Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the Upper West Side of New York City sat The Astoria, an ornate, pre-war apartment building located on the corner of 73rd Street and Central Park West. Over the years, the Astoria was home to a vast roster of celebrities, including famous painters, world-renowned poets, and filmmakers.

High up on the eighteenth floor, in apartment 1817, lived the King sisters. Neither of them were of high influence, and neither of them were even close to being famous; they were just everyday New Yorkers trying to get by. A lot of their neighbors were regular ole people. Their great-grandmother rented apartment 1817 back in the 1920s, and it’s been strategically passed down their family ever since. Thank God for rent control.

The old, wooden door was slightly worn and weighty with the original brass hardware that dulled to a soft patina. The foyer was small but welcoming, with an umbrella stand and a coatrack sitting near the door; a full-length mirror was set in the plaster. Oak, hardwood floors stretched below in a parquet pattern; in some places, the floor would creak softly underfoot. The walls are thick plaster—not drywall—with gentle curves and crown molding running along the top edge.

Perched in front of the peephole sat Becca King. "Someone's moving into Mrs. Abernathy's old apartment," Becca said, peering through the peephole at the door across the hall. She had been eyeing the door for a week now, waiting to see who was moving in.

Becca knew she got her nosiness from her mom. They always stood outside when cops would drive by or if a neighbor was being rolled into an ambulance. Their mom would say that they’re curious; the neighbors would say they were nosy.

"Finally," Mel exaggerated. "Mean-ass old lady," she uttered mostly to herself. "Hopefully the new neighbors aren't so crabby all of the time.”

"I hope not." Becca stood there observing just a little longer. "I'm trying to get a glimpse of the person that moved in, but it's only the movers."

“I’m sure you'll see them soon. Come on, go get dressed. I have to be at the studio; I have an early class today," Mel rushed around the kitchen, shoving an apple in her mouth, holding it there while she packed her bag.

"Fine," Becca said with a deep, dramatic sigh before shuffling her way down the hallway, the floor creaking behind her.

Mel plopped her duffle bag on the table, shuffling through the contents to make sure she had all of the things she needed: her pointe shoes, a few leotards, leggings, and some snacks. "Race you downstairs!" Becca ran past her. Becca always got dressed at the speed of light. She had her clothes picked out for the week, hanging up in her closet on color-coded hangers.

"Wait, hang on," Mel tried to stop Becca from flying out the front door, but she was already down the hall.

Mel just sighed and rolled her eyes; she hated being rushed. Granted, it was her fault; she stayed up late watching one of the Real Housewives with Becca, and they slept in late.

Picking up her partially eaten apple and tossing her bag over her shoulder, Mel hurried out of her apartment, pulling on the heavy door, making sure it was securely locked.

She whipped around to try and catch Becca, but she accidentally stumbled into someone else, her duffel bag falling off of her shoulder, and she dropped the apple.

"Oh god," Mel fumbled around, hiking the bag up her shoulder and picking up the apple she had to throw away now. "I'm so sorry," she finally turned to the person she ran into. She felt her breath hitch in her throat.

Standing in front of her was the most attractive person she's probably ever laid eyes on. He was tall, with dark hair that flipped perfectly and the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen; tattoos ran up his right arm, and he had a silver hoop in his nose. The stranger was just standing there with a guitar case on his back and a box in his hands; she couldn't tell if he was annoyed, his expression neutral. "No worries," he finally replied; even his voice was sexy.

Frank was having a mini crisis when he took in the sight of the little, blonde woman in front of him. He literally just got out of divorce court; he was warding off love and relationships forever, promising himself he would work on the next album with a clear mind. And then this cute little thing stumbles into him with her golden fucking hair and her tight leggings.

She was flushed, which is something he was used to when girls would talk to him, and sometimes even less, look at him. "I'm Mel, I live across the hall," she pointed over her shoulder.

"Earnie is a nice old man; he lives in 1816," she pointed to the apartment to the right of his. "And he thinks the place is haunted, so if you hear him mumbling about a Gunther, that's the ghost on our floor. Just play along; he usually goes away after a minute or two. My good friend Samira lives in 1815. She's a doctor, so she’s useful to have around."

He didn't mean to come off as hostile and cold, but being friendly and kind usually got him stuck in some messy situations. Plus, he's attracted to this girl; the best move is to squash that now and pretend she doesn't exist.

"Thanks for the rundown. I have to go," he nodded his head towards his apartment before abruptly turning, slamming the door behind him. Even he winced when the door shut loudly.

Mel jumped back; that exchange felt very weird, and then he proceeded to slam the door in her face. Noted, he was just a younger, hotter, male version of Mrs. Abernathy. Shaking off the encounter, she made her way to the lobby to find Becca. Mel was annoyed she stopped to talk to the new guy; she was late as it was, and then she tried to be neighborly to that douchebag. She didn’t even know what his name was, for crying out loud.

Becca was talking the poor doorman's ear off; she had her mother's gift of gab—she could talk to anyone about anything for hours on end. "Good morning, Arturo," Mel said to the morning doorman.

"Good morning, Mel," he tipped his hat. "Becca was telling me someone finally moved into 1818."

Mel had to physically pull Becca away from Arturo. She yelled over her shoulder, "Sure did! He's a jerk! See you later, Arturo!"

"Wait," Becca slowed down, "you met the new neighbor? Tell me about him."

"Well," Mel started, "he's very good-looking; he's got dark hair, blue eyes, and an arm of tattoos, and I assume he plays music, but I tried to tell him about the neighbors and just, you know, be friendly, and he blew me off; he's a total jerk."

"Damn," Becca shook her head. "Better luck next time."

"Third time's the charm," Mel agreed, dragging Becca down the busy New York street.

Back on the eighteenth floor, Frank was lying in the middle of his living room; he was too depressed to actually unpack and too tired to give a shit about the boxes thrown around haphazardly. As long as his instruments were put up and out of the way, he didn’t care if it all got ruined.

An irritating buzz ricocheted off of the walls; he wasn’t sure who would be calling him right now, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. Picking his phone up, he saw his and Cassie’s picture take over the screen.

“God,” Frank hit his head against the wood floor. He knew they’d all be calling him throughout the day, all begging him to help them unpack and get settled in while simultaneously asking how the divorce went.

“Hey,” he mumbled. Out of all his friends, Cassie was the one he’d be able to tolerate the most right now.

“Hey,” her voice soft and understanding, there was always a little roughness to it too. “How are you? I know it’s going to be a hectic day, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How is someone supposed to feel after a divorce?” Frank wondered, sardonically.

“You said you wanted a divorce.”

“Who actually wants to get divorced?” Frank asked. “Nobody. But it had to happen. I just don’t know how to feel; too much shit is happening at once.”

“Well, don’t go online; the fangirls found out about the divorce, and your DMs are probably overflowing with marriage proposals and nudes,” Cassie scoffed. “Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Frank shot back. “You know I’m the chronically offline one except for sharing my Wordle scores.”

“True, I don’t have to worry about you like I have to worry about Jesse—that whore.”

Frank chuckled; it was true. Out of all four band members in The Vital Signs, Jesse was the one that slept around the most. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but he would definitely be having a field day in Frank’s inbox right now. “No, I’m just going to focus on writing for a while, maybe produce a few things, but I’m not looking for that.”

“How’s the new place?”

Frank looked around at the bare, white walls and the piles of boxes. “It’s nice; it’s huge. Tons of room for Tanner and Marie.”

“You know we’ll all be over to help a little later, right? Robby’s in town too; he wanted to be here for you.”

“Yeah, I saw he texted me this morning; I just…haven’t looked at it yet.”

“It’s fine; he’s probably busy with some other band drama, who knows? Anyway, we’ll all be over there in a little bit. At least I can test out the security of your building; the last thing you need is another stalking situation.”

Frank let out a chuckle. “She was harmless; she was like five feet nothing.”

“These fangirls are insane, you should know that,” Cassie laughed. “I’ll be over in a little bit, alright? Try to stop moping and start unpacking.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Frank rolled his eyes. “See you when you get here.”

The quiet in the apartment felt unnerving, almost unsettling. If he wasn’t living on a tour bus with his bandmates, he normally would be at home with two rowdy kids running around and Abby talking his ear off. He couldn’t remember the last time he lived in such a quiet environment; it made his skin crawl.

He stayed stretched out on the floor for a lot longer than he wanted to, staring up at the high ceilings, drowning in his thoughts.

A soft but assertive knock on the front door pulled Frank from his depressing thoughts about his ex-wife and his new life. Craning his neck up, Frank looked around the room, as if he’d be able to hear better by doing this. Could Cassie and everyone else have already gotten here? Frank didn’t think so.

Reluctantly, he walked to his front door, cautiously looking through the peephole. It was an old man; Frank had to assume it was the guy that thought the place was haunted. Earnie? Or was Earnie the ghost and Gunther the old man? Frank’s interest was piqued, so he answered the door.

As soon as their eyes met, Earnie was jutting his hand out towards Frank, offering him a crooked smile. “Earnie’s the name! I live over there in 1816.”

“I’m Frank,” he said slowly.

The little old man was slightly hunched, leaning on a cane, and he had those glasses that made his eyes look fifteen sizes bigger than they actually were. Small tufts of white hair wrapped around his head like a wiry crown, and he wore a light blue dress shirt with ballpoint pens tucked in the front pocket.

“The girls across the hall will tell you I’m nuts,” Earnie turned to motion towards both doors, “and maybe I am, but I’m telling you right now, Frank, there’s a ghost in Astoria’s halls,” he said in a scandalous whisper.

Unsure of what came over him, Frank leaned closer, whispering back, “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“You’ll hear him!” Earnie yelled in a way that did make him seem a little nuts, but who was Frank to judge this guy? "He moans and groans down the halls,” Earnie explained, literally holding his arms out like a mummy and walking like one too. “Things will fall off your shelves; you’ll hear things. I’ve been missing the same pair of shoes since ‘82.”

Frank wondered if he’d actually lived here that long. “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first person I tell. What’s his name?”

“Gunther!” Ernie eyed Frank suspiciously.

“Alright, well, any sightings I have of Gunther, I’ll be sure to come get you,” Frank assured, hoping this was the extent of the conversation.

“Wait!” Ernie reached his free hand out, gripping Frank’s wrist. For an old man with bony, frail fingers, he had a pretty strong grip. “Did you hear that?”

Frank leaned closer to the hallway. “You know what? I think I did. Like a thumping sound?”

