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But if you are honest, it is Emily, and normal would be the wrong kind of definition after yesterday. You had stood together in front of your dorm, you wrapped in her jacket, while Emily looked at you as though she wanted to hold on to the image forever. You think back to her embrace, to the way she told you she wanted to see you again. And how could something like that be normal when she had driven all this way just to see you?
You have tried not to overthink it, you have terribly failed.
“Are you finally ready?” Claire’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn around to find her standing in the doorway, already wearing her coat. Her eyes move over you, then toward the clothes on your bed, and finally back to you. The small smile on her face tells you that she knows something is going on.
“Do not”, you warn her with a finger in the air, checking your outfit one last time.
“I did not say anything.”
“You were about to,” you complain.
Claire laughs softly and steps into the room. “Y/N, it is Emily.”
You look away, pretending to search for something in your bag. “I know.”
“No, I do not think you do.” She shakes her head, amused. “She has seen you during our visit at home, in pajamas, I might add. She has seen you after you have slept three hours. And she has seen you after the mall… I promise you, she is not sitting there wondering if your sweater is the right choice.”
You hate that she is making sense, because Claire does not understand why this feels different for you. Why you are making a fuss about your choice of outfit. How could she? To her, Emily is familiar. Safe. Someone she trusts. Someone who has always been there in some way. She does not know that yesterday Emily stood outside your dorm, held your hand, kissed your cheek, and left you standing there feeling like the entire world had shifted.
She does not know that you have thought about it every few hours since and you definitely cannot tell her.
Claire jingles the keys in her hands, gives your outfit a thumbs up, and gestures toward the door. “Come on. Before we’re late.”
The city is crowded with people, and when you step out of the far too full bus, Claire throws you a look of exaggerated annoyance. “If we had left earlier, we wouldn’t have had to squeeze ourselves into a school bus.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, looking around as you try to get your bearings.
Her gray hair is worn loose today, soft waves curling at the ends, one strand falling into her face. Beneath her black blazer, a blue blouse is visible. You like the color, although red suits her better. She sits near the window, waiting, one hand tapping an unfamiliar rhythm against the tabletop while the other rests on her thigh. She looks different from yesterday. Less exhausted, more composed, but you can see the traces of the long day behind her eyes.
Claire pushes the door open, and a small bell announces your arrival. Emily’s eyes find you instantly. You had tried to prepare yourself internally for every possible scenario, but your mind goes completely blank. There is a difference between thinking about seeing someone again and actually seeing them. Even though it has been less than twenty-four hours since the last time you saw each other.
You just stand there in the middle of the entrance, feeling Emily’s eyes skim over your outfit, your face, with the knowledge that yesterday is still between you. That both of you remember it. The hug. The kiss on your cheek. The way neither of you seemed quite ready to say goodbye.
Claire, completely unaware of the conversation happening without a single word, brightens at the sight of her godmother. “Emily!” The excitement in her voice breaks the moment, and you feel relieved to be out of the spotlight.
Claire slips past you and reaches Emily within a few steps.
“Claire,” Emily greets her. “It is so good to see you. How are you?”
The hug is effortless, natural. It reminds you again that Emily is not just someone Claire knows. She is her family. Claire trusts and looks up to her, and has always spoken about her with so much warmth that you understand why seeing her again means so much.
“I’m good. And you? How was your drive?”
They are talking excitedly about Emily’s drive and the school bus debacle, but you remain frozen in place. That is, until Emily’s gaze finds yours again.
You do not know what you are supposed to do. A hug feels like too much, a formal greeting totally wrong. Yesterday, you had been close enough to feel her heartbeat, to smell her perfume. She had held you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Today, there are so many people around you, Claire right beside you, and you are painfully aware that you have no idea what the rules are anymore. Emily seems to realize it at the exact same moment.
Her expression softens, but you can see the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You know she is not making fun of you or your reaction. She understands what is happening inside your head, the battle you are fighting between what feels right and what feels like too much. She tilts her head and looks at you expectantly, leaving the decision entirely up to you, letting you decide how you want to handle the situation.
“Hi,” you manage to say and your voice sounds much steadier than you feel. You take a small step toward her, leaving only an arm’s length between you.
“Hi,” she replies, giving you a reassuring smile.
“Well,” Claire mumbles, taking off her coat as she looks between the two of you, “that was the most dramatic hello I have ever witnessed.”
Your face heats at her words, and you have to admit, you are completely thrown off. Whatever clever answer might have existed disappears from your mind, leaving you painfully aware that you have no idea what to say.
When you look at Emily, she is hiding a smile as she says, “Was it?” Emily always seems to know exactly how to react in situations like this, or at least it feels that way to you. Unlike the way you stumble through them, never quite sure what to say or where to look.
You turn uncertainly toward Claire before finding Emily again, her hand settling on your shoulder as she gives it a gentle squeeze and guides you toward the chair. A warm shiver runs through you, and you are certain Emily notices it. Her fingers press a little more firmly into your shoulder before she lets go.
“Yes.” Claire sits down. “You two were standing there like you forgot how conversations work.”
You breathe out once, still feeling the heat in your cheeks, while Emily laughs softly and takes the seat right beside you. Maybe that is her strategy, never giving Claire enough of a reaction to make things worse.
“If you’re hungry, we can still order from the food menu until half past.”
Claire turns toward you, her brows pulling together. “I still cannot believe you nearly made us late. We would have missed the food.”
“Excuse me? I didn’t know you already wanted to eat again. We had a huge burger at the dining hall.”
Claire shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “I didn’t finish the burger. Besides, we had to leave earlier because you still wanted to change. And then you changed again. And again.”
“I genuinely didn’t,” you protest, avoiding looking in Emily’s direction.
“You changed your shirt twice and then went for this sweater.” Your entire body stills for a second at Claire’s words, and from the corner of your eye, you notice Emily watching you. “I told you it was fine. You could have just worn the first one. We’re only having coffee, not walking a runway.”
“Claire,” you grumble warningly, heat creeping up your face again. “You are making this sound much worse than it was.”
Never before have you felt so exposed, and the fact that it is your best friend putting you on the spot does not make it any better. You bite the inside of your cheek nervously, your fingers playing with the hem of your sweater as you avoid looking up.
“You think?” Claire asks, laughing. “It is true, all the options would have been fine.”
You look up, ready to say something, just as Emily turns toward you, amusement already visible in her expression. Instead of saying anything, she reaches for the menu and slides it across the table toward you.
“What?” you ask, suspicious of the smile she is trying not to show.
“Nothing.”
You narrow your eyes at her. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I was just thinking.”
“That is never a good sign,” you mumble, finally taking the menu from her.
Claire laughs at the exchange, scratching her jaw as she nods in agreement. You, on the other hand, want nothing more than to disappear.
Emily laughs under her breath. “How many shirts did you actually try?”
You stare at her. “I’m not telling you.”
“Three?”
“No.”
“Four?”
You look at her, offended, and playfully swat at her arm. “I am not answering that.”
Her smile grows at your defensiveness. “Five?”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Maybe a little,” she admits with a laugh, her hand brushing against your forearm for a second.
You shake your head, but you cannot stop the smile pulling at your own mouth. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile as you press your lips together to keep from laughing out loud. It is only when you turn toward Claire that your smile fades. She has been watching the two of you without saying a word, a questioning expression settling across her face. Her gaze moves from you to Emily and back again before she disappears behind her menu. Your heart beats a little faster. Did she notice something?
“You know, Claire was right,” Emily declares. “You should have worn the blue shirt.”
Your eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
Claire lowers her menu a little, and the expression on her face tells you she knows something between you and Emily has changed. Emily, however, carries on talking as though she has not noticed. “She said you should just wear what you picked first.”
You stare at her, then at Claire, pointing from one to the other. “You talked about this?”
“Briefly,” Emily admits, gesturing toward her phone. “We texted an hour ago because I sent her the location.”
“Traitor,” you mutter.
“I believe her argument was that it is only coffee and she does not understand why you were tearing your wardrobe apart. Is that right, Claire?”
“Yes,” Claire answers, only half listening, completely absorbed by the overwhelming selection of food. Or perhaps she is only pretending to be. You cannot tell.
