validemail
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“I know you think I am crazy, but you have to agree that it kinda looks like Mel.” The words had been spoken barely above a whisper by Dennis Whitaker to his friend/roommate, Trinity Santos, as they stood in the nurse’s hub. Apparently, neither of them had noticed him approaching them from behind, Langdon mused. He watched as Whitaker held out his phone so Santos could look at what he was showing her.
“I still think you’re crazy, Huckleberry,” she scoffed. “Or, maybe your long sexual drought is causing pornographic hallucinations.”
Now this conversation had piqued Landon’s interest. Why on Earth were they talking about Mel and Whitaker’s apparent lack of sex in the same conversation?
Santos grabbed Whitaker’s phone from his hands with the precision of a sleight-of-hand magician and held it out for Langdon to look. She gave a little laugh, and with an evil smile, she explained. “Oh, our resident pervert here found an OF account that he thinks looks like our own little Mel-ancholia.”
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“I guess I could see if one of my friends is amenable to helping,” Mel continues, and Frank whites out. Sirens in his head, DEFCON 1 or 5 or whichever was the highest, do not pass go. “But that seems like a lot to ask.”
“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind,” Frank hears himself say. “Just, uh, you know, to help. As your friend. But no pressure, I know it might be weird.”
“That’s so nice of you.” Mel sounds genuinely touched, her lips curving up into a soft smile, her eyes glistening up at him, and Frank has never felt like a worse person.
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“Mel,” he says slowly, “if I texted you during a shift and said you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, what would you do?”
I don’t know if I mean to give him a physical display of my answer, but I fall forward on my elbows, nearly knocking over my tea.
“Right,” he says. “So that’s issue number one.”
OR
After a small misunderstanding, Mel tells a lie she can’t take back, and now she has Langdon in her phone pretending to be her imaginary boyfriend. Maybe it would have been easier to just date the IT guy.
Fake dating - with a tiny twist <3
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She is midway through a thought about how delightful her sandpit is when a high-pitched voice cuts through the air. “Hey! What’s your name?”
Mel turns, a red plastic shovel clenched in her fist. She searches for a moment, unsure where the voice has come from, before she spots a dark-haired head peeking over the wooden fence separating her backyard from the neighbour’s. The Petersons had it put in right after Becca and Mel learned to walk. Through the gaps between the slats, she can see the outline of a boy standing on his tiptoes on an overturned bucket.
She drops her shovel and walks over to the fence. There’s a multi-coloured table lying on its side in the grass. Becca normally holds her tea parties there, but Mel doesn’t think her twin will mind her using it as a stool. Especially not for a potential friend.
Or: Frank is Mel's next-door neighbour. They grow up together. It's hella cute and angsty.
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You had built yourself a good life in Metropolis, you had a great job as a photographer for the Daily Planet, a job you got thanks to your roommate, Clark.
And things go well until one day Superman rushes to save you. You ask to see him again after. Who would have thought he’d say yes?
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In which Clark Kent is your adorable roommate you are in love with, and Superman becomes your dirty midnight secret.
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