. Then she threw herself at him. He felt flat on the back, which hadn't been fun considering his history with back pain, and she was on top of him while he had been in too much pain to even register it. 

Then Mel walked in.

And fuck. Everything was ruined.

His mind through the whole night kept playing the scene over and over, until it was daylight and they were driving back to the city.

He dropped the girls one by one at their respective homes. 

Then it was just him and Mel.

She sat in the back with her body turned toward the window, her face hidden. She hadn't spoken since they left the hotel. She hadn't looked at him once. Through the rearview mirror, he kept waiting for her to do so. Just one single time for her to look back. But she hadn't. 

He pulled up outside her building. Mel was out before he could stop her.

"Mel." He closed the drivers door and went around the rented van. He got to her as he stood between her and the door.

"Don't." She said, shaking her head. "I can't do this right now," she said.

"Do what? Talk to me?"

"Any of it." Her voice cracked. "I can't talk to you. I can't look at you. I can't- " She stopped. Pressed her lips together. Her eyes were still anywhere but on his face.

She shook her head. Her hand was on the door handle.

"I can't," she said. "Any of it. Please. I need space." She said, and he knew her. He knew he wasn't about to get anywhere with her in that state.

He stepped aside. Mel walked to her door and didn't look back as she closed it behind her with a soft thud.

Frank stood there for a minute. Closed his eyes. Cursed at every single entity he could think of. God. Budha. Nature. The fucking universe. Then he did it at himself. 

He had ruined everything. Not just his chances. His friendship. Fifteen years of it. All of it gone because he couldn't stop wanting her.

*** 

Mel was staring at herself in another white dress. The curtains were closed behind her.

Ingrid had made her try this one on. She had looked at the original dress, the one Mel had chosen, the one she had loved, and said: That's very simple. Don't you think?

And just like that, the bug was planted.

She didn't know when she had become so gullible. Was it now? Was it when Frank kissed her and suddenly she wasn't sure of anything anymore? Was it before that, some version of herself she hadn't noticed becoming?

She swallowed, trying to pull the dress's halter top away from her throat. It was beautiful. It wasn't anything like her.

But at least it wasn't simple.

She was getting married in the morning. And she hadn't heard from Frank in days. 

She knew she had hurt him. That was the point. She needed to spook him away. To stop him from looking too closely. To make him stop seeing the parts of her she was trying to hide.

And now... she was no better off without him. Truth was, she felt like a fish out of water. Like she was missing a fundamental piece of herself. Not a small piece. The piece. The one that made the rest of her make sense.

It hurt. It was uncomfortable. Not seeing him made her itchy and anxious, felt like she had an arm tied around her back and her socks were soggy inside and she just couldn't stand still. She felt restless.

But she had to get used to it. She was leaving for Oslo, after all. There wasn't a scenario where Frank would still be in her life anymore. Not really. Not the way he had been. Not the way she had wanted him to be.

The thought alone terrified her.

The idea of not seeing him. Not talking to him. Not touching him. It made her skin tight.

Sometimes, these last few days, she felt like she was drowning. Like she couldn't breathe. Like she was standing at the bottom of a pool and everyone was standing at the edge, looking down at her, smiling, telling her how lucky she was, how very incandescent she looked.

She had no idea what people were seeing. They weren't looking hard enough. Because she felt... lacking. There was a puzzle piece the size of Frank Langdon missing from her smile. And without it, the whole picture was wrong.

***

Frank woke up with a wheeze under a jet of cold, freezing water.

He didn't know how he got here. He could see Yolanda, who was holding him by the collar of his shirt. Frank was fully dressed and his shoes were squeaking against the tile as he tried to escape his friends death grip.

"Stay under," Yolanda said, calmly. 

He tried to push her away. His arms didn't work right, everything felt a little blurry.

"I'm fine." He groaned, as his entire body was trembling from cold.

His stomach didn't feel right, either. 

"You were passed out."

Santos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching. She looked amused. Or annoyed. He couldn't tell. 

"How did you get in?" he asked, stepping out on sluggish feet.

"You gave me a key. Remember? In case of emergency." Yolanda shoved him back under the water. 

He blinked. Water ran down his face. His shirt was stuck to his chest. His shoes were making squelching noises every time he shifted his weight. Jesus, they were trying to murder him. 

They stood there for a while. His fingers were starting to turn blue.

"I lost her," he said, finally. 

Fuck. Everything hurt. Nothing compared to what he'd have to face without Mel King, though.

Yolanda didn't answer.

"I told you he was up to no good when he didn't answer his fucking phone." Trinity said to Yolanda, but her voice was closer now.

"Leave me alone." He grunted, trying to get out of the cold water. 

"Jesus. You stink, how long have you been drinking?" Santos said, helping Yolanda to keep him under. 

