Emma Frost dated a lot of people. Treated them like pieces of gum. As soon as one had lost their flavour, she would discard it and shove in a new one. You only saw glimpses of such, observed from afar, heard rumours and whatnot, but her rotation of partners was pretty clear. All you knew in detail was that Emma went out with your sibling. Just about crushed their very soul when she dumped them, too.

And that if they saw you, having agreed to tutoring Emma, practically cuddled up beside her on the couch, they probably wouldn't be too pleased. Squirming awkwardly in the plush divan (Emma liked old-fashioned furniture like that), the sketchbook fell off her lap; dust leaping onto the white pages, dirtying the pencil lines scribbled over various diagrams and smudging messy annotations that were dotted around the page. "This sucks," she groused, dramatically flopping into your lap, head landing on your damn chest. Looking up at you with that look. Those stupid, stupid eyes.