PUNCHED HARDER.

（ rules. ）｡（ about. ）°（ verses. ）｡（ memes. ）

Same shit. Different day. Monotonous routines could be comforting for some. For Emily, it's been a prison for five years. What deviance there was to her usual tended to be worse off, and that was the only comfort that could be found in the repetitive day to day so far. Wake up. Make coffee. Shower or not. Get dressed. Go do whatever work  he  needs for the day. Train. Fight. Win. Go home. Try to sleep. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

Emily's on the   Win and Go Home   part of this checklist, but there's not exactly an air of relief about her now that the day's coming to a close. Her shoulders are still tense, wound tight and ready to snap. She's got blood still caked down her cupid's bow, smeared out across her face in her feeble attempts to wipe it away when her nose was bleeding fresh. A split eyebrow she'd have to mend while dinner heated up, throbbing and bruising up above her eye. It was the only bruise she'd go home with, either. The rest of her arms, sides, and chest looked like a midnight Pollock -   all kinds of cool shades that she didn't care to look at anymore. It wasn't blood and that's what mattered.

A long walk in the night gave her some air, cool and crisp and leaving her in steamy fogs as she breathes. She's close enough to her apartment complex that she's digging around her jacket for her keys, getting them into her hands. There's a bit of hesitation, lingering on the sidewalk as she glances across to one of the still open bodegas, going off course to grab something there. A self-chosen deviance   ( and a better dinner than her freezer prepped chicken and rice would do her )   that feels, for once, a little deserved. The owner's got some stools and she sits in the middle of the three. He makes some kind of familiar comment about her banged-up face and she entertains it with a laugh and a dismissal. Even with the owner there, it still feels enough of a private moment for herself to enjoy. Sitting in her own quiet, taking one bite at a time, ignoring the sting of all her injuries from her last fight.

Emily's been told   You look like a whole new person!   a lot the past few years. She can't even blame anyone for remarking as much. She had to be for the kind of kid she wanted Junior to end up   ( a good one, just to clarify ).   So far, she liked to think she was doing a damn good job. He'd been playing real nice with Carlos' little girl, sharing and caring and all. Emily watches through the from his couch as they romp around his yard, not a care in the world.

       ❝ How's Elisa been doin' in school? ❞   A worry in her tone that isn't even for the girl. More like a worry she's projecting.   ❝ Teachers treatin' her alright? ❞   Attention back to Carlos, she tilts her head a little, taking a slow sip from the coffee they're sharing.

Emily can say with full confidence that there was nothing more reassuring than the comfort of being silently seen and understood. Ever since breaking free from Kaslow and everything he came with, Emily's had a Hell of a fucking time trying to feel normal again, let alone integrate into the world's everyday normal. One such normality had been the struggle with crowds and crowded places. It was unavoidable, especially in such a big city, she knows this... and even then, it did nothing to stop her brain from feeling like that caged animal all over again. She doesn't even realize how hard she's breathing, how hard her heart's beating until she feels the smooth warmth of Margo's hand pressed into her back. Just like that, she's anchored. A ship safe in a storm. It might not slow the adrenaline as instantly as it felt, but it sure did wonders regardless. It did enough that Emily can bring her eyes up from her fists, focus on where they're walking. Slower, quieter breaths and she finally manages just a crack of a smile.

       ❝ What would I do without'cha, Margo... ❞   Emily muses under her breath, trying to roll some of the tension out of her shoulders as they walk.

The afternoon was quiet enough -   The come-down from lunch with full bellies and something idle on the television while Emily reads and Junior draws. An obvious rhythm the two have entered, even with the boy so small   ( a whole two and a half years now! ).   Nothing was as terrible as everyone warned her about just yet. So far, it'd just been simple days like this together. Simple days made more idyllic after a little ring of their doorbell. All Emily has to do is check the time on the wall clock to know who'd been coming over. A smile and a nod and Junior gets all the permission his big doe eyes were asking for when he perked up at the sound. He bolts for the door, fumbling with the handle to try and pry it open. It was more about the attempt than it was the actuality, so after another try, Emily pulls herself up and opens the door for

       ❝ Nealie, ❞   she smiles, big and warm as she invites her inside. The real warmth came from Junior's excited little parrot of her name   - Neee! -   in all his glorious toddler triumph of the sound.   ❝ Saved you a plate if you're hungry. ❞

[ COFFI 💋 ]: eta? [ COFFI 💋 ]: kids losin his damn mind hes so excited

Each text is barely sent thanks to said kid dangling off one of Emily's arms as she types. He's using her like a jungle gym, giggling and swinging back and forth with his legs pulled up into himself.

       ❝ Where  iiiis  she?! ❞   Junior whines playfully, not an ounce of impatience actually showing through all his dimpled smiles. Emily can only shoot him a look back, scrunching up her nose to give him an equally emptily impatient look.

       ❝ Hold your horses, baby, she's comin'. ❞   They were both excited to see Coffi, really, and that's why she'd been poking her by text anyway. In one swift draw of her arms, she's scooped her son up, blowing raspberries into his face while she attempts to entertain him for as long as it takes Coffi to get to their apartment in the meantime