"Not enough." He muttered.

* 

Frank woke up and didn't know where he was.

His mouth tasted like something had died in it. His eyes wouldn't focus. 

He tried to move, but it felt like there were needles poking his brain. 

The air smelled like coffee and cold and the stale remnants of whatever he had been drinking.

He turned his head. The room spun. He closed his eyes until it stopped.

When he opened them again, Yolanda was sitting in the armchair of his living room. Santos was at the kitchen table. They were both looking at him.

"How long?" His voice came out like gravel.

"A couple hours." Yolanda didn't move. "Thought you were dead."

He tried to sit up, his arms shook. He made it to sitting. The blanket fell off his chest. He was wearing a different shirt. He didn't remember changing.

"Did you change me?"

"Worst fifteen minutes of my life." Santos didn't look up from her coffee. "You have way too much body hair. Anyone ever told you that? Should get checked."

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. The light hurt his retina and his head was pounding. 

"Please kill me." He grunted.

"Enough." Yolanda stood up. "You need to recover."

He dropped his hands. Looked at her. His vision was blurry at the edges.

"What for?"

She stared at him, looking mildly aggravated. 

"You've been MIA for four days. You have kids. A job. A life." She paused. Checked her watch. "And Mel's getting married in two hours."

The words were thrown to do damage, and damage they did. Fuck. He wished he could still be drunk. 

"So?" he said.

Yolanda blinked. "So?"

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

She looked at Santos. 

"We want you to get up," Santos said.

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He didn't know if it was from the hangover or something else entirely.

"Why?"

"Because you still got a shot, dumbass." Said Santos.

He didn't move.

He thought about Mel. About the way she looked at him in the hotel corridor. The tears. 

She had asked him to stay the fuck away. She meant it. He knew Mel.

He knew it was what she had wanted.

"I can't," he quietly said. 

"You can." Yolanda walked over to him. Knelt down. Her face was close to his. "You have three hours. Three hours to get in a car and go to that venue and tell her everything you should have told her years ago."

His heart sped up a little a the thought. 

Because, sure, it sounded nice. But what if... what if Mel hated him, after? He didn't want to ruin her life like that. He couldn't live in a world where Mel King hated him. 

At the same time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to live in one where she didn't love him, either.

"What if she says no?"

"Then she says no." Yolanda shrugged.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Then you'll know." She said, searching for his eyes.

He stared at her. His chest tight.

"I don't know what to say to her."

Yolanda stood up. She grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and threw it at him. It landed in his lap.

"You'll figure it out."

He held the jacket. Then he stood up. The room tilted. He waited for it to settle.

"What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

He looked at the window. Gray light. Somewhere across the city, Mel was probably awake. Getting ready. Putting on a dress

He had to go.

"Someone needs to drive me."

Santos grabbed her keys. "I'll drive."

He looked at Yolanda. She didn't say anything. She just nodded.

He walked to the door. Put on his shoes. His hands were still shaking.

He didn't know what he was going to say. He didn't know if she would listen. He didn't know if any of it mattered.

But he was not about to stand still.

**** 

The mirror showed her a bride.

White silk. Not her chosen dress, in the end.

Becca stood behind her, adjusting the veil. Her hands were gentle, familiar. She had been doing things like this for Becca their whole lives. Fixing her hair before school. Straightening her collar. Holding her hand before their mothers' funeral. Now it was Becca doing it for Mel.

"You look beautiful," Becca said with a kind smile.

Mel stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was beautiful. She was also deeply, terribly unhappy.

She should be happy. This was the best day of her life. That was what people said about weddings. The best day. The happiest day. The day everything finally came together and made sense.

Outside, the world was falling apart. The sky was a deep, dark gray. The rain fell, unforgiving. It wasn't a particularly pretty day. It matched Mel's mood so perfectly it was almost comical. 

Frank wouldn't be there. She wasn't sure she wanted him there anyway. Maybe if he were, it'd be more difficult. 

She didnt know. 

All she knew is that she missed him so much her bones ached and her heart wasn't quiet. It was screaming agaisnt he chest. Asking where the hell was her best friend. 

She ignored it all. 

"Mel." Becca's voice was quiet. "Are you sure?"

Mel looked at her sister in the mirror. Becca's eyes were searching her face, looking for something. Mel didn't know what. She didn't know if she wanted her to find it.

"Of course." She said, a faint, skinny smile on her lips. 

The door opened. Heather came in, dressed in lavender, her hair pinned up, her shoes in her hand. She looked at Mel.

"You look stunning, Mel." She said, a genuine smile at her through the mirror. 

Mel looked away first and blinked. She shouldn't resent her friend for something she had no idea was inside her head, living in it rent free. The image of her on top of Frank. 

And it wasnt fair. 

