Archive of Our Own

Emily Charlton had rules. 

Rules that she followed; worshiped as if they were a religion. And, to her, they really were. They’re how she managed to have a (somewhat) steady, (kind of) healthy and (sort of) balanced life and, most importantly, a successful career. Had she not been utterly devoted to them since her teenage years, who’s to say she would’ve ever even been hired by Runway in the first place? Here’s a hunch: she would’ve not. 

There’s no way someone gets chosen to work for Miranda Priestly and lives to tell the story without pre-existing survival skills. Emily, fortunately, had plenty of those —or believed she did, at least—. That is due to her rules. 

Number one, Emily’s first and greatest Commandment: Nothing, absolutely nothing, comes before her job. Not her family, not any attempt at a social life, and certainly not her own well being. 

(One of the many brainless men she had dated, Gregory, who had also happened to be a shrink, had told her once that her methods were deeply concerning and totally not physiologically beneficial. But whatever. Who gives a fuck about what a man has to say, anyway?)

Her second Commandment, the latest one, added to the list exceptionally after her divorce, was: No romance. Ever.

Well, forcing herself to put up with the tortuous task of dating Benji Barnes did not count as “romance”. She only tolerated him for his large bank account and many, many, valuable resources —besides, she would've broken up with him eventually if he hadn’t beaten her to it. Thank God he did, in fact, because Emily might've thrown herself out of a window if she had gotten in contact with his disgusting beard one more time. 

Relationships —not only romantic ones, by the way— were distractions. Never ending headaches that compromised her ability to think properly and focus on what truly mattered: her career. They condemned her to put her guard down, relax and, horrifyingly so, prioritize something that wasn’t work related. 

A total nightmare.

All of her previous attempts at “dating” had only lasted long enough for her partner to figure out she loved Runaway —or Dior, eventually— more than she could ever have loved them. Those were Emily Charlton’s longtime marriages. 

Until they took turns asking for divorce papers. And wrecked her heart into pieces, like no man or woman could’ve possibly accomplished. 

That is… with the exception of Andrea fucking Sachs. 

The few weeks that had followed Andrea’s departure from Runway and Emily’s banishment to Dior were her all time rock bottom. It had been as if the Universe had chosen to combine the only two things that could've possibly ruined her and thrown them at her face. At the same time. 

Because what other reason could there truly have been for Andrea Sachs existence if not to punish Emily for whatever atrocities she had committed in her miserable past lives? She couldn’t come up with a single one.

Andrea’s time at Runaway had been short; a very brief and small part of Emily’s journey in the fashion business. Then why was it that she couldn’t simply let her go; lock that door of her past and throw the key away? It should’ve been easy! Andrea had taken Paris from her, for God's sake. She had stolen Emily’s one shot at leaving Runaway and Miranda’s shadow behind. Emily should’ve hated her. 

(Emily would eventually understand that Andrea didn’t actually sabotage her, Miranda did. But that was a thought process built by her older self ten years later.)

But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Emily Charlton couldn’t possibly have hated Andrea Sachs; no matter how much she had tried to —and, trust her, she did—. Her heart twisted infuriatingly in her chest every single time Emily thought of Andrea, and her stupid smile; and her offensive clothing style and her annoying sense of empathy. 

She had believed she would’ve needed to be sent to a hospital again when Andrea called her to kindly offer her clothes from Paris Fashion Week. Emily had told herself it had been for the gift, of course, that her heart was beating so loud she had felt as if it was dysfunctioning. It definitely had nothing to do with the possibility of Andrea Sachs remotely thinking of her at all. 

Surprisingly, the first and only time Emily Charlton decided to bend one of her rules had been for Andrea Sachs —which Emily thought to be pathetic, but she had just been ridden over by a car. Give her a break.

She’d contemplated reaching out to Andrea for days; staring at her phone while her legs bounced up and down for so long she’d felt her muscles burn. It shouldn’t have been that hard, really, since she already had a clear vision of how things would most likely go: Emily would press the call button, Andrea would pick up, they’d talk for a bit until Andrea said something insufferable that’d severely annoy Emily and then she’d regret ever calling in the first place and hang up before Andrea had the chance to speak again. 

Or, had whispered some evil part of her brain, they’d simply share a normal conversation and agree to catch up. Over dinner, perhaps. 

No, Emily had thought at the time. It’d be the first option, definitely. Not a single doubt. 