“She does not understand,” you say a little quieter, feeling your heartbeat speed up far too much.
“No,” Emily agrees, looking at you. “I don’t think she does, but I do.”
But I do. The words repeat themselves in your head, over and over, until you can no longer hold Emily’s gaze and your eyes drop to the words you have already read for what must be the tenth time. Water, Coke, Sprite. Your fingers tremble slightly as you turn the page.
The moment passes when Claire starts talking again, and you are grateful for the distraction. You order your drinks, and Claire decides on a small piece of cake.
At the mention of the name, your leg starts bouncing nervously beneath the table. It is an annoying habit, one you have never managed to get rid of. The thought of talking about Isabelle now makes you uneasy, and you know it has everything to do with Emily beside you.
“Try it first,” Emily encourages, taking another sip of her coffee. “Just in case you recommend it to her and it turns out it’s terrible.”
Claire nods eagerly and picks up a piece with her fork. “You’re right.” She takes the first bite and hums dramatically. “Oh, she’s definitely coming here.”
Your leg keeps moving and moving. You know this is a completely normal conversation. Nobody has said anything wrong, and nobody is paying attention to you, but the uneasy feeling inside you refuses to disappear.
You think back to your conversation with Claire, when you told her that you did not like Isabelle as much as she wanted you to. Maybe that is where the feeling comes from. Or because Emily was on the phone that night, listening as Isabelle came over to you, and never brought up the party or Isabelle again. You do not even know what exactly you are afraid of anymore, but your body seems to know on its own.
Without looking at you, Emily lowers her gaze toward the space beneath the table. You feel the warmth of her knee pressing lightly against the outside of your leg. Barely any pressure. Your breath catches at the contact, and you let your leg go still beneath hers.
Emily continues listening to Claire as if nothing happened, nodding at something she says before taking another sip of her coffee. She never looks at you, but her knee stays exactly where it is.
“Okay… this is actually amazing.” Claire stares at the piece of cake in complete disbelief before looking back at Emily. “I’m serious. I think this might be one of the best cakes I’ve ever had.”
Emily smiles into her coffee. “That’s a bold statement after three bites.”
“No, listen.” Claire lifts her fork as if she were about to defend a dissertation. “This is exactly the kind of cake Isabelle loves. Not too sweet, fluffy, the cream isn’t heavy…” She takes another bite before she can finish her own sentence and lets out another satisfied hum. “She’s going to lose her mind.”
“So you’ve already decided for her?” Emily asks, amusement flickering across her face. You study her thoughtfully, going over the evening of the party in your head. Does the mention of Isabelle really not affect her at all? Are you just overthinking this?
Claire looks at you, then at Emily, and shrugs innocently. “She’ll thank me later. She usually does.”
You listen closely to Emily’s words, and you start to understand the kind of life she lives. How many compromises she has to make. How rarely she is actually home.
Claire leans forward and taps the side of her forehead. “Let me guess. You still read the reviews beforehand.”
“I do. I like knowing what I’m recommending before I invite someone. You know that. It’s no secret.”
Claire smiles warmly and claps her hands under her chin. “That is so you. You always looked up restaurants whenever we went on trips. Dad almost lost his mind every time you found a new place with great steaks.”
You listen, your eyes lingering on Emily’s expression and the relaxed position of her shoulders. She speaks freely, her answers coming before she has time to reconsider them. There are no pauses where she weighs how much she wants to reveal, no careful explanations added afterward. You realize how rarely you get to see her like this, with her guard down, her words less measured, and for once, you are not wondering what she is leaving unsaid.
“So,” Claire continues, brushing a few crumbs from the table, “how’s everyone?”
You furrow your brow, wondering who Claire means, while Emily’s smile tells you she already knows.
“They’re good. The usual banter here and there, but we’re getting along.” She gives her goddaughter a small wink. “Same as always.”
“Still surviving each other?” Claire asks, and you assume she means Emily’s team. There is something familiar in the way they talk about them, as though you have walked into a conversation that started long before you arrived.
“Barely.”
Claire laughs, reaching for her glass before adding, “And Penelope?”
Your brows draw together again. You wish you could follow their conversation a little better, but for now, you are left listening, trying to piece together the people and stories you have only ever heard mentioned in passing.
Emily’s smile grows. “She’s still convinced everyone in the office is chronically underfed.”
“Because they are,” Claire says, completely serious.
Emily laughs, shaking her head. “I think she says that every time someone skips lunch.”
“Which is why she’s probably right. I hope she’s keeping an eye on you.” There’s an undertone in Claire’s voice, and you can’t shake the feeling that there is some history behind those words.
“I think that has become a full-time job,” Emily admits, her attention drifting toward Claire’s cake, which has been untouched on her plate for several minutes now. “She left another bag of snacks on my desk yesterday.”
“Did you actually eat them this time?” Claire asks teasingly, eating another forkful of her cake.
Emily hesitates just long enough for Claire to grin knowingly. “…Eventually.”
Claire has told you plenty of times about Emily’s unhealthy eating habits. How rarely she eats regularly, how often she orders food because she never has time to cook. Your thoughts drift back to yesterday evening, to Emily telling you about Taco Bell and how she ate three meals there for three days.
You think back to Judy’s attempt to send her off with as much food as possible when Emily was called away for a case back then. Everyone seems to know these things about her. Everyone except you. Your leg starts bouncing again and the pressure against your knee intensifies.
“And Rossi?” Claire continues, taking another bite of her cake.
At the mention of his name, Emily's face lights up. “He still gets to the office before everyone else.”
“I don’t think that man sleeps. So what brought you here this time?”
The question settles over the table. You turn your attention toward Emily, whose eyebrow lifts at her goddaughter’s question. “A consultation. The local department asked for another set of eyes. We’ve been working with them for the last couple of days.”
“So you’re staying a little longer?” Claire asks hopefully.
You catch your lower lip between your teeth. Would Emily stay longer and want to see you again? Would she text you, ask you to go for a walk in the middle of the night? You know you shouldn’t hope for her to find time for you again… but the wish is there, stronger than you would like to admit.
“I can’t say that yet. It depends on how the case develops and what needs to be done afterward,” Emily replies.
Your stomach drops and your leg jerks upward again, but Emily’s knee meets yours again, stopping the movement before it can go any further.
You glance toward her, but her attention remains on Claire, who is watching her godmother with visible disappointment. “You don’t know?”
Emily shakes her head, her knee remaining against yours. “It depends on how the investigation develops.”
Claire sighs, and you do your best to keep your own disappointment from showing. “I hate when you say things like that.”
Emily gives her an apologetic smile. “I know, but that’s my job. I can’t change that. But if I stay longer, we’ll see each other again. I promise.”
“No…” Claire smiles as well, shaking her head. “I don’t mean it like that. I just wish your job came with normal working hours every once in a while.”
“So do I.” Something unreadable crosses Emily’s face, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. You cannot help but wonder whether she is thinking about her job or about yesterday. About what it would be like to have more time next time, enough to plan something instead of letting the hours disappear.
Claire reaches for her coffee again. “And next time you’re here—” Her sleeve catches the handle and the cup tips in slow motion.
“Shit!” Claire jumps to her feet and grabs the cup, but the coffee is already completely gone. Coffee has spilled everywhere. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Emily answers as you reach for the napkins at the exact same time, causing your fingers to brush against hers. Together, the three of you quickly wipe up the coffee, catching the last drops before they reach the edge of the table or make an even bigger mess.
Claire looks down at the brown stain on the sleeve of her cardigan and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Well… I guess I’m going to the bathroom.” She grabs a handful of napkins, her phone, and her bag. “I’ll be back before I manage to embarrass myself any further.”
A smile spreads across your face, and you finally feel comfortable enough to contribute something to the conversation. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Very funny.” Still shaking her head, Claire disappears behind the corner that leads to the restrooms, muttering something about never being trusted with hot drinks again.
Your gaze settles on the coffee swirling lazily inside your cup, but concentrating on it proves impossible. Every thought circles back to the same thing. Emily. She is sitting close enough that your knees brush beneath the table, and you cannot remember when you stopped leaving space between you.