She knew it wasn't. She had no right to be bitter about it whatsoever. Mel took a deep breath and exhaled.

Then she smiled at Heather. 

"Thank you." She said. 

The rest of the bridesmaids arrived, all smiling, taking pictures, praising how pretty Mel looked. 

They all knew something was wrong. Frank wasn't there. And frank was always there. He was a part of Mel, Mel was a part of Frank. It didn't make any sense why he'd be anywhere but here. Mel didn't feel like explaining. Thankfully, she didn't have to. They didn't ask. 

Maybe it was because mel had been so closed off. She hadn't let anyone in. And she didn't want to. 

Not when "in" was so deeply hurt and scared. 

"Mel." Victoria said. "Its time" She said. 

Mel's heart raced. And the worst of all was that she didn't feel like she was walking to the altar. It felt like marching to her grave. 

It should have been telling. 

*** 

"No, no, no!" Santos slapped the steering wheel. The car made a sound like a dying animal and then nothing. "Fuck, you're kidding me?!"

Frank was panicking. He'd be too late. Fuck. 

Yolanda was already out of the passenger seat, standing in the rain. "C'mon. We have time. I'll drive you with your car."

They ran to his car. It was parked two blocks away because Frank's building had terrible parking and the universe hated him. They got in. Turned the key. The engine clicked. Then clicked again. Then nothing.

"You gotta be kidding me," Frank said.

Yoyo tried again. The car didn't even pretend to start. She dropped her head against the steering wheel. "I'm going to kill someone."

Frank said. "I'm calling an Uber."

They waited. Five minutes. Ten. The app said searching. Searching. Searching. No drivers available

"Let me try," Santos said, grabbing her own phone. She requested. Waited. A driver accepted. Frank watched the little car icon move toward them on the screen. It got two blocks away and canceled.

"Son of a bitch," Santos muttered.

Yolanda was on her phone again, scrolling, refreshing, refreshing. "There's a taxi company. I have their number from last month when my car was in the shop.

She called. Thankfully, someone picked up. Said they had a fifteen minutes waiting time.

Frank looked at his watch. The wedding was in an hour and a half. The venue was forty minutes away without traffic. With traffic, on a rainy Saturday, in this city, he might as well be trying to fly.

The taxi arrived twenty minutes later. Frank got in the front. Santos and Yolanda squeezed into the back.

They gave the driver the address to the venue. "As fast as you can, please."Frank said. 

The driver nodded. Pulled into traffic.

They made it ten blocks before the first backup. Brake lights stretched out ahead of them like a red river. Frank pressed his forehead against the window. Rain was coming down harder now, thick and gray, turning the streets into rivers.

"Can you go around?" Yolanda asked.

The driver shook his head. "Everything's backed up. Accident on the bridge.

Frank closed his eyes. He thought about Mel. His Mel. Getting married to someone else.

He couldn't be too late. He couldn't.

The car lurched forward. Then stopped. Then lurched again. And then, when thnings couldnt get worse, something slammed into the back of them.

Frank's head whipped forward. His seatbelt caught him. The driver cursed. Santos screamed. Yolanda grabbed the back of Frank's seat.

"What the fuck?" Santos yelled.

The driver was already getting out, yelling at the person behind them. Frank looked back. A small sedan had rear-ended them. The driver was a young guy, already on his phone, looking mildly panicked.

"I don't have time for this," Frank muttered. 

He opened the door. The rain hit him immediately, cold and hard, soaking through his shirt, his jacket, his skin. He didn't care.

"Frank!" Yolanda called after him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm running."

He didn't look back. He ran.

The streets were slick. His shoes had no traction. Water splashed up around his ankles, his knees, his thighs. Cars honked at him. He didn't care. He ran through intersections, past stalled traffic, past the river of brake lights, past everything that was trying to keep him from her

He ran until his lungs burned. Until his legs screamed. Until he couldn't feel the rain anymore because he couldn't feel anything except the need to get there.

He flagged down a cab on a side street. The driver looked at him like he was insane. Soaking wet. Breathing hard. Probably half feral.

"Library in the North Side," Frank gasped. "Please."

The driver nodded. Frank got in. The cab pulled away.

He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes until the wedding. The venue was twenty minutes away. He was going to be late. He was going to miss it. He was going to get there and she would already be married and he would have lost her forever.

The cab hit traffic again.

Frank stared at the cars ahead of them. Barely moving. Inching forward like they had all the time in the world.

He couldn't believe that was happening.

"I can't wait," he said.

The driver looked at him in the rearview. "What?"

"I can't wait."

He threw a handful of bills onto the passenger seat and opened the door. The driver yelled something after him. Frank didn't hear it. He was already running.