A third option, though, one that Emily hadn’t even considered for a second, had barely crossed her mind, was that Andrea might’ve not answered her call at all. She’d stayed on the line for one whole minute; waiting to hear that sweet, overwhelmingly positive voice through the speakers, tone surprised as she said, “Emily, hi!”. A greeting that’d never come in the end, because Andrea Sachs hadn’t picked up her bloody phone. 

That had been the second time Andrea had managed to leave her in ruins in less than a year. Truly remarkable work, in Emily’s opinion. Outstanding everyone else’s performances, as per usual; Andrea had always been brilliant at efficiency. 

After this feelings-based incident caused by severe car-crash brain damage, as Emily would later refer to it, she pledged to never break her primary rule again; for absolutely nobody. And she managed it perfectly, in full Emily Charlton style. 

In the following years, Emily’s relationships lasted as long as her partner’s dignity stayed intact, which happened to usually rotate from three to twenty-four weeks (ps. if they felt deep hatred for themselves, it could occasionally last longer.)

“You’re so cold all the time. It makes me think sometimes that you don’t even actually like me”, William, one of her biggest patrons on the list up until Benji Barnes, had said, a little tearfully, around their third month of involvement. 

Emily had barely reacted. Yes, she had wished to reply. Congrats for figuring it out, Sherlock. 

“Oh”, she had said, finally. “That’s a shame.”

He broke up with her two days later. It had been such a shame, truly, to lose that great source of money that she had almost felt a tiny bit sad. Almost. 

Emily did have casual affairs with women from time to time. She’d never let it get too serious, but it was fairly easy to stand being around them for more than a couple of hours. It helped that they didn’t disgust her and weren’t nowhere near as awful at sex as men usually happened to be; at the very least, she’d win an orgasm for the night.

She met Frank Coleman around the age of twenty-eight. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wasn’t hideous, either. He was miraculously the type of man that shaved his entire body for “hygiene purposes”, which was probably the second most attractive thing about him in Emily’s book. The first one being, well, his bank account.

Emily didn’t love or even like Frank, but she also didn’t despise him, which already ranked him higher than any of her previous boyfriends. He never bothered her; or got clingy; or complained about her “working too much”. It seemed as though they were barely in a relationship, to Emily’s enjoyment.

However, Emily had known their arrangement might've been the one once she realized something about Frank that she had never found in anyone else: he loved his job nearly as much as she did hers. It was perfect. 

They got married shortly afterwards, in a small ceremony —very unlike Emily Charlton, but it’s not as if she had the time to organize a wedding, for Christ’s sake— exclusive for close friends —Frank’s friends— and family —her mother didn’t bother to come for it was “too far away” and, therefore, “too much trouble”—. It was nice, surely, Emily supposed. She was honestly most excited about their vows and all those promises of “sharing goods”. 

It didn’t really matter that she wasn’t in love with him. They functioned well together and definitely weren’t cheating on each other. Aren’t those what marriages are all about? Trust and partnership. Emily knew she was lucky enough to have that: a simple and steady relationship. 

Until he got bored of her and asked for divorce nine years later. 

(Which was stupid, in her opinion. Like, come on, he bored her out in the first month. Men truly can’t handle anything. Jesus.)

Emily had thought she’d cry once the papers were signed, or at least feel depressed. Frank had thought so too, apparently, because he kept looking at her expectantly, as if waiting to see if she’d throw a tantrum and beg him to take her back. 

“Sure”, was what Emily had actually said. “If that’s what you want.” 

He had blinked, surprised. Then nodded and walked away. And that was it. 

She had pretended to be upset, at least, which had to count for something. Everytime a coworker had brought it up, with a sad pout on their faces, wishing her their “best regards” —as if Frank had fucking died—, Emily would shake her head and fake a single perfect tear. Turns out, she could've pursued a career in acting, too. 

“It’s just so strange, you know?” Emily had sniffed. Gross. “The apartment feels terribly empty without him. You can’t erase nine years out of the blue like this.” You can, actually. She rarely remembered he had been there at all. 

The divorce had taught her something useful, though: Emily was deeply tired of relationships. They were repetitive and stressful; always ended up the same way and gave her a worsening headache each turn. 

That’s how her Second Commandment had been born. Thank you, Frank!

Emily, mercifully, threw herself back into work, as God intended. She had returned to staying at the office for at least twelve hours a day, and only brought herself to leave once her left eye started twitching. It was the happiest she had been in years.

And then, because, of course, whatever entity that guarded this planet apparently couldn’t stand to see her at peace, Andrea Sachs had reappeared to hunt her out of nowhere. 

Not physically, but spiritually. Which was considerably way worse. 

