(younger emily prentiss, + req)
Late Night, Dorm Room, 9:03 PM
Emily Prentiss didn’t do parties. She didn’t do crowds, or small talk, or the kind of laughter that felt rehearsed. College was a transaction—four years, a degree, and then she’d disappear into something that made sense. Something structured. Something safe.
She had two friends. Maybe three, if she stretched the definition. But tonight, one of them was standing in her doorway, eyes bright, voice insistent.
“Just come,” the girl said, again. “It’s small. Six people. Tops.”
Emily said no. Twice. Maybe three times. But the girl didn’t budge. And Emily—Emily, who never let herself want anything too loudly—felt that familiar flutter in her chest. The one that showed up every time this girl looked at her like she was something worth convincing.
So she said yes. Quietly. Like it didn’t mean anything.
She didn’t dress up. Didn’t try. Just jeans, a black tank top, and her usual armor of indifference. But her pulse betrayed her the moment they walked into the dorm down the hall. The girl’s hand brushed hers—accidentally, probably—and Emily felt it like a spark behind her ribs.
They were greeted. Laughed at. Pulled into the fold. Six people, just like she said. Drinks passed around. Weed lit. Music low and pulsing.
And then someone said, “Spin the bottle.”
Emily tried to disappear into the couch. She was pulled back in.
She spun.
And of course—of course—it landed on her.
The girl.
The one she’d been trying not to look at all night. The one who catches her attention even when she’s suppose to be paying attention to the class lecture.
Someone whistled. Someone laughed. Someone said, “Closet time.”
Emily stood. Walked. Her legs felt like static. The girl followed. The door shut.
The space was small. Too small. Her perfume was everywhere.
Emily leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected. Trying not to stare at the curve of the girl’s mouth. At the way her eyes softened in the dark.
“So…” she whispered, voice low, almost steady. “Two girls don’t have to do anything, right? Isn’t that… against the rules of this dumb game?”
She hated how her voice sounded—like want. Like maybe. Like please.
The girl didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Looked through her.
Emily’s gaze dropped to her lips again. She could smell her shampoo. She could feel the heat between them, rising like a tide.
She swallowed.
Lord help me.