“Yes! I knew it!” Ernie pointed his finger in the air, turning away from Frank. “Nice to meet you, Frank. I have to go investigate.”

A little dumbfounded but amused all the same, Frank watched the old man hobble down the hall. “What in the hell?” He muttered to himself.

“Pst, is he gone?” The girl that lived diagonally from him stuck her head out of the crack in her door.

“Around the corner,” Frank whispered, motioning with his hand.

The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I love Earnie, I really do, but I’ve heard about the goddamn ghost three times today.”

“Does he have, like,” Frank pointed to his head. “Alzheimer’s or something?”

Samira couldn’t help but laugh. “No, he doesn’t. I’m Samira,” she introduced.

She was already trying to avoid Earnie, and she wasn’t really in a social mood after a fifteen-hour shift. She studied the guy for just a second before he said, “I’m Frank.”

She thought he looked familiar, but Samira couldn’t place it, and a generic ass name like Frank didn’t give her any clues. Maybe she saw him at the hospital once or something. Or her eyes were crossing from exhaustion. She decided to check on her mail later, too tired to care if her packages got moved. “Nice to meet you.”

Frank stood in his doorway for a second longer before going back inside. So he had two hot neighbors and an old guy that thinks the place is haunted. All in all, he couldn’t complain; none of them seemed to know—or care—about who he was. Maybe the quiet wouldn’t be so bad.

Chapter Text

The ache in her toes was familiar; it was more comforting than it was painful. The pain was a reminder that this was where she belonged, this was her life. The studio lights hummed above her, casting long shadows on the marley floor, and for a second—right after all of her students left—everything just disappeared. There was no noise, no pressure, it was just her in the studio now. 

She could feel the choreography deep in her bones, she didn’t even need the music. It was like her body just knew what to do, like it was practicing something ancient. And maybe to her, it is ancient and ritualistic. Pulling her hair up in a tight bun, lacing her shoes, it was all like a thousand tiny gestures that felt like a prayer. Every pilé is a promise, and every pirouette feels like a chase for perfection, for beauty, for that fleeting moment where she feels weightless and the world holds its breath with her, for her. 

Mel has always loved the quiet war in ballet, the war between discipline and desire. People always thought ballet was dainty and delicate, they don’t see the bruises, the blisters, the hours spent chasing a line, a balance, a note in the music that matches the turn of her head. It’s like a wildfire disguised as grace, and only a few people get to see the fire. 

Mel’s favorite part of the day was when she got to just dance in the studio alone. She could work on her routines, and she could work on strengthening her ankle she shattered a year and a half ago. When her alarm went off, indicating she had to get Becca, Mel fell to the floor dramatically and sighed. Her chest heaved and her lungs burned, but it felt good. She felt alive.

Pulling her leggings on and her sneakers, Mel put her earbuds in and made her way to Becca’s center. Tonight was taco night with Samira, so Becca wasn’t going to stay over at the center. Selfishly, Mel liked it when Becca would stay home; it was less quiet, less lonely. They’d stay up and watch shitty reality TV and Mel wouldn’t be reminded of how lonely she was. 

It was mid-June, it was humid at six in the evening, she felt her hair sticking to her neck, and her clothes felt heavy. Mel liked the cold more than the heat; she got to wear comfortable sweaters and oversized hoodies. Plus, there was nothing—nothing at all—that could compare to New York in the autumn and the winter. Mel wasn’t sure if it was her mom’s innate ability to always find the magic in New York City that was passed down to her, but she liked to think it was. Mel loved New York, she loved living here, she was happy this was her home, and it always will be.

She wasn’t in the mood to cook; it had been a long week of practicing and teaching, and all she wanted to do was share a bottle of wine on the couch without having to think about too much. Mel held her phone up to her ear, hopefully Samira didn’t buy any ingredients or take anything out yet. “Girl, the guy in 1818 is so hot, have you seen him yet?” She answered. 

“I met him a couple of days ago, he seemed like an asshole,” Mel scrunched her face in disgust. 

“Really? I just saw him shirtless, and let me tell you, he’s a lot better looking shirtless than Mrs. Abernathy,” Samira said. They both laughed into the phone. 

“Maybe I caught him at a bad time. Whatever, enough about him, I don’t want to cook, I was thinking Andales?”

“God, that sounds amazing. I’ll take the usual. Is Becca coming?” 

“Yeah, I’m on my way to get her. I’ll pick up the food too, I’ll see you in like an hour?” 

***

“I don’t get how these idiots end up on these shows,” Becca shook her head at the TV. “None of them want real love half the time.”

“No kidding,” Samira agreed, picking up the bottle of wine, drinking right from it. “I don’t think I could be on one of these shows, I’d get so emotional and jealous.”

“I feel like I’d be kicked off early,” Mel said, taking the bottle from Samira, drinking straight from it too. 

”Should we switch to VANDERPUMP Rules?” Samira suggested, looking between the sisters, they gladly agreed. 

“Hey,” Samira nudged Mel with her foot a little while later. They got through an episode and a half before Becca fell asleep in the chair, her mouth hanging open and her glasses askew. “What do you mean the new guy was a jerk?”

Mel explained her awkward encounter, still a little put off by the whole thing. “I don’t know if I’m just overthinking it, but it felt weird.”

“No, that’s definitely weird. People don’t just slam doors. Then again, they are heavy, maybe he just let it slip,” Samira tried, but even that was feeble at best. “No, I’m done making excuses for men. He was rude to you, so we hate him.”

“We don’t have to hate him, but I hope I just caught him off guard,” Mel shrugged, finishing the bottle of wine. 

A dull, steady thump outside in the hallway made both Samira and Mel freeze. They looked at each other for a moment before Mel spoke up, “We should probably make sure that wasn’t Earnie, right?” Mel asked slowly, untucking her feet. 

Samira nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. It was probably him climbing that stupid step stool again.” 

Without thinking, Mel whipped open her door to make sure Earnie was okay, but instead, a girl was lying on the floor outside of the new guy’s apartment, kicking his door rhythmically. “Oh hey, sorry if you heard that,” the girl said, still not moving from the floor. “Frank’s being a douche.”

“Checks out,” Mel accidentally said. Her eyes grew three sizes before she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I don’t know him.”

“Did he lock you out or something?” Samira asked, diverting the conversation. She cringed at how dirty it was for the girl to be lying on the floor. Samira got the same sense of familiarity when she saw the girl, like she recognized her from somewhere. 

“No, we’re fighting over…work,” the girl carefully said. “And it’s my duty to annoy him until he comes to his senses!” She yelled at the door, as if she were yelling at Frank through it. 

Just then, his front door was yanked open, a girl with blunt bangs rolled her eyes and snapped, “Get off the floor and get in here before you get him kicked out for the noise.”

Mel and Samira stood in her doorway, watching the scene unfold, a little dumbfounded. Mel was wondering what they could be fighting about that was work-related at ten at night and Samira couldn’t shake the fact that she thought she recognized some of these people. 

“Sorry about her,” the girl with the bangs apologized, “we’ll keep it down, we’re not normally like this.”

“No worries, glad everyone’s okay,” Mel said slowly, watching bangs pull the other girl into the apartment across the hall by her ankles. Distant yelling could be heard on the other side of the door. Both girls stood there for a second longer, trying to hear what they were fighting about. Mel could be just as nosy as Becca sometimes. 

“All of you are being ridiculous!” Trinity stood in the middle of Frank’s new apartment, ready to rip his head off. 

“Us? You sat outside the apartment, kicking the door! The neighbors came out.” Cassie waved her hand towards the hallway. 

“Well, I’m sorry, but we can’t show all these sad, depressing songs to the label,” Trinity stormed over to Frank’s open notebook. “I mean, come on, Frank! I’ve been here before, lying on my apartment floor, begging someone, please save me? You really think that’s what the fans want to hear?”

“You know them so well, why don’t you write the fucking songs?” Frank snapped back. He could feel the anger radiating off of him like fire. He was about to join Jesse on the balcony and say fuck his sobriety and smoke some weed to chill out. 

“You guys!” Cassie tried, but when Frank and Trinity started arguing, it took a force of nature to get them to stop. 

“Better yet,” he took a few menacing steps forward, “Why don’t you tell Robby on me again?”

“Really, we’re on this again? You could have died, Frank! If I didn’t tell him, then what? Were you just going to keep doing drugs until you weren’t you anymore? You’re already a fucking shell of who you used to be!” 

“And why is that? Because you blew my life up! I had my shit under control, but in typical Trinity fashion, you had to overstep like you always do!”

Frank was seething, his hands were shaking, and he was just so angry. He was never an angry person before, and that’s what scared him the most lately. He didn’t feel like himself. 

“I didn’t blow your life up! Your wife found out about your drug problem and then cheated on you! That’s on you, not me!” 

“Guys, that’s enough,” Cassie’s mom voice rang out, making both Frank and Trinity back off like two scolded dogs with their tails between their legs. “Nobody’s calling Robby, we all need to take a breather.”

“Gladly,” Frank stormed out, bumping his shoulder into Trinity’s on the way out. 

“This is your house!” She yelled, but he was already slamming the door shut behind him. 

Frank saw the blonde girl from across the hall standing in her open doorway, and for some reason, he reacted. “Are you listening to us?” He accused, the edge in his voice harsh as he stepped forward. 

“Excuse me?” Mel asked, taking a step forward as well, her arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t care what you and your friends are talking about, but you’re being loud. I have a sister in there who doesn’t like loud, sudden noises. Earnie lives right beside you, and every bump and creak this place makes, he thinks is a civil war ghost. So excuse me, but you’re being rude. So no, I’m not listening to you and your friends fight, I’m coming over here to tell you to be quiet and stop slamming doors.”

Mel was the most non-confrontational person in the world; she hated yelling, she hated getting angry, but she hated it when her family was disrespected even more. Her hands might be shaking, and her voice trembled, but she did it. She was proud of herself; she just told off some six-foot tattooed guy, and now he’s left speechless. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and Mel took that as a victory. “Goodnight,” she said pointedly before turning around gracefully, her hair flew around her head as she slammed her door shut. 

Frank heard her say, “I’ve lived here longer, so I can slam my damn door!”

She was right, the last thing he needed was his neighbors complaining about him and the band. Letting out a frustrated, strangled sound, Frank gripped his hair, pulling on it before going back into his apartment. He didn’t slam the door shut this time. 