Now that Claire is gone, you notice every little detail you had managed not to think about before. The warmth of Emily’s knee. The soft brush of her blazer sleeve against your arm whenever she reaches for her cup. The faint scent of her perfume, lingering in the space between you and growing stronger whenever she turns toward you.
Your fingers tighten around the cup, the warmth of the porcelain giving you something else to focus on. It does not last. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Emily looking at you.
A nervous smile tugs at your lips. “I don’t think I went anywhere. I was right here.” You don’t miss how defensive you sound, and sigh.
“No?” Her gaze stays on you, patient rather than demanding.
You shake your head, even though you know exactly what she means. “I was just thinking.”
“And what were you thinking about?” she asks gently, her eyes flickering toward your legs. “About why you’re so nervous? Or why you changed your shirt three times?”
Caught, you look at her, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Nervous? Me? I’m not…”
“Your outfit changes tell me something else. Besides, you have this habit of bouncing your leg whenever a topic makes you uncomfortable or you don’t know how to handle a situation.” She pauses. “You did it when we talked about Isabelle, too.”
Your stomach tightens at the name, and you still your leg. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot.”
You stare at her, unsure whether that answer makes you feel more exposed or safe. “I keep forgetting that nothing gets past you,” you murmur, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just notice everything.”
“Not everything, Y/N.” She takes a deep breath before adding, “I notice you.”
The words are spoken so naturally that they take a second to settle. When they do, they leave your heart beating painfully against your ribs. There is no teasing in her voice, no hidden joke you can use to make the moment less intimate. She says it as though it is the most obvious thing in the world.
You look down at your cup, unable to meet her eyes. “That’s… probably worse.”
“Why?” she asks, her eyes dropping to your hand, your fingers pressing into your thigh hard enough to leave little crescents in your skin.
Her smile deepens, but she does not immediately answer. “Would you really want me to tell you?”
You glance at her again, and the warmth in her eyes is enough to make you regret the question before you even answer. Why do you always have to say everything that crosses your mind? “I don’t know, probably better if you don’t.”
“That’s okay.” Her voice remains calm. “You don’t have to know yet.”
You look at her for another second, trying to understand how she manages to make something as simple as being noticed feel so much more intimate than it should.
“I still don’t really know how to act around you.” The confession escapes you against your will. You wish you could catch it and put it back where it came from, but it is already sitting between you.
You expect her to laugh or reassure you, but she does neither. Very slowly, Emily’s hand leaves the side of her coffee cup. Your eyes follow the movement, expecting her to reach for it again, but she lowers her hand into her lap, closer to where your own hand rests hidden beneath the table.
Your breath catches at her proximity. She does not look at you and does not make the moment bigger than it is. She simply leaves her hand there, giving you the choice of how to react. No pressure. No expectation. Just an open hand waiting in the space between you.
By now, she knows exactly how you work, and that makes your nerves intensify. There is something unbearable about being understood this easily, about knowing she has noticed the things you have been trying so hard to hide. She notices the smallest changes, the things everyone else misses. But this feels different. This is not Emily reading a person across a table because it is part of what she does. This is Emily paying attention to you.
You let your own hand settle beside hers, already feeling her body heat as nervousness moves through you. Her eyes drop to your hand and then return to yours, searching for your consent. When you nod, her fingers move closer, her fingertips brushing the back of your hand.
You remain exactly where you are, your fingers tingling beneath her touch. She turns her hand, letting her fingers settle around yours, hidden from everyone else. The warmth of her hand seeps into yours, and when her thumb moves over your knuckles, you have to remind yourself to breathe. This woman affects you in a way you have never experienced before.
“You don’t have to know,” she murmurs, her thumb moving across your knuckles once more. “You don’t have to figure it all out. We can just let it happen.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure I’m doing any of it well.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” she replies, her voice carrying a warmth that makes it difficult to dismiss the reassurance as mere kindness. “You’re nervous, and you’re still here. You’re trying, even when you have no idea what you’re supposed to do next. I think that counts for something.”
“I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying not to stare at you,” you admit with a quiet laugh, closing your eyes in embarrassment. Of all the things you could have said, that had to be the one. “So I’m not sure I’m doing any of this very well.”
“I know,” is all she says, and you look at her in confusion. The answer is so immediate, so certain, that you almost wonder if you heard her correctly.
“You know?” you ask, unable to believe it.
“I’ve spent the last ten minutes pretending not to notice.” A small dimple appears on her right cheek as she says it. “I thought I was being subtle, but apparently neither of us is particularly good at pretending today.”
word count: 2.6k
Summary: When Emily reaches out to Claire, your stomach drops, and you realize your next reunion is much closer than you expected.
tags: college!reader, fem!reader, unitchief!emily prentiss, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn, use of y/n
Masterlist • Taglist• Series masterlist • AO3
The next morning, you wake up with the realization that your first thought is not about the mall. There is no gnawing fear, no distress running through your system. All you can think about is Emily.
That alone is enough to make you stare at the ceiling for several minutes, questioning your own sanity. If you are honest, nothing really happened between the two of you. Not in the way people usually mean when they say something happened.
There was no confession or conversation where everything suddenly became clear. No moment where either of you crossed a line and made it impossible to go back. Emily walked with you. You talked about everything and nothing. Yes, she hugged you and she kissed your cheek. Somehow, all of those things combined feel like something significant happened, even though you know you might be exaggerating.
What happened yesterday did not happen because of the mall. You cannot blame adrenaline, fear, or the strange circumstances that brought you together. Your last few encounters had always been shaped by the aftermath and reactions of what happened at the mall. Last night, on the other hand, was simple. Emily was there because she wanted to be. You were the reason, and the thought alone makes your body go into overdrive.
Reluctantly, you get out of your warm, comfortable bed and look for something to wear for the day. Your cheek is still tingling, and you catch yourself running your fingers over the spot Emily kissed again and again. Lost in your thoughts, you bite down on your lower lip, tugging lightly at it before letting out a quiet sigh. You try not to think about when you will see Emily again and what that next time will look like. It is difficult to tell where this relationship between you is going, especially when the two of you live such completely different lives. Emily will not always be able to make time for you, her job demands so much from her, just as the university demands so much from you. Two different lives…
By the time you walk back into your room after getting ready, Claire is finally awake. She is sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open in front of her and a cup of coffee balanced dangerously close to her notes. You immediately reach for it.
“Careful,” you warn her. “You are about to destroy half your work.”
Claire looks up before following your gaze toward the cup. “You are exaggerating. I had everything under control.”
“You still put it there,” you point out. “You spent days working on that essay. Professor Millic has high standards. You do not want to hand in something half-finished, do you?”
“Y/N,” she breathes, looking at you with amusement. “Please relax. Everything is fine. Nothing happened.”
You stare at her, completely unconvinced. You helped her with the essay. In a way, it feels like your work too. “Easy for you to say. If all of that got ruined…”
She only shrugs. “I like living dangerously.”
A smile pulls at your lips, and apparently, that is all it takes for your best friend to notice. Claire narrows her eyes, a pleased grin on her face. “There it is again.”
“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning in confusion as your eyes wander around the room until they land on your bag, resting against the side of your bed. A glance at the clock tells you that you do not have much time left before your next lecture.
“That.” She points at you and cocks her head to the side. “That smile.”
You roll your eyes, reaching for your bag, ready to let the topic drop. Your best friend is so damn nosy and observant. So you do your best and smooth your voice before answering: “I smile all the time. I have no idea what you mean.”
“Not like that,” your best friend replies, taking another sip of her coffee. “That smile is definitely different from your usual one. I swear, it’s more honest, warmer…”
You try to ignore the warmth creeping into your cheeks. You hate how well your best friend knows you, and even more that it seems to be written all over your face that you saw Emily yesterday. “Claire,” you mumble warningly, “Drop it. That’s my daily smile, okay?”
“No, I am serious.” She leans forward a little bit, studying you with genuine concern. “You have been different since yesterday. You are in a better mood, smiling like an idiot… and so on.”
