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schemmentigfs · 1 month ago

Note

oiii, could you make a kind of small and angry girlfriend x calm and tall girlfriend, with melissa being the short girlfriend and reader being the tall one, like no one from abbott can understand how the two were together being so different but they still complete each other. obg <3

The Calm to Her Storm.

Summary: What is it like to date a short, stressed woman that everyone in the workplace is afraid of? Well, you have the perfect answer to everyone’s question.

WC: 6.23k

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

January in Philadelphia was a moody, unpredictable thing. One moment, the air was crisp and biting, the kind that nipped at your face and turned your breath into visible clouds. The next, it warmed unnaturally, tricking you into thinking spring might be around the corner, only to plunge back into bitter cold. This kind of back-and-forth wasn’t just a weather pattern; it mirrored Melissa Schemmenti’s energy. Unpredictable. Feisty. Fierce. At 5’1”, she was a storm packed into a deceptively small frame, quick on her feet and even quicker with her mouth.

Why does that matter, you even ask?

The right answer is simple, Melissa is the kind of woman who wears her anger like armor, ready to snap at anyone who dares question her or cross her. Her fiery demeanor, sharp tongue, and compact stature make her seem like a force of nature—small but mighty. She’s quick to react, often with an eye roll or a cutting remark, her temper never far from the surface. But beneath that exterior lies a loyalty as fierce as her temper. She’s protective of what matters to her, and that includes you.

Then there’s you–tall, calm, and always measured in your responses. The perfect balance. You stand above her by a good few inches, your movements deliberate and graceful, as if the world slowed down for you, while your girlfriend darted through it like an electric charge. You’re the counterbalance to her intensity, the calm in the storm. While she’s ready to bite, you’re the one who talks her down, your gentle presence soothing her when she’s worked up. People don’t get it, how someone like you could be with someone like her. But what they don’t see is how perfectly you two fit together.

It’s the little things that no one else notices. The way you can calm her with just a touch, the way her rants turn into soft-spoken words when she leans into you, the way you both find an unspoken understanding in silence. Even though you’re different, you’re exactly what each other needs. You ground her, and she lights a fire in you that you didn’t know you had.

Your daily routine together is a quiet, tender rhythm that reflects how well you complement each other in those five years of relationship.

In the mornings, when the alarm goes off, you’re the one who slowly rolls out of bed, your long limbs stretching languidly, while the redheaded woman’s eyes shoot open like she’s ready to attack the day, even if she’d much rather sleep. You laugh softly, reaching down to help her out of bed, your hand a contrast to her tiny one. The simple act of lifting her into your arms when she grumbles about not wanting to get up becomes a small, intimate moment of quiet affection.

In the kitchen, she’s always the one in charge making coffee, chopping vegetables with swift, precise movements. You stand by the counter, watching her with a soft smile, your taller frame leaning against the edge as you occasionally reach down to steal a kiss or gently help her reach something on the higher shelves.

At night, it’s when the real magic happens. After a long day, the two of you unwind with your routines. Melissa might be pacing around the house, restless, while you settle on the couch, curling up with a book or a movie. But the second she sits next to you, her head leans against your shoulder, and the energy between you both settles. Your hand, larger and warm, will rest on her thigh, a comforting gesture, and she’ll eventually soften into your side, her irritability fading into quiet affection. She might argue for a minute, pretending she’s not tired, but she can’t resist the calmness that you bring.

And when it’s time for bed, you always let her take the lead, even though she has to jump up to adjust the blankets on your side, while you just stand there, amused. She might snap at you to help her, but when you do, it’s her little laugh that makes your heart flutter. At the end of the day, Melissa, in all her fiery, feisty glory, always curls into you for warmth, her small body a perfect fit against yours. Your arms wrap around her like a protective barrier, and you kiss her forehead as she settles in, and despite all the differences, you both fall asleep in peace, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

Monday was a complete chaos. The torrential rain slammed against the windows, the sound echoing through the house like an incessant drum. Lightning cut through the sky, followed by thunder, each louder than the last, shaking even the pictures on the wall. The electricity had flickered three times before finally going out completely, leaving the house submerged in darkness.

Melissa had been standing in the living room since the first blackout, pacing back and forth while holding a lantern that flickered more than it should have, dressed in a nightgown that ended above her knees and her favorite thick socks — the ones you thought were adorable, even though she said they were just practical. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few loose red strands, and her mood was even stormier than the weather outside.

