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Miss Aubrey doesn’t mean to spiral.
It starts small. It always does.
Emilia is laughing at something someone else said - some stupid joke, nothing special - and Aubrey feels it like a bruise.
Not because Emilia shouldn’t laugh, or because she’s not allowed to have friends, but because the laugh is easy. Effortless. The kind of laugh Aubrey is always afraid she’s slowly losing access to.
She stands a little straighter. Crosses her arms. Watches almost carefully.
Emilia looks so at home with everyone. Friendly. Warm. Magnetic without trying. People orbit her because she’s easy to be around.
Aubrey knows that. She’s known it since they were kids.
And that’s the problem.
Miss Aubrey isn’t easy.
Hell, she knows this. Better than most.
She knows she's sharp. She’s intense. She feels everything at full volume and then pretends she doesn’t feel anything at all, because that would, for sure, not look too good socially nor publicly.
She can't help it. At least, she thinks she can't.
She asks too many questions. Overthinks tone shifts. She needs reassurance but resents herself for needing it. She can be bitchy. Possessive.
Too much.
She’s being dramatic. It’s stupid.
That’s what Aubrey tells herself.
It’s stupid to spiral over nothing. It’s stupid to stare at Emilia laughing with someone else and feel that familiar, ugly twist in her chest. It’s stupid to think, again, she could do better than her.
But stupid doesn’t make it go away.
They’re alone. Emilia’s changing, hands a little red from training, yet grounded and steady like always.
Aubrey isn’t pacing - she would never pace. She’s sitting perfectly still on the edge of the bed, posture straight, hands folded in her lap like she’s waiting for judgment.
And she’s been weird all evening.
Aubrey's not yelling. Not emotional. Not even crying. It’s way worse than that - she’s quiet. That now familiar kind of quiet that means her brain is loud.
Emilia notices. She always notices.
"You’re doing the thing," Emilia says, putting on a shirt.
Aubrey stiffens. Even more than she already was.
"Thing?"
"The spiraling thing."
The room goes mostly silent. There's light breathing, at least for a while.
"It's just..." Aubrey starts, breaking the silence, a casual tone stretched thin. Her eyes are fixated on the floor, and her mind was racing. "you don’t have to... settle."
It doesn't come out as dramatic. It’s quiet, almost conversational. There’s no anger or accusation, there's just... something raw and ugly that slipped out before Aubrey could dress it up.
Emilia glances at her. Aubrey still doesn't seem to look elsewhere.
"Settle...?"
"Yeah."
There's a shrug. Weak, but noticeable, and too sharp.
"You could date someone less exhausting. Less… dramatic. Someone who doesn’t-" she gestures vaguely, light, frustrated at herself, "-doesn’t do all this. You don't have to settle just because we have history."
Of course, Emilia knew the meaning of 'All this'. The occasional jealousy, the intensity, the texts at 2am, the way Aubrey watches her like she might vanish if she blinks.
Emilia doesn’t interrupt. Usually, that makes it worse. There's another quick wave of silence, a single short pause before Aubrey keeps going - because once she starts, she just can't stop.
"You could just wake up one day and decide i’m just too much. That you need less... me. And you’d be right."
She hates how small that sounds. She hates that she said it out loud. And she hates that only one person left her like... this.
"You could get someone easier. Someone calmer. Someone who doesn’t need reassurance every five minutes."
At this point, Aubrey was rambling.
"You have options... you always have options. You’re nice, sweet. People like you a lot. Like, genuinely like you. You could just-" she gestures vaguely, "upgrade."
It's said half like a joke, but her voice doesn’t sell it.
Emilia fully turns this time. She only walks a few steps closer, however.
"Come here."
Aubrey doesn’t move.
"Aubrey."
Miss Aubrey hesitates much like a skittish animal deciding whether it wants affection or not. With a sigh, she forces herself to get up, stepping closer. Stiff. Guarded. Like she’s bracing for something.
Silence.
She doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t argue. At least, not immediately.