Your fingers pause around the strap of your bag, your mind getting caught on the word different. Because unfortunately, she is exactly right. Still, you try to avoid the conversation. “I’m just having a good day, am I not allowed to be in a good mood? It happens, you know?”
Claire looks at you for a moment and stays quiet. That is one of the things you appreciate most about her. She knows when to push and when to let things be. She can be impossible, dramatic, and way too curious for her own good, but when it matters, Claire knows the difference between something you are not ready to talk about and something you are hiding because you are afraid.
“You and a good mood?” she teases you and sighs. “You know you can tell me if something is going on, right?” The softness in her voice makes it harder to lie to her.
You know she means it. She would listen and she would not judge you for your little crush. She would probably be excited, ask far too many questions, and somehow make the whole thing a bigger deal than it needs to be, but she would be happy for you. You know that this is exactly why you cannot say anything and that the person making you smile like this is her godmother. Saying it all out loud would make it real. And you really cannot tell her who the reason behind your smile is. Would she ever look at you the same way again if you told her that her godmother is the person making your heart beat faster?
“That’s mean, I can have a good mood too,” you defend yourself, and when she gives you another thoughtful look, you let out a deep breath. “I swear, it’s nothing,” you promise quietly, hoping it is enough for the moment. You know she deserves the truth, but you are not ready to give it yet.
Claire watches you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”
The trust in that answer settles somewhere deep inside you, and you press your lips together, hiding your disappointment in yourself. “Thank you.”
She smiles slightly, but you can see behind her mask. She knows something is going on but decides to let it drop. Just for your sake. “Don’t make it weird.”
You laugh in relief, but the uneasy feeling inside you remains. You are lying to your best friend, but right now you don’t know how else to handle it. “There is the Claire I know. I thought I had lost you for a moment.”
“I was being emotionally mature for a second. It was exhausting.”
The tension disappears, and everything feels normal again. At least on the surface. That is a typical trait of Claire. She can pull you out of your own head without even realizing she is doing it.
“We should go. We do not want to be late, do we?” Claire changes the subject, stuffing her laptop into her backpack. The empty coffee cup lands in the trash, your door closes behind you with a loud bang, and eventually, your paths separate on campus.
By noon, you and Claire are sitting outside with coffee, enjoying one of those rare quiet moments between classes. She tells you about Josh’s latest attempt at choosing a movie, and you laugh when she dramatically explains why his taste should be considered a personal attack.
“You do realize you could simply stop watching movies with him, right?”
“That is not the point.” She deadpans, placing her notebook down.
“Then what is the point?” you ask, mirroring her movement.
“The point is that I should not have to suffer alone.” She shrugs. “I like watching movies, but he simply never likes the ones I choose.”
You shake your head, smiling. “You are unbelievable.”
“You say that like you do not know me.” She grins at you.
Unfortunately, she is right. Your friendship with Claire has always been easy. Comfortable. She knows almost every version of you, including the ones you are not particularly proud of. She knows when you are overwhelmed before you even admit it yourself. She knows when you are pretending to be okay.
Which is why keeping something from her feels so strange. It is not like you. It has never been like this between the two of you. You have never really kept secrets from each other.
Your phone buzzes on the table, and your eyes drift toward the sound. A habit you have developed without realizing it. Something that makes your stomach tighten for the smallest fraction of a second before you remind yourself that you are being ridiculous. Not every message is from Emily. So why do you expect it every single time? You glance at your phone, but there is no message waiting for you.
Instead, Claire’s phone vibrates again. She reaches for it casually, still talking about Josh and his questionable movie choices, until her expression changes the moment she reads the name on the screen.
A smile spreads across her face, and deep down, you already know who it is. “Oh my god.”
You look up despite yourself. “What?”
Claire glances at her phone again, almost as if she wants to make sure she read the message correctly. “It’s Emily.” A grin spreads across her face. “I haven’t heard from her in ages!”
Something about the excitement in her voice makes you smile, of course she is happy. Emily is not just anyone to Claire. She has been part of her life for years. Someone who has shown up when it mattered, protected her, and became family along the way. She is her godmother after all.
“What did she say?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.
A part of you wants to know how Emily reaches out to Claire after seeing you last night. Whether she sounds just as calm, just as casual. As if nothing happened between the two of you. But you know Emily. She would never let anything show, never give anyone the chance to see how much something actually affects her. Especially not through a text message.
Claire’s smile only grows as she looks at the message again. “She’s nearby and asked if I want to grab coffee.”
The words should not affect you the way they do. It is a perfectly normal message, a polite question, a reunion that is long overdue. Emily is in town and wants to see her goddaughter. So why does something tighten uncomfortably in your chest?
You lower your gaze, tracing the rim of your coffee cup with your thumb while Claire starts typing her reply.
“I swear, she always does this,” Claire says, biting on her pen. “She disappears into a case, barely answers messages for days, and then suddenly shows up like nothing ever happened.”
You laugh quietly because it is true. By now, you know that this is simply who Emily is. Long before you ever met her, Claire had already told you stories about Emily disappearing for days, only to reappear as though no time had passed at all. “That sounds like Emily.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Claire shakes her head, though there is nothing annoyed about it. If anything, she sounds fond. “She could disappear for six months, come back out of nowhere, and somehow expect everyone to pick up the conversation exactly where it ended.”
Your thoughts drift back to last night. To the way Emily had done exactly that. She had stood in front of you as if the weeks since the mall had never really created any distance between the two of you. As if showing up had been the most natural thing in the world.
Claire glances up from her phone, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I told her we’re free today.”
Your heart stumbles and you hope Claire does not notice. “Both of us?”
She looks at you as though the question itself is ridiculous. “Obviously both of us.”
You nod slowly because it is the only reasonable reaction. It should not feel strange. It should feel completely normal to join them and yet, it does.
Last night had felt different. For a few hours, Emily had simply been Emily. Not Claire’s godmother, not the profiler everyone admired, not the woman who seemed to belong to a world you were only beginning to understand. Just the person beside you, laughing and sharing stories with you, making the impossible distance between your lives feel a little smaller. Choosing to spend those few precious hours with you after a day that had already taken everything out of her.
Claire glances at her phone again, the smile still lingering on her face. The movement pulls you out of your own thoughts.
“She never tells me how long she’s staying,” she sighs, shaking her head with quiet amusement.
There is no real frustration in her voice. Only that familiar kind of fond exasperation you have heard countless times whenever she talks about Emily.
You watch her for a moment. The way Claire lights up the moment Emily reaches out catches your attention. There is a warmth there, a genuine happiness that has nothing to do with admiration or the fact that Emily is a profiler. It is simply the happiness of hearing from someone who has been part of your life for so long that their name alone feels familiar.
“So… she didn’t tell you how long she’s staying?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Claire looks up from her phone and shrugs. “No. I guess it depends on the case.”
Right. Of course. You should have known. Emily’s life has never really followed normal schedules. There are always cases, things that need to be handled, always something waiting for her somewhere else. You had seen enough of her to know that she does not make promises she cannot keep.
And yet, a small part of you had hoped for an easier answer. A few days or a week. Something that would make the unfamiliar feeling in your chest easier to understand. If you are honest, last night felt like it belonged only to the two of you. For a few hours, there had been no case. No expectations. No reason for Emily to be there other than the simple fact that she wanted to spend time with you.
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my coworker telling me she likes to watch criminal minds and me sitting there pretending like I don’t have a whole tumblr account dedicated to thirsting over aaron hotchner
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word count: 6k
Summary: Two days after the party, life starts to feel normal again, until Emily reminds you that some connections do not fade with distance. A late-night visit, an honest conversation, and a moment of unexpected closeness leave you questioning everything you thought you knew about your feelings.
tags: college!reader, fem!reader, unitchief!emily prentiss, house party, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn, use of y/n, texting, surprise visit
Masterlist • Taglist• Series masterlist • AO3
“Are you even listening to me?” Claire’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
Caught off guard, you run a hand through your hair and shrug apologetically. The past few days have been an emotional whirlwind. Between lectures, group projects, and assignments, you have kept texting Emily over and over again. Nothing important. Nothing that could be mistaken for flirting anymore. And yet, your mind keeps returning to the picture of yourself next to Emily’s jacket. Especially to her words.
