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Sue wakes to an empty space beside her and the scratching sound of writing. She sits up slightly, fingers running through messy brown locks of hair, and yawns. It’s colder than she remembers when she went to bed, after a warm supper of crusty bread and a hearty vegetable soup, which is odd, given how the temperature drops at night.
She’s gotten used to the feeling of family here, at the dinner table in the Dickinson household. Emily’s parents have grown quite warm to her, even thinking of her as their most well-behaved sibling. They’re almost proud of her Like actual parents might be. Nothing can fill the void completely by any means, but it’s nice to throw things in once in a while so it feels less empty.
Early in the morning, fresh from sleep, at sunrise, Sue doesn’t have any of those thoughts. The only thing she really notices is cold. The feeling. Feeling that shouldn’t be there when she wakes up in the morning and hasn’t been there previously for a while. Not since Emily’s invited her into her room as if it’s both of theirs. It kind of is.
But cold though. It’s almost instant that she remembers the missing body that was pressed flush against her when she went to sleep, the absence of which leaves her feeling incomplete.
The sound of Emily writing feels as familiar as her breathing and it calms the prickly feeling in her when she woke up not next to her best friend. Sue shakes sleep off to sit up slightly.
If Emily likes to watch her when she sleeps, Sue loves to watch Emily like this, overtaken by idea, awake just as dawn has arrived, scratching fervently, somehow both exceedingly present and somewhat far away at the same time. It takes Emily a minute to register that Sue is awake and then she’s met with a teasing and delighted smile after Emily leans back in her wooden chair, pen in hand.
“Good morning.”
Emily turns, the extremely early morning sunlight framing her face, her eyes light up and Sue smiles wryly, feeling whole suddenly. Emily’s hair is messy but charming. Brown strands whip around with the activity of her initial morning energy and she’s attempted to tie her hair back in a loose ponytail. It’s amusing how much of it fails to get caught in the hairdo, musing on how much of it actually is in the hair tie.
“Good morning,” Sue returns, “You’re up early. And not in bed,” she points out with a hint of disappointment, “With me,” and Emily has enough decency to look a bit guilty, “What are you writing about?”
Emily can’t help but smile at Sue’s sleep-laced voice, low in a way that sits somewhere straight in her stomach. There’s a creak in the chair as Emily turns to her more fully.
“No one.”
Emily sports a look of chaotic innocence. There’s a look there that serves as a challenge.
Sue smiles knowingly, sitting against the headboard, resisting the overwhelming urge to beckon her closer, back in bed with a careful finger and inviting eyes. At this point, she’s practically a professional at moving Emily where she wants her to be with her eyes alone.
“Are you writing about me?”
Emily looks sheepish but still proud.
“I was watching you sleep…” she says quietly, eyes darting away, “I got inspired.”
Sue gives her a warm look until she gets the same in return. If they were both still in bed, Sue would kiss her.
This girl is absolutely ridiculous. But absolutely hers, and that seems to even out quite well.
Sue plops her head back onto the pillow while her poet looks at her with an amused expression. Emily has a soft spot for sleepy Sue, easily, and Sue watches the thought of getting back into bed with her glue to her mind.
“Can you watch me sleep and be inspired in bed?”
She hears the sound of paper shuffling after Emily turns around after nodding.
“Yeah. No point in me writing anymore now anyway.”
Sue tilts her head back up as Emily moves back to the bed. “Why not?”
She looks at Sue standing on the other side of the bed gingerly and tenderly, and Sue has the distinct feeling she’s about to have a line thrown at her: “Nothing I could write could beat the sight of you.”
The line is well received.
The girl in bed feels impatient that the girl currently on the bed covers with one knee is not in actually in bed with her. Emily runs a finger gently down the side of Sue’s face and then realizes the impatient look that’s being directed her way. She’s suddenly equally as impatient too, flipping the covers open and settling in across from her, into Sue’s waiting palm, eager to curve around the back of her neck to pull her in.
Sue slides a hand behind Emily’s upper neck, rubbing circles into cool skin, as soon as she slides under the covers, kisses her nose, and puts their foreheads together.
She inhales, properly content for the first time she she’d woken up.
She’s still overwhelmed by the tenderness of what Emily just said and moved back a couple of inches, ignoring Emily’s quiet huff of disapproval to kiss her lightly. It's short but sweet and then Sue pulls the covers up more and puts their foreheads back together again.
“You’re sweet,” she says, “Good night.”
Emily snorts and whispers the same in return.
There’s a gentle knock at Emily’s door as the heat of the afternoon starts to ebb off and the sun starts to ponder packing its bags.
Usually, Sue would just go in, but something about the way Emily skulked upstairs after a less than pleasant family conversation told Sue a gentle knock couldn’t hurt.
Emily could tell who it was from the sound at the door, and the arrival of her favourite person still excited her, despite her somber mood.
“Sue?” Emily says, “Come in.”
The lump from the bed moves when Sue enters the room, quietly and carefully closing the door behind her.
“Hi.”
Emily’s low sleepy voice is absolutely scorching and Sue sits in the feeling for a second before putting it down. There’s hair poking out of the blankets.
Sue just watches her for a second, short enough that she can get away with it without being teased. Her eyes trail over the lump, watching the poet breathe in and out. Emily looks excessively cozy, and the only possible thing Sue can think of is holding her and warding away whatever ill emotions have crawled into her head.
“You’re asleep early.”
Emily peers at her from over the covers.
“Am I?”
Emily’s voice is still a grumbly sound and Sue is hopelessly endeared. The distance between them is all at once too much and Sue aches to figure out what’s going on in Emily’s head.
“Can I join you?” Sue feels compelled to ask given the tumultuous energy from beneath the blankets.
