Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elle had been surprised a lot, in the weeks since the trial had ended.

After a couple busy weeks, between being a national news story and celebrating with her family and friends from California, she and Emmett had settled into their unexpected unemployment.

There wasn’t exactly nothing to do; Elle was studying, planning to start second year a month ahead instead of a month behind, and Emmett was applying and interviewing at major law firms. That still left most of their evenings free. This was a welcome shift in their schedules, considering it came right as they’d started dating.

Her expectation, dating her best friend, had been that things would stay simple, comfortable, that they’d slide into firsts without comment. After all, he’d had a key and left a toothbrush for her dorm room months before they'd ever gone on a date.

So it was surprising, that he cutely, awkwardly asked before putting an arm around her shoulder, or reaching out to touch her hair.

It was surprising, that when he’d smiled and casually said “you look beautiful” for the first time, she’d felt her mouth dry up and face flush in a way his now-familiar compliments for her mind or efforts didn’t inspire.

It was surprising, that the half-second of anticipation before each kiss still gave that desperate, heart-pounding panic, even once they'd banged like, a ton of times.

She knew that, for all its flaws, the love she’d had for Warner had been deep and true, maybe a bit too much of both. When Warner had talked down to her, treated her like a trophy, or said ignorant things about entire groups of people, she’d been able to turn it around, make it just another way he was dreamy or manly.

Emmett was always kind, gentle, and intimidatingly intelligent. He not only listened to everything she said, but quietly watched for the little unsaid discomforts, the things she couldn’t say yet, and wanted to take care of those, too. Just listening to the way he could talk through case law in phone interviews or having him stare her down in mock cross-examinations was starting to get her hot and bothered.

She’d really assumed that for a guy that perfect, any minor flaws would be ignored easily.

When she arrived at his place, a bottle of wine, some takeout, and her dog in hand, she’d managed to keep her voice cheerful.

“Hi, Emmett. Plaid flannel shirt again, huh?”

He laughed. “These come in a five-pack, Elle, I’ve got three more in the clean pile in my room.”

Elle tried to keep her expression cute, using willpower to keep down that one vein that liked to bulge in her forehead. “You really have to respect tartans. Great accent or statement piece, but never a default, you know? They can be hard to style, you have to be mindful.”

He kissed her on the cheek, pausing a moment in her hair, obviously impressed by the perfume she’d applied so the middle note would come out right at this moment. “Whatever you say, Elle, I’ll believe it.”

For a guy who was basically perfect, any itty-bitty flaws should be things she could ignore easily.

Still, later that night, after Emmett stumbled into his shower with a dazed smile on his face, she’d quietly snuck out of bed and shoved the three shirts from his “clean pile” into the back of his closet.

A week later, he’s reading a novel in her bed, wearing the exact same extremely plaid rumpled shirt. She'd been a little less mature about it. What was she supposed to do? How much could one woman bear?

“Hey, Emmett. Remember that viridian shirt I grabbed for you? It’s a nice flannel, right?”

He looks up at her, sussing out why there was a note of danger in her tone. “Oh, uh, it’s nice! It feels like a waste to wear it for hanging out, I’d probably spill coffee on it or something.” As he gestured down at his outfit, they both notice a lightly dried mustard stain on his breast pocket.

She laughs, a little too shrill. “It’s a Marc Jacobs, it’s not exactly dry-clean only, you know?”

He blinks a little blankly at her, evidently struggling to understand what she was saying. She was struggling herself, wondering how someone who knew every item from Hume v United States couldn’t grasp Teen Vogue level content. She didn’t quite manage to repress her sour expression.

An edge of defensiveness enters Emmett’s voice. “Elle, you know me pretty well. You knew what you were getting into, if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me now that you’re my girlfriend.”

He pauses; something unsaid, suddenly said. “I mean- I guess, we’re exclusive, and, well, we hadn’t talked about the whole girlfriend thing, but you know I’m serious about you...”

Elle sets aside this undiscussed title upgrade; she’s a woman on a mission. “It’s not about me being seen with you, it’s being seen with yourself, right? That shirt also comes in salmon, I’ll get you that one too, then you don’t have to stress about it.”