“Sorry,” you mumble, placing the donut in front of you back down on the table. The two of you picked them up at Barney’s earlier. “Can you say that again?”
“She wants to go on a date with you, but you keep ignoring her. That’s what I was asking you about!”
At her words, your eyes widen, and you mentally rewind your previous conversation. Had you really been so lost in your thoughts that you missed something this obvious?
You do not need to ask who Claire is talking about. Isabelle’s messages on your phone are proof enough of how much she wants to see you.
“I…” you start, but no excuse comes to mind. “I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It’s complicated, and I’m not ready for dating.”
“Because you want to focus on university?” Claire asks gently, and you nod a little too eagerly. If she is handing you the explanation herself, why not use it? You cannot exactly tell her the truth.
“Yeah. You know how much I need those points. Otherwise, I won’t get the internship,” you explain, and it is at least partly true, even if it is not the reason you are holding yourself back.
“I understand. I really do…” Claire studies you carefully. “But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else. You had fun at the party, didn’t you? You two got along really well…”
“We did,” you admit honestly, because you cannot deny those parts. You had fun. You enjoyed Isabelle’s company. And yet, she was not Emily. “And I do like Isabelle…”
Your best friend looks at you hopefully.
“But not the way you think.”
Saying the words out loud lifts a weight that has been resting on your shoulders for weeks. The entire time, you have been afraid of disappointing your best friend, trying to convince yourself that whatever you feel for Emily is just a crush and that Isabelle is the right choice. But she is not, not if choosing her means hurting her in the process. And you do not want that. Isabelle does not deserve that.
“She deserves someone who can let her in. Really let her in. I can’t do that, Claire.”
“But you haven’t even really given her a chance yet,” Claire argues, and you let out a loud sigh.
“Please just accept my feelings,” you try, running your hand over your knees. “I can’t and I don’t want to force something that isn’t there.”
Claire studies you with a long, intense look. You know her mind is racing, that she is searching for something behind your words, but eventually she decides better of it and keeps her objections to herself.
“Okay…” Silence settles between you, and just as you are about to return to your research, she clears her throat. “Even though I don’t completely understand it, you’re almost making it sound like there’s someone you do like.”
“No,” you say defensively, closing the book in front of you. “I just want to focus on university.”
It is late in the evening when you finally get a moment to yourself. Claire has not let the topic go all day, your nerves are worn thin, and you are grateful for the quiet in your room. Claire left for Josh’s place about an hour ago, probably just as overwhelmed by the exhausting conversation as you are, after it stretched throughout the entire day.
You turn on the television because you still cannot handle complete silence very well. It is one of the things that stayed with you after the mall. You always need some kind of distraction. The only time you can tolerate silence is when you are studying.
Ross, Rachel, and Phoebe flicker across the screen in front of you, and slowly, you feel yourself relax. You push every negative thought away, trying not to think about Isabelle and especially not about Emily. Although the latter proves almost impossible. Emily has been constantly present in your mind.
You catch yourself walking over to your closet, pushing the winter coats aside until your fingers brush over Emily’s jacket. It is ridiculous how easily your thoughts return to her. How something as simple as a jacket has become enough to remind you of everything you are trying not to think about.
With a sigh, you press your forehead against the wooden door of your closet, count silently to ten, and close it again.
“Get a grip,” you mumble to yourself before reaching for your phone, which you left charging on your desk.
Only then do you notice the unread message waiting for you. Your thumb lingers over the small notification, and your heart begins to beat a little faster the moment the sender’s name comes into view. Emily.
Are you awake?
Excitedly, you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering why she wants to know.
Yeah, I’m awake. Everything okay?
A few seconds pass before the next message lights up your screen.
Are you doing anything tonight?
Your eyebrows draw together slightly. The question is not what you expected, and for some reason that makes it harder to answer. Your leg begins to bounce beneath the table as you stare at the screen, typing a few words only to erase them moments later. Every sentence feels wrong before you even finish it.
Depends. Why?
Her answer does not take long, and when you read it, a surprised sound escapes you.
I’m nearby.
You stare at the words on your screen, trying to figure out what you are supposed to say.
What do you mean by nearby? Nearby where?
I’m at your university.
Your heart tightens, relaxes again, only to painfully pull itself together once more. Emily is here? Here at your university?
You’re here? Like… here here?
I’m here here, yes.
A smile slowly spreads across your face as you quickly glance at yourself in the mirror. Luckily, you showered earlier.
It was a long day… Emily adds, and you hurry to respond.
It was a long day and you still want to see me? You sure?
You have already mistyped three times and started over from the beginning, but while you are staring at your phone, you are already pulling Emily’s jacket over your shoulders. Her response takes longer than the others, and for a moment, you wonder if you imagined all of her messages.
But then your phone lights up again, your excitement returns instantly.
Yes, I'm sure.
It is just a simple, honest answer, but it makes your entire body react. Emily is here and she wants to see you. Only now do you realize that she apparently did not contact Claire. Otherwise, Claire would not be with Josh right now. She texted you, not her.
I’m coming down!
You hurry down the stairs, stumbling slightly, still unsure whether this is a dream or some kind of joke. You are not entirely certain anymore. You come to a stop in front of the large glass entrance doors of your residence building and look out at the parking lot, which is almost empty except for a few cars. A little further away, you spot a large black SUV, and leaning against the hood is a person.
Emily.
You take a deep breath, then another, before pushing the doors open and walking toward her. Your mind is already filled with hundreds of questions, but the moment you get closer, the excitement washes every single one of them away.
She looks tired. Dark circles sit beneath her eyes, her eyelids are heavy, and her expression is guarded. She is wearing black trousers and a thick jacket, perfectly prepared for the weather. She finally looks up from her phone, and a bright smile finds its way onto her lips. You cannot help but return it.
“Hi.” You stop in front of her, uncertain, looking at her with wide eyes, and Emily’s smile grows even bigger.
“Hey,” she replies, looking you over. “Nice jacket.”
Just as you are about to respond, she steps a little closer, bends down slightly, and whispers, “But it’s cold. Why didn’t you zip it up?”
You swallow nervously, watching the amused sparkle in her eyes and catching the familiar scent of her perfume, the one that makes your legs feel slightly unsteady.
“In my defense,” you begin, but she is already pulling you closer by the jacket until you end up in her arms.
“I’m listening.” Her breath brushes against your hair, and you cannot manage to form a single coherent thought.
You had spent the entire walk down here wondering what this would feel like. After everything you had admitted over the phone. After the messages. After acknowledging that something between you had shifted, even if neither of you had dared to define what that meant. You had not known what to expect from seeing her again. A little distance, maybe. A carefulness that would remind you both that things were different now. You had not expected this.
“I…” You stumble over the words, and Emily’s arms slide underneath the jacket. Yours, or hers, you are not entirely sure anymore, until her hands settle against your back. “Emily…”
Emily hums, lingering in your embrace for another moment before stepping back in front of you. She raises an eyebrow, and you quickly pull the zipper closed. The warmth of the gesture catches you completely off balance. You know Emily can be affectionate. You have seen glimpses of it before. Still, after everything you both admitted, you expected her to be more careful. More hesitant. Something that would acknowledge the invisible line you had both stepped across.
“You’re here,” you breathe once you have recovered from the initial shock, still looking at her as if she might disappear the moment you blink. “Like… actually here.”
The corner of Emily’s mouth twitches. “I am.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “When did you get here?”
She studies you for a second before correcting your assumption. “I landed a few hours ago.”
“A few hours?” You look at her again, this time really looking. The exhaustion written across her face. The careful composure she is holding onto by sheer force of habit. The slight slump of her shoulders. “Wait… you came here straight from the airport?”
Emily watches your expression for a moment before giving the smallest nod. “More or less.”
“You drove all the way here?”
There is the faintest hint of amusement in her expression. “When you say it like that, it sounds much more dramatic than it actually was.”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“That is another city.”
“It is.”
“You have been travelling all day.”
“I have.”
“And instead of going to your hotel or… I don’t know… sleeping like a normal person, you drove here?”
