#swanqueensails

“Like what?” Spencer asked, egging on the train of thought. She loved the way Emily’s mind worked when she’d been drinking. She became more hopeful, a dreamer who saw the world even more differently than when she wasn’t under the influence.

“Like sunsets, and the taste of coffee first thing in the morning, even if it’s the super strong brew that you always make. Or parts of downtown Rosewood. Or you, always managing to outsmart everyone in the room - that’s why the bill you’ve been pushing for made it to the Senate today.” Emily leaned against the doorway as Spencer unlocked the front door, a small, proud smile on her lips. She hadn’t said anything to any of the girls, choosing instead to withhold that bit of information, relishing in it on her own. But of course Emily knew. She had an uncanny way of knowing everything Spencer neglected to say, everything she refused to admit. “Some things should change though, shouldn’t they?” Nearly everything.

She didn’t know how difficult it had been to keep quiet after Emily came out. Alternately, she didn’t know how easy it had been to fall apart in Emily’s arms when she fought so hard to maintain a strong facade in front of everyone else. She didn’t know that it was the only place that had felt safe, when everything was so uncertain. She didn’t —

Emily’s back hit the wood paneling of the hallway and for a split second, a wave of fear rushed over her as hands reached for her neck, but the feeling fell away an instant later. Spencer’s hands were tangled in her hair and her lips were pressing tentatively against Emily’s. She could feel the quivering of Spencer’s body as it lined up with her own, their chests heaving together as their mouths met, exploring an intimacy neither ever considered possible.

“Spence,” Emily gasped, her palms connecting with her best friend’s shoulders. “You — we — you’ve been drinking.” It would be so much easier to stop things now, when there was still a chance. There wouldn’t be a morning after, fraught with uncomfortable jokes, or an awkward period of time in which Spencer tried to forget what had happened between them. It would be so much easier to avoid the lines that had been blurred by celebratory champagne.

“I’m in full control of my mental faculties.” Spencer refused to meet Emily’s eyes, opting instead to focus on the trail of her index finger as she carefully traced Emily’s collarbones. “Murphy’s law.” Spencer laughed quietly, her gaze finally traveling up to meet Emily’s, both locking on to the other. “Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. The five of us are proof of that. But what if after everything that has gone so horribly, inordinately wrong, something could go right? Something that has always been right.” Spencer moved closer again, much more slowly than the first time, waiting for a second round of protest.

“You’re straight.” Emily grasped at straws she thought to be true, too used to hope being shattered to allow herself that luxury.

“I’m in love with you,” Spencer countered quickly, remnants of her debate team persona coloring her words. “Before anything else, more than anything else, I’m in love with you Em.” Her hands dropped to Emily’s waist, capturing swaths of fabric in her fists. “I spent all of high school pretending to be at the very apex of self-control, but you were the one thing I couldn’t —“

As much as Spencer hated being interrupted, she couldn’t have been more thankful for the second their lips touched without pretense or worry, filled with vulnerability and years of repressed emotion. Warmth invaded her body, moving from her mouth into her chest, settling in behind her heart as it struggled to beat quickly enough to keep her on her feet.