“We piss your neighbors off already?” Jesse asked, nodding his head towards the door. He was drumming his hands against the top of the coffee table. 

“Yeah, we’re being loud. And my other neighbor thinks the place is haunted, so he’s probably having a hay day,” Frank sighed. “Where’s shithead?”

“I told her to go out on the balcony,” Cassie pointed over her shoulder. “What the hell is going on with you guys? This is worse than the Season Two recording sessions.”

“Oh man,” Jesse laughed in that stoner kind of way, he was squinting at Cassie, nodding in agreement. “Even I wanted to leave back then.”

Frank felt guilty. He felt guilty about a lot of things, but he didn’t know how to feel or how to react, so he shut down. “I’ll try to work on different songs,” Frank mumbled. He’s always been a little fidgety, and he was twisting the beaded bracelet around his wrist. “I can’t help that I’m sad, that’s what I write about.”

“No man, I was reading over ‘The Architect’ and we can totally spin that, Cassie and I laid down a baseline once you two divas are done fighting, we can make it sound like a fast-paced love song.” 

“I can’t help that everything sounds sad,” Frank uttered. 

“You have a lot of shit going on, don’t be sorry. These songs are good,” Cassie assured him. “We don’t have to have a lot ready anyway, we have Rolling Stone next week and the label isn’t asking for anything new until next month, we’ve got this.”

He forgot about their Rolling Stone cover. After the divorce was finalized and he had to move to one of his least favorite cities, it wasn’t exactly on the front of his mind. “Shit, I forgot about the cover.”

“We’re doing it here in New York, so at least you don’t have to travel,” Jesse nodded, flipping through Frank’s songbook. 

“Are we done?” Trinity marched into the room, her jaw set and her arms crossed. 

“Are you done insulting my songs?” Frank questioned quickly. 

“Are you done blaming me for ruining your life?”

“Are you done ruining my life?”

“Guys! How about we talk about ‘The Architect’? It’s about Abby, right? We were talking about how we can make this a poppy love song.”

“It’s actually about drugs, but keep going,” Frank replied sardonically. 

“Jesus,” Trinity gave him a worried look. “Alright, let’s go, what are we thinking?”

And just like so many fights before, as soon as they started working on the music, all of the tension and the bitterness faded away. The four of them didn’t agree all of the time, and they definitely bickered a lot, but at the end of the day, Frank wouldn’t want to live this life with anyone else at his side. They’ve seen the world together, they’ve all seen each other at their lowest points in love, and they were still together, still making music, and that’s all he could really ask for.

Chapter Text

Photoshoots were always a little weird to Frank; he never knew what to do with his hands, he didn’t know how to stand, and he definitely didn’t know which angle to turn his head to “capture the light.” Whatever the fuck that means. When the entire band was together, he had an easier time in front of the camera, there wasn’t as much pressure. But right now, he was doing his single photos for his ‘special edition’ cover of the magazine, and he felt like a fucking idiot. 

Everyone always said that he was a natural in front of the camera, which didn’t make sense because Frank felt like an alien every time he stood in front of the camera, but he was glad it was over quickly. Thankfully, he was dressed normally in jeans and a jacket, he didn’t have crazy makeup on and he wasn’t wearing something ridiculous. (The last photoshoot they had, someone on some team was adamant on superhero costumes.) These photos were urban, taken on random streets in Brooklyn, against brick walls and near abandoned, graffiti-splashed buildings. 

“Alright, we’re going to Gramercy Tavern,” Tamara—the photographer—instructed. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Cassie rested her arm on Frank’s shoulder. “Glad that part’s over.”

“No kidding,” he chuckled in agreement.

“Do we think this interview is going to be a bunch of bullshit about Frank?” Trinity asked, flicking his forehead.

“Rolling Stone has always been pretty decent to us, maybe they’ll brush by it and ask us about the world tour,“ Jesse shrugged, always trying to be the upbeat one. ”I’ll divert the conversation if need be.”

The photoshoot was on a public street, blocked off with barricades and large, blacked-out SUVs; someone must have leaked that they were here. A few excited voices rose from the end of the street. The band turned just in time to see dozens of fans standing at the barrier, holding out things for them to sign or their phones to take photos. 

Frank grinned, besides making music with his four best friends, the fans made everything worth it. They’re the reason they have five multi-platinum records and sold out stadium shows. They’ve always tried to have a good relationship with the fans, even if now it was a little harder with just how many there were. 

All four of them made their way to the end of the street, running towards the screaming fans. 

“Frank, I love you!”

“Trinity, you’re my favorite!”

“Cassie, marry me!”

“Jesse, sign my tits!” 

Their security team followed them, but by now, they knew not to intervene unless there was an actual threat. One fan handed over a jacket they wanted all of them to sign, while another leaned over to take a picture with Frank. They tried to get all of them, at least signing something or offering a photo, but it was always so hard to keep track of who got what and who they already talked to. Plus, Frank saw Robby at the other end of the street, stalking over in their direction. They were probably late to the interview, but honestly, they’d rather be here doing this. 

“Alright guys, I gotta take them,” Robby started pulling Jesse and Trinity off of the metal barrier. Frank tried to stay back and grab a few more signatures, but soon enough, he felt their head of security grab his collar. “Come on, Frank,” Jack shook his head, dragging Frank from the wave of fans. 

“When did you get here?” Cassie questioned. 

“I’m always around,” Jack replied cryptically. The Ray-Ban aviators always sat low on Jack’s nose, and he was typically wearing some kind of all-black ensemble.

Like he had a sixth sense, Jack whipped his head around to the end of the street where the fans were gathered. They must have started hopping the gates because within a split second, the band was surrounded by security, running to the car waiting at the other end.

Cassie was closest to Frank, reaching his hand out, he grabbed her arm, pulling her closer. They’ve gotten separated before in situations like this; they were taught to try and buddy up if they weren’t already together. “I gotcha, buddy.” Cassie patted his hand, holding onto it as they got thrown into the car. 

Frank stumbled into Cassie, making her trip inside the vehicle. Jesse took the front seat, and Trinity went into the back row of seats through the open hatch. “We’re all in,” she shouted to their driver. The driver sped away from the curb, not wanting to get caught surrounded by a sea of screaming fans.

***

In a secluded corner of the restaurant, they were halfway through their meal and hopefully halfway through the interview. It wasn’t bad so far, she mostly asked them about the tour they just did and about their upcoming album. So far, so good. No mentions of his rehab stays or his divorce. 

“Alright.” Julie—the interviewer—pushed her plate away, turning back to her notes on the table. “You guys are known to cause trouble, mostly with public safety officials. Why is that? There were multiple citations with your last tour.”

“We like our fans, man. We don’t want it to happen, we’d love to meet ten thousand people safely, but it just doesn’t happen,” Jesse leaned back against his side of the booth, resting his hand on the back of it. “We don’t do meet and greets, we just kind of show up and hope it doesn’t turn into this massive problem.”

”Why don’t you hold traditional meet-and-greets?”

“The fans pay to see us perform, they buy our music, they collect our records. They’re the reason we get to live this amazing dream. It doesn’t feel right to ask them for money just for us to say ‘hi’. We’re just four regular people,” Trinity answered.

“We’ve talked about your sixth album coming out next year, which album would you say was your favorite to record?”

Frank looked around at the other three, they all grinned instantly, “Our third album Fountain Soda was a blast to record. We were at this house over in Australia, and we spent the whole summer just recording on the beach, swimming, exploring this crazy place none of us have been to,” he replied, reminiscing fondly over that time of their career. 

“That’s personally my favorite album,” Julie smiled widely in his direction. 

Cassie cleared her throat next to Frank, shifting in her seat before gently nudging his foot under the table. Her eyes caught Frank’s, and then she looked down at her phone.

The Amusement Park 🎡 

Trinity 👹🍕

anyone else clock the fact julie wants frank’s cookie bad?

Jesse 🥁 🍨

She checked him out as soon as he walked in!!

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

She’s making it painstakingly obvious. 

Frank

my cookie???

Trinity 👹🍕

get with the times frankie!!

Jesse 🥁 🍨

Seriously man, I’m older than u 

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

It means she likes you, Frank

Frank put his phone face down on the table, feeling a little freaked out. He dragged his eyes up to Julie and she was already looking at him, quickly looking away when they made eye contact. It should be normal for him by now, women finding him attractive and making it painfully obvious, but he wasn’t used to it. He was always the married one in the band; he could easily ignore the flirtatious fans or the random photographers asking for his number. As soon as he dropped the word “wife,” people left him alone, but now he doesn’t have that security anymore.

Cassie and Jesse pulled her into a conversation about the recording process, so Frank took this as an opportunity to check the group chat again. 

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

Someone did her research on his divorce 😂

Trinity 👹🍕

he’s totally freaking out over there

Jesse 🥁 🍨

Why? She’s cute!

Trinity 👹🍕

because that’s what he does, he freaks out over everything

Frank

i’m literally not freaking out. 

Frank shot Trinity a dirty look from across the table before turning back to the interview, trying to pay attention to the questions and contribute. Fidgeting in his chair, he laced his fingers together and then he unlaced them, he would bounce his leg furiously and then he’d shift to playing with the napkin in his lap. Frank’s always been a fidgety kid, he’s never been able to sit still. 

“What would you say is the hardest part about being in this band?“

“Being away from our families is by far the hardest thing for me, having two kids under five is hard, I miss them every day we’re on tour,” Frank answered, and Cassie nodded in agreement. 

“I’m with him, we are the kid-less side of the band,” Trinity nodded, motioning to her and Jesse, “but I miss my mom, my friends. It’s really rewarding coming home and seeing them, though.”

“What would you say is the most rewarding part of being in The Vital Signs?”

“God, that’s a tough one,” Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. “I think just being able to sit with my three best friends doing the thing that we love.”

“Yeah, we might bicker and argue, but at the end of the day, I wouldn’t want to do this shit with anyone else,” Cassie agreed. 

“You four do have this natural chemistry that doesn’t come easily. I mean, you’re one of the biggest artists I’ve ever interviewed, and you’re all so nice and humble too, is it easy to keep yourself grounded while still being megastars?” 

“Honestly, yeah,” Trinity laughed, glancing at the other three. “We don’t view ourselves as these crazy famous people, we’re just four friends having fun.”

“Yeah, we told ourselves when we first started that we weren’t going to be these egotistical assholes, and I’d like to say we haven’t changed at all,” Cassie added. 