Emmett looks at her, for some reason a little upset. Does he really care that much about this shirt? “Sure, Elle. I’m sorry, I kinda sprung that on you out of nowhere...” He’s obviously embarrassed; his outfit is really not a look, but she hadn’t wanted him to realise it that hard. “I’m actually gonna take off… I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”

He looks flustered; he gets up, shoving on his shoes, and finally, she sees.

Rumpled flannel over faded college t-shirt. Left knee blown out of his jeans; sneakers, once white, now an off-grey with a duct tape edge. Hair a few inches too long for preppy, but a couple too short for surfer casual.

Yes, she finally sees what she was missing, lunging out to grab his arm.

“Emmett, I wasn’t respecting you at all...” She looks deep into his eyes. “You were actually serious the whole time, right? I didn’t even notice.”

He sees her intense stare, the regretful tears forming in her eyes. “Elle, shit, I was just a little overwhelmed, it’s fine.”

“No, Emmett, I need to apologize.”

She sniffles lightly. “You’ve been pursuing the grunge aesthetic, and I totally ignored that. I can’t believe myself; I was being one of those girlfriends who smothers self expression for her own style goals, I’m so sorry.” She throws herself into his arms.

“Um, what?”

Emmett hadn't been sure what to do when Elle (his girlfriend, Elle) had started crying suddenly, or when she'd rapidly busted out her emergency chocolate and a stack of GQ magazines. Elle had totally ignored his attempts to comfort her (her being his girlfriend) so she could intensely quiz him, tears still in her eyes, to ‘better understand his style identity'.

After twenty minutes of her asking him which outfits he preferred (to Emmett, all the photos she showed him were so similar it was almost a find-the-difference game), she finally seemed to calm down, loudly blowing her nose and smiling at him happily.

“Oh my god, Emmett, that was so cleansing. That was like, the best first fight possible, right? I learned so much about you!”

“Haha, Elle, are we counting that as a fight?” He exhales in relief; she’s always cried easily, and he still hasn’t figured out how to deal with it.

That’s when she starts taking off her clothes, and in a couple moments instead of her sundress and jacket, he’s looking at matched pink underwear. About 95% of his brain stops working.

“Wow.”

Elle grins at him brightly, eyes still lightly puffy. “I know, right? Making up is totally the best part of having a fight.”

Chapter Text

Emmett Forrest had, against his will, grown to appreciate the antics of the stepdads and “uncles” who’d passed through his childhood home. They’d really given him an education in every type of asshole he didn’t want to be.

He’d been mindful of that, every semester he'd spent as a TA; the students might only be a few years younger than him, but he wasn’t going to be that guy. The kind who chased younger, vulnerable women, knowing whatever scraps he presented would impress them.

When he saw one of his students, alone and tearful on a campus bench, literally dressed as a Playboy centrefold, his first thought was to keep walking.

In the building behind her, the door opens; a few other first years, all in formal wear, walk out, the sounds of a cocktail party wafting out from inside. Oh. Well, that’s a mean prank to pull.

Still; someone else might go talk to her. It didn’t have to be him, the TA, with the power dynamic; he really isn’t that guy.

No one stops.

He sighs; of course he’s not going to prioritize propriety over the right thing to do.

Emmett walks over to her. He doesn’t need to make this an issue; ditzy girls and California blondes were hardly his type.

By December, he was remembering another type of behaviour he loathed; the kind of guy who leered at women, looking at them like objects, valuing only their bodies.

Emmett Forrest is a feminist. Emmett Forrest is the kind of guy who never glanced below the chin on first dates. All of his (admittedly brief) past relationships would have remembered him as a gentleman, initial attraction forming on a mostly mental level.

Emmett Forrest did not think of himself as the kind of person who needed an internal map of where every throw pillow was in a female friend's apartment. He was in his mid-twenties, hell, he’d passed the bar exam. He was not a hormonal teenager.

Her dorm room feels weirdly hot as Elle gestures for him to sit on her bed, next to her, pointing at a page from her textbook. “So this set of precedents are only in Massachusetts? It’s the next chapter for federal-level?”

He looks at her textbook over her shoulder, ignoring that at this angle he almost has no choice but to look down her tank top. He doesn’t sit down next to her, because he knows she’ll scooch closer and inevitably press into his side if they have the same textbook open (she’s done it before). “Yes, that’s right.”

