emma’s first day at ptmc had been… a lot. what she expected to be a relatively smooth sailing day was the complete opposite.

in the space of twelve hours, she had been assaulted twice. the hospital was a victim to a cyber attack, and emma had to clean her first dead body, something she hadn’t been expecting to do just yet. so when dana finally forced her to go home, she didn’t argue.

walking into her apartment, the usual smell of vanilla and cherry hit her, and the relief was immediate. she exhaled as she toed her shoes off, taking a deep breath. today was a lot, and she needed to decompress desperately. she shrugs off her backpack and jean jacket and walks into the lounge.

you’re there, bleach blonde hair scraped up into a messy bun, a strappy vest top and sweatpants on as you paint your nails. you look up at her. “jesus.”

emma frowns. “what?”

you huff a laugh. “you look like a zombie, em.”

emma rolls her eyes. she was used to your blunt sense of humour after eight months of living with you. the arrangement had been a bit strained at first, the two of you complete opposites. emma was bright and optimistic, while you were edgy and cynical.

nobody knows how it works, it just does.

emma is all sunshine, rainbows, dresses and pink and you’re more tattoos, darkness, piercings and black.

but it works. the only person you seem to tolerate is emma, and on the other hand, she can talk to anyone.

emma drops on the couch beside you, propping her feet on the coffee table. you glance at her. “for real, you okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

emma shrugs.

you frown. “em—“ and then you notice it.

the darkening bruise on her neck from the assault from a patient. he put her in headlock, and emma can still feel a twinge if she moves too quickly. “it looks worse than it is.” she says quietly, voice tired.