“Only thing that’s changed is the new instruments, and we have a couple’a Grammys,” Jesse chuckled.

The interview ended a little while later, Julie thanked them about a thousand times before they were ushered into another set of SUVs. Leaning his head against the window, Frank watched the streets blur together until they were coming to a rolling stop at The Astoria. 

The one thing Frank hated about this life was just how much he missed being a normal person. He can’t walk down any of these streets without someone knowing him, he can’t go to the store alone, he’s got security almost everywhere. He missed his anonymity sometimes, but then again, his kids would be taken care of for the rest of their lives. So who was he to complain? 

Jumping out of the car, he tapped his side pockets, his front ones, and the jacket pockets before he made his way inside. “Good evening, Mr. Langdon,” the doorman—Pierre—nodded. 

“You can call me Frank, Pierre,” he smiled before making his way across the lobby. It always seemed to be a little busy for an apartment lobby, but this place was massive; he’s never lived in a place like this. Nobody paid him any mind usually, which was nice. 

Frank was impressed with the lobby when he first checked this place out, it was one of the reasons he picked it out. Corinthian columns flanked the lobby, their fluted surfaces rose high above to meet a coffered ceiling painted in muted cream and gold. The floors were polished marble that stretched towards a grand staircase with a wrought-iron railing. The elevators were through an archway just behind the stairs. Between the two sets of doors that led up to his floor sat a green, velvet settee, a large mirror hanging on the wall right above. 

The left elevator was being worked on, so he stood in front of the available one, pressing the button to go up. 

Across the lobby, Mel walked in after a long day of practice; her ankle burned, and her back ached, but she was smiling, greeting almost everyone in the lobby. It almost felt like that scene in Beauty and the Beast; she was even a little strange like Belle, too. 

As soon as Mel saw The Asshole neighbor standing there, she almost contemplated the eighteen flights of stairs, but her ankle was sore and she was tired. Looking straight ahead, she marched towards him, standing near the elevator, pretending that he wasn’t there. 

The thing was, he was standing right there. She could smell the fancy cologne he was wearing, and his hair looked even more perfect than it normally did. It wasn’t fair, how could someone so good-looking have such a shitty personality? Although now that she thought about it, that was probably better, she didn’t need to develop a crush on him. 

He knew he was a dick to blondie; he was very aware of that, but the problem was, if he wasn’t so cold and standoffish, he’d probably fall in love with her. And well, he couldn’t have that happening right now. He pretended to be busy on his phone, but every few seconds, she would shift on her foot, and his eyes would dart over to where blondie was standing. She had on another pair of tight leggings and that giant gym bag slipping from her shoulder. 

Mel knew it was going to take a while for the elevator to get down here, but this felt agonizing. She glanced toward The Asshole again and saw he had a giant rose tattoo on the top of his hand. While it might be well-done, he was such a cliché. What punk guy didn’t have a flower tattoo on the top of his hand? She almost audibly scoffed at how basic he was. 

Mel glanced at him a few more times, trying to convince herself that he was unattractive. And repulsive. She could have sworn that the last time she stole a glance, he was already side-eyeing her. But she couldn’t be sure. 

To both of their relief, the elevator dinged. 

When a lot of people piled into an elevator, Mel always wondered how they knew it hit the weight limit. Did it make a noise? Or a light would flash? Or was it one of those tragic things that you find out on the news? It freaked her out—it has since she was little—but she tried not to think about it every time she had to leave her apartment. 

And as much as she didn’t like getting in a crammed elevator, she hated getting on an empty one with The Asshole. 

As soon as everyone filed out, he stepped forward first, as if he owned the floor, his eyes focused straight ahead. Mel scurried in right behind him, her shoulders tense as she held her breath. Mel always turned over her shoulder as soon as she walked in the doors to press the button, but this time, as soon as she did, he was leaning forward to do the same. 

Their fingers collide. 

It was a quick touch, probably less than a second long, it was warm and unexpected. Both of them jerked away sharply. Frank rested his hand at his side, flexing his fingers instinctively. Mel clenched her fist, stepping to the opposite side of the elevator. Frank tried to reason with himself that the sharp feeling he felt when they touched was a shock from the metal on the elevator. Mel pretended she didn’t feel anything at all. 

They stopped at the third floor. Frank was confused for a second, but then he saw Earnie slowly walk in, a wide smile on his face. 

“Hey Earnie,” they greeted at the same time. Mel and Frank made eye contact over Earnie’s head, but they quickly looked back down as soon as he started talking. 

“Hi you two!”

“Were you visiting Bea?” Mel asked. 

“Sure was,” Earnie looked to Frank. “My granddaughter lives on the third floor.”

“That’s nice you get to be so close,” Frank cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward.

“Is she ready for her last year at NYU?” Mel asked, feeling less tense with Earnie in the elevator. The tension wasn’t so thick and she felt like she could breathe a little easier. 

The three of them fell into conversation as the elevator slowly climbed up. Earnie did most of the talking, telling them how Bea was going to NYU, and then she was taking a year off to volunteer in the Galapagos. Frank was glad he didn’t have to contribute much to the conversation other than a quick “no kidding” or “that’s awesome”. He didn’t even mind it when the three of them walked at Earnie’s pace to their front doors, letting him talk their ears off. 

When they made it to the small intersection between their apartments, Earnie checked his watch and said, “Oh! The Masked Singer is on in a few minutes. Goodnight Mel. Goodnight Frank. Let me know if you hear any haunts out here, will ya?”

“Of course we will,” Mel answered for both of them. 

As soon as Earnie’s door clicked shut, the awkward tension between them rolled right back over the hallway, it was almost like a storm cloud. Mel didn’t know if she should say goodnight or not; she was a little too scared to talk to him. 

Maybe she dug out her key a little slower than she normally does, she was waiting to see if he would say anything. She heard his door open and hoped he didn’t hear the sharp breath she took in when he turned over his shoulder, saying, “Have a good night.”

Mel squeaked out, “You too.”

Chapter Text

Mel loved teaching the little kids. When the director asked her to take on the 3 and 4-year-olds, Mel agreed without any hesitation. She’s always been good with kids, and in all honesty, it was easier on her ankle because their routines were way less demanding and they didn’t practice as much. The most challenging part was dealing with the parents of those children. Right now, one of the mothers was rattling on about her daughter’s strict, organic diet. Mel wanted to remind her that she wasn’t feeding them, and she would be fifteen feet away in the same room, but the woman wouldn’t let her get a word in. 

Standing there patiently, Mel tapped her foot, waiting for Mrs. Whatever her name was to get done with her tirade over red food dyes and processed foods. Granted, she knew she should care about processed foods or whatever this mom was going on about, but it didn’t seem relevant since class was over and Mel isn’t required to feed any of the kids. 

Thankfully, another parent intervened and pulled her away, allowing her to escape the exhilarating conversation. Smiling at Olive's mom, Mel asked, “Is everything okay?” 

“Oh yeah, Olive loves it here. I just wanted to let you know that her dad will be with her next week. He’s already on the permission forms and everything,” Olive’s mom was one of the quiet ones who never said much; she just stood off to the side most days. 

“Of course!” Mel assured her. “That’s totally fine, as long as he’s on the authorization forms, we have no problem with that. Thanks for the heads up.”

She didn’t mean to rush them out or get annoyed with their stupid, organic food rants, but this was her short day, and she had the entire weekend off. All Mel could think about was sitting at home and doing absolutely nothing for a few days. Samira was meeting her here, and then they were going to do a quick grocery run. Both of them had a terrible habit of letting their fridge and the cabinets get down to the bare minimum, and Mel couldn’t really cook a meal with a bottle of ketchup and a can of Dr. Pepper. 

As soon as the last overbearing parent filed out of the studio, Mel let out a breathy sigh, thankful that the constant noise and the talking died down. Gently sitting on the floor, she took off her shoes, stuffing them in her lilac duffel bag, and then she shook her hair loose from the tight bun. Samira said she would be here in about fifteen minutes, which gave Mel just enough time to dance alone. 

The only sound she could hear now was the faint hum of the city that lived just beyond the windows. She slowly raised her arms into a perfect arc; the silence in the room was filled with internal rhythm, something deep in her bones guidedher across the floor. Mel was gliding across the floor with effortless grace, her fingers painting unseen shapes into the air. Every one of her movements flowed seamlessly to the next. She wasn’t practicing; she was simply remembering. Feeling. 

Her mom had been a ballet dancer, but stopped once she got pregnant with Mel and Becca. As soon as the girls were old enough to walk, their mom would stand in the living room, teaching them simple pliès and tendus. Becca didn’t reallycare for it; she said she didn’t like the way it made her feet hurt, while Mel took to ballet like a fish to water. It was like an ancient language that spoke directly to her, and only she understood it. 

The moment Mel turned three, her mom had her enrolled in ballet classes right here with the School of American Ballet.This place has been a part of Mel's life for as long as she can remember. That’s why she was thankful she was still able to teach here after the accident. Mel would be lost if she didn’t have this place, if she didn’t have ballet. As cliché as it was, ballet was Mel’s entire life; she lived and breathed ballet, and she wanted to be able to do it for the rest of her life.

Even with the quietness of the room, Mel didn’t hear Samira come in. She was still spinning around in her own world when Samira said, “Not to sound like your creepy neighbor, but I could watch you dance for hours.”

Mel let a giggle burst from her lips. She stopped dancing and turned to Samira, who was leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks, creepy neighbor.”

“Wanna go to Barnes and Noble before Trader Joe’s? I’m in the mood to buy a stack of books I won’t read for three years.” Samira’s eyes watched as Mel dropped to the ground to put on shoes. 

“Oh yeah, I can look for something for Becca for her birthday,” Mel nodded, standing up quickly. 

Samira and Mel have been best friends since Samira moved in next door when they were thirteen. After Samira’s dad died, she and her mom wanted a fresh start. But as soon as Samira started at NYU, her mom decided she hated city life. Her mom let Samira stay in the city while she moved back to Poughkeepsie. Samira wouldn’t argue; her and her mom had a rocky relationship at best. 

Looping her arm through Samira’s, they made their way outside. It was finally cooling off now that it was the end of August. “Speaking of birthdays, what do you want for your birthday?” Samira asked Mel. “I know what to get Becca, I already have it saved in my Amazon cart. And if you tell me to just worry about Becca, I will smack the living shit out of you.”

”I don’t know,” Mel threw her head back. “You know I am the worst at figuring out what I want.”