To say Emily Charlton hadn’t thought of Andrea in the last fifteen years would be incorrect. She had; multiple times, in fact. Never enough that she had felt the need to find out where Andrea was; or what she had been up to, or who she had been with. It had made her nauseous to even consider that, let alone gather the courage to go through with it. 

(Why was it that everything that had to do with Andrea Sachs made her wish to go see a doctor?) 

Her new assistant, Sophie, had gotten back from lunch in a quite talkative mood. This poor girl could barely contain her excitement to be in a company like Dior, of all places, gushing and giggling around to anybody unlucky enough to contain hearing-advices about how this was her “childhood’s dream” —Emily mostly wished that had been at the New Yorker. 

“Have you seen this article about the fashion industry’s impact on environmental issues?” Sophie had asked, alarmed, swaying her phone in Random Number One’s face. 

Emily had rolled her eyes. These so-called “serious journalists" were really just desperate people in need of attention, too entitled to understand why the public cared more about magazines such as Runway than whatever War-Bullshit they’re attempting —and failing— to sell. 

“What? No, I haven’t”, had said Random Number One. “Where was it posted?” 

“At Vanguard, by Andrea Sachs. Whoever that is.”

Emily had freezed, her fingers hovering above her computer’s keyboard. She had inhaled, breathing heavily as her heartbeats pressed loudly against her chest. There’s absolutely no way she had heard that correctly. 

There’s also absolutely no way someone else named Andrea Sachs was working at an obsolete place such as The Vanguard writing pieces about some political problem no one cared for. 

Yeah, it was definitely her Andrea Sachs. 

Emily had opened the glass doors to her office abruptly, startling both girls chatting at their desks just outside of it. They had stared at her, open widely and in terror, as if she were the Wicked Witch herself. 

“Where is it?”, she had demanded. 

Sophie’s eyes had switched rapidly from Emily to Random Number One, mouth open as she barely collapsed while searching for words to reply.

“Where’s what?” 

Emily had raised her eyebrows impatiently. “The article you two were loudly whispering about”, she said. Then repeated, “Where is it?” 

“Oh!” Sophie had exclaimed, reaching for her phone. Emily nearly rolled her eyes again. “It’s on their website.” 

She had handed Emily her cellphone carefully and retracted her hand immediately afterwards, as if afraid she’d get burned once their skins touched. Emily had fought the urge to laugh. 

Her screen had been opened at The Vanguard’s page, “How Fashion is killing more than just young women’s self esteem, by Andrea Sachs” written in bold letters at the top. It had already gained thousands of views in only a couple of hours. 

Emily had scoffed, shaking her head, unsurprised. Of course Andrea Sachs would name it that, she thought. How does one expect to be treated with “reassurance” and “compassion” while arriving to work for Miranda Priestly wearing the most offensive pieces of clothing ever known to human kind? It was ridiculous. 

“You shouldn’t spare any of your time on these relevance-haunting people”, Emily had said, dropping Sophie’s phone somewhere on her desk. “Certainly not Andrea Sachs.”

“Wait”, Sophie had said. “Do you know her?” 

Emily had bit the inside of her cheek. “I did. Unfortunately”, she mumbled with a sigh. “Now get back to work.”

Later on, Emily had found herself sitting on her bed with her laptop open, “Andrea Sachs” on the search bar and dozens of articles splashed across her screen. She had nervously scrolled through websites, flinching every time a new picture of Andrea popped up. Those bloody brown-eyes had stared deeply at her, almost as if judging her inability to move on. 

She dropped the bangs, Emily had noted. Good. But a part of her —a pathetic, self-hating, stupid part— felt its heart sink a little at the thought of that version of Andrea Sachs, the one she once knew, being gone forever. 

Emily had gone to sleep that night with an uncomfortable tightness in her chest and cursed herself for being weak; for giving in to her unreasonable desires. It didn’t matter what she had tried to convince herself of, Andrea Sachs still had an annoyingly strong hold of her, one that Emily was way too scared of falling back in. 

She couldn’t let it happen again. The simple act of looking at Andrea; hearing of her or rather recognizing her existence pinched the bullet holes still warm inside her chest. 

(It did happen again. Several times.) 

Emily met Benji Barnes at forty-two. He showed immediate interest in her, which made everything easier for Emily —she barely had to put in an effort, really—. She found in him an escape route to both reach the top of her position quicker and quiet down a few emotional inconveniences that had been tearing her up in the past five years. 