Emily shrugs lightly, as if the answer is obvious. “I had some time.”
“You could have rested.” You throw your hands into the air, shaking your head at Emily’s recklessness. “You are clearly tired. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“I could have.” Emily presses her lips together before continuing. “Maybe a little, yes. Happy?”
Her answer is simple, but something inside you tightens at it. She did not have to come here, there is no obvious reason for it. Except that she wanted to see you.
“Not even close.” You huff a breath.
“For worrying this much?”
“For being this reckless.”
Emily’s smile grows just a fraction. “I survived.”
“That is not—”
“You’re cute when you’re concerned.” The words leave her mouth so casually that you completely lose your train of thought.
“I…” You blink at her. “What?”
Emily only watches you, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “You were saying?”
You stare at her for another second before giving up with an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
You lower your gaze before your thoughts drift into places you should avoid right now. “So what made you decide to come here?”
When you look up again and find Emily’s eyes already resting on you, you almost regret asking. Not because you do not want to hear the answer, but because a part of you wants her to say that she came because of you.
Emily tilts her head slightly. “Does there have to be a reason?”
You almost laugh. It is not a lie, but it is not the whole truth either. Then again, what else did you expect? You have learned by now that this is what Emily does. She gives you enough to understand, but never enough to take away your choice of what to do with it.
“No… but you thought of me?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “Even though you could have slept?”
You freeze the moment the words are out, shocked by your own honesty. Shame washes over you, coloring your cheeks pink, and you curse yourself for your loose tongue. How could you ask Emily something like that?
But Emily does not make you regret asking.
“Yes.” It is only one word. Spoken calmly. Confidently. And somehow, that makes everything worse.
You know how much Emily thinks about her words. How careful she is with her choice of them. She does not throw around kindness just because it sounds good. She means what she says.
“Come on,” she says after a moment, her voice softer. “Walk with me.”
Confused, you watch her walk away, lingering for only the briefest moment before falling into step behind her. She does not tell you where you are going, and you never think to ask. Somehow, that seems irrelevant. What matters is that she keeps walking, and you keep following, the rhythm of her footsteps pulling you forward as naturally as the tide.
The thought settles somewhere beneath your ribs. A few weeks ago, it would have frightened you. Now, it simply exists, undeniable and strangely gentle, woven into the sound of gravel shifting beneath your shoes and the steady presence of the woman a few steps ahead of you.
The campus lies almost silent around you, the afternoon breeze stirring the trees overhead, yet none of it quiets the restless beat of your heart. Emily’s attention feels impossibly overwhelming, every glance, every small kindness, every decision to spend her time with you leaves you wondering what she sees when she looks your way. What could possibly make you worth choosing, again and again.
Tonight, she does not seem to have a destination. Tonight, she is simply walking, and you notice how she slows down so she can stay beside you.
“You’re quieter than usual.”
You glance over at her, nearly getting lost in her dark eyes. “I’m usually pretty quiet.”
She looks at you thoughtfully, as if weighing her answer. “Usually not with me.”
You look away again because she is right, and somehow that is the part that unsettles you most.
You had not known what to expect from seeing her again. Not after the phone call. Not after the messages. Not after finally admitting, even if only in pieces, that something between you had shifted.
You had spent so much time wondering if there would be an awkwardness between you now. If the things you had said would somehow make everything feel heavier. If acknowledging that something had changed would mean you could no longer go back to the easy conversations you had before.
But Emily is simply walking beside you. The same woman who had sat across from you in that coffee shop. The same woman who had listened without trying to fix you. The same woman who somehow makes silence feel less like something you have to apologize for.
“You make it seem very easy,” you say quietly.
Emily glances over at you. “What?”
“Talking to you.”
For a moment, she does not answer. Her expression softens slightly, like she is considering the weight behind the words rather than just the words themselves.
“You make it easy,” she replies.
The simplicity of the answer leaves you with nothing to hide behind. You look down at the path ahead, focusing on the small stones beneath your shoes because looking at her feels like too much right now.
A few more steps pass before Emily speaks again. “I didn’t tell Claire I was here.”
Your head turns toward her. It is not something you expected her to bring up yet. Carefully, you ask, “You didn’t? Why?”
Emily’s arm brushes against yours as you walk, and you force yourself not to focus on the small touch. Not now. Not when she is offering you something far more important.
“I just…I wanted to see you first.” Emily says it like it is obvious, like there was never another option.
You know there is no hidden meaning behind the way she says it. She is not trying to make it sound like something else. She is simply telling you the truth.
“Oh.”
The word barely leaves your lips, and you immediately regret how little else you can come up with. But what are you supposed to say?
The truth has just knocked the air out of you, even though it is exactly what you wanted to hear. Wanting something and actually hearing it are two completely different things.
“Very insightful,” Emily teases, a small smile appearing on her face.
For a while, you continue walking in comfortable silence. Neither of you seems to need anything more than the other’s company, and somehow that feels like enough. You are trying to process everything Emily told you, and she seems lost in her own thoughts as well.
When you reach the pond again, you remember your first walk together. It is strange how much has happened since then.
“I hope there’s enough coffee at the office tomorrow,” Emily breaks the silence, and you glance over at her.
Her shoulders have lowered slightly, her posture no longer as tense as it was before.
“We could get coffee now,” you suggest, but Emily shakes her head.
“Probably not a good idea,” she disagrees, and you do not question it further.
Emily uses the opening to tell you about her last case. Not the details, nothing that crosses any boundaries, just small things. The surface-level frustrations. And how terrible the coffee had been.
“Thin and weak,” she mutters. “Who makes coffee like that?”
Emily ends up telling you about a case from years ago, though somehow the conversation drifts further and further away from the actual investigation until it is no longer about the unsub at all, but about the Taco Bell across the street from the local police station.
“Three days,” she tells you with complete seriousness.
You blink at her. “Three days?”
She nods once, completely unfazed. “I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Taco Bell for three straight days.”
“Emily, you cannot be serious!” you protest, your eyes widening slightly. “You have to eat actual food!”
“I was busy,” she defends herself. “We barely left the precinct, and when we did, it was only to follow up on leads. So we had two options: eat nothing at all or eat Taco Bell.”
“That’s not healthy. Or nutritious, for that matter. You do know that, right?” you say, letting out an exasperated huff at the thought of surviving on Taco Bell for three entire days.
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “In my defense, they made a surprisingly decent Crunchwrap, with vegetables and beef. It filled me up, and at that point, that was all that mattered.”
You stare at her. “You’re actually using that as an argument.”
“Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” she teases, clearly enjoying how seriously you’re taking the subject.
“That’s unbelievable,” you mumble, realizing you’ve officially run out of arguments without sounding like you’re overstepping.
“And yet it’s true. I actually liked it,” Emily replies.
The conversation keeps wandering after that without either of you really noticing. One story turns into another until you find yourself telling her about your history teacher from secondary school, the one who insists on using everyone’s full name whenever he wants their attention.
You nod, taking another sip from your drink. “It didn’t matter how prepared you were. You could have your homework done, your notes organized, everything perfect. The second you heard your full name, you were already convinced you were in trouble.”
Emily laughs softly. “That sounds less like teaching and more like psychological warfare.”
“Exactly.”
She glances over at you, her smile still lingering. “Remind me never to meet him.”
A laugh escapes you. “You say that like you’re afraid of him.”
“I’m a profiler. I know a carefully chosen intimidation tactic when I hear one.”
The smile she gives you afterward is small, almost shy, and for a second you forget that this is the same woman who can walk into a room full of strangers and immediately command everyone’s attention. Right now, she is just Emily, walking beside you and laughing about a history teacher she has never met.
And somehow, you find yourself wanting to tell her more.
It dawns on you almost reluctantly that this is the first time you and Emily spend hours together without a reason beyond wanting to. There is no case waiting for her phone to ring. Claire is not somewhere nearby. Nobody needs comforting. Nobody needs saving. She is here because she chooses to be. The thought surprises you enough that you almost miss the movement beside you.
A runner appears on the path ahead, moving faster than expected, headphones in, completely unaware of anyone around him. You do not realize how close he is until Emily’s hand suddenly wraps around your arm.