“I swear to God, if this damn power doesn’t come back in five minutes, I’m marching to the power company and kicking down their fucking door!” the redheaded woman cursed, shaking the lantern as if that would make any difference.

You, on the other hand, watched the scene, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed, a playful smile fighting not to laugh. There was something incredibly funny about seeing her so irritated, especially because you knew that, deep down, she was more nervous than angry. Storms always got to her, even though she’d never admit it.

“Honey, do you know where the candles are?” your girlfriend suddenly asked, turning to face you as if you were the source of all her problems.

“You were the one who put the candles away, mi amore,” you replied calmly.

“This doesn't help at all!” Melissa huffed, marching to the next room with firm steps.

While she rummaged through drawers and shelves, Sweet Cheeks, the guinea pig from her second-grade class, who was under the two of your care that week, started squeaking from the corner of the room for his cage. She immediately stopped, her green eyes softening as she crouched down to talk to him.

“Oh, my little baby, you don’t need to be scared, okay? Mama Mel’s here,” she coos, her raspy voice melting into a completely different tone — a babytalk that almost made you explode with love. “You’re so brave, aren’t you? My orange-furred precious angel!”

“Babe, you’re seriously babytalking the guinea pig while the power’s out?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“He’s afraid, big dumbass. Animals have feelings too!” Melissa replied indignantly, picking up Sweet Cheeks and holding him against her chest. “Unlike you, he doesn’t find this funny.”

Another thunderclap rumbled, and this time the guinea pig squealed loudly. The redhead pressed the little thing closer to her, kissing his furry head. “It’s okay, beautiful boy, Mamas’s got you. Don’t listen to your other Mom, she is just a party pooper.”

“Who’s got you, Lis?” you asked, chuckling softly.

She ignored you, putting Sweet Cheeks back in his cage before grabbing the flashlight again and marching toward the stairs. “I’m going to get the candles from the attic. If I’m not back in five minutes, call the fire department.”

Reluctantly and with protective instincts kicking in, you followed her, trying to hold back the bite on your lip to keep from teasing her as she climbed the stairs with determined steps. The attic was the kind of place no one wanted to go — dark, filled with forgotten boxes, and, worst of all, likely inhabited by spiders. Melissa carefully opened the door, shining the flashlight into the space.

“If I see a spider or a rat, I’m burning this house down like Mary Camille on Thanksgiving,” she declared, feeling more tense than before.

“I don’t think insurance covers that,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe and watching as she stepped inside.

The attic was a claustrophobic maze of neglected storage. Dusty beams crisscrossed above, cobwebs clinging stubbornly to the wood and swaying slightly in the dim light. Piles of boxes, some collapsing under their own weight, were stacked precariously around the room. An old trunk sat in one corner, its hinges rusted, while an antique rocking chair leaned awkwardly to one side, as if abandoned mid-motion. The faint smell of mothballs and aged paper hung in the air.

The flashlight beam danced across faded holiday decorations peeking out of torn cardboard boxes, a tangle of extension cords coiled like snakes, and a moth fluttering near an old, broken lamp. The atmosphere was heavy, the kind of stillness that made you hyper-aware of every creak and rustle.

Your girlfriend’s shoulders visibly stiffened as her eyes darted around the space. “This place is like a horror movie waiting to happen.”

She started rummaging through the boxes, grumbling about “organization” and “who keeps candles in the attic anyway?” Then came another thunderclap, so loud it felt like it was right above the house. Melissa let out a small scream—a sound you knew she would try to deny later—and kicked an empty box in frustration.

“WHAT A CRAPPY NIGHT! WHAT A CRAPPY STORM! WHAT A CRAPPY ATTIC!” she yelled, flailing her arms like she was fighting with the universe itself. “Who even keeps candles in the attic, anyway?!”

You decided it was time to intervene. Before she could continue her outburst, you crossed the dark space and pulled her into a firm hug, wrapping your arms around her like a koala. The redhead began squirming, trying to break free.

“Let me go! I’m not a kid! I can handle this!” she protested, pushing at your arms with the strength of an angry little puppy.

“Of course you can,” you replied, completely unfazed, holding her even tighter. “But for now, you’re staying here with me until you calm down.”

Melissa kept grumbling for a few more seconds but soon stopped struggling. She rested her forehead against your chest, taking a deep breath. “I just hate all of this, okay? Storms… blackouts… they just make me nervous,” she admitted quietly, as if it were a secret.

