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The walls of the elementary have seen a lot of things, but they have never seen anything quite as steady as the way you look at Melissa Schemmenti.
To most of the people you are simply the teacher in the classroom next door to Melissa. You are the one who shares her dry humor during meetings and the one who knows exactly how she likes her coffee. But as you stand in the doorway of your room, watching her through the glass you know that colleague doesn't even begin to cover the ache in your chest. You’ve been in love with the redhead for two years. You love the authoritative click of her heels, the way her accent gets thicker when she’s passionate or pissed off. Most of all, you love the woman entirely.
Lately the fortress that is Melissa Schemmenti has been showing cracks that only you seem to notice. You’ve been observing the subtle shift in her behavior for weeks. It’s in the way her shoulders don’t quite square themselves the way they used to when the morning bell rings or maybe a tired face that she can’t hide. Mel is a woman of action, a woman who always has a guy, but you can see that she’s running out of favors to call in for herself.
You watch her now sitting at her desk long after the kids have gone and she isn’t grading. She’s just staring at a single sheet of paper, her hand trembling slightly as she rubs her temple. It’s a sight that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed by a cold hand.
You know her well enough to know that if you walk in there and ask her "Mel, are you okay?" she will just shrug. Melissa doesn't do okay or vulnerable. She certainly doesn't do help. But as you stand there, your hand resting on the doorframe, you realize you don't care about the risk of her bite. You’ve spent years admiring her strength, but you’ve spent just as long wishing she’d let you be the one to carry some of that weight.
You’re in love with her. You’re in love with the way she protects everyone else, and it’s become your private mission to protect her, even if you have to do it in the shadows. You know she doesn't see you that way… Or at least, you’ve convinced yourself she doesn't. To Mel you are the reliable constant, you are safe.
And being safe has its perks. It means you get to see the moments she hides from Barbara and Janine. You see the way she bites her lip when she’s worried about a student’s home life. You see the way she exhales when she thinks no one is looking, letting the mask slip for just a second.
Tonight, the mask hasn't just slipped, it’s falling. You see her eyes close and her head dropping forward. You want to wrap your arms around her, to tell her that the world won't stop spinning if she takes a night off, but you wait a moment longer. You have to be careful. With Melissa, you have to move like you’re approaching a wounded predator: slowly, steadily, and with no sudden movements.
You look at the coffee in your hand and the stack of your own papers you were supposed to grade and you know they don't matter. Nothing matters but the woman in the next room who is trying so hard to be iron when she’s clearly feeling like glass.
You’ve told yourself that being her friend is enough, that being the person she trusts is a privilege you shouldn't gamble with. But as you watch her struggle to even pick up her pen, you realize that watching her suffer is a far greater gamble. You aren’t just a spectator anymore. You are a participant in her life, whether she’s ready to admit it or not. You take a deep breath, smoothing down your own shirt, and prepare to step into the line of fire. You know she hasn't thought of you as anything more than the dependable colleague who laughs at her jokes. You know the idea of "you and her" has likely never crossed her mind. But as you start to walk toward her door, your heart hammering against your ribs, you hope that tonight is the night the Math finally changes.
The heavy silence of the hallway is broken only by the soft thud of your footsteps as you cross the threshold into her classroom. You don’t knock because a knock is a request for entry, and you know Melissa would deny it before you could even open your mouth.
You walk straight to her desk, the lukewarm coffee in your hand replaced by a fresh, steaming cup you’d grabbed from the lounge on your way back. Without a word, you set it on her side, then you reach out and calmly slide the top half of the geometry tests away from her.
"What are you doing, Y/N?" Her voice is like gravel and she doesn't look up at first, her eyes still fixed on the spot where the papers used to be.
"Question twelve is a mess, Mel. The kids always mix up the hypotenuse when the triangle is rotated." You say, your voice conversational, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. You pull a chair from a nearby student desk and sit down right beside her. “So…I’m doing the even-numbered rows. You handle the odds."
"I didn't ask for a teaching assistant," she mutters, finally lifting her head. Her eyes are lethal and the defensive walls are trying to go up.
"Good thing I’m not an assistant, then…" you reply, already uncapping your red pen. "I’m just a person who wants to get out of here before the night janitor starts humming show tunes and I’m not leaving until you’re done."
For a moment, she looks like she might actually fight you. Her jaw sets and that familiar Schemmenti stubbornness is in the air. But then she looks at the coffee, then back at the stack of papers you’ve already started marking efficiently. She lets out a breath that shudders through her entire body.