He’s an adult man, not a teenager. He really shouldn’t need to internally recite all the amendments to the Constitution just because Elle was tying up her hair… oh, he could see the nape of her neck...

He clears his throat. “Um, Elle, do you want to study in the library tomorrow instead?”

She looks at him, innocently perplexed. “Why would anyone go out into snow hell if they didn’t have to? It’s so cold here, it’s crazy. I was going to ask if you wanted to sleep over tonight, it’s literally a blizzard right now, right?” She points to her pink bedsheets. On her narrow, twin bed.

“No, I- um, Actually, I just ran out files for articling for today. I should probably head home before they start canceling buses.”

Despite her stated hatred of the weather, she still walks him out of the dorm in her pyjamas, and as he opens the main door into a blast of cold air, she waves goodbye.

She very bouncily waves goodbye.

He's absolutely covered in snow by the time he reaches the bus shelter, but he can't help but feel like he deserves it.

Emmett Forrest, you are a filthy hypocrite.

His phone buzzes with a text: "Let me know when you get home! <3", and a long line of snow-related emojis.

His heartrate hits a new high for the day, and that's saying something, from looking at a '<3' symbol.

Well, he's clearly not as much of an adult as he thought.

Emmett Forrest is not sure exactly what kind of guy he is anymore.

For years, he’s been the type to raise an eyebrow when other men moaned about the “friend zone”, even making little lectures about what it meant to imply friendship was a demotion.

So, the woman he spends most of his days with has a type: 'the most annoying tool Emmett can imagine'. He’s not going to seek out false signals in kindness, he’s not going to wreck something so important to him, he’s going to be an actual, real friend, to women in general, and Elle Woods in specific.

That would mean that, at the moment he sees Warner go down on one knee in front of Vivienne, he would only be outraged. How could he do this in front of Elle? Vivienne looks shocked, she’s glancing around at the crowd; holy crap, is this guy actually the kind of douche who’d do a public proposal before talking to his partner about it?

If he was actually Elle’s best friend, the only thing he would care about is that he can see her heart breaking, for maybe the hundredth time this semester.

If he was actually her best friend, at the moment Vivienne said “Yes”, the thought So do I actually have a shot now? would never have crossed his mind.

He turns to look at the bulletin board… He really is upset for her, too. He’s multifaceted; only one part of him is wondering if that was enough of a push for her to move on.

There it is, last name alphabetical, fourth on the list. Woods, Elle.

He is almost entirely a good friend; he can't stop smiling when he taps her shoulder because he’s proud of her, and how hard she’s worked, and he knows how this will make her feel.

It's only when he walks away, as she continues celebrating exuberantly, that he starts adding up how many weeks she’ll be a junior intern at his firm on to the timeline of when he wouldn't be her TA anymore.

Shit.

He’s at least 90% a good friend. Maybe 80%.

The Saturday before her internship with Callahan starts, she calls him on the phone, asking if he wants go to the gym with her. He’s told her before that he doesn’t have time for it; she knows it’s not his thing.

Her tinny voice rings through the phone speaker. “I’m so nervous, it’s the only thing for it, right? Otherwise I won’t sleep until Monday. It’ll be like research, the defendant is an exercise mogul!”

Emmett laughs. “Elle, this is my first co-counsel. You know I have a pile of work to do.” He’s at the firm right now, in fact, elbows deep in a box of files.

“Emmett, you’ve read over the prosecution’s entire discovery three times. Please? It’ll just take a couple hours.”

It dawns on him she’s determined a sleepless weekend under the firm’s fluorescent lights re-reading these folders will hurt his performance more than help it. He’s never liked it when people try to decide things for him.

She really does sound nervous, though.

For how many people would he pack up the boxes, take the bus home, and wait in his ratty sweatpants and t-shirt outside the Harvard gym, just in case it might make them feel a little better?

He can think of exactly one. He’s down pretty bad.

It occurs to him only after they meet up, Elle bounding up to him in a little exercise outfit, the exact mistake he’s made.

He isn’t the kind of guy who loses interest unless a girl fakes weakness. His pride isn’t so soft, that he can’t appreciate a capable woman.

He doesn't require being more knowledgeable, or his career being more advanced; his attraction is not dependent on imagining a woman being below his level at everything.