”And somehow, you are the best gift-giver I have ever met. Come on, there has to be something that you want,” Samira nudged Mel, pulling open the bookstore doors.

“I’ll get back to you before the end of September,” Mel offered Samira a too-wide smile. 

They spent over an hour leisurely browsing the books and the dorky collectible section that lined the back walls. Mel liked to read; she mostly read romance books (Regency era romances are her bread and butter). She had been looking for a new one that piqued her interest, but she wasn’t finding what she was looking for. She had two Lego sets tucked under her arm for Becca. Mel was waiting for their birthday in October to give them to her.

“No luck?” Samira asked with her own stack of books in her basket. 

“I mean, a few caught my eye, but like you, I have a stack of unread books I should try to read.” Mel meandered over to the magazine section after putting the Legos in the basket. "We should grab a few Tiger Beat magazines and do the stupid quizzes in them.”

”Love that idea, and then we can watch Sleepover and Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen.”

She almost didn’t notice it at first. Rolling Stone wasn’t a magazine she ever paid attention to. Which was why she did a double take when she saw the red letters plastered right above Frank's head.

“Oh my god, Samira,” Mel picked up the magazine cover with an entire band on the cover, Frank off to the right side leaning his head against Bangs. (Mel wasn’t sure what else to call her.) 

Flipping the magazine over, she held the cover out for Samira to look at. The band was even featured on the back cover. “Holy shit, I knew they looked familiar, but I wasn’t putting two and two together.” Samira snatched the magazine from Mel’s hands. 

“Yeah, I thought that you were just losing your mind,” Mel muttered, walking over to the rack to pick up another cover. There were special editions for each band member, and she had to admit it, he looked good. He was wearing a perfectly styled grunge outfit with a flannel around his waist and black, skintight jeans on. “Read the exclusive interview with six-time Grammy-winning band The Vital Signs,” Mel read aloud. 

“Six?” Samira asked in shock. “This is so crazy. I shouldn’t be shocked, famous people are always crawling around our building.”

“They’re usually older, though, and not so in your face,” Mel commented, scanning the article, still a little shocked. Herand Frank were…civil. He would greet her by nodding his head if they happened to notice one another, and she would always offer a closed-mouth smile in return. The longest conversation they had was when they’d mumble a ‘goodnight’ across the hall if it was late enough in the day. 

Slamming the magazine shut, Samira had a look on her face, one that Mel couldn’t quite read. “Is this invasive of us to read?”

”Maybe?” Mel shrugged, wincing a little. “I wouldn’t like it if he read the articles that are out about me. Not that it’s even the same thing, but still.”

”Then it’s settled,” Samira put the magazine down. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it, because this is the most interesting thing to happen to me since I got accepted into medical school.”

Their grocery run turned into a gossip session amongst the aisles of books. Which then turned into a lunch and coffee date at their favorite cafe that served breakfast until four in the afternoon. By the time the two of them got up from the booth in the corner, the cafe was closing. It was nice, though. Mel and Samira rarely had time off together, and by the time their schedules did line up, they were too tired to do anything. 

“I know this was supposed to be a grocery run, but this was fun,” Samira leaned her head on Mel’s shoulder. “And I reallydon’t want to go grocery shopping now.”

Mel laughed, resting her head on Samira’s for just a second. “I’m so glad you said that. I want to go home. We can order pizza if we get hungry.”

”Mmm,” Samira hummed. “And breadsticks.” 

“We can really splurge and get cinnamon rolls too,” Mel suggested, laughing when Samira let out an overdramatic groan in agreement. 

***

Earnie’s laugh bounced off the walls as soon as they stepped off the elevator. Mel peeked around to see what he was doing. (It was a fifty-fifty shot: Was he talking to an actual person or a ghost?) Frank was leaning against the wall, his eyes carefully trained on Earnie, who was walking around with an EMF meter, his steps unsteady. 

“Hey guys!” Samira said, keeping her eyes off of Mel. If they looked at each other—after gossiping about their hot neighbor on and off all day—they would start laughing. 

Mel was just thankful Samira started the conversation; she couldn’t really look at anyone without laughing. The two of them had the giggles. “What’cha doing, Earnie?” She finally settled on. 

“We heard Gunther,” Frank pushed himself off the wall, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. 

“You both heard him?” Samira asked in slightly sarcastic disbelief. She squinted her eyes at Frank. 

Mel hit Samira’s arm. She has told her a million times not to be so dismissive of Earnie’s ghosts. Mel didn’t necessarily know what she believed in when it came to ghosts in general, but she at least humored the idea. As much as Mel didn’t like Frank, she thought it was sweet that he also talked to Earnie without thinking he was batty. Samira has gotten better about it—especially after her mom left—but sometimes she could be a little blunt about her beliefs.

“Sure did,” Frank confirmed. “Loud thump out here, maybe what, Earn? Eight minutes ago.” 

He didn’t exactly like how Samira acted towards Earnie either, she was never rude or mean—and most of the time she was nice—but her tone had this edge to it that just irritated Frank. He was glad Mel gave her the look. He thought Mel caught his eye for a second too, but she darted her eyes away quickly, like she didn’t mean to look at him.

“Sure did,” Earnie confirmed. “We came out here at the same time,” he explained, never looking up from the little device in his hands. “Frank also watches Ghost Files.”

Mel thought that it was hilarious that her eighty-something-year-old neighbor watched two guys ghost hunting on YouTube. Sometimes she would sit with him too; they were pretty entertaining.

”Oh yeah?” Mel looked to Frank again, a little amused.

“Who am I to say ghosts aren’t real?” Frank shrugged, looking at her with an intense gaze, eyes piercing. 

“So you believe in ghosts, too?” Samira asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“Easier to believe in ghosts than some of the other bullshit I’ve heard,” Frank answered cryptically, leaning over to look at the thing Earnie was holding. Mel tried to make out more of the tattoo on his right arm, but she could still only make out some flowers, and she didn’t want to get caught staring at his arms. Which really was unfair, he had nice arms. 

“Like what?” Mel blurted out. She wasn’t sure what came over her, or why she felt the need to ask, but it was too late to stuff her words back in her mouth, so she looked at Frank for his answer. 

His immediate reply was God, but he thought that was a little too heavy for a hallway ghost hunt with three people he barely knew. Mel was looking at him for an answer; there was no trace of malice on her face. She merely looked curious, and that curiosity had no motive. Frank could tell when people talked to him because they thought they knew him, because he was famous. And then he could tell when people just talked to him like he was a normal, everyday guy.Mel—and the rest of his neighbors—gave off the latter. None of them seemed to care about Frank, the famous guy. 

“Easter Bunny, duh,” Frank answered with a lighter tone, like he was trying to convey he was just kidding. He was glad she let out a giggle at his answer. If he were willing to admit it (he wasn’t), he would say she had a cute laugh. 

“Well, you’ll have to let us know if you find Gunther.” Samira grabbed Mel’s arm. “We’re going to watch early 2000s movies and eat our weight in pizza.”

“Bye, guys,” Mel waved before unlocking her door. The girls tried not to make it obvious that they were rushing inside. 

As soon as the door was shut and locked, Mel and Samira turned towards each other and broke out into wide grins. “I still can’t believe he’s famous, he acts so…” Samira trailed off. 

“Weird?” Mel offered with a laugh. “At least he’s being nice to Earnie.”

“Now we both know I don’t exactly believe in ghosts, but if he was rude to Earnie of all people, I would have to go out there and hit him.”

”Even Mrs. Abernathy was nice to him,” Mel agreed. “And she was mean to everyone.” 

“Also, it’s kind of shocking Becca had no idea who he was; she is so caught up in pop culture,” Samira threw herself on the side of the couch closest to the kitchen. Mel always liked the side closer to the window.

“She still hasn’t seen him!” Mel exclaimed. Samira was right, too, Becca probably would have known right away. "She’s staying at Gilmore Center more.” Mel was trying not to sound too sad about it; she knew Becca needed her own life, her own friends, her own two feet to stand on. But it was hard on Mel; she felt like everyone had slowly left her over the years. Of course, she would never tell Becca; she didn’t want to make her sister feel guilty over her feelings she couldn't work through. 

Samira’s empathetic smile gave it away. Mel was not good at hiding her feelings, even when she was trying to. “I know it’s hard, but she’s only a few blocks away. And I’m always right next door.”

Rationally, Mel didn’t think Samira would be leaving anytime soon; she was so close to being done with her residency. But it still gave Mel that same sinking feeling in her stomach when she thought about when Samira was finally done. She didn’t want to ruin their good day, so she quickly snatched the DVD remote off the coffee table and made her way over to the movie shelf, pulling out a stack of movies they had been talking about all day. 

After A Cinderella Story, Samira held the stack of magazines they got, plopping them down on her lap. “Okay, should we find out if your true color is totally blonde, totally brunette, or totally redhead? Or, oh my god, no way, we are totallydoing this one,” Samira hugged the magazine to her chest, a wide smile on her face. 

“What?” Mel asked, unamused; she could just tell by Samira’s face she was up to something. 

“Which member of The Vital Signs is your soulmate?” Samira asked, her tone scandalous. “Come on, it’ll be funny,” she nudged Mel with her foot. “I’ll take the dumb quiz too.”

Mel shifted around on the couch before agreeing. It wasn’t a big deal; it’s not like he would ever know. “Fine, hit me with the first question.”

“Which personality trait do you find most attractive in a significant other? A. Sense of Humor. B. Loyalty. C. Spontaneity. Or D. Intelligence?”

“B.”

“Which physical trait do you find most attractive in a significant other? A. Nose B. Eyes C. Arms D. Lips.”

“Hmm,” Mel pondered for a moment. “I guess B.”

Samira looked over the magazine’s edge at Mel before asking, “Where are you most likely to meet a new partner? A. Work. B. The grocery store. C. Online. D. Through friends.”

“D.”

“How many previous relationships have you had? A. None-3. B. 4-6. C. 6-9 D. 10+”

Mel laughed out loud, “Over ten, can you imagine? You know it’s A.”

“No shit," Samira agreed. "Next one is: What is your ideal date? A. Going to the cinema. B. Something adventurous like skydiving. Wine-tasting. or D. Having dinner and drinks at a nice restaurant.”

“Shit,” Mel laughed. “Is all of the above an option? I’d like to go on any date right now.”

“Seriously!” Samira giggled with her. “I think A is mostly like you, you love your movies.”

“Alright, go with A.”