The library was six blocks away. He counted them as he went. One. Two. Three. His lungs were on fire. Four. Five. His legs were numb. Six.

He saw the building. Stone columns. Heavy oak doors. 

He ran up the steps. His shoes slipped on the wet stone. He caught himself on the railing. Pushed forward.

The doors were heavy. He pulled one open. Stumbled inside.

The ceremony had already started.

He could hear music. Soft and classical. 

He walked down the aisle. Everyone turned to look at him. He didn't see them. He didn't see Victoria or Samira or Becca or Heather or any of the faces that blurred past him. He didn't see Sloane's family or any of the people who had made Mel feel like she wasn't enough.

He saw Mel.

She was standing at the altar. She was so beautiful and she was looking at him with her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide and her hands shaking.

He was soaking wet. His shirt was plastered to his chest. His hair was dripping onto his face. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his legs trembling. He looked pathetic. 

"Mel," he said. His voice came out raw. He didn't care. "I know I'm too late. I know I should have done this much sooner. I know I have no right to ask you to change your mind."

She stared at him in shock. Her lips were parted. Her hands were shaking.

"But I love you." 

The whole room gasped and there was chatter that was quickly silenced by someone's "shhh". (Probably Becca's). 

"I've loved you for fifteen years." He continued, walking closer, seeing her pretty face as she blinked and a tear scaped her beautiful eyes. " And I know I'm an idiot. I know I waited too long. I know I let you slip through my fingers because I was too scared to hold on."

He stepped closer. The room was silent. No one moved.

"But I'm not scared anymore. I'm not going to stand here and watch you marry someone else. I'm not going to step aside. Not this time. I love you. I love you. Please, please. Don't do this."

He looked at her.

She opened her mouth. He didn't hear what she said.

Because someone's fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped to the side. His vision went white. His knees buckled.

And then everything went dark.

**

"Frank!"

She was on her knees before she knew she had moved. The marble floor was cold through her dress, hard against her shins. Her veil slipped from her hair and landed beside her on the floor. 

Behind her, someone was shouting. Someone else was crying. Sloane's brother was being held back by two men in suits. His face was the color of a tomato. His arm was still raised, still cocked back, ready to take another swing at the man who had just ruined his sister's wedding.

Frank's eyes fluttered open.

Those blue, striking eyes. She knew them. She had spent fifteen years looking into them. 

They were hazy now. Unfocused. He blinked once. Twice.

Then his lips curved slightly. His jaw was already starting to swell. His lip was split. A little blood dripped down his chin and mixed with the water from his wet hair. He looked like hell.

"Hey," he said, ignoring the screaming around them.

"Hey." She whispered with a smile. 

"You look beautiful."

She laughed. It came out wet and broken. "You're insane."

"Yes."

Behind her, the room was chaos. Heather was trying to calm down Sloane's brother, who was still fighting against the men holding him back. Sloane's mother was saying something in Norwegian that sounded like it wasn't nice. Someone had dropped a glass. Someone else was on the phone. Probably calling the police. Or calling an ambulance. 

Mel didn't care anymore. She had been ready to say no. She was working up the courage to do so. 

Say "I can't. I'm in love with my best friend. It wouldn't be fair to you. I'm sorry. I have to go." 

Mel had it practiced the moment she walked down that isle.

She looked up. Sloane was standing at the altar. Her dress was white and beautiful. Her hands were shaking. Her face was pale. She was looking at Mel with an expression Mel had never seen before. She was heartbroken. 

Mel opened her mouth. Nothing came out. What was she supposed to say? I'm sorry? I didn't mean for this to happen? I still love you? None of it was true. Not anymore. Not since Frank kissed her in that bar. 

"I'm sorry," she said, anyway. Because Sloane deserved something. 

Sloane didn't answer. She just looked at Mel. 

"Go," Sloane said. Her voice was quiet. Steady. It broke anyway.

Mel wanted to say more. She wanted to explain. She wanted to tell Sloane that it wasn't her fault, that she was wonderful, that she had done everything right. But there was no time. There were no words. There was only Frank, bleeding on the floor, looking up at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She slipped her arm around his waist. He swayed. She held him tighter.

"We need to go," she said, looking into those beautiful eyes.

He nodded. His arm went around her shoulders. They walked down the aisle together. Past the guests. Past the flowers. Past the life she had been about to walk into.

No one dared to stop them.

They pushed through the heavy oak doors. The rain hit them immediately. Cold and hard and relentless. Mel's dress was soaked within seconds. The silk clung to her legs. And she felt so much. She had been so dead inside these past few days and now... with the rain, and the light, and Frank Langdon at her side. She could breathe.

She looked back. Through the windows, she could see Sloane's brother still fighting. Sloane's mother holding her daughter. Sloane standing at the altar, alone, in her white dress.