"You done?" Emilia asks softly, hands immediately reaching for Aubrey's own as she approaches, albeit slow. Aubrey presses her lips together, and doesn’t answer.
"Aubrey..."
That tone again. Firm and soft. Aubrey’s throat tightens. She won’t look at her. That’s the definitive tell in Emilia's eyes.
Emilia reaches out and hooks a finger under Aubrey’s chin. Not forceful, but just enough to tilt her face down to look at her.
Silence. Again.
"You think I don’t know who you are?"
Her fingers toy with Aubrey's auburn locks absentmindedly, yet her gaze never falters. "You think I haven’t seen every version of you? The mean one. The jealous one. The dramatic one. The soft one you pretend doesn’t exist."
Emilia continues, voice calm, steady yet soft. Aubrey’s jaw tightens.
"I like you anyway."
Anyway.
"You’re rough on the edges. You spiral. You feel everything too loud. I know you get possessive and pouty, but you love just as loud. You stay. And you care more than anyone I know."
It takes a few seconds, and Aubrey laughs, but it’s brittle.
"I mean, I’m not exactly easy. I’m kind of a bitch. I’m emotional. I get weird, you've known this since... forever. You deserve someone who doesn’t act like a spoiled princess every time she thinks you’re drifting away."
Emilia actually smiles at that. Not mocking, much like old times. Warm.
"You are a spoiled princess," she says. "You’ve been one since we were kids."
Aubrey swallows, but her mouth twitches despite herself.
"You glare at people when I’m talking to them. You text me at 2am and say ‘no’ when you clearly want to talk. And honestly I believe that sometimes you forget I don't have the ability to read your mind."
Each word from Emilia's lips land not as accusation, but instead as recognition. Aubrey’s breathing gets uneven.
"You’re not something I’m tolerating. I chose the girl who taps my sleeve like a spoiled little cat and pretends she doesn’t need reassurance while absolutely needing it. You’re not a compromise. I don’t wake up and think ‘wow, I could’ve picked someone easier.’"
For a moment, Aubrey stares, just... blinking. Her voice is quieter now, and she breaks the connection to Emilia's gaze, as comforting as it was.
"You could."
Emilia doesn't hesitate to shake her head.
"I don’t want easier. I box for a living. Easy isn't exactly what I work with anyway."
She steps closer. Their foreheads almost touch. Almost, because Emilia waits for Aubrey to close the distance.
"I want you. The whole thing. The messy parts too."
"Even when I’m like--"
Emilia huffs softly. "Especially when you’re like this. Because this?" She presses a hand over Aubrey’s chest. "This is you being scared... and finally open about how you feel. After... gods, I don't know how long."
That lands.
"As I've said, you’re rough on the edges," she repeats softly. "You always have been. As much as you try to not let it show."
Aubrey’s throat tightens again. She tries to roll her eyes, but it doesn’t exactly land.
"But you’ve got a good heart," Emilia continues, a light, gentle smile on her face. "And you get scared I’m going to leave before I’ve even moved. You think I don’t see that you’re terrified of that?"
Aubrey doesn’t answer Emilia's murmur. Mainly, she just stares for a moment before finally allowing herself to close the distance between their foreheads. Aubrey’s hands hover for a second - unsure - then slowly wrap around Emilia.
Tight.
Possessive.
But relieved.
Aubrey’s eyes sting. She hates that. She hates how quickly she softens around this woman.
"You won’t get tired of me?"
"Aubrey? We've known each other since forever. You’ve been orbiting me for years. If I was going to get tired of you, it would’ve happened already."
That almost makes Aubrey laugh.
There’s no grand speech or over-the-top reassurance. That grounded certainty Aubrey both envies and depends on could be found instead, and she swallows again.
"Okay."
It’s small. Spoken like it's fragile. But it’s trust anyway, and for Emilia, it's better than nothing.
With that, Emilia presses a soft kiss to Miss Aubrey's temple.
"You’re exhausting," she mutters, that same gentle smile still present on her face.
Aubrey stiffens, but Emilia squeezes her waist, and feels the redhead relax under the touch.
"And I love you."