“What are your opinions on pet names? A. Don’t ever use a pet name on me. B. They’re cute in any scenario. C. They are okay at home, but not in public. Or D. Rarely, but I don’t hate them.”

“I like pet names, go with B.”

“Where is your dream vacation with your significant other? Is it A. A beautiful island in the Maldives. B. A romantic city like Paris or Rome?”

“That one,” Mel cut her off. She had always wanted to go to Paris. 

“Could you ever do a long-distance relationship? A. I could only do it if it were short-term. B. I would definitely give it a go, but I’d want to be realistic about the future. C. If I were completely in love, we’d make it work. Or D. Absolutely not, those relationships never last.”

Mel thought again for a moment, overanalyzing a stupid Tiger Beat magazine quiz. “I’d say A.”

“Last one. What is your best quality? A. Your sense of humor. B. Your thoughtfulness. C. Your looks. Or D. Your determination.”

“What would you say mine is?” Mel wondered, even though she thought she knew the answer. 

“You’re definitely B. Alright,” Samira couldn’t hold back her smile. “Ready to hear your results?”

“Not really,” Mel mumbled. She could tell by Samira’s reaction who she got. 

“In an ideal world, your significant other would be a funny, good-looking guy dedicated to his family, who also knows how to take a few risks. Luckily for you, you don’t need to dream about finding perfection because it’s right there in front of you in the form of Frank Langdon. He’ll make you cry with laughter, help you through all of the good and bad times, he’ll take you on the best dates, and he will put you above all else. Congratulations on finding ✨the one.✨”

Mel was hiding behind her hands, shaking her head, “That’s how we know these quizzes are terrible.”

“What do you mean? Are you telling me I’m not going to marry my 2007 crush Joe Jonas?” Samira gasped in feigned disappointment, holding the magazine out to Mel. “Find out what my future career is,” Samira held the magazine out. “I picked mostly A and got Trinity by the way.”

“Which one is she? I only know his name.”

”Jesse is the other guy, Cassie has reddish hair and the bangs,” Samira motioned across her forehead, “Trinity is the other girl.”

”Right, okay, let’s find out if you’re actually destined to be a doctor.”

Chapter Text

Frank was standing in the living room with his hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Tanner’s face was covered in marker. Olive was standing right beside him, holding up the evidence with a smile that stretched across her face. Frank shook his head. He darted his eyes around, not really focusing on anything, trying to find a solution to this mess. 

“Oh my god, Olive, what did you do to your brother? You have to be at ballet in,” he checked his watch, frantically jumping over piles of toys, rushing to find his phone and something to clean Tanner with. “Forty minutes!” 

He was praying that Cassie was nearby; he trusted her the most to watch the kids. Frank would suggest Abbot stay with him, but he knew that would never happen. He can’t go anywhere without security. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Cassie answered on the third ring. 

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Are you anywhere near my place? Olive has ballet in forty, and Tanner’s covered from his elbows up in blue marker.”

Cassie cackled loudly, “Hey, Jesse. We gotta get to Frank’s.”

That made his ears perk up, and he immediately put her on speaker, sending Trinity a text about how Cassie and Jesse were together. They were captain and co-captain of the Jassie ship, just like the rest of the fandom. 

“Jesse and I are down at the studio. We can be there in ten minutes.”

“Oh, thank fucking god.” Frank snatched baby wipes from the closet in their bathroom, tripping over his own feet. Darting into Olive's room, he grabbed her ballet bag. “I love you, Cass.”

“I know you do. Be there soon. Love you too.”

“Olive! Let’s go, we’re running late. Tanner, you’re not coming with today. Aunt Cassie and Uncle Jesse are gonna come hang out with you,” Frank explained, pulling out Olive’s clothes. 

“Yay! Jesse will let me have ice cream for lunch!” Tanner cheered. He threw his little fists in the air, jumping up and down. He was still in his Avengers Pajamas, one of the pant legs up to his knee. Frank missed the days when he had that much energy in the morning. 

“No! That’s not happening!” Frank dismissed as he pulled Olive’s clothes on. “Alright, we’re about good to go. Come here, buddy, we have to get this blue off of you.” Frank pulled out a baby wipe, gently running it along Tanner’s arms. It didn’t really do a damn thing. The last thing he needed was to return Tanner to Abby half blue. 

“You have to do my hair too, daddy,” Olive pointed to her long, dark hair. 

“Shit,” he sighed before slapping his hand over his mouth. 

Frank wouldn’t say he was a bad parent by any means, but he could never get the hang of not swearing in front of the twins. “Don’t ever repeat what I say, okay?” He asked hastily.

“Don’t ever repeat what I say, okay?” Olive mocked him right back, tilting her head with every word, her little hands on her hips. 

He was kind of asking for that one, he realized. 

The front door creaked open when Cassie and Jesse walked in. He was hoping that either one of them could help him with the hair situation. Turning back to Olive, he watched as she bounced on her little feet. “Cassie’s here!”

“Hey, little one!” Jesse bent down to greet Olive as she ran down the hallway. 

“You got your brother good.” Cassie rubbed Olive’s back. She couldn’t stop the giggle she let out at Frank when he entered the room with Tanner in one hand and the blue baby wipes in the other. 

“Please tell me either of you knows how to do that ballet bun thing,” Frank held up the bag of hair supplies. 

“Definitely not,” Jesse shook his head, running with the twins around the dining room table. 

Frank turned to Cassie with a hopeful look, but she was shaking her head at him. “Frank, I wake up and run a brush through my hair. I don’t want to hurt her or tangle her hair.”

“Fuck me, let me try a YouTube video,” Frank looked around for his phone again. He needed to stop putting it down wherever.

“What about one of your neighbors?” Cassie pointed to the door. 

“Yeah, okay,” Frank hesitated. 

Running out of time, he opened the front door and dashed across the hall, knocking on Mel’s door. She wore her hair up a lot; surely she would know what to do.

She had a protein bar hanging out of her mouth when she answered the door. That big duffel bag hung off her shoulder. “Frank?” She asked in a tone of surprise.

“Hey, so I have a hair emergency, can you help me? It won’t take long,” he asked in a panic. 

Mel could tell by the desperation in his voice that he needed help, but she was also running a little behind again. Without thinking, she agreed. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Frank turned around towards his apartment. "I have a daughter in ballet,” he said over his shoulder, pushing open the door, both kids and Jesse were still running around. 

Cassie was standing in the foyer watching. She turned her head to Mel, nodding once. “Hey, sorry I’m so bad at being a girl sometimes." She held her hand out to Mel, adding, “I’m Cassie.”

”I’m Mel,” She politely replied. She discreetly looked down at her watch as she extended her hand to Cassie. She wasn’t trying to be rude, but she was really late.

“Miss. Mel?” She heard a little voice say. 

Mel turned towards the voice, smiling widely, “Olive, hi! I see we’re both running a little late today.”

”How do you two know each other?” Frank asked stupidly, confused how his neighbor somehow knew his kid. Did she run into Abby last night when they were dropped off?

”She’s my teacher!” Olive yelled at the same time Mel said, "She's one of my students.”

He was flabbergasted for a few seconds before he went back into dad mode. “Okay, well, since both of us are running behind, can we give you a ride? You’re really helping me out with this.”

“Are you sure?” Mel questioned, getting down on the ground to put Olive’s hair up. She really couldn’t believe this was happening. “It’s really no problem at all, I’ve been doing this for most of my life.”

“Hey, by the way." Jesse held his hand up, greeting Mel as he ran from Tanner. “I’m Jesse.”

“I’m Mel,” she replied sweetly. “Hey Tanner,” she grinned at the little boy. Abby told Mel a while ago that Tanner had a crush on her; he was always too shy to talk to her, but that didn't stop Mel from trying. “Oh, you’re blue!”

“Yeah, thanks to his little sister,” Frank uttered, trying to watch her hand movements so this doesn’t become a regular occurrence. 

Frank watched her hands move with a quiet confidence, working through the tangles with grace. He saw Olive relax under Mel’s touch. He watched, fascinated with the gentle movements of her fingers and the gentle concentration on Mel’s face. When she leaned over to smooth Olive’s hair, her hoodie slipped off her shoulder. Frank looked away quickly. 

“All done!” Mel said, securing the hair tie, “You’re ballet ready.”

“Thank you!” Olive spun around, beaming. 

“Anytime.” She pressed a palm to the floor to push herself up, but Frank offered his hand out to her. 

Mel’s gaze lifted, meeting his. 

His fingers wrapped around hers; they were warm and steady. His pull was gentle, but his fingertips were rough from years of playing the guitar. A quiet shiver ran through her entire body. 

The brush of his thumb across her knuckles wasn’t intentional—at least, not outwardly—but it lingered. Frank swore he heard her breath catch. 

She pulled away quickly. And just like that, the spell was broken. “We should get going.”

She was stunned; she never thought that Frank would be one of her students’ dads. Abby only mentioned being divorced. Although now that Mel thought about it, Abby probably didn’t want to say who he was, they probably don’t get a lot of privacy as it is. 

“You guys have fun,” Cassie opened the door for them. Frank watched her and Jesse. 

“I can’t believe my teacher lives with my dad!” Olive exclaimed, using her little hands to motion to Mel and Frank. 

Mel gave a nervous chuckle, and Frank shook his head, leaning down to Olive’s eye level, correcting her by saying, “We live near each other, Mel’s our neighbor, honey. Which, by the way,” he glanced up at Mel. “Small world, huh?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she agreed. Mel nervously shifted her weight between her feet. “Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem at all, you really saved me with the whole hair thing.” Frank gave her a small smile, it was genuine and kind. This was the softest Frank has ever been towards her, and it was a little alarming. 

The entire ride down to the lobby was filled with Olive babbling about random things like the book they read last night and the waffles she had for breakfast. Mel was mostly focused on Olive’s enthusiastic voice, but she also found herself glancing at Frank a lot, too. She could see the elevator lights bounce off his nose ring, and she saw that one of the tattoos on his arm was an intricate black-and-white butterfly. 

“Jack’s right out front.”

Mel didn’t have a clue who that was, so she just followed his lead. She figured his ride was the giant, black SUV with tinted windows parked right outside the doors. Her anxiety started to creep out. Mel almost always walked or took public transportation. She’s always been a little uneasy with cars, and then she got hit by one crossing the street two years ago, and she’s been a little terrified since. 