Mel's chest ached. She had loved her. She had really loved her. Just not enough. Not the way she loved Frank. 

She turned away.

Frank was looking at her. The rain was running down his face, washing away the blood. He looked like the only thing in the world that made sense.

"I Can't believe we did that" she was smiling. 

She kissed him. It was quick and desperate and certain. His hands found her waist. Her hands found his chest. The rain ran down their faces, into their mouths, between their bodies. They were smiling ridiculously between kisses.

"We need to get out of here," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. Away. Before the ginger lumberjack finds me and Knocks me out again." 

She was laughing and her heart was full. And everything felt so Completely right. Even the sun started to poke out of find clouds, and if that wasn't enough sign, a double rainbow was forming in the sky. 

"Let's go," she said.

He took her hand. They ran down the steps together. The rain was everywhere. In her eyes. In her mouth. In her lungs.

She had never felt more alive.

****

He couldn't stop kissing her.

His hand was on her jaw, tilting her face toward his. Her mouth was warm and tasted like rain. He pulled back to look at her. She was smiling. He kissed her again. He couldn't help it.

The taxi driver gave them a dirty look in the rearview mirror. Frank didn't care. He had just crashed a wedding. He had just told the woman he loved that he loved her. He had her hand in his and her mouth on his and nothing else mattered.

They pulled up outside her building. The rain was still coming down, hard and relentless. Frank threw money at the driver and pulled Mel out of the car.

She patted her pockets. Her dress was soaked. Her hair was wild. Her eyes were wide.

"I don't have my key," she said.

Frank reached into his pocket. He had had her key for years. 

He unlocked the door 

*** 

Her apartment was dark. The storm had knocked out the power, or maybe it was just the gray sky pressing against the windows. Mel didn't turn on the lights. 

Frank kissed her. Slow this time. Deep. His hand held her jaw, tilting her face up toward his. Her eyes were hazel in the dim light, green and brown and gold, and she was looking at him like she had never seen him before.

His lips crashed agaisnt hers again. 

"I love you," he said, his teeth grazing her jaw. "I love you." His mouth moved to her neck. "I love you so much." He pressed the words into her skin, desperate, pleading.

Mel didn't answer with words. She grabbed the collar of his wet shirt and ripped it open. Buttons scattered across the floor. Her hands were on his chest, his shoulders, his back, nails scraping his skin. She couldn't seem to touch enough of him at once.

She felt him try to unlock the millionth little clasp on her back, complaining with a frustrated grunt, and as if he were done with it, he grabbed the silk of her dress and pulled. It tore completely. The sound was loud in the quiet apartment.

"Frank," she exhaled, her voice low. "That was like five thousand dollars."

She didn’t sound like she minded it that much. It wasn't the dress she had chosen, anyway. 

"Fuck it. I'll pay for it. I'll buy you ten more. I don't care."

The dress fell to the floor. It landed in a puddle around her feet, white silk and rainwater pooling together. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside. She was standing in front of him in her bridal underwear. White lace, tiny. Almost nothing at all.

He stepped back to look at her. He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at her like she was the first woman he had ever seen. Mel felt like an art piece in a museum.

"This is definitely not the one you showed me," he said, his voice hearse, his eyes appreciative.

She blushed. Could feel color spread across her chest, her neck, her cheeks.

"You drove me crazy that day," he said. Going around her, staring at every corner of her body, drinking her in. He stepped behind her, his hands on her hips, guiding her toward the bedroom. She could feel how hard he was through his wet clothes as they walked together, through her own skin on her lower back. He kissed her neck. Her shoulders. The back of her ear. "You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you.

"Did I?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, lids falling on their on accord at the sensation of his stubble on her neck

"Did you do it on purpose?" He asked, lightly grazing her bra-covered nipple.

She didn't answer, a full body shiver ran over her, every little hair up, as if she had been hit by cold. But it was all him.

"The cake tasting," she said, holding his hand there, making him squeeze her breast, "Was that on purpose?"

Frank grunted, closing his fingers on an almost bruising grip.

"Yes," he whispered. "I fully intended on stealing the bride. Making you so turned on you wouldn't be able to stop thinking about me."

Oh, she knew it. 

"I hate you," she muttered, almost too lost to think too much of it. 

"Did I make you think about me, Mel?"

She closed her eyes. She felt his mouth on her neck, soft at first, then harder, he was about to leave a mark and she couldn't care last. She could feel him pressing against her lower back. He wanted her so bad and she had wanted him like that for so long. 

Mel felt like she was dreaming. 

"Yes," she admitted.

"Good." His mouth was at her ear. His breath was hot. "I had to take cold showers every five minutes whenever I thought about it. Sometimes it didn't work." His voice dropped lower. "Sometimes I got so hard for you I had to take care of it. And I thought about how turned on you looked that night."