"You're a real pain in the neck, you know that?" she whispers, but she picks up her own pen.
"So I've been told…” you murmur.
For the next hour, the only sound is the rhythmic pen on the paper. You don't ask her about the recent ex-boyfriend. You don't ask why she looked like she was about to shatter five minutes ago. You simply exist in her space, absorbing the tension so she doesn't have to keep all to herself.
When the last test is graded, you don’t wait for her to move. You reach over and close her laptop and the click of the lid sounding final and decisive. You stand up, grabbing her heavy leather bag and slinging it over your shoulder along with your own.
"Let’s go." you command gently. "I’m driving. Your car is still making that clicking sound in the wheel well, and you’re too tired to listen to it the whole way to your house."
"Y/N-" she starts.
"The seat heaters are already on, Mel. Don't make me carry you." A small, genuine ghost of a smirk touches her lips, it’s the first real one you've seen in weeks. She stands up, her legs a bit shaky, and for a second, she leans into your side, her shoulder brushing against yours. It’s a tiny contact, but it feels like a bolt of lightning through your skin. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she let's you lead her out, the fortress gate finally standing wide open.
The drive to South Philly is peaceful enough. From the corner of your eye, you see Melissa and she isn’t looking at the road, she’s looking at your hands on the steering wheel then up at your profile, her expression unreadable.
She’s thinking about every time you brought her coffee without being asked. She’s thinking about the way you handled her sister Marie at the Christmas party without breaking a sweat. She’s thinking about the fact that while everyone else in her life looks to her to be the fixer you are the only one who looks at her and sees someone who might need fixing. It’s a terrifying realization and as you pull up to her curb, the sum of those parts is suddenly screaming in her ear.
You put the car in park, the engine stops. "We're here, Mel. Get some sleep. I’ll see you at the morning bell."
Melissa doesn't move. Her heart is hammering against her chest like a trapped bird. She looks at you, really looks at you. She sees the person who has been holding her upright while she was crumbling. The realization hits her like a punch: she isn't just grateful. She’s desperately, dangerously in love with you.
"Y/N…” she rasps, her voice breaking the quiet.
"Yeah, Mel?"
She doesn't explain and she doesn't do declarations. Instead, she lunges. It’s a collision of silk and heat as she grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you across the center console with a strength born of pure desperation. Her mouth crashes against yours, it’s hard, messy, and urgent. It tastes like the coffee from the lounge and the salt of the tears she refused to cry. It’s a kiss that says everything she can’t put in words. Her hands tangle in your hair, her nails grazing your scalp as she tries to pull you closer, trying to fuse herself to the only person who truly knows her.
It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, but before you can even wrap your arms around her, she tears herself away. Her eyes are wide, blown out with a mix of shock and absolute terror.
"I... I can't," she gasps, her chest heaving. "I'm a disaster, Y/N. AndI can’t do this to you." Before you can utter a single word, she’s out the door. She scrambles onto the sidewalk, her heels clicking frantically against it as she fumbles for her keys, practically running toward her door.
You don't think. You don't hesitate. You're out of the car before her door even slams. "Melissa! Stop!"
She’s at the stoop, her hands shaking so hard she drops her keys. They hit the stone with a sharp metallic ring. "Go home, Y/N! Just go back to your classroom and forget I did that! I’m not... I’m not the person you want to be with!" She says breathlessly.
You reach the steps in two strides, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around. She looks small, not only in stature, but in the way she’s trying to shrink away from the truth.
"Don't you dare…” you growl, your voice low and fierce. "Don't you dare tell me who I want. I've been standing next to you for years, Melissa. I am not going anywhere."
You don't give her a second to retreat back into her armor. You cup her face, your thumbs wiping away the single tear that finally escaped, and you kiss her.. You kiss her with the weight of two years of silence, proving to her that you aren't afraid of her mess.
She whimpers into your mouth, her hands finally coming up to grip your forearms, anchoring herself. You pull back just an inch, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling in the cold night air.
"I’m not leaving, Mel…” you whisper against her lips. "Not tonight. Not Monday. Not ever."
Then, you kiss her a second time, softer now, but twice as in love. Melissa’s hands slide from your arms up to your neck, her fingers curling into your hair as she finally stops fighting. She melts against you, her body relaxing for the first time in months. The fortress hasn't fallen, but the gates are wide open, and as the Philly wind whistles down the street, she finally lets herself be carried.
"You're so stubborn!" She murmurs against your lips, a tiny, watery laugh in her voice.
"I learned from the best." You smile, and lead her inside.