“Careful,” she whispers, pulling you a little closer and out of the runner’s way.
The runner is already long gone, but she is still holding onto you, and you do not dare to move. You can feel her warm breath against your face, and everything inside you tightens.
Her fingers are resting around your arm, warm through the fabric of your sleeve. You can feel the small shift of her breathing. Emily seems to realize it at the exact same moment, and her hand slowly loosens.
“Sorry,” she breathes, and something about the way she says it sounds like she has made a decision.
You shake your head and whisper, “Don’t be.”
“You have a habit of wandering into dangerous situations.”
You raise an eyebrow. “A runner on campus is dangerous?”
“With you? Apparently.”
You laugh, and Emily laughs with you. It is such a small, ordinary moment that you almost miss how much it changes something. The sound leaves her easier than before, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she walks beside you. The tiredness you noticed earlier is still there, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the weight she carries so naturally that most people probably never think to question it.
But right now, it fades into the background. For a few seconds, Emily is not the person everyone turns to when things fall apart. She is not the one who always knows what to say, the one who keeps everyone else steady. She is simply walking beside you. Smiling. Happy.
The realization catches somewhere between your thoughts and your breath. Not because you have never seen her smile before. You have. This feels different, like you are seeing a version of Emily that exists outside of responsibility, outside of expectations.
That is what surprises you most. Emily has never tried to make you feel special. She has never looked at you like you are someone who needs to be fixed or protected. Somehow, she just makes it easier to stop hiding parts of yourself you spent years trying to keep quiet.
“Very funny,” you mumble, gently bumping your shoulder against hers. “But you do look out for me.”
The words are out before you can decide whether you actually meant to say them.
Emily’s expression shifts slightly, and you realize she heard the exhaustion beneath the teasing more than the words themselves.
“Come on. Let’s head back,” she suggests.
And you suspect that she did not say what was actually on the tip of her tongue. You can see it in her expression, in the way she wets her lips before looking away.
The walk back feels shorter than before. You only notice when the familiar buildings of your campus begin appearing between the trees, the warm lights from the windows cutting through the darkness.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you expected it to feel longer. Maybe because you were not ready for the evening to end yet. Or because a part of you still cannot fully understand how easily Emily managed to make everything feel normal again.
Nothing about tonight has been dramatic. There has been no deep conversation where everything suddenly made sense. No moment where Emily told you exactly what you needed to hear. She did not fix anything. She did not try to convince you that everything would be okay. She simply walked beside you, spent what little time she had with you, and somehow that was enough.
God. She drove all the way here just for you.
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. Emily looks more tired now that you are paying attention. There is a quiet exhaustion in the way she moves, a softness that you have not seen before. She is no longer holding herself together. She is not in work mode right now, and she does not have to hide anything.
“You’re really tired,” you conclude, breaking the silence.
Emily looks over at you, her eyes crinkling slightly. “That obvious?”
“Oh yes, Emily. That obvious.”
“Like I said…” A tired smile flickers across her face. “It’s been a really long day. We wrapped up the case this morning, I caught up on reports, and then another call came in.” She lets out a quiet breath. “We were supposed to head straight back out.”
“I was about to say you’ve had a long day, but after hearing that?” You shake your head, looking at her in disbelief. “How long have you even been awake? You should probably get some sleep.”
The words feel strange the moment they leave your mouth. Only a few weeks ago, Emily was the one reminding you to take care of yourself. She was the one who noticed when you withdrew from conversations, when you pushed yourself too hard, when you insisted you were fine long before you actually were.
Now you are standing beside her, telling her to get some rest. The irony is almost enough to make you smile.
“Are you worried about me?”
You have heard those words before. Emily asked you the same question weeks ago, when she was the one looking at you like she already knew you were carrying more than you admitted. Now you are the one looking at her that way.
“I think I am.” The answer leaves your mouth before you can soften it, and you immediately wonder if you have said too much. The faint smile on Emily’s face tells you she heard the hesitation anyway.
With an amused smile, she crosses her arms, rubbing her hands over the sleeves of her jacket while still looking ahead. “I’ll get enough sleep.”
You glance at her. “That sounds like something someone says when they are not planning to get enough sleep.”
A quiet laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head. “I’m serious,” she insists, though the amusement remains in her voice. “But you know my job, right?”
“I got it. Your sleep schedule isn’t exactly something you get to plan…” you concede, watching Emily give a small nod in response.
You reach the path leading toward your building, and both of you slow down without either of you acknowledging it. This is where the evening should probably end. It would be the logical place. A goodbye, a promise to talk soon, maybe a message tomorrow. But neither of you moves.
You look at Emily and are reminded of how strange this entire situation actually is. She could have called Claire. She could have waited until tomorrow. The most logical thing would have been to focus on the case and deal with everything else later. Yet she came here first. To you.
“I have to admit…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I was surprised when you texted me.”
Emily glances over at you. “You were?”
You nod. “I didn’t expect it.”
A small smile touches her lips, but she does not look away. “I suppose I didn’t give you much warning.”
“No,” you reply, a quiet laugh escaping you. “You really didn’t.”
Emily looks ahead, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I wasn’t planning on stopping here. We were supposed to continue on to the case.”
Your eyebrows lift. “You still had to work?”
“Yes.” A small smile appears on her face. “That is usually how these things go.”
“Then why did you come?”
Emily is quiet for a moment, watching the path ahead of you. Not avoiding the question, just choosing her words. “Because I hadn’t heard from you.” The simplicity of the answer makes you slow your steps slightly. “After our conversation, I found myself wondering how you were doing.”
She glances at you. “And I realized I would rather know than keep wondering.”
You stare at her, unsure what to do with the warmth that spreads through your chest. “So you just decided to stop by? You could have texted… or called.”
Emily’s smile softens. “I could have.” A small pause follows. “But I really wanted to see you.”
Looking at her now, with tired eyes and a smile that cannot quite hide the exhaustion beneath it, you wonder whether she has simply become very good at making sure nobody else ever notices.
“I’m really glad you came,” you admit, fingers playing with the hem of her jacket.
“I’m glad I did too.” Her voice is barely audible.
You love how her voice drops slightly at the end, how different she sounds when she is not trying to be composed. A shiver crawls up your spine, and you know it has nothing to do with the cold air surrounding your dorm.
Emily exhales audibly and straightens her shoulders. “I should let you go upstairs.”
“Yeah, and I should let you sleep.” Now your own voice is barely more than a whisper, and Emily’s eyes snap to yours.
You watch the way her tongue briefly brushes across her lips, catching the smallest flicker of hesitation that settles over her face before she can hide it again. It is so unlike the Emily you have come to know that it catches you off guard, because for the first time she looks as though she is searching for the right thing to do just as much as you are.
Until now, it has always been easy to believe that Emily simply knew. Knew where every line was, when to cross it, when to step back, when to reach for you. Seeing that uncertainty reflected back at you changes something in a way you cannot quite put into words, leaving you wondering whether the thoughts circling through your own head have found their way into hers as well.
Does she replay those moments too? The conversations that lingered a little longer than they should have, the touches neither of you ever acknowledged, the silence that somehow kept saying more than either of you dared to.
Her expression shifts before you can hold on to the thought. It is nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would notice, yet you see it all the same as she takes one slow step toward you, closing the distance with the kind of quiet certainty that makes your pulse climb into your throat. You try to steady your breathing, but even that suddenly feels like something you have forgotten how to do.
Her lips part ever so slightly, and you wait for the words that never come. A goodbye would have been easier. Some teasing remark, a gentle attempt to loosen the knot tightening inside your chest. Instead, she opens her arms, and before you have the chance to overthink it, you are already leaning into her.
The embrace feels different now, nothing about it has changed, but you have. Because the words you spoke only moments ago are still lingering between you, along with everything neither of you has found the courage to say.
Emily’s hand settles against your back with familiar gentleness, and for the first time in days your thoughts begin to quiet. You stop trying to give everything a name, stop measuring every glance against the last one, stop asking yourself whether wanting this is reckless or inevitable. For a few precious seconds, none of it matters.
