It was quiet in Emma's dorm, Marie was god knows where, probably getting up to hijinks on campus, there was the odd laugh down the hallway and patter of footsteps, but apart from that, all that was to be heard was the odd rustle of sheets, the soft brush of skin on skin and the slow, rhythmic breathing as two chests rose and fell with each intake of breath.

It was too quiet, so many words begging to be uttered, the same words that Emma was also silently begging wouldn't pass your lips. She didn't want the lecture, and you didn't want to lecture her either, but your heart couldn't take watching her destroy her organs just to be special.

This was the last time, you told yourself, that you'd find her weak, practically unable to function from the sheer lack of nutrients in her body. But you knew it'd happen again regardless of what you told her. You'd had this conversation over and over, you were worried, she knew, but she couldn't stop.

There's the slow intake of breath, soft curls brushing underneath your chin and collar, a warm body settling against your chest after a moment of shifting under the sheets.

She won't relax until you hash it out, but you don't know what to say. Everything ends up with her passed out across cold bathroom tiles and you with that constant frown line between your eyebrows that she likes to smooth out with a thumb, joking about how you'll get premature wrinkles but knowing completely that her bad habits are the reason why.