Chapter Text
Clyde had heard it all week about potential dates from Mellie who had, against his better wishes, created a Latch account for him. He hadn’t heard of the service before and he figured it had been picked up by Mellie during a conversation with one of her clients.
All he had heard was this girl that and this guy what-its since Mellie brought it up. Clyde had begun to mindlessly block out the conversations whenever they had come up because he didn’t want to entertain it.
On Monday, Mellie had reported one of her clients found him attractive.
On Tuesday, Mellie nudged his arm over breakfast and asked if there was anyone at Duct Tape he met.
Wednesday she broke down and confessed she feared he would die alone. Clyde assured her she was an idiot for thinking such and promised he just hadn’t been looking for a relationship and had no intention of dying a lonely bachelor.
The day following Wednesday, Mellie shoved a couple messages in his face and went on for about half an hour about how “all these people are interested in you, why won’t you take advantage of this?”
Friday Clyde had forgotten whatever she mentioned about his dying love life because when he picked her up from her salon, and she had opened her mouth and uttered the words “my friend…” he had pressed down on the gas and threatened to let her walk home.
Saturday he had physically braced himself in expectation for her lectures about his non-existent love life, but surprisingly, she had left him alone that day.
Sunday Mellie ambushed him and initiated an awkward two, nearly three, hour long conversation on why he didn’t want a relationship right now and why Mellie believed he was a dumbass for it.
Not that Clyde had been ungrateful for her attempts at trying to force him out of his solitude, he knew Mellie had only the best intentions regardless how aggressive it could come across at times.
“This guy’s kind of cute.” Mellie had reported from her spot in the passenger seat where she had been juggling her phone and a plastic cup from the gas station filled with half melted ice chips and sweet tea since they began driving.
“I already went ‘nd told you, Mellie,” Clyde sighed heavily in exhaustion at the resurface of the topic that seemed to have kept badgering him no matter how much he had attempted to dismiss it. “I’m not lookin’ for a relationship at the moment.”
Mellie shook her head disapprovingly as she continued to swipe through matches.
She made this account for her brother a couple days ago; she had been the one to set up the profile and took the majority of the photos that had been provided for the account. Some of them were just photos taken of physical photos they had at home, photos Clyde didn’t even know existed and probably wouldn’t ever since he never bothered to actually check what Mellie put.
“You were just flirtin’ with that blonde the other night.” Mellie pointed out as she took another long sip through the red straw of her gas station plastic cup.
“That’s…” Clyde gestured negatively with his head, “...not the same as lookin’ for a partner,” He looked briefly at Mellie then back to the road, “You know that.”
“Then you’re just giving mixed signals.” Mellie continued to scroll.
“Seriously, cut it out,” Clyde shot her another look that went ignored, “You’re the one, what’s it called, catfishin’ as me on that app.” He gave a gesture to Mellie’s phone with his prosthetic hand that, when gestured with, was stiff and doesn’t roll at the wrist like it would had he used his other hand.
“No,” Mellie replied quickly whilst she situated herself into a more comfortable position on Clyde’s passenger seat, “I’m not one of them, I've been tellin’ people upfront I’m your sister tryin’ to set you up.”
The comment caused Clyde to groan and knit his brows upward together. Great. Clyde thought to himself. Now people in whatever radius Mellie has set must have thought he was some lonely, bar tending bachelor who had to rely on his younger sister to get him a date, or at the bare minimum, laid.
“I think you should go on ahead and delete that account.” Clyde remarked again for what was probably the five hundredth time but Mellie still hadn’t relented. Clyde was sure she had been doing all this partially for her own entertainment.
As Clyde slowed the car, his sister shoved the phone into his face which caused him to instinctively lean back and whack his head on the window.
“Ain’t he cute? He’s got dimples.” Mellie smiled as she presented Clyde with a photo of a fancy-pants redhead holding up a wine glass.
“He looks snobby.” Clyde pushed the phone away as he opened the car door but had quickly been stopped from exiting by his sister who was clearly insistent to show him more about this match she’s found.
“Wait, wait,” Mellie reached over to grab hold of Clyde’s bicep so he couldn't flee the vehicle, “Look at his bio. It says here, ‘I may be six foot three, but I still like being the little spoon’. Ain’t that funny?”
“It’s a little pathetic is what it is.” Clyde corrected as he narrowed his eyes to shoot Mellie a glance, a glance that questioned if she was being serious or not. If he wasn’t so annoyed, maybe he would have found the comment a bit funny.
“I’m startin’ to think you’re more interested in usin’ my face to find someone for yourself or one of those clients you’ve grown too comfortable yammerin’ to.” Clyde had added.
“I mean,” Mellie gave a shrug of her shoulders, “He’s real cute ‘n all. He looks rich too.”
Clyde groaned and picked up the pace in which he walked.
“Look, he’s listed here that Clark Kent was one of his childhood idols.” Mellie exited the car as Clyde did, but her words had just barely reached his ears.
“Clark Kent?” Clyde had echoed back incredulously whilst he began to walk away from his vehicle, “You mean, like… Superman?”
“No, I mean Clark Kent,” Mellie had caught up quickly to her brother and presented the profile to him, where she pointed directly to the words “Clark Kent” written in Ned’s Latch bio in a quote under his about me: “See? Not Superman.”
Clyde let out a prolonged sigh as they came to a stop. He squinted his eyes to look down at the phone screen that was reflecting the sun’s beams back into his eyes. He put his good hand up to eyebrow level to work as a visor to block the sun out so he could then look at his sister: “Where in hell are you findin’ these people?”
“Ohio, apparently.” Mellie closed out of Latch, but not before she swiped right on the fancy-pants ginger’s profile.
“Anything ever good come outta Ohio?” Clyde remarked with a gruff grunt as he scratched his goatee.
“Iornically,” Mellie laughed as the pair walked onto the sidewalk, “I think Superman was made in Ohio.”
Clyde groaned once more and Mellie snorted.
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