She was breathing heavy. Her chest was rising and falling. Her hands were shaking. His too, his grip almost faltering.

"Are you happy you succeeded?" she asked, her voice weak.

He finally turned her body around at the edge of her bed. 

"Incandescently." He whispered. 

She sat down, the mattress dipping from her weight. Shaking. She was shaking everywhere and hot and her heart was racing so very fast. Frank knelt in front of her. His hands rested on her bare thighs. His thumbs drew slow circles on her skin. His pale eyes were dark, dow. His lips were parted. As if he couldn't believe it either. 

"But I wish I had been smarter," he finally said. "I wish you had been my bride in the first place. That way I wouldn't have to steal you at all."

Her heart was racing. She wanted him so badly she could barely breathe. His love. His devotion. His skin on hers felt like dying and coming back to life.

"Frank," she whispered, her voice weak.

He placed a kiss on her calf, soft, slow. Then the inside of her knee Then the inside of her thigh. His mouth was warm, his breath skimming her skin before making contact. He took his time, like he was savoring every inch of her

"I dreamed about this so many times, baby," he whispered agaisn't her skin, his brows furrowed, as if he were suffering and achieving his biggest dreams all at once. "Having you like this. All for myself."

She couldn't answer. Her words didn't work. 

Mel, never being one to pray, might as well have started at that point. Because when Frank Langdon looked at her through his brows, between her legs, and smirked at her, she knew there was nothing else to life than that. Mel felt like she could've died. Happily. 

His tongue parted her lips through the thin fabric of her underwear. He kept his gaze on hers. 

She swore. Low. Raspy. 

Her entire body relaxed. Like this was what she had been meant for all along. Like every bad decision, every wrong turn, every moment of doubt had led her here. Everything was finally right.

He hooked her legs over his strong shoulders and looked at her center. She could feel his breath on her, warm and steady. He pulled her underwear to the side, exposing her to the air.

"My God," he muttered, in awe, or disbelief, "You're dripping for me."

She tried to form a sentence. She couldn't. She was sure there was something fundamentally wrong with her brain. Her capacity to think has been lost. 

And she would've cared more about it, but then his mouth came down on her sensitive flesh and her brain completely shut off.

The first touch of his tongue was electric. She gasped. Her back arched off the bed. 

Her fingers instinctively found his hair and pulled. She couldn't hold the scream in if she tried. Which she didn't. She wanted him to know. She wanted everyone to know. It was all for him.

His tongue licked her from entrance to clit, slow and sofly, which didn't help to tame the sounds she was making. 

Then he kept going. Sucking on her, pulling at her, a perverse sound filling the room alongside her moans and his own grunts of approval. The sound it was obscene. It was the most sensual thing she had ever heard.

Mel was seeing stars. Little pinpricks of light behind her closed eyes. Her whole body was trembling.

She pulled on his wet hair, trying to ground herself to reality. Instead, she ended up grinding on his face, unable to stop her hips from bucking up toward his mouth. 

She was riding him. Using him. Taking what she needed. Mel had never been that greedy, before. She had always been about politeness. But he body didn't want polite. She wanted everything she had been dreaming about from him. Frank didn't seem to care. 

He groaned against her. The vibration shot through her entire body.

She thought she couldn't be more stimulated, then he added two fingers inside her at once. She cried out again, grinding harder.

"Yes, oh my God" she moaned as his tongue completely devoured her. He seemed happy to have her riding his face in such a shameless way. His free hand gripped her hip, holding her steady, guiding her rhythm.

"Yes," she was moaning. "Please. Keep doing that. Please don't stop."

"I won't," he promised. His voice was muffled against her flesh. "Fuck, i can't believe this is my life"

His fingers sank deeper inside her. He curled them, finding a spot that made her see white. His free hand left bruises on her thigh. 

She would feel them tomorrow. 

Sometimes it took Mel several minutes to come. Sometimes longer. She had always been particular. She had always needed the right touch, the right pressure, the right rhythm.

With him, she was having a hard time trying not to come too fast. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers, every sound he made pushed her closer to the edge. She wanted it to last. She wanted to hold on to this feeling for as long as she could, because she could never finish more than once, not even by herself. 

But he kept going. He didn't let up. He coaxed the orgasm out of her like it was the easiest task in the world. With his eyes on her, watching her fall apart, eating her out like he never wanted anything else in this lifetime, and Mel never stood a chance.

She came on his tongue. Her whole body shook. Her thighs clamped around his head. Her fingers pulled his hair so hard she was afraid she might have hurt him.

He didn't stop, though. He kept licking her through it, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

She cried his name several times. She didn't know what else to say. She didn't know if there were any other words left, or if she were capable of producing them. 