“I know, love,” you nodded, running your fingers through her hair. “And you’re not alone. Besides, who’s going to protect Sweet Cheeks if you blow up the house?”

She let out a small laugh against your chest, even though she tried to hide it. “I hate you.”

“I love you too.” You kept holding her, feeling her small frame relax against you. After a few minutes, the scary Melissa Schemmenti went completely limp, the flashlight slipping from her hand and landing on the floor, its beam pointing at the ceiling.

“Red, you okay?” you asked softly, but when you looked down, you realized she didn’t respond because… she was asleep. The second grade teacher had simply passed out in your arms, like an exhausted child after a monumental tantrum.

“Of course,” you whispered, sighing quietly. “The big dangerous ol’ bear turned into a care bear.”

Carefully, you scooped her up into your arms and carried her back to the bedroom, trying not to trip on the stairs in the dark. Sweet Cheeks let out a small squeak from his cage as you passed the living room, almost like he was saying goodnight.

When you finally got Melissa into bed, she mumbled something incomprehensible and turned onto her side, burying her face into the pillow. You climbed in next to her, pulling the blanket over both of you.

The next morning, Melissa seemed strangely calm. She didn’t mention a single thing about the chaos from the night before neither the spiders, nor the attic, nor the little Sweet Cheeks, who was now squealing happily in his popsicle stick house crafted by your girlfriend as if he were grateful to have survived the storm. The morning light filtered through the slightly open curtains, bathing the room in a soft golden hue, but the peace was not enough to hide the constant motion that was happening inside that house.

The green-eyed woman, always practical, was already up, making coffee while you were still trying to muster the courage to get out of bed. The coffee maker hissed softly, and the familiar smell of fresh coffee mixed with the light aroma of bread toasting in the toaster. She walked through the living room with determined steps, holding a cup in her hand and checking the time on her wristwatch. Sweet Cheeks squealed again, and Melissa paused to smile at him, as if he were a coworker to be reassured before a big project.

“Litte fella is going to spend the week with one of my students starting today,” she said casually, adjusting her small hoop earrings as she looked at herself in the hallway mirror. “I think Destiny will like it if we choose her. Her mom said she’s been asking for a guinea pig since Christmas.”

You, still a bit sleepy, made your way to the hallway, your eyes half-closed as you watched her. She was standing there, facing the mirror, adjusting the collar of her seafoam green blazer that seemed to be her second skin. Her red hair, as always, was perfectly styled, and her red lipstick painted her lips like a signature. But there was something in that scene that made you sigh.

“Hun,” you started, leaning your shoulder against the wall while watching her. “Do you think, for one day, you could wear something other than those blazers?”

Melissa turned to you, raising an eyebrow, her face scrunched as if you had just suggested something completely absurd. “Why would I wear anything else? What’s wrong with my blazers?”

You bit your cheek, holding back a playful smile, before continuing. “Nothing... except that you’ve been wearing them practically every day for the last twelve months. Seriously, Lis, you and your blazers are practically one entity. Pretty soon, the people at work are going to start thinking you sleep in them.”

She huffed, but the small smile at the corner of her lips betrayed any indignation. “Oh, sure, because I should dress like I’m going to a fashion event and not to handle a classroom full of seven-year-olds and, occasionally, a squealing guinea pig in the classroom.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I’m not saying you should wear a ball gown,” you replied, moving closer to her and gently holding her shoulders. “Just something that shows you have other options in your wardrobe. Maybe even a cute sweater? Something that says ‘I’m Ms. Schemmenti, but I know how to relax.’”

Olive eyes were dramatically rolled but she didn’t step away from your touch. “You’re stupid.”

“I know. But you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” she joked, a playful glint in her eyes as she grabbed her purse and prepared to leave. Even though she would still wear the damn blazer that day, something in the exchange between you two seemed to soften the routine, as if it was a quiet reminder that, even in the midst of all the hustle, there was room for laughter and a little bit of lightness.

Arriving at Abbott Elementary, the contrast between the two of you was impossible to ignore. Melissa walked ahead of you with firm and confident steps, her bag slung over one shoulder, while you followed close behind, taller and with a more relaxed, almost lazy stride. The height difference between you always drew attention, and, as expected, the school staff didn’t miss the chance to comment when you both entered the building together.

Janine, who was carrying books for her class near the entrance, was the first to notice. “Good morning, friends! Whoa, how is it that you two manage to look even more opposite with each passing day?”