Her breathing grows a little slower against you, and when your fingertips absentmindedly trace a small circle across her back, you feel her melt ever so slightly beneath your touch before a quiet breath slips from her lips.
“Goodnight,” she murmurs softly.
“Goodnight, Emily.”
This is the moment where you should leave. But you do not move. You breathe her in, allowing yourself to enjoy her warmth and the feeling of her cheek resting against your head.
You hear an owl calling somewhere in the distance, the sound of car doors closing, and only then do the two of you slowly pull apart. Emily looks down at you, and only now do you truly notice the difference in your height. Her hand is still resting on your shoulder, and just as you decide that you should finally go, her hand moves to your cheek. Gently, she brushes over your cheekbone, a small smile resting on her lips.
“Will I see you again?” you murmur, trembling slightly at the feeling of her hand against your face.
Your blood seems to rush through your veins, your entire body suddenly on high alert. A nervous, tingling feeling settles in your stomach.
Emily takes a moment before answering. “I hope so.”
It is not a promise. It is not certainty. But you hear the sincerity in her voice. She means it. She wants to see you again.
You smile softly, and her thumb hovers near the corner of your lips. You inhale sharply, and Emily lets out a quiet laugh.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” she repeats.
Then she leans forward and presses the lightest kiss to your cheek. Everything in you short circuits. For a moment, you forget how to breathe, how to think, how to react. The only thing your overwhelmed mind manages to hold on to is that you should probably give Emily her jacket back. You start pulling it off, ready to hand it to her, but Emily shakes her head.
“How would you explain to Claire where the jacket went?”
You look at her, slightly surprised. How had you not thought about that?
“Be a good girl for me and keep it, alright?”
A traitorous sound escapes you, but you do not get the chance to say anything else. Before you can respond, she is already stepping away from you, faster than you would like.
And suddenly, the support you had relied on only moments ago is gone. Your legs feel weak, and you are not entirely sure you remember how breathing works.
Emily kissed you. Even if it was only your cheek.
Your skin feels like it is burning, like it is on fire. Everything inside you is vibrating with excitement. When you finally find the strength to walk back inside, you realize something that surprises you. For the first time in weeks, you are not thinking about what you lost. You are thinking about what might still happen.
word count: 1.3k
Summary: You return to campus hoping for normalcy, but Emily’s messages remind you that some feelings cannot be ignored.
tags: college!reader, fem!reader, unitchief!emily prentiss, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn, use of y/n, texting
Masterlist • Taglist• Series masterlist • AO3
“And that is exactly why the behavior is so interesting to study,” Professor Millic explains, writing something on the large board at the front of the room. “It is unpredictable, and therefore difficult to assess. One of the first major developments in this field came from the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit in the early 1980s. Agents like Jason Gideon helped shape the way investigators looked beyond the crime itself and started focusing on behavior, motivation, and patterns.”
She pauses briefly, turning back toward the class. “Gideon’s work changed the way investigators looked at behavioral analysis. Before that, many approaches focused primarily on the crime itself. The question was: what happened? Behavioral analysis added another layer: why did it happen? What patterns, experiences, and psychological factors led a person to make a specific choice?”
She writes two words on the board: “Behaviour” and “Motivation.”
“You cannot understand a person by looking at a single action. A behaviour without context tells you very little. The same action can have completely different meanings depending on the person, the situation, and the circumstances surrounding it.”
You quickly write down the names, already planning to look into them further in the library later. Professor Millic adds a few statistics to the board, and you do not miss the questioning look Claire sends in your direction.
“Most people believe they are good at reading others,” Professor Millic continues, pointing toward the graphs. “But perception is often influenced by our own expectations. We see what we are prepared to see. A nervous person can look suspicious. A quiet person can appear dishonest. Context matters.”
“How are you still this motivated after a party?” she asks, taking a large sip of water. “Do you not have a headache at all?”
“No,” you answer, thinking back to the moment when Isabelle pulled you back into the living room. “I switched to water. Besides, we have lectures today.”
“Live a little,” Claire teases, and you shake your head, amused.
“So I can sit here with a headache and a hangover? No, thank you.” You turn your attention back to your notes, but Claire is not finished with you yet.
“What did you actually do outside for so long? We were looking for you.”
You suppress the telltale flinch, buying yourself time by writing down a few more statistics. You only look back at your best friend when she nudges you in the ribs with her elbow.
“I just needed some fresh air,” you repeat the words you had already told Emily. Except she had seen right through your lie.
“The air inside really was terrible,” Claire begins, and you let out a hopeful breath. “But Isabelle said you were on the phone? With who?”
Everything inside you freezes, and you desperately search for a good excuse, but luckily, Professor Millic comes to your rescue.
“Miss Winston, do you have something to contribute to the class?” She crosses her arms over her chest while looking at Claire.
“No, Professor.” Claire sinks slightly lower in her seat, pulling her notepad a little closer. “I was just asking which was the last year you mentioned.”
“Well… if you had been paying attention from the beginning, you would not have missed it,” your professor counters, and you suppress an amused laugh.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I certainly hope not.” With those words, she turns her attention back to the lecture, back to your exploration of behavioral patterns and analysis.
When Claire suggested this course to you, you wanted to decline. It was far too removed from what you were actually studying. But when you realized the topics were connected to the things Emily deals with every single day, you could no longer say no.
A table filled with colorful graphs appears on the screen, the legend taking up almost an entire page. You reach into your bag for your highlighters when you feel your phone vibrate.
How is the world’s coldest porch survivor today?
You feel the corners of your mouth lift before you can think better of it, and when Claire looks up, you quickly hide the reaction behind your hand. You glance over at her, but she is already absorbed in the reading in front of her again.
You had not expected to hear from Emily today. Not after she had simply hung up yesterday. You cannot blame her, but it had left you slightly unsettled.
You quickly type a response.
I survived. Even though it was freezing.
You are about to put your phone away when three dots appear almost immediately. Emily is typing.
Good. I was worried the porch might have won.
You suppress a laugh, biting your lower lip as you glance toward the front of the room. Professor Millic is standing with her back turned toward you, her laser pointer moving from right to left along the graphs.
It was close, but I made it.
Less than two seconds later, the three dots appear again, and your heartbeat picks up slightly.
I’m glad you went back inside. I did not want you to freeze to death.
You realize that she is making small talk. Maybe she is even flirting with you. She could have asked about the party, or whether it was Isabelle who found you on the porch. But instead, she chose something easy. Something harmless.
That would not have happened. Claire would have found me first. She already organized a search party.
Your fingers are still hovering over the keyboard when her reply arrives.
That sounds like her.
When Claire shifts beside you, you quickly put your phone back into your bag. You do not want to risk it. You do not want questions you cannot answer. Not now. And definitely not here.
After the lecture, you make your way to the dining hall, your stomach already growling. You search for the apple you threw into your bag earlier. While you listen to Claire talk about the movie she went to see with Josh, you pull it out and feel your phone vibrate again.
Discreetly, you open your chat and find three new messages from Emily. It is the last one that makes you stop.
And for the record, you should probably keep a jacket with you next time. Maybe mine. It suits you, and you said it’s really warm.
Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you almost choke on the bite of apple in your mouth.
“Shit, are you okay?” Claire’s eyes widen in panic when she sees your bright red face and the way you are waving your arms. She quickly pats your back until you manage to signal that you are okay again.
“Thanks,” you croak, wetting your lips. “I’m fine.”
But you are not really fine, because Emily’s words stay with you for the rest of the day.
It is only in the evening that you finally dare to reply. You are alone in your room, curled up beneath your blanket, Emily’s jacket lying beside you. You take a picture and send it to her without thinking too much about it. You have been doing that all day.
I’ll just take it with me everywhere now. Wouldn’t want you to worry about me anymore. Almost sounded like that.
The chat stays quiet for several minutes, and when you look at the picture again, you suddenly notice how much bare skin is visible. Panic rises as you close the chat, hoping Emily does not misunderstand anything, and let out an annoyed groan. Of course this would only happen to you.
When your phone vibrates, you look at Emily’s response somewhat hesitantly.
Good. Maybe you should wear it right now too. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.
You stare at the screen, and her words are already burned into your mind. What is happening right now?
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