He crawled up her body. His mouth and chin were wet. His eyes were dark and hungry. His eyes intense and shining on the dark room.

She reached for him. 

Her hands fumbled with his belt. He helped her. His pants hit the floor. His boxers followed. 

He was so hard, so thick. The sight of him made her mouth water. She had never had such a visceral reaction to a man in her life. Seeing how needy he was for her, she almost came in the spot again, thinking how she would take him. Because she would. Every inch of it. 

"Frank," she said again.

"Yeah."

"Oh, my God."

She wasn't trying to be flattering. But. 

He groaned. His forehead dropped to hers.

"It's all because of you" he whispered. "Tell me you want this, Mel." 

She looked at him. His blue eyes were desperate. He was afraid. He was terrified she'd say no. As if she could. 

"I've wanted this forever," she said, holding his face. "I love you. I've always loved you. Please."

He kissed her and she tasted herself on his tongue, and his body was heavy on top of hers, and she couldn't breathe, but she didn't want to, anyway. She opened her legs as he settled between already. 

Then he pushed inside her.

She gasped at the sensation. He filled her completely. Her body stretched around him. Her nails dug into his back. He held still. His forehead was pressed against hers. His breath was ragged.

"Okay?" he asked, barely holding on.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Yes. More"

He started moving at her command. It was slow at first. Gentle. Like he was afraid of breaking her.

Mel held his shoulders, then his jaw to stare at her. There was so much in his eyes. So much she wanted to keep from this moment, so much to remember afterwards. The look in his eyes, of pure desire and love, it was something she had never experienced before. No one had ever looked at Mel the way he did. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. He groaned, rolling his eyes, his lids fluttering closed before his eyes set on her again. His hips snapped forward. The pace changed. He wasn't being careful anymore. 

His body all but fell down on her, his breath on her ear.

She held onto him. Her face buried in his neck. Her teeth grazed his shoulder. He tasted like rain and sweat and cologne.

"Harder," she moaned.

He gave her harder. 

"Faster."

He gave her faster. Mel never knew she was capable of taking it that way. She aways thought she was a soft kind of woman. Soft touches. Careful thrusts.

But the way Frank drilled into her, with such abandon and lack of control, made her realize she had been wrong. She was already close again. The pressure building in her belly, the heat spreading through her limbs. She had never come twice in one night before. But she felt it, it was building slowly, and steady, and it felt like being under sunshine.

He shifted his angle. His hand found her clit. He rubbed her in time with his thrusts.

"God, you're so fucking good for me, baby. Look at us." 

She did. She looked between them, as his thumb pressed on her clit, as his cock sank inside of her, who was so messy, soaked, it made her blush at the obscenity of it all. 

It also made her come again so fast she almost cried. Maybe she did, a little. It was so intense her entire body was spasming around him. 

She shattered. He kept moving, thrusting through her orgasm. 

"Oh, Mel. You look so beautiful coming around me. Feels so good. My God" he moaned on her ear. 

**

Mel was exhausted. Frank knew that. Her body was limp. And he could've come right there. 

But it felt rude to his past self who had fine through so much suffering to be here. 

He'd make her last longer. He'd coax another one out of her. He wanted to feel her spasm around him once more. 

She wasn't done just yet.

So he turned them around. And suddenly he had the most beautiful vision of Mel Kings perky breasts in his face. 

It was the best day of his life. 

If anyone had told him this morning that this would be the outcome of this day, he probably wouldn't believe them.

He reached over and pulled her lace bra down, exposing her hard pink niples. 

"You're so gorgeous, Mel. I'm so fucking lucky." he said, fully enclosing one of them in his mouth, sucking on in until he heard her wake up from her stupor and moan, her walls clenching around him again.  

He rolled his tongue on it, then bit on it, it earned a roll from her hips. Frank was pretty sure he was in heaven by then. 

"Keep fucking me like that, sweetheart." Frank told her, holding her hips on his hands like he was balancing the most precious piece of jewelry. "Take whatever you want from me. I'm all yours." He said, then started to suck on her other nipple. 

"Frank, oh my God. This... feels so nice" she was saying, pulling on his hair. 

He moved them to a seated position, starts to meet her thrusts with his hips, harder.

He loved that she liked it harder, he could feel her growing wetter by the second.  

"Yeah?" He asked, taking her jaw, forcing her to look at him. 

"Yeah. Yes. Yes. Frankie, please keep going, please, please-" 

He took her throat in his hand. So soft. Delicate. Warm. He squeezed the sides of it, just enough to test a theory. 

He felt her clench again. 

"You're such a little freak, aren't you?" He asked. 

She had her lips semi parted, looking at him... Jesus. He had no idea. 

"Don't be scared. I won't break." She simply said, not breaking eye contact as he squeezed harder, and it took no time for him to have her coming on his cock for the second time.  