“It’s not about looking opposite,” Jacob chimed in, suddenly appearing with a pile of colorful poster boards. “It’s about synergy. It’s like… a visual metaphor for balance. Small and intense, tall and calm.”

Your girlfriend glared at her former roommate. “J, don’t start,” she warned, adjusting the strap of her bag and heading toward the teacher’s lounge.

Ava, sitting at the reception desk scrolling through her phone, looked up at the sound of the voice coming from the redheaded woman’s mouth. She gave a teasing smirk. “Well, look who’s here! Abbott’s finest. Hey, Stretch,” she joked, waving at you. “How do you not get lost with this little volume button walking next to you?”

Melissa let out a low grumble. “I don’t have time for this, Coleman.”

“No, but seriously, Schemmenti,” the principal continued, completely ignoring her warning tone. “Have you ever thought about carrying a portable step stool? You could stay at her level, like when you talk to your gremlins.”

“Good to know you’re so invested in the school’s academic standards, Ava,” your girlfriend replied sarcastically, pushing the lounge door open without looking back.

You, used to the jokes, just shrugged and headed toward the hallway where your classroom was located. Before going in, you spotted Gregory and O’Shon talking next to a cart full of gym equipment that the district send it a couple weeks ago. Gregory, as usual, had that serious, methodical air about him, while his new friend gestured enthusiastically about something that clearly wasn’t as important as he made it seem.

“Hey, Y/N!” O’Shon exclaimed when he saw you, breaking into a wide grin. “Tell me you’re finally coming to practice with us on Saturday.”

“Maybe,” you replied, tilting your head. “But only if you stop acting like a professional coach every time I miss a shot.”

Gregory let out a light laugh. “If you miss less, he won’t have a reason to act like a coach.”

“Oh, look who decided to be funny today,” you shot back, pointing at him.

“Seriously,” O’Shon cut in, clearly wanting to stay on topic. “You’re tall. You’ve got to use that to your advantage. Last game, we lost because no one could block the other team. If you were there, you’d be like a human wall.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” you replied, even though you knew you’d probably end up going—and that a certain redhead would have something to say about it when she found out.

“Think nothing, you’re coming,” the IT professional insisted.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The rest of the day had started off normally—well, as normal as a day at work could get. By mid-morning, Melissa was already knee-deep in chaos. Sweet Cheeks had escaped his container during a science activity, sending her classroom into a frenzy of shrieks and stomping feet. She managed to catch the little escapee with her usual grit, but her patience had been chipped away early.

The breaking point came during her prep period though. Melissa had gone to the supply closet to grab a new set of markers for her whiteboard and found, yet again, that someone (most likely Janine, your girlfriend muttered to herself) had taken the last box without replacing it. Or the school had ran out of them.

She stood there for a moment, gripping the empty box on the shelf. Her face turned red as frustration bubbled up to the surface. She marched into Ava’s office, the empty box clutched in her hand.

“Ava, can you explain to me why the school budget allows for your luxury coffee machine, but I can’t even get a fresh box of markers?”

The nonsense principal looked up from her phone, unfazed. “First of all, you’re welcome for that coffee machine. It’s what keeps this school afloat, honey. Second of all, markers? Really, Schemmenti? Just borrow some from Jacob or something.”

Melissa’s voice rose as she waved the box in the air. “I’m not borrowing from Hill. You’re supposed to replace the supplies you take. It’s not rocket science!”

“Whoa, calm down, Little Miss Volcano,” Ava said, smirking. “It’s just markers. Don’t have an aneurysm.”

That was it. The second grade teacher stormed out of her boss’s office, slamming the door so hard it rattled the hallway. On her way back to her classroom, she accidentally overheard a couple of other teachers gossiping about her.

“She’s such a hothead,” one of them whispered. “I don’t know how anyone puts up with her, especially her girl.”

“Yeah, can you imagine living with that kind of temper? I prefer death.”

Melissa froze mid-step, their words hitting her like a slap. She felt the sting of tears welling up and cursed under her breath. She stormed into her classroom, locking the door behind her. For once, the strong, fiery Melissa Schemmenti broke down.

You were passing by when you saw the closed door. Something about it didn’t sit right, so you knocked gently before opening it.

The green eyed woman was sitting at her desk, her hands covering her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Mel?” you prompted softly, shutting the door behind you.

She looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. “It’s nothing. Just… this stupid place sometimes…”

You crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in yours. “Talk to me, sweet girl. What happened?”

“People… they talk. They don’t get me. They think I’m just some… angry woman, yelling all the time. I hate that people think I’m hard to love. I’m just—”

“Stop,” you interrupted gently, your thumbs rubbing the backs of her hands. “You’re not hard to love. I love you. More than anything. And anyone who can’t see past your tough side doesn’t know you like I do.”

Her tears spilled over again as she pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re too good to me,” she murmured into your shoulder.

“Not possible,” you whispered back, holding her as long as she needed.

Meanwhile, at lunch, your crew had already caught wind of Melissa’s emotional moment.

“I just don’t get it,” Ava began, her tone dripping with mock confusion, her perfectly manicured nails drumming lightly on the table. “How is Little Miss Angry Bird out here pulling Tall, Calm, and Gorgeous? She’s, like, half her height!” She motioned dramatically as if the sheer concept defied physics.

Jacob, sitting nearby with his reheated vegan lasagna, looked up thoughtfully. He adjusted his tie and smiled nervously, always eager to offer an answer, even when he wasn’t sure of it. “Opposites attract, right?” he ventured, his voice lilting like a question.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Opposites? That’s not opposites. That’s a comedy sketch. You’d think Melissa would need a whole stepladder just to kiss her and she is taller than big foot Teagues.” Her laughter erupted, loud and unapologetic, and even him couldn’t suppress a small chuckle.

At the mention of her last name, Janine shot her head up, trying to defend her grade partner and herself. Not being successful of course. “I’m not that small and so is Mel. Didn’t hear you complain about Frank’s height when he was volunteering with Dee, Mac, Dennis and Charlie here.”

“Shut up. You are going to make me lose my genius thinking.”

From her seat near the window, Barbara Howard, the ever-serene matriarch of the school, closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if summoning patience from a higher power— the Lord himself. When she opened them, her tone was measured but warm, her words as steadfast as her faith. “Relationships aren’t about looking similar or acting the same. Sometimes, it’s about complementing each other. Filling in where the other might be lacking.”

The principal raised an arched brow, unimpressed. “Complementing?” she echoed, dripping with incredulity. “Schemmenti’s basically a firecracker, and she’s dating, what, a tranquil pond?” She shook her head and smirked. “Nah. Doesn’t add up.”

Behind them, the camera crew caught every word. A microphone dipped low over the wooden circular table, capturing the kindergarten teacher’s sage wisdom and the irresponsible boss’s antics alike. And then, as if they’d been cued, the crew began setting up one-on-one interviews to dive deeper into the subject everyone in Willard R. Abbott had been buzzing about: Melissa Schemmenti and you.

First, the camera zoomed in on Janine, who sat forward in her classroom chair, her signature energy bubbling over. She gestured wildly as she spoke, her enthusiasm making her slightly out of breath.

“Okay, so, yeah, at first, I was so surprised,” she admitted, high-pitched with excitement. “I mean, Melissa is all, like, grumpy and tough, and Y/N is, like, so calm and tall and just… really sweet! But the more I see them together, the more I get it.” She paused, clasping her hands together. “It’s kind of beautiful, you know? Like, Melissa’s this fire that keeps you warm, and Y/N is this big, sturdy tree providing shade on a hot day. Together, they’re… they’re like nature! Fire and earth!”

The interviewer asked her to elaborate. “Do you think their differences work well together?”

“Oh, definitely! Like, one time, Melissa got really mad about a substitute parking in her spot, and she was just going off, you know? But Y/N walked over, all calm, and just… put a hand on her shoulder. And she immediately stopped yelling. Like, stopped mid-punch. It was magic!”

Gregory sat stiffly in his chair, his hands folded neatly on the table, his tie perfectly straight. He cleared his throat before speaking, his expression serious as ever.

“Well, I, uh, don’t really involve myself in people’s personal lives,” he began, his tone measured. “But, uh, if I had to say something… I guess it’s kind of like gardening.”

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “Gardening?”

Gregory nodded, suddenly finding his stride. “Yeah. Melissa’s like a tomato plant. Tough, scrappy, grows best when it’s got a strong stake to hold it up. And Y/N… well, Y/N is like the soil. Quiet, steady, full of nutrients. They balance each other out.” He paused, considering his words. “Yeah. That works, reminds me of me and Janine.”

The camera shifted to Ava, who had swapped her usual teacher’s lounge throne for a plush chair in her office. She leaned back, clearly relishing the spotlight.