Frank stopped himself when he went to reach back and grab her wrist. He was used to rushing into cars. He liked to make sure whoever he was with got in, too. But normal people don’t get into cars like that, and nobody was paying attention to them. He was always in fight or flight mode. 

Mel didn’t know much about cars, but even she could tell that this was a nice car. It smelled brand new, and there were three rows of seats, each with an individual control for heating and cooling the seats. She buckled her seatbelt stiffly, watching Frank buckle Olive in with ease.

“Miss. Mel?”

“You can just call me Mel outside of school, sweetie.”

“Uhh, okay, Miss. Mel. Are you going to ride with us every morning?”

Mel couldn’t tell a child that the thought of being in this car was enough to make her sick. Mel gave an uneasy laugh, shaking her head. “N-no, I just came today, so I was on time,” she hoped nobody noticed how her voice shook.

“Aww,” Olive crossed her arms, pouting.

Mel sat with her fists balled in her lap, willing herself not to grip the door handle like some panicked child. She tried to focus on anything but the blur of motion in her peripheral vision. 

It’s fine, it’s just a car. People do this every day. Her mind repeated the thought like a prayer, but it rang hollow. Every time the driver tapped the brakes, her breath hitched, and her chest tightened as if it was preparing for impact. The seatbelt pressed into her shoulder, which was only a reminder that this was dangerous enough to need a seatbelt. 

She hated how she wasn’t the one in control; she hated the way her safety hung on to someone else’s judgment. And she hated how Frank was watching her intently, like he could sense her panic. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, as if he were trying to silently ask her if something was wrong. Mel just darted her eyes down, pretending she didn’t see him. 

Frank wasn’t born yesterday; he could tell something was wrong with Mel. As soon as they got in the car, her whole demeanor changed. He didn’t want to try to force her to talk to him; they weren’t that close, and she didn’t owe him an explanation. But he felt bad when he noticed her hands shaking and her voice quivering. 

As soon as they were parked, Mel nearly flew out of the car. “I’ll see you guys inside.” 

Jack waited a second before turning around, asking, “Was she okay? I thought she was going to vomit back there.”

”I don’t know.” Frank shrugged, leaning over to unbuckle Olive’s car seat. He looked up and saw that Mel had already gone through the front door. He cursed himself in his head. He wanted to ask her where the fuck he was supposed to go. Hopefully, Olive knew. She was his little leader, after all; she probably knew exactly where they had to go.  “Ready, little one?” 

“Yes! Come on, Daddy!” She nearly dragged him out of the car, moving as fast as Mel did. 

As they walked through the front doors, Frank couldn’t help but think how insane it was that his four-year-old practiced ballet at Lincoln Center. He was glad he was able to provide this world for his family, but it also blew his mind when he stopped to think about it. 

“You know where we’re going?” Frank leaned down to ask Olive after he signed them in. He didn’t want anyone to hear him. What kind of parent didn’t know where his kid’s classes were?

“Yeah, we’re almost there. Don’t sit by Juliette’s mom, she always tells Mommy we shouldn’t eat Fruit Rolls Ups and Mommy doesn't like her.” Olive let go of his hand, rushing into the classroom. 

“Wait, Ollie, which one’s Juliette’s mom?” He whispered, but she was already sitting with all of her little classmates by the time he got to the door. 

“Redhead in the right corner,” Mel mumbled to him, winking at him like it was their little secret. 

“Thanks.” He grinned, letting out a sigh of relief. He thought about asking Mel if she was okay, but she was already turning to greet the next person to come into the classroom. 

Mel was glad he walked away. She was nervous enough that he was here on top of that disastrous car ride; all she needed to do was get through this class and get on with her day. 

Right at nine o’clock, she shut the door and turned to the class with a bright smile. “Good morning, little butterflies.”

The room erupted into, “Good morning, Miss. Mel’s.” 

Frank looked around at the mothers; most of them were on their phones. He watched one of them put an AirPod in her ear as the piano music started from the speaker in the corner. A few of them whispered about him as soon as he sat down, but he was used to that by now, so he ignored it. 

“What do we do when the music starts?” Mel asked. 

Frank heard all of their little feet shuffle as they went to stand. All of them said, “We stand tall like trees.”

Mel repositioned herself so she was standing tall like the rest of the class. “Exactly right. And what do trees have?” She held her arms out. 

“Branches!” They repeated, holding their arms out like Mel.

“Right, we stand tall and firm like trees, not wobbly like spaghetti,” she said before the room erupted in giggles, their little arms wiggling like spaghetti noodles. 

Frank watched, a little mesmerized. With a simple look, Mel was able to command a room of fidgety toddlers. Her voice was always warm when she spoke to them, and she always got to their eye level when she corrected them. No wonder Olive loves ballet so much. 

“Now, let’s practice our best princess walks. No stomping, like we’re little bird feathers in the wind.”

Olive started to hop; another girl was galloping, but within five seconds, they all fell into line. She just gestured, smiled, and commanded the universe. 

There are thirteen of them. Thirteen. Frank couldn’t even get Olive to eat toast without an argument some days. 

“That’s beautiful, Harper,” Mel complimented one student. “Graceful, you look like you’re walking towards a secret.”

He looked around at the other parents; none of them really seemed to care about what was going on in the classroom. They were too busy staring at their screens. He thought he was witnessing magic. 

His eyes went back to Mel, who was leaning down, correcting someone’s posture. 

She glanced towards the back wall where Frank was sitting, and she caught him staring. She offered him a professional, but knowing smile. He straightened, awkwardly pretending like he wasn’t just watching her like she was Gandalf in a leotard. 

“That’s wonderful, Olive. Great form,” she complimented. 

Frank felt his heart swell at the praise his daughter received. He smiled, offering her two thumbs up when she turned to him, grinning. 

At the end of the class, Mel instructed the little dancers to thank their audience with a bow. They all bowed in ten different directions, but Olive was looking right at him. 

“Did you see me, daddy?” She ran across the room into his open arms. 

Her eyes sparkled when he nodded, saying, “Of course I did, you were amazing.” 

Some of the parents swarmed Mel as soon as class was over. He was glad nobody said anything to him. He wasn’t really expecting anyone to, but he always felt like he had to be prepared.

Hiking Olive’s unicorn backpack up his shoulder, he took her hand, listening as she told him about the dance moves she’s learned. She had a whole routine she wanted to show him when he got home. (He was definitely roping Cassie and Jessie into watching, too.)

As soon as they walked out the door, Olive was stopped by one of her friends. “Olive, you have to see my new Barbie!” 

They didn’t have anywhere to be, so he let go of Olive’s hand, letting her and her friend play on the floor. Which was probably filthy, but he used to eat dirt, so really, it could be worse. 

“I’m Lottie’s mom.” A girl with long, dark hair stood beside him, watching the girls play.  “Kathleen,” she offered her hand to Frank. 

“I’m Olive’s dad, Frank,” he said, taking her hand in his, smiling at her. 

“You didn’t drag Tanner with you? He’s normally down there playing Barbies with them, too.”

“Oh no,” Frank chuckled just thinking about this morning. He pulled his phone out and showed her the picture of Tanner covered in marker. 

She had a high-pitched, girly laugh. “That’s hilarious,” she giggled, her eyes snapped up to look at him. She had striking green eyes and dimples. She was kind of cute, but ‘kind of cute’ was the last thing he needed. 

“Right? I was lucky enough that a couple of friends could come by, so I didn’t have to embarrass him and drag him here,” Frank turned back to Olive. 

They stood and chatted for a few minutes, mostly about their kids.

“Come on, Lottie, we have to go, you’ll see Olive soon,” Kathleen held her hand out to her daughter. 

“Yeah, Ollie, I don’t want to leave Tanner with Cassie and Jessie all day,” he jerked his head so she’d stand.

He looked over his shoulder towards Mel’s classroom. There was a glass panel in her door; all he could see was her upper body as she danced along to whatever flowed through her AirPods. 

Even though he couldn’t see her, he stood there for just a second, admiring the peaceful look on her face and her graceful movements. She wasn’t performing for anyone, just existing in a moment. He didn’t know what song she was listening to, but he hoped she got to listen to it for the rest of her life. 

Chapter Text

The red recording light glowed above the glass, casting a soft, red hue over the control room. Inside the live room, the air was heavy with the heat from amps, and the excited anticipation for the song they had just finished. The wooden panels in the room reminded Frank of his childhood home; the whole place had those ugly wood panels. 

Frank sat at the keyboard, his fingers resting on the keys, and his left foot tapped the sustain pedal, even though they hadn't started the song back up yet. Cassie was sitting cross-legged on the ground, tuning her bass for the seventh time. Jesse always had his drumsticks in his hands, like they were a part of him, and Trinity was bouncing around the room; she couldn’t stand still on stage, and it was no different in the studio. 

“This sounds great, guys,” Robby said to them from the control room. 

“Let’s run it back one more time, we’ve got time,” Teddy—the producer—instructed. “Frank, I want some more guitar.”

'Wildflowers' was a song Frank wrote with the other three while they were on their last tour. It was a song about them, how much this band meant to them. Naturally, the lyrics could be interpreted as a love song because that’s what sells, but it was still one of his favorite songs he’s ever written. It was one of the very few from this era that wasn’t a sad, depressing song about being busted for drug addiction and going through a divorce.

The energy was always high when they were together; it didn’t matter if they were on stage, in the studio, or sitting around Cassie’s apartment. Even after they recorded the same song five times, they managed to keep the energy alive. That was what Frank found most enjoyable, how they just worked together so well. 

“Hey, what’s going on with you and that blonde neighbor of yours?” Jesse asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Frank. 

“Wait, what did I miss?” Trinity asked, snapping her gaze to Frank. 

“Oh my god,” Frank ran his hand over his face. “No, it’s not like that, nothing’s going on.” 

“I don’t know, the other day when she helped you with Ollie’s hair, you guys had a moment,” Cassie said, smirking. 

“She’s my neighbor, nothing more. I don’t think she really likes me,” he admitted. “I might have been a little standoffish when I moved in.”

“You standoffish? No way,” Trinity joked, only making Frank lean over and shove her playfully. 

“She wouldn’t have come over to help you if she hated you,” Jesse pointed out. 

“Wait—wait, we are asking all of the wrong questions, are you attracted to this girl? Is that why your ears are turning red?” Trinity asked, her smirk was evil. 

“What? No, I hardly know her."

“You don’t have to know someone to be attracted to them,” Jesse argued. 

“It’s Frank, of course, he does,” Cassie added. 