However, when Elle turns the incline and speed of her treadmill four settings higher than his and basically sprints for forty minutes, as he floppily gasps at jogging pace, he can’t help but feel like giving up, in more ways than one.

His clothes are soaked, he’s never felt less masculine, and she turns to him with that smile like the sun and says, “Doesn’t a little warmup just make everything possible?”

Is this what dying feels like?

His legs are noodles; he wants to wheeze and cough like a pack-a-day smoker. He can’t imagine doing more of this, and thank goodness he has a good excuse to not further embarrass himself in front of her.

“Elle, I might stretch a bit and head out, I’ve got to shower and head back to the office.”

She looks, for a moment, disappointed, but quickly swaps back to a smile. She does that thing where she grabs both of his arms; god, is she really not concerned with how sweaty he is right now?

“Thanks so much, Emmett. I feel way better now.”

They walk to a free weight area; he tries to remember a couple stretches from high school gym class. Elle takes a kettlebell the size of his head and starts doing some kind of complex squat-lunge combo, only ever so slightly out of breath.

Naturally, it’s when his self esteem is at an all time low that the world’s fittest man walks up to them.

Whoever this guy is, all of his muscles are overly defined and perfectly proportional. Emmett’s pretty sure this guy is twice as wide in the shoulder than he is, and still thinner in the waist. He’s not even sure the two of them count as the same species anymore.

The greek statue waits, glowingly tan, forcefully projecting non-threatening energy, for Elle to finish her set. “Hi.”

Emmett feels something in his stomach drop.

Elle turns, cheerful as always. “Oh, there’s another forty on the rack if you’re waiting for this one.”

The Adonis smiles widely, teeth blindingly white. “No, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

She tilts her head, still friendly, but confused. “I don’t feel like I need form tips on that one, but thanks?”

“Haha, obviously not, you’re doing great. I was wondering if you had plans later? I know a great smoothie place. What’s your name?”

Elle smiles back politely. “Oh, I just came to work out, sorry. I’m actually here with someone.” She looks at Emmett; he frankly can’t blame the guy for assuming they weren’t here together.

“Oh, my bad. Have an awesome workout, you guys.” The guy gives Emmett a thumbs up as he walks away.

Elle shakes her head, looking amused. “East coast guys are so weird! Like, look at this outfit. I’m obviously not here for that, can’t they tell?” She gestures at her sweater and loose shorts, pointing at the hair escaping from her messy bun.

She’s easily the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “Yeah, that’s odd.”

As he fails to touch his toes while Elle enters some yoga nightmare positions ‘as a break’ beside him, two things occur to him:

1) He regrets coming here, because now he’s fully aware he is, in fact, the type of guy who can’t handle being terrible at things in front of the woman he's falling in love with.

2) He's really relying on the rest of the world stopping and waiting for him to figure out what he's doing, and that is no longer feeling like a good decision.

Emmett leans his head against a concrete pillar outside, still shell-shocked from the verdict.

He’s not going to let himself be anxious that Elle's talking alone to Warner; he knows her better than that. She knows herself better than that.

He’s definitely not upset that he just threw a grenade at his career; it was worth it. How could she not be worth it?

He knows he’s not the kind of guy who would just reel off and punch Callahan in the face. He can’t help but wish he was, though he would definitely have lost his license, along with any case for aggravated assault.

His temper up, he’d said the best quip he’d had in the moment: “I don’t need to hit on interns, Professor.”

And then… he’d turned around, and literally seconds later, hit on an intern.

He bounces his forehead against the pillar a couple times.

If he were to be more precise, as supervising attorney, he’d hit on his intern.

A few days after the Wyndham trial ended, Elle invited Emmett to dinner with her parents.

Like everything in how he’s doing this, the timing was wrong; they’ve been too busy, there’s a million things they need to work out. Still, she’d wanted him to meet them properly before they left for California.

He was honestly going to try and to earn her parents' blessing before he’d taken her on a first date.

Dinner was… fine. They’re nice, polite people. He doesn’t understand half of what they talked about; Malibu really is another planet.

He’s wearing a suit she bought for him. Her father paid for everything. It shouldn’t feel bad; he’s very recently unemployed, everyone there knows why, and he’s currently figuring out how he can keep paying down a staggering amount of student loans. There’s no reason it should bother him.