“I’d be more upset if you didn’t.” This seems to lighten Emily’s tone and Sue notes it with a smile and slight nod of the head. Emily gets into family squabbles, her mood sours at times, and Sue would be lying if she said it didn’t bleed over sometimes, but it just took a gentle touch from her to spark Emily into a calm mood. Emily moves over some inches symbolically.
Sue changes quickly, noting her growing section of clothes in Emily’s closet. It feels abhorrently long.
She clambers into bed and under the blankets slowly and Emily turns over and touches their feet together, still shrouded under the covers. Sue props herself up on an elbow to look at her in the candlelight, mussed hair peeking out of the blankets. Her fingers grip the top of the sheets.
“Are you really going to sleep?”
“Not anymore.”
Sue smiles, nudging their ankles together, which Emily returned.
“Are you going to come out from under there?”
“No current plans.”
Sue takes a deep breath, just enjoying the warm company.
“Let me look at you.”
Emily makes a faux-groaning noise.
“I want to look at you,” Sue adds, letting her fingers atop the sheets press against the top of Emily’s head.
To being seen by Sue, Emily had a hard time saying no. Excessively dramatically, she emerged from the sheet to meet eyes that immediately calmed her down.
Sue smiled softly at her, very slightly chastising but mostly warm. She runs a hand through the messy hair, moving strands out of her face and neatening up.
Emily tucked herself against the newcomer’s side and just breathed in and out, appreciating the company, they close their eyes and minutes passed calmly.
The sun petered down outside Emily’s room and both girls just listen to each other’s breathing.
Emily’s unpleasant encounters with her family made Sue sad, but with a hint of jealously. She didn’t have a family to be upset with her. Though, lately, she had more and more been thinking of the Dickinson’s as her very own. Especially the girl whose hair she’s been running fingers through for five minutes.
Emily’s father was too much sometimes and Sue realized that, turning the anger at him into gentleness for her daughter, and Sue couldn’t remember her own father being so mean when he was alive. He didn’t understand her, and to be fair, no one really seemed to except for Sue herself. She doubts that any of her work ever made it outside of both of their hands.
It’s still too early for them to go to bed, they hadn’t even had dinner yet and Sue thought maybe getting Emily out of the house would be good. With her in tow, of course. Maybe with some snacks.
She’s interrupted by her musing and planning by Emily’s low, quiet, and somewhat vulnerable voice.
“Will you tell me you love me?”
Emily whispers and Sue blinks, searching in concern for the emotions that provided the request.
It isn’t often that Sue expresses the sentiment, or at least not as often as Emily, who was fond of delivering her thoughts and feelings, if not in poems, but in soft whispers and playful declarations that Sue knows to take seriously.
Emily watches her furrow her brow, and a couple of seconds pass like cold molasses, and then her eyes turn worried and upset.
Sue is in-tune with her always and her expression turns tender immediately, a palm coming up to cup under Emily’s jawline on her neck.
“Of course,” Sue breathes and kisses her forehead, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh.” The worry drops from Emily’s eyes and her expression turns expectant. It was such a simple request, so easily fulfilled. She couldn’t believe how much it was wanted. Sue puts their foreheads together and both of them close their eyes.
“Not that you need to be upset for me to tell you…but you do seem…”
Sue pauses when Emily takes a breath that seems on the border of discomfort.
“Okay. Later.”
Sue presses her forehead in a bit and then gives in, pulling back, opening her eyes, and meeting her favourite brown ones. She desperately wants to push the question on the poet’s state of mind, but first things first.
“I love you,” Sue kisses her forehead again, “Very much,” kissing her cheek, “All the time.” she kisses the other, “And if you give me a while, I can think of a metaphor for it. But it wouldn’t be as good as any of yours.”
Emily snorts a laugh, her expression pleasantly grateful. She loves hearing Sue say it and she doesn’t always have to ask, but she’s not shy to ask when she needs to hear it. She somewhat thinks Sue appreciates the opportunity; out of the two of them, she’s always been more reserved, sometimes vague in her words, and sometimes Emily wonders if she feels the same way, as intensely, but Sue doesn’t let her wonder for too long when she asks.
“I’m sure it would be great.” She murmurs.
“Maybe you can write one for me.”
Emily laughs again at that.
“That’d be cheating.”
Sue feels relief at how the previously troubled girl has slipped into a more happy demeanor, even though it doesn’t assuage her from planning to broach that topic later.
“Could you really deny me?” Sue asks playfully.
Emily gives her a glare, with very little teeth behind it, and then it melts into something more tender than Sue was expecting.
“No.” she says simply, fingers grazing Sue’s jaw, “But I’m sure you’re a great writer too. We should write together sometime.”
Sue brightens under the compliment. She does, actually. More often, she’s happy to read Emily’s work and think about it and offer any thoughts. Emily’s encouragement is sweet. Time spent writing together sounds nice, though of course time spent with the other girl doing anything sounds ideal.
“Sure.”
Emily closes her eyes.
“Do you have something to tell me?”
Emily looks somewhat uncomfortable again, and Sue realizes it sounds like she steered the conversation towards something more serious.
“No, I mean, something you want to say back…”
Emily registers what Sue’s asking her.
Emily smiles and pushes forward to kiss her lightly, “Yes,” she says, pulling back slightly, “I love you back. And I’ll write a metaphor for you. Two, I guess. One you can have.”
Sue smiles, “Oh, great.”
“I’ll need some help though.”
“What kind of help?”
“Hm. Give me something to work with. Tell me something you love about me.”
“One thing?” Sue teases, “Just one?”
Emily grins and Sue basks in her successful restoring of self-esteem.
“One metaphor, that’s the deal.”
Sue loves the sound of Emily’s confident tone when it comes to discussing her writing.
“Okay.”
(It’s an incredible bargain.)