“Listen, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” she began, throwing her hands in the air. “Melissa? And her? It’s like seeing a fuckin’ pit bull cuddling up to a giraffe. Like, are they cute? Sure. Do they make any sense? Absolutely not.”

The interviewer pressed her, asking if she thought the relationship worked despite the differences.

“Oh, it works,” Ava admitted begrudgingly, crossing her arms. “But not because it makes sense. It works because hot stuff has the patience of a saint. Like, you gotta be a special kind of chill to deal with Ms. Schemmenti every day. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Barb sat poised, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the epitome of grace. Her tone was warm and full of conviction as she spoke.

“Melissa and Y/N remind me of a well-conducted choir,” she began, her analogy surprising yet fitting. “Each voice is different, but when they come together, they create harmony. Melissa Ann has a strong, commanding presence—she’s the brass section, bold and unapologetic. And sweet Y/N is the strings, gentle and grounding. Together, they create something truly special.”

The interviewer smiled, clearly charmed by this wisdom. “So you think they bring out the best in each other?”

Barbara nodded, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Absolutely. Melissa has a fire, a drive that can sometimes be overwhelming, but Y/N doesn’t try to extinguish it. Instead, she nurtures it, gives it room to breathe. And my work wife, in turn, helps Y/N find her voice, to not be too reserved. It’s a beautiful balance.” She paused, her eyes softening with proud tears as she added, “Sometimes, the best partnerships are those where each person isn’t trying to change the other, but rather, they allow each other to grow.”

The shot shifted to Jacob, who seemed more nervous than usual in front of the lens. He adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, his tone quieter than the others.

“Okay, I have to say this,” he began, leaning forward like he was about to spill the juiciest tea. “I was Melissa’s roommate for a year after I broke up with my boyfriend Zach at the time. A whole year. And let me tell you, that woman is intense.” He emphasized the word with wide eyes and a small nod, as though reliving a war story.

The interviewer raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Intense how, Mr. C? Can you elaborate on it?”

“Well…” Jacob started, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “There was this one time—I’ll never forget it—she got mad at me because I accidentally left the door unlocked. It was a mistake! Anyway, she storms into the living room, looks me dead in the eye, and says, ‘Hill, I don’t live with idiots.’ And before I know it, she grabs me by the collar—grabs me by the collar!—and throws me out the front door. Like, I’m talking about the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air style, just like Jazz.”

They adjusted the zoom on his face. “What else ‘bout this day?”

The social studies teacher mimed being flung through the air, his arms flailing dramatically, and even let out a fake “Whooooooaaa!” for good measure. “I literally landed on the porch. The porch! She didn’t even break a sweat!”

The interviewer, struggling to keep a straight face, asked, “So… how does Y/N handle that side of her girlfriend?”

“Oh, it’s wild,” Jacob replied, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’ve seen Melissa go from full-on yelling like, the kind that makes your soul leave your body to totally calm the moment Y/N walks in. It’s like a magic trick. Three words, and boom, Mel Mel’s chill.”

“Final thoughts?”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if to punctuate his point. “It’s honestly amazing. If my mother figure had been dating her back when we were roommates, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up on the porch with a brushed knee. Just saying.”

Lastly, the camera cut to Mr. Johnson, who was leaning casually against a mop handle in the janitor's closet, a knowing grin spreading across his face. He didn’t seem fazed by the camera in the slightest; in fact, he looked like he had been waiting for his moment to shine.

“Oh, you wanna know about Molly Ringwald and her skyscraper of a girlfriend, huh?” the custodian prompted, his tone deep and full of amusement. He leaned in a little closer to the camera, like he was about to spill a secret that no one else dared to.

“Exactly, Mr. J. You can start if you feel ready.”

“Lemme tell you somethin’,” he started, pointing a finger in the air. “One time, I walked outta my closet—this shoebox, right here—and I see Melissa, bold as ever, standin’ on her tiptoes, kissing her girl right there in the parking lot.” He leaned back, shaking his head with a chuckle. “And let me tell you, Schemmenti ain’t no ballerina. She was wobbling like a ladder missing a rung, but she still made it happen.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if to consider the scene again. “Y/N, though? Cool as a cucumber. Didn’t even flinch. Just bent down a little, like it was nothin’. It was like watchin’ a squirrel try to get at a bird feeder, determined, a little ridiculous, but, hey, it worked.”