It felt fucking incredible. 

"Can you take more, Mel?" He asked. Or almost begged. 

She nodded. Avidly.

"Good fucking girl" he said as he stood up and pressed her agaisnt the nearby wall. 

Frank wasn't young anymore. But the sheer look in her eyes; so needy, still so ready, gave him energy to hump inside her body, slowly and hard, in a crescendo of feelings and rhythm that got Melissa King screaming his name, begging for more, giving him praise in a way that made her fall apart again and him following her already over the edge, spilling inside of her like he had aways meant to do. 

He came with a groan, his face buried in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

After what felt like several seconds, she untangled her legs from his waist. He was still half hard when he pulled out, his semen dripping down her legs, them both trembling, him from the physical exhaustion and mind numbing load off, and her probably from almost certain four orgasms. 

He took her in his arms and kissed her before depositing her on her back on her mattress. He followed in front of her. 

Frank put her bra back in place. Her breasts were distracting him, and he was pretty sure that given enough seconds looking at them, he'd be ready again. 

He just wasn't sure mel could take it. 

He lifted his head. Looked at her. Her eyes were soft.

"We should probably talk about what just happened," he said.

"Probably."

"Later."

"Later."

He kissed her forehead. Rolled off her. Pulled her against his chest.

The rain was still falling outside. The apartment was still dark.

"I love you" she said again, after a few minutes. Her voice sleepy. Almost as an afterthought. But completely honest. 

She was completely his. 

**** 

Frank had done this before.

He knew how it went. 

The suit that fit slightly wrong no matter how many times you got it tailored. The way the room filled up and got warm and started to smell like flowers and other people's perfume. The way time moved strangely, too fast and too slow at once, the minutes before stretching out like taffy and then the ceremony itself gone before you could hold onto any of it.

He knew the altar and the waiting. The silence that fell over a room right before the doors opened, everyone collectively holding their breath, every head turning.

But some things were new this time around. 

For starters, Abby was sitting at the front, with their two teenaged kids, and she looked genuinely happy for Frank. So did Penny and Tanner. 

By his side, stood his, not one, but two Best Women, Yolanda Garcia and Trinity Santos. Without them, none of this would've been possible. 

They chose the garden venue. It was a sunny day, and it was warm and everything was just right.

Even though he had been through this before, he was still nervous to get married to the love of his live. 

He had been on the other side of whatever could go wrong at a wedding like an "I do not" or a dramatic: "I love you!" From a third person.

He would tackle anyone to the ground who as much as suggested with their body language they might do that. (And he was mildly sure, so would his Best Women).

Frank was completely unprepared when the double doors opened and Mel walked in and forty-something years of accumulated experience as a person on earth abandoned him without ceremony or warning. 

His brain, which had kept him functional through eighteen-hour shifts and impossible calls and more bad nights than he could count, produced exactly one coherent thought.

Oh.

She was wearing the dress she had always wanted. She looked beautiful in it, perfect, like a precious angel. 

He understood now. Standing here. Watching her walk.

It was exactly right. She was exactly right. She had always been exactly right. They had always been meant to be. 

She was moving slowly, with intention, quiet certainty. Her eyes found his the second she cleared the doorway. 

The room was full. Flowers everywhere, people he loved, the warm noise of a hundred people who had shown up because they wanted to see this. Her bridesmaids on the other side of the altar. Becca in the front row with her hand already pressed over her mouth. Victoria not even pretending she wasn't crying.

Everything was perfect. 

Frank didn't see any of it. Not really. There was only Mel, coming closer, her hazel eyes on his, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. There was only the way his chest felt. Like something that had been held very carefully, very tightly, for a very long time, was finally allowed to put itself down.

Franks hands were shaking. He had steady hands, it was one of the things about him, a thing people mentioned, a thing he had relied on his entire career. He had not had steady hands for the past forty minutes and he had stopped trying to fix it.

She reached him.

She was right there. Close enough that he could see the brightness in her eyes that meant she was deciding whether or not to cry. He was trying to hold back too, and he wasn't embarrassed to admit it. 

He took her hand. Her fingers curled around his, easy and immediate, the way they always did, like a reflex, like breathing.

Frank smiled at her. Kissed her knuckles reverently. Then they both looked ahead.

He was done. Completely, entirely finished. 

Frank had won in life because he had won Mel king. 

One failed marriage that gave him two beautiful children, a history of addiction that took him one step closer to the love of his life, fifteen years of friendship and blindness, six blocks running through the rain, one crashed wedding, one shiner that had taken two weeks to fade, and Mel King smiling at him at the altar. 

No matter what happened. In the end, he got the girl.

He got to heave her every single day. For the rest of his life.

Frank really couldn't wait.