It had been during their first few weeks of dating that Emily had discovered he was so needy and required so much attention that she rarely had the time to obsessively research Andrea Sachs whereabouts. Well, it seemed good enough for her. 

Benji was sweet, caring and very, very, clingy. If he didn’t gather multiple zeros on his paycheck, Emily might've murdered him three days into the relationship. But he bought her pretty necklaces and wouldn’t let her mind wander to third parties, so it was fine. Great, actually. 

Emily should’ve known something disastrous was about to happen —it was too obvious, she thought later on; only an idiot wouldn’t have seen it coming—. She had woken up that morning with a throbbing headache, which inevitably led her to snap at Benji for disturbing her piece before the sun had fully risen. 

“I apologize, sweet pie”, he had said, kissing her cheek and scratching her skin with his God-awful beard. Emily had to contain herself from choking him with her bare hands. “I hope your meeting goes well.” 

She had nearly laughed bitterly at that. Yes, Emily thought, a meeting with Miranda Priestly surely has the tendency of going well. 

“Is she here?” Rachel had asked the second Emily walked into the office, nervously staring above her shoulder. It had been as if she was effectively trying to irritate Emily further.

“I don’t know, Rachel”, Emily had said calmly, “Isn’t that your job?” 

Rachel’s eyes had gone wide. “I’ll…”, she gulped. “I’ll check right away, Miss Charlton.” 

“Good.”

After exactly one hour, Rachel had knocked on her door, very obviously shaking. “Oh, Jesus Christ”, Emily muttered, annoyed. 

“She’s here”, Rachel had announced. 

Emily had closed her eyes briefly. Here we go. She was never truly ready to face Miranda, no matter what her position was at the moment or the fact that she had left Runway ages ago. Somehow, someway, she’d always feel smaller, inferior, every time her former boss entered a room. 

“She’s not going to murder you, Rachel”, Emily had said whilst looking straight ahead, attracting attention from everywhere in the floor. She pushed the elevator button. “But I might.” 

Rachel had tripped over her heels and had to grab onto Random Number Three to stay put —Emily swore she had seen strains of sweat dripping from her eyebrows—. She had barely been able to contain a smile. Perhaps Miranda had a point: terrorizing newborns was deeply fun.

“Is Nigel coming as well?” Emily had asked. 

“Yes”, said Random Number Three. “I believe there’s someone else too? They didn’t specify.” 

Emily had scoffed. “Miranda surely loves having the upper hand.” 

A sharp pain had hammered through Emily’s forehead, almost forcing her to stop in her tracks. She groaned quietly, infuriated by her own nervous system’s inconvenient time of action. 

That’s when she had seen her: standing in between Miranda and Nigel, carrying the most star struck look on her face, as if blown away by the nostalgic feeling of returning to one’s past life. 

No fucking way, Emily had thought. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

“Am I having a hallucination?” Emily had asked. Her head spun around, turning their faces into blurry images she couldn’t quite comprehend properly. 

“Hi, Emily!” Andrea greeted with a smile. 

Andrea Sachs, just as tall, cheerful, vibrant, magnetic and utterly beautiful as Emily’s last memory of her had been. Her stomach clenched tightly, twisting itself inside of her body. 

Oh, God, she felt like throwing up.

Emily had barely recalled Miranda’s strange soliciting behavior at the meeting, or Nigel’s own attempts at undermining Runaway’s brittle reputation. Hell, she had barely recalled the meeting at all. 

Andrea had been everywhere: suffocating Emily’s lungs with her smell, aching Emily’s vision with the sight of her, trembling Emily’s hands with the desperate need to reach for her and wrecking Emily’s heart with her mere existence. 

It was humiliating, in fact, to react so viscerally at the simplest, most basic form of human contact with someone, but Emily couldn’t get ahold of her entire organism, as much as she had fiercely tried to over the years. 

There had been no medication, no diet, no distraction, no work related activities that could’ve possibly saved her from the wave of feelings that washed over her the moment Andrea walked into a room. Trust her, if there had been any cure for this infectious, deadly Andrea-shaped disease, Emily would've found a way to get to it a long time ago. 

“Are you okay, Miss Charlton?” Rachel had asked, brows furrowed in concern, as soon as Emily had returned from the meeting twenty minutes later. She had probably seemed awfully sick, if her air-headed assistant had noticed anything unusual. 

“Yes.”

And, because she was apparently incapable of keeping her mouth closed, Rachel had blurted out, “Was that Andrea Sachs? The Vanguard’s former journalist?" 

