For Meddison :)

💙 for meddison :)

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

--

She isn't drunk, Addison Forbes-Montgomery does not do drunk, thank you very much, however, she's fairly certain that someone spiked the fruit punch a little too enthusiastically to be appropriate at a party thrown at a damn hospital. Then again, Grey Sloan has never been an institution to do anything by the books.

(She suspects Helm, but can't prove it.)

Meredith's standing a little too close to just be platonic, or is it Addison herself who stepped into the other woman's personal bubble? Either way, Meredith doesn't seem to mind, and Addison is happy, because she'd much rather be standing next to Meredith than anyone else currently present -- and no, she won't be unpacking that mental statement either, thank you very much.

This party has been going on for much longer than Addison would have liked, but her coat is at the very bottom of the pile in the corner, and she can't be bothered to dig it out of the mess. --Okay, and maybe she's enjoying her time spent in Meredith's aura, even though her shoes are making her feet hurt and she's starting to get hungrier than the snacks available will satiate.

Slowly, the crowd of partygoers decreases, until Addison and Meredith are the only ones left standing in the middle of the room, still mere inches from each other.

And Addison decides to act on the impulse that has been bouncing around in her brain ever since she returned to Seattle.

"I'm--" She pauses until she's certain Meredith is listening to her. "I'm going to do something, and if it goes disastrously we can just say we were drunk and don't remember it tomorrow, okay?"

Meredith frowns, but nods, setting her own glass of wine down to the side.

"Okay."

"Okay," Addison repeats, before stepping forward and pressing her lips against Meredith's.

God that wine was cheap, she thinks as she tastes the drops still on Meredith's lips, and then she doesn't think again until their lips part again and the first thought on her mind is oh God.

But Meredith smiles.

"I think I'd like to remember this. Maybe we should do it again, just to be sure."

THE ANGST HURTS SO GOOD

meddison 🖤 (make me cry)

“You’re leaving.”

“Meredith—” she sighs. “Not here, please.”

“Fine,” she says, clipped.

Meredith drags her into a supply closet. “You were just going to leave without telling me! That’s not— It’s not fair, Addison.”

“I know.”

Meredith is quiet, leans a hand against the racks, bracing herself. “What does L.A. have that I don’t?” 

Addison throws her hands up in defeat. “It’s not that simple—”

“Then tell me.”

“You kissed me, Meredith!” she says, harsh. Voice fraying. 

Meredith remembers two weeks ago, unsteady and unsure. Dragging Addison into an on-call room. She hadn’t planned on it. Reaching up and pulling Addison’s lips to her own. Soft and full. 

“You kissed me back—” Meredith hurls at her. Then softer, “I wouldn’t’ve done it if I’d known.”

“Meredith,” Addison shakes her head, runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m not leaving because of you.”

Meredith feels disappointment, sharp and acute, blooming in her sternum. An awful, ugly part of her wishes Addison wanted to leave because of her. At least then it would have mattered. 

“Then why, Addison?”

“It’s too much, being here.” Addison pauses, gathers herself. “I walk around and all I see are ghosts. I can’t live like this, Meredith!”

Meredith hates how small her voice sounds, “But what about me?”

Addison’s face hardens. “What about you?” She laughs incredulously. “You’ll go back to your life here, with your boyfriend, and everyone else. This. Us,” she pauses, gesturing to the space between them. “Was just something you used to fill the void when you were alone and suicidal.”

Meredith flinches away. “You don’t get to do that—” she says, angry. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse to question my judgment every time I make a choice you don’t like!” 

“You don’t want me, Meredith—”

Meredith cuts her off, “Is that why you kissed me back? Because you were scared I was going to—”

“Don’t.” Addison deflates, “No, Meredith. You know that’s not why.”

“Say it, Addison.”

“I have nothing more to say. I don’t owe you anything.” Addison turns, reaches for the door. 

Desperate, Meredith grabs her arm. “We were friends, or— Or something before that—”

Addison wrenches her arm away, pivots, hair whipping around as she faces Meredith. “No! No Meredith, we were nothing.” 

Meredith recoils as if she’s been slapped. “I—'' I hate you, it forms heavy on the tip of her tongue but she can't say it. 

Addison seems to realize her mistake. “Meredith, I’m—”

“Save it.”

“Meredith, look at me.” Against her better judgment, Meredith does. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” 

Meredith feels a tear roll down her cheek. Gently, Addison brushes it away with her thumb. Her hand lingers, fingers splaying across Meredith’s cheek. Addison leans forward, tipping Meredith’s chin so she can feel Addison’s breath on her lips. Addison kisses her, tender. Meredith sinks into it. Her lips are warm and soft, and for a second Meredith believes it’s going to be okay.

Then lightly, Meredith pushes at Addison’s shoulder, steps away from her. 

“Goodbye, Addison. I hope— I hope L.A. works out for you.” Meredith leaves Addison in the supply closet, soft eyes and parted lips.

True to her word, Addison is gone the next morning.

read on ao3

stealing photos from evelyncelia and linny pinterest boards for my meddison moodboard bc its the easiest way to find blonde/redhead pics lmfao

(me on a first date) and what do you think of the inherent intimacy of surgery? have you considered the love someone must have to put their hands under your skin and hold the most grotesque parts of you and put them back together nicely? is anyone really closer to you than that? we all get uh a little enamored on the surgery table don't we haha. wait come back

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: July 1. Too tired. END ID]