Loving you wasn't a good idea.

No, no, Emma didn't love you, she was just stating the facts. Yeah. It felt like a mantra somedays: having to reiterate her lack-of-feelings for her bodyguard. God, it was so cliché. You and Emma were quite literally not meant to be. She was the revered White Queen, and you were, well, you. Some sloven criminal that one of her Hellions had found in the back alleys, conditioned into her most trusted guard. Someone certainly not fit for the acclaimed, the damn esteemed, Emma Frost.

Though when you peeked into her quarters, sheepishly holding a tray of food with that coy smile of yours, she forgot how catastrophic adoring you like she wanted to would be. "Come in," she caved, mattress falling off her as she surged forward carefully, patting the empty spot beside her. "You know, this isn't even your job. Bringing me food." She hid the plethora of butterflies in her chest with a careful simper. Doomed from the start.