It feels terrible.

As they wait for their cab outside the restaurant, Emmett ends up alone with her father. He wonders what the man must think of him.

Why should he care about some rich jerk’s opinion?

In his whole life, he has rarely cared about anything this much.

Her father breaks the silence, watching his daughter wistfully. “All I ever wanted was for her to be taken care of.”

Emmett winces; that feels like a jab. “I’m not sure that Elle needs someone else to take care of her.”

Elle’s father turns to him, his tone of voice slightly lost. “I didn’t raise her like that, you know. I thought… I really wanted her to be ready for a softer life. What on earth can I give my girl, when she seems to want to get things for herself?”

A cynical part of him whispers, a few hundred thousand dollars of tuition fees is a pretty good gift, gotta say.

He looks at Elle, standing tall, chatting with and physically stabilising her wine-plastered mother. They mime flagging a cab down New York style on the empty Cambridge side street before collapsing into giggles.

“I don’t know either, sir. I’ll be figuring that out too.”

Her father smiles, reaching out and grabbing his hand, shaking it firmly. “Good man, Emmett, good man. Yes, so we will.”

Chapter Text

A few months into their relationship, Elle had asked him to come with her to a Harvard party.

He was just starting his new job; a first year associate at a national firm, he absolutely doesn’t have the time or the energy for that kind of thing. He already knew he wouldn’t enjoy himself at all.

She was just so happy, so excited, to finally be making friends in her year.

Elle’s eyes sparkle as she cranes her neck upwards to look at Vivienne. “Oh my god, volunteering for the Peace Corps? That’s like, wow. Wow, Viv.”

“It’s all thanks to you two, Elle, Enid. You inspire me.”

Emmett’s a little skeptical; the young woman’s slinky black outfit and sharp expression still emanate ambition. He’s pretty sure this change in direction is actually inspired by her aggressively expanding her network in a couple Democratic political families, though her wandering eyes appear to be deeply bipartisan.

A nervous-looking first year law student walks up to their group, a narrow pink belt standing out from her cocktail dress. “Um, excuse me, are you Elle Woods? I’m actually a big fan.”

As Elle excitedly greets the girl, Emmett sees Vivienne’s eyes widen. She turns and hisses at Enid, “That’s the one whose older brother clerks for Alito!” With a smile like a dagger, Vivienne inserts herself into the conversation.

Emmett walks off to the bar to grab a drink. How did everyone else seem to know what to do with their hands at these things?

When he turns back to look at his girlfriend, he sees she’s surrounded by excited first years, all wanting to hear about her famous courtroom confession. Elle is sparkling, brilliant, almost hard to look at. She’s dressed to kill; before, well, everything, he wouldn’t even have imagined talking to a woman like that.

Obviously, by the looks she’s getting from most of the men and a few of the women here, he’s not the only one who’s noticed how she looks tonight.

Emmett has never been a jealous guy. In his opinion, men who pursue a woman, knowing who she is, then decide afterwards they want her to dress and act like a nun, are the scum of the earth. Elle's gone above and beyond in earning his trust as well; in just a few months of dating, how many times has he seen her tactfully weave in an introduction to “my boyfriend, Emmett”, heading off flirting at the pass?

It would be totally unjustified to be upset because other men had eyes, and Elle Woods is the hottest girl in every room she walks into.

As he’s stewing, the worst possible conversation partner for this moment comes up from behind.

“Yo, Emmett, what up.”

Emmett sighs. “Hi, Warner.”

“Damn, dude, that’s a nice look on you.”

Emmett manages not to feel insulted at how surprised Warner’s tone is, putting on a self-deprecating smile. “Well, I can’t take credit. It seems like part of being Elle’s boyfriend is being her personal Ken doll.”

How much emphasis had he put on the word boyfriend? God, I'm acting like I'm going to pee on her leg or something.

Warner seems not to have noticed. “Yeah, she’s always had great taste.”

Emmett looks at him a little harder; Warner’s energy is somehow mellower, in a way he can’t quite identify. I wonder if that faculty lounge rumour might actually be true...

“Hey, Warner. I heard a big donor forced Callahan's quiet ‘resignation’. Would the Huntington family have anything to do with that?”