“Can we talk about something else?” Frank asked quickly. “Like how you two were seen together the other day alone and the fans went crazy,” he added, looking at Cassie and Jesse. 

Trinity bit back her smile before offering Frank her hand for a high-five. Both Jesse and Cassie started stuttering like two middle schoolers who were caught passing notes in the middle of class. 

“That’s different, and you know it,” Jesse finally said for both of them. “We aren’t still broody and moping around New York because we got divorced. You need to get back out there, man. Abby sure is.”

“Okay, well, I’m not going to date my neighbor, she's my daughter’s teacher.” 

“She’s a ballet teacher, it’s not that scandalous,” Cassie added, shoving her bass into her bag. 

“Okay, but you still haven’t answered my question: are you attracted to her?” 

Just then, Abbot’s voice came from the control room. “Yeah, he is.” 

Cassie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, “I told you!”

Frank just shook his head, offering his middle finger to Abbot. “Guys, just because she’s objectively cute does not mean I want anything to happen, okay? I like this era of being alone.” 

Cassie looked to the other two while Frank had his back to them; they all knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to start a fight with Frank. She decided to let it go for now. She knew what she saw that day in his apartment; he’d be ready to admit it when the time comes. 

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Cassie nudged Frank’s arm as they filed out of the studio. 

He shrugged, giving Cassie an annoyed look, “I have a photoshoot after this and then I’m rotting in bed. What about you?”

“Harrison wants to go to a museum, so I’m going to figure that out,” she said tightly. 

Frank and Cassie found themselves on the phone a lot with each other late into the night, talking about how fame complicated the simplest parts of their lives and how they were terrified for their kids. They share the same worries: how to give their kids a sense of normalcy when paparazzi or a slew of fans were always nearby, how to explain the online world’s obsession with their every move, and how to protect their kids from growing up in the spotlight. They make jokes about how they wear hoodies and sunglasses at school drop off, but they know that beneath the jokes, there is actual fear in them. They both know there is a possibility that their kids could grow up to resent them for the life they were brought up in. 

Now that Harrison was a little older, Cassie was starting to see more of that resentment. Frank was glad his kids were still little and still blind to the fact that having a chauffeur wasn’t normal. 

“Ask Jack to go with you or Robby,” Frank offered. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been working on my disguises,” she rolled her eyes. “Good luck with your shoot.” 

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

Frank felt like a little bitch every time he complained too much about photo shoots and being in front of the camera. He just never understood why they kept asking for him. The magazine covers, the luxury brand campaigns, the endless requests for photo shoots it all felt like a strange joke sometimes. He didn’t see what they saw. 

In his mind, he was just a lanky guy with a wide nose and awkward facial expressions. He felt more at home in a pair of Converse and a second-hand jacket than the designer suits stylists draped over his shoulders. 

He hated how long everything took. It annoyed him when he had to stand still while they adjusted the lights and fussed over his hair and his collar. He never knew if his jaw was doing something weird, if he blinked too much, and the compliments afterwards—how he was magnetic, and effortless felt fake too. None of it felt real. 

It was almost dark by the time he got out of the studio and back to his apartment. 

Each time he walked in the lobby, he felt less like Frank the celebrity and more like just some guy who lived in the building; he kind of loved it. The most attention he got was from the doorman tipping his hat to him, or if he ran into one of his neighbors, he’d stop and talk or offer a smile. 

Mel was standing in the mailroom when he walked in. She was standing on her toes, rifling through her mailbox. “Hey,” he said, walking up to the box beside hers, unlocking it. 

He could feel that quiet friction between them. Or maybe it was all in his head, but he felt something every time he was around Mel. He mostly tried ignoring it. 

“Hey,” she turned to him, offering a quick smile before slamming shut her box.

Mel felt her stomach drop when she saw the pastel blue envelope. It was thicker than the rest of the mail, and it was sealed with wax. Her eyes rolled before she could stop them.

“Of course,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone, but loud enough for him to hear. 

He didn’t look up, but a smirk flickered across his face. “Is that a bill or a jury duty summons?” Frank joked, trying to ease the tension.

She let out a dry laugh and held the envelope like it was contaminated. “It’s worse than that. My cousin’s wedding invite. The one that had to have three engagement parties, a proposal photographer, and she somehow managed to get on a bridal magazine cover before she even picked a date.” 

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “That sounds…” he didn’t want to insult her family, even if the vibe Mel was giving off indicated she wouldn’t care if he did. “Thorough.” 

“Ridiculous is what it is,” Mel scoffed, flipping the envelope over to open it right there.

“You seem to be the kind of person who would normally like weddings,” Frank pointed out. 

“I do,” Mel replied quickly. “Have you ever had a friend or a cousin who just had to be better than you? Try to one-up youwith everything? That’s what she does with me, and I just know she’s going to brag that she got married first, her wedding was more grand and fancier than mine will be. She’s got a surgeon husband, and she loves bragging about how successful he is, too. I mean, the bitch tried to outdo my gift for my mom on Mother’s Day. Who does that?” 

“She sounds like a real peach. Why don’t you just…not go to the wedding?” Frank asked, leaning against the mailboxes, turning his attention to her. 

He stepped closer, but not too close, just enough that she caught the faint smell of his cologne, it was warm and woodsy,and it smelled expensive. 

“I can’t not go, my whole family is going to be there. Plus, Becca really wants to go, and she won’t go without me.” 

Her hair was in one of those buns he had yet to learn how to do; she wore tight leggings, a maroon puffer vest, and she looked absolutely pissed. It was the first time he saw that look on her face, and it wasn’t directed at him. 

“So what’s the strategy? Outdress her at her own wedding? Steal the groom? Maybe you should wear white,” Frank suggested with a playful smile. 

“Please, she is the type of pretty that could wear a burlap sack and still look like a model,” Mel rolled her eyes again. She hated the feelings that came out whenever she talked about her cousin Cindy. ”It’s been this thing with us since we were five. Well, she started it, but she made everything a competition our whole lives, and it always feels like she is the one winning. All I had was being a better dancer.” 

“I doubt that she’s won everything, but I don’t doubt that you are the better dancer for a second.” 

He watched the hardness on her face soften a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a tirade.”

“I was the one who asked,” Frank pointed out. 

He felt bad; he could tell how much this wedding was upsetting her. And sure, he has complicated feelings towards Mel, he didn’t really know her all that well, and his attempts to ignore her weren’t going so well, but he didn't like seeing her upset either.

“When is the wedding?” He asked, falling into step beside her as they left the mailroom.  

“Next June,” Mel sighed, leaning forward to press the button on the elevator. “I think maybe I can really try dating again, and maybe if I bring a date, it won’t be so bad.” 

Frank does this thing where he starts talking or reacting before he has time to really think about his actions or his words.This was one of those moments. Right as the elevator opened, he said, “I’d go with you.” He knew how stupid he must sound, so he added, "If you don't find a date that is."

He didn’t even know if he could go with her. Their next album should be out by then; they might be on another tour or a press run, and he was offering to go to a wedding with her that was months away. She was looking at him like he wascrazy. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious,” she finally said. 

“I’m so serious,” Frank nodded. 

“You are better-looking than her husband, you’re taller too,” Mel said, her shoulders easing. 

“I guarantee I have more money than he does, too,” Frank said confidently. 

“She’d be so jealous if I brought a celebrity,” Mel mumbled, and they both froze. 

The only sound between them was the hum of the elevator ascending, the numbers ticking with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The air changed between them to something Mel didn’t recognize, and the look on his face was no help. She couldn’t tell if he was upset because she said that or if he was going to tell her off as soon as they stepped into the hallway. 

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean it like—I mean—I’m not some weird fangirl. I saw you in a magazine one day.” 

She felt the tension around them ease when Frank finally turned to her with a lopsided smile on his face. “I know, I figured you had no idea when I met you. The fangirls are easy to spot.”

“I promise I didn’t do a deep dive on you or anything when I found out. I mean, sure, Samira and I took a few quizzes in Tiger Beat, but that was mostly a joke,” Mel rambled. She could feel her cheeks heating up, and her hands began toying with the mail in her hands nervously. 

Frank let out a laugh; it was loud, and his head was thrown back, like he actually found the whole thing funny. “Oh my god, that’s so funny. What was the quiz? Who is your Vital Signs soulmate?”

“No,” she said, looking away from him. She was a notoriously bad liar. Honestly, Mel was shocked she had been able to keep the fact that she knew who he was from him for so long. 

“Oh my god,” Frank laughed again. 

Mel felt a little silly thinking it, but she liked it when he laughed. When he really laughed. It wasn’t loud or fake like the way some people laugh when they know they are being watched. His laugh was messy and real, and she wanted to hear it more often. The moment felt brighter than it did a second ago.

“I need to know who you got,” he finally replied as the door dinged open. 

“No way,” Mel shook her head, darting out of the elevator, scurrying down the hall, but Frank easily caught up to her. 

“Come on,” he teased, nudging her arm. “Was it Jesse?” He let out a dramatic gasp, “Was it me?”

“You couldn’t waterboard that information out of me,” Mel giggled. 

“Which means it was me, I know it,” Frank grinned. 

Mel pulled open her door, looking at him over her shoulder, “Don’t even think about asking Samira either.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Frank assured her, the amusement was still evident in his voice. 

“But uhh—anyways, thanks for the offer. I really am going to try and find a date on my own, I have nine months.”

“I’ll be right here if you don’t. Goodnight, Mel.”

“Goodnight, Frank.” 

She shut the door behind her, leaning against it, and exhaled. It was the kind of breath that felt like it had been trapped in her chest behind her ribs. The apartment was quiet, just the soft whirr from the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock she had hanging on the wall. But inside her, everything buzzed. 

For a full five seconds, she didn’t move. She stood there with her heart thudding like she had just run in the Boston Marathon. 

Her smile was slow, creeping across her face like sunlight over the clouds at daybreak. It broke into a grin before she could even stop it. She let out a tiny, giddy sound, and she kicked off her shoes, nearly tripping over one of them in the process. 

It was stupid, really. It was barely a moment. But it almost felt like Frank was flirting with her, and he was actually happy to be around her. Ever since he found out she was Olive’s teacher and she helped him with her hair, things shifted between them. 

She set her bag down, walking to the living room on autopilot. She flopped face-first onto the couch, letting out another helpless laugh into the Halloween pillow. She felt like a teenager. Like some sweet and ridiculous opportunity dropped right into her lap.