The interviewer asked if he thought your relationship made sense.

Mr. Johnson shrugged, tapping the mop handle lightly against the floor. “Look, love don’t gotta make sense to me. I’m just the guy who cleans up after everyone. But what I know is, you don’t see Melissa on her tiptoes for just anybody. That’s love right there. Pure, uncut determination.”

“That tall, calm lady of hers? She keeps our fiery redhead grounded. And Melissa, well… she’s like the spark that keeps her girlfriend from fading into the background. They balance each other out, you know?” He nodded, as if he had just explained the mysteries of the universe. “Kind of a miracle if you think about it.”

The camera crew, sensing they had struck gold, lingered for a moment longer as Mr. Johnson put a hand on his bald head.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, gesturing to the mop, “I got a cafeteria to clean before Jacob spills lentils all over the place again.”

Back to the classroom, Melissa wiped the last of her tears with the sleeve of her blazer, her green eyes still glassy as she pulled you closer. You had maneuvered her out of the stiff chair and onto the worn-out beanbag in the corner of her classroom. She leaned against you, her head resting on your chest, while your arms wrapped tightly around her.

“You don’t have to keep being so strong all the time,” you murmured, your fingers gently combing through her auburn hair. “It’s okay to let people in, especially me. You’re my person, sweetheart. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Not easy,” you corrected her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But worth it.”

Your girlfriend lifted her head slightly, her lips curving into a soft smile. Her green eyes searched yours, vulnerable and full of emotion. “You know you’re my miracle, right?” she said quietly.

Your heart swelled at her words. “Melissa Ann…”

“No, let me say it,” she insisted, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “I was fine living my life the way I always did—thinking I didn’t need anyone, thinking I was better off alone. And then you came into my life, and suddenly, everything was brighter, softer. You’re my miracle. You’re what I didn’t know I needed.”

Her words were so heartfelt, so raw, that you couldn’t do anything but kiss her. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but slow and filled with every ounce of love you had for her.

Unbeknownst to either of you, a small group of your colleagues was gathered outside the classroom door, their curiosity getting the better of them. Ava was leading the charge, of course, her phone held up to record whatever she could capture through the small glass window.

“I can’t believe they’re actually cuddling in there,” she gave a shit eating grin, trying to stifle a laugh. “This is like a Hallmark movie gone rogue.”

“Have a little respect,” Barbara hissed, though even she couldn’t hide the soft smile tugging at her lips.

Jacob, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, clasped his hands together. “This is so sweet. Look at them! It’s like watching true love in action.”

Janine wiped her eyes. “They came out of a fairy tale.”

Gregory stood with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. “They’re going to notice us if you keep talking,” he warned, but no one was paying him any attention.

Inside, Melissa pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I don’t care what anyone says about me. As long as I have you, I can handle anything.”

“You’ve always got me,” you promised, leaning in to kiss her again.

Just then, her ears perked up, and she narrowed her eyes at the door. “Hold on.”

The crew outside froze like deer caught in headlights as Melissa abruptly stood and strode to the door. She swung it open, revealing Ava, Jacob, Barbara, Janine and Gregory all huddled together, looking incredibly guilty.

“Jesus,” Melissa growled, crossing her arms. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ava straightened up, smirking unapologetically. “We were just checking to make sure our girl is in the right hands.”

The redhead blinked, caught off guard. “Your girl?”

Barb nodded, stepping forward with a gentle smile. “You deserve to be loved, dear. And from what we’ve seen, you’re with someone who does that perfectly.”

Jacob chimed in, practically glowing with excitement. “It’s true! She’s your perfect balance. Like I said earlier—yin and yang!”

Melissa’s stern expression softened, her eyes flicking to you before she looked back at the group. “Well… I guess it’s good to know I’m being monitored like a soap opera,” she complained, though the slight blush creeping up her cheeks gave her away.

“Anytime, Schemmenti,” Ava quipped, winking before turning to leave. “But for real, you’ve got yourself a keeper. Don’t mess it up.”

The group dispersed, leaving you and her standing in the doorway. She let out an exasperated sigh but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as she turned to you.

“Well,” she said, leaning against the doorframe and giving you a look that was equal parts love and amusement, “looks like I’ve got their approval. Not that I needed it.”

You laughed, pulling her back into your arms. “It’s nice to know, though.”

She kissed you again, quick but tender. “Yeah, well… I already knew I was in the right hands.”

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