Emily had pressed both fingers to her forehead, shutting her eyes. “Yes, Rachel”, she had replied, impatiently. “Now, will you please write her name down? I need to be informed beforehand of every single time Andrea Sachs even remotely wishes to step foot into this building”, Emily had demanded. “Is that clear?” 

Rachel nodded. “Of course, m’am.” 

Emily had rested her head against her chair and taken a deep breath, in hopes that her body would eventually function normally again out of sheer force of will. 

She had been terrified of waking up from a nightmare only to find out she was still stuck at Runaway, speeding around corridors and carrying Miranda Priestly’s coat at twenty-three. That she’d remained the same pretentious, desperate for validation and sickeningly in love girl she’d once used to be. 

An ugly, shameful feeling had infiltrated itself inside Emily’s brain that night, disturbing her sleepless mind. Of course, she had thought, Andrea would’ve returned to Runaway, to Miranda, eventually. That much should’ve been obvious, as clear as the brightest day, and Emily thought herself to be stupid to ever believe it wouldn’t be like that; that perhaps she’d be Andrea’s first choice, somehow. 

Don’t be a fool, Emily. Why’d she ever do that? Miranda had chosen to pretty much banish her from Runaway and dismiss her to Dior as if she had no value, no importance to the company whatsoever. Emily had devoted her entire life to Miranda Priestly; had worked herself up to the very bone; had become so physically ill one of her previous doctors had suggested she’d quit her job as a form of recovery. She’d have done anything to be seen, recognized even, by Miranda in whatever way possible. 

Yet, Andrea had barely tried and had still gotten it all. Everything that Emily had wanted, every single one of her deepest desires. Miranda had no option but to be wonder struck, mesmerized, drawn to Andrea and neither could’ve had Emily. 

She had hated herself for it —because, truth be told, in what world would anyone ever see her; ever notice her, when Andrea were as much as in the same room? Emily stood absolutely no chance against the force of nature that was Andrea Sachs. 

At some point —one that she would’ve never been able to decipher—, Emily had begun to wish, to hope, that Andrea would devote herself to her, instead of Runaway; instead of Miranda. At some point, she had begun to desire for something other than Miranda’s approval or whatever expectations she had created for her own career. 

Emily had begun to want Andrea more than anything she had ever wanted in her entire life. And that had been nearly enough to send her into a coma.

(Emily had actually thrown up the first time she realized she was, God forbid, in love with Andrea Sachs, of all people. Not in a “sick to her stomach with longing”, but in a “sick to her stomach with disgust” kind of way.) 

At forty-three, Emily knew her desires were unreasonable and straight up delusional. It made no sense to even consider Andrea could’ve felt something, anything, in the same length as Emily had. She’d have no reason to; it simply wasn’t at all rational. 

“Emily”, Rachel called from Emily’s office's glass doors, “Andrea Sachs is here.” 

Emily sighed. “Do you have any information that won’t demolish my humor?” 

Rachel smiled. “I don’t think so, no.” 

“That’s great, then.” 

Andrea had been around, to say the very least. She’d show up at Dior unannounced, at random hours of the day —as if no one there had actual jobs to do— and annoy Emily with whatever bloody thing Miranda had requested of her that week. “Please, will you take a look at this very-obviously-entitled review I’ve written about Dior’s partnership with Runaway?” or “Emily, Miranda has required you to sign this blah-blah-blah ‘Miranda-bullocks’ thing.” 

And still, every time, Emily would return to her office with a pointed headache and shaking hands. Rachel was, indeed, a perfect intern, because she’d pretend not to notice her boss's distress in each one. 

It turns out, Andrea’s presence had a way of disturbing each living cell in Emily’s body. She’d come home after an encounter between the two of them feeling as sick as an intestinal infection patient; barely keeping herself from vomiting all over her living room floor. 

“Oh, no, sweet pie”, Benji would say. “Do you want me to take care of you?” 

And Emily would be inclined to say ‘yes’ so she could instead vomit all over his insufferable face. Staring at it only made her feel worse, actually. 

Andrea had been overwhelmingly nice; treating Emily with a kindness so strong it had made her wish, for dear Lord, to reciprocate it somehow —she hadn’t been yet clinically insane for that to have happened, though—. However, Andrea kept also exhibiting these signs of new found confidence that hadn’t been there before, which had made Emily lightheaded on multiple occasions. Everything was perfectly fine, by all means. 

Carrying Benj around in her arms as her own little pet was as horrifying as it sounds; pretending to find his inconvenient comments funny left her on the verge of