Warner runs his hand through his hair… is he embarrassed? “I don’t want to make a whole thing about it, ok? Oh, and it’s not like that, don’t worry, man. I’ve just been trying out something new.”

Emmett quirks an eyebrow at him.

Warner looks unusually serious. “I don’t know… it’s like, be a shark. Senator by 30. 4.0 GPA… Everything planned out, right from the start. But damn, dude… Why get an A+ when you’re more of a B- guy, right? You get me?” He illustratively makes a wave motion with his arms.

Emmett does not get it. “Warner, I think the two of us are dealing with different realities.”

"Haha, harsh, man. That's hilarious."

Emmett realises he’s never actually interacted with him one on one; it seems like he has Warner’s full attention once they start talking. Unlike his own, Warner’s gaze doesn’t keep wandering to Elle, or even follow Vivienne as she beelines across the room, a hunter chasing her prey.

The two men are basically strangers, but Warner talks to him like they’ve known each other for years. Emmett realises Warner is, in his own way, pretty funny; it was actually a little ridiculous, making fun of him for being a douchebag, when it seems that Warner’s so in on that joke.

Warner convinces the tuxedo-wearing cocktail bartender to give them both Jaeger shots in red solo cups, and Emmett finds himself realising some time later he’s four drinks in, seriously helping Warner decide if his left side or right side was his stronger profile.

It had never fit, that all she’d been chasing was money, nice clothes, a face. Seeing Warner in his element, snorting at his moronic jokes and in the face of his casual charisma, he finally gets it.

This is the guy Elle was so in love with. At least, a version of Elle had been.

Turning to look at his girlfriend, he feels that sinking feeling in his stomach.

Even from a distance, he recognises the tableau in front of him: Some guy is talking to Elle, smarmy smile, rich looking. He’s holding his cell phone, probably intending to ask for her number, but she turns away, looking for Emmett. He sees her mouth form the words “my boyfriend” as she waves at him, and the guy slips his phone back in his pocket.

He hears Warner speak next to him. “Now damn, that I miss.”

Emmett waves back to Elle before turning to Warner. “What?”

“Knowing every single guy in the place is drooling over your girl, but you get to go home with her. That’s god shit, man.” Warner gives him a slap on the back.

Emmett laughs a little half-heartedly; suddenly, the last glass of whiskey he’d had feels like a mistake.

Alright, so apparently he’s a jealous guy. That’s new, he doesn’t like it, and he’s going to have to deal with it somehow.

However, he doesn’t know how to stomach that he’s less evolved than Warner on this issue.

Warner offers to refill his glass again; he doesn’t say no.

He’s quiet the whole cab ride to his place, holding down a wave of nausea. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this drunk.

Elle chatters about the people she met at the party, a story Enid told her, things he’d normally find charming and funny. Emmett is only half-listening to his unbelievably amazing girlfriend. He desperately wishes he was alone right now.

She easily loops an arm around him at the stairs for his crappy walk-up apartment; this is a woman who knows how to walk with drunk people. Once they’re in the door, he flops onto his couch. He hears Elle rummaging in his kitchen, coming back a few moments later with a filled water bottle and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“You can leave it until after if you’re going to hurl, but you should eat something if you can, Emmett.” She smiles brightly. I do not deserve this woman.

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have drank that much.”

Elle rubs slow circles on his back. “I saw you hanging out with Warner. He's like an alcohol salesman or something, it’s hypnotic, you have to know ahead of time how to beat it.”

He doesn’t want to bring it up. He brings it up. “Was that guy at the party hitting on you?”

“Which one? Oh, when I waved at you? Probably a little, yeah. You’ve got nothing to worry about, obviously, I shut it down.”

“By ‘which one’, are you saying it happened a few times?” What is wrong with you? Asshole, asshole, asshole.

Elle frowns. Good, get mad. You should leave. “Aw, did you get a little jealous?” She’s still rubbing his back. “I didn’t know you were such a cute drunk, ha… I know, this is like, a really nice dress.” She winks at him and twirls a piece of her hair, giggling.

“Elle, do you actually think guys are into you because of your clothes? Or that you need to do coordinated cheerleader dance movements for them to notice you’re attractive? You should really know, when you smile at a guy, or touch his arm, that’s all it takes. You should be aware of that.”

He realises, suddenly, how loud his voice has gotten. He’s leaning over her. She’s still smiling sweetly at him, just lightly confused, and he wonders if he sounded angry. When a guy treats you like this, you need to go, Elle.

He wants to apologize to her. He doesn't.

He honestly never, not once, worried that he was going to be that kind of guy.

The kind who gets drunk, and jealous, and yells at his girlfriend. Maybe next time he grabs her arm, or punches the drywall, or throws some plates on the floor. His mom had always managed to end it before things got really bad, but all their apartments had had thin walls.

After all that, they say they’re sorry. Emmett had always seen those men as something lower than animals; he’s disgusted his first impulse in this moment is to apologize, to bury his face in her dress and have her say it’s no big deal, that she loves him.

He’s a weak person, he knows that, but there are limits. He doesn’t give in.

“Elle, you should leave. I want to be alone right now. Please. I need you to go.” She pouts for a moment, but hears something in the tone of his voice.

“Fine, silly. Text me if you need anything, ok?” She leans in and kisses him, gently, just for a second.

As the door closes behind her, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

Emmett wakes up on his couch to the shrill sound of a dog barking. His mouth tastes terrible. The world is so bright.

He hears the sound of a key in the door, and a cheerful stage whisper as it opens. “Hangover brigade, reporting for duty!” More shrill barking. “Bruiser, shhh, be nice!”

Elle walks in the door; she puts Bruiser down on the floor, and he does a few hyperactive circles around Emmett’s feet before settling into the dog bed they’ve set up in the corner.

She keeps her voice quiet, but she still sounds excited. “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve seen you hungover! I brought hash browns, and a carb-filled latte, and some breakfast burritos… what kind of stuff do you like, though, do you want to go to a diner?”

He can't even look at her. “Elle, what. Are you not upset at all about last night?”

She tilts her head, perplexed. “I mean, yeah, I wanted to take care of you while you were drunk. It’s such an intimate thing, though. We’ll get there.”

He sifts through his jumbled memories; granted, he’d been a little melodramatic. He knows there’s no universe where he’d hurt her. Still, the way he’d acted...

“Elle, I was practically yelling at you, and for no reason. I was being a jealous dick. You didn’t deserve that.”

She giggles. “When was the last time you were really drunk? That was pretty mild. You have to practice if you want to act normal after drinking that much.” She aggressively shakes a Starbucks cup in his face until he takes it from her.

He tastes the coffee; overwhelmingly sweet. “I’m never drinking that much again.”

She walks to his bathroom, getting an aspirin out of the bottle and handing it to him.

“Em, you seem super upset. Do you want to talk about it? We could just go cuddle in bed, but you'll have to brush your teeth first.”

His head is pounding, his brain is slow, he can’t think. He closes his eyes. She puts a cold hand on his forehead; he gently pulls it away.

He tries his best. “I don’t know, I just… I need to know you'll break up with me, if you should. I care about you. You should leave when someone talks to you that way.”

She sits next to him on the couch. “I think you need to chill out about this a little. You know I’m like, totally in love with you, right? We can figure out any little jealousy things, they’re pretty normal.”

He opens his eyes and looks at her; she's worried about him. Trying to make him feel better right now. He presses his palm against a throbbing eye socket.

“I love you so much, but… damn it. You shouldn’t be okay with a guy who’d chase after his students, someone who can't do this right, because he's... messed up, and I’m beyond broke, Elle, and you’re too loyal to people who don’t treat you like you deserve.”

She giggles at him. “Oh, is that it?”

“Elle, I’m serious.”

She grabs a hashbrown from her purse and puts it in his hand. “I know, this is like, one of your ‘chip on the shoulder’ things. You're not in the right mood to actually talk to me about it, so let's not stress out right now. We can figure this out another day.”

She reaches for his laptop, setting it to play Days of our Lives (with the volume low.) Bruiser barks in approval as she turns the screen towards him.

He stares up, at the living room water stain; the ceiling's spackle pattern is wobbling back and forth. His brain isn’t working well enough to handle this.

“You deserve a better boyfriend.”

“Sure thing, bud. Guess you’ll have to be a better boyfriend then.” She takes one of the breakfast burritos and starts eating it, putting her crossed feet in his lap.

He's not totally sure what just happened, but he's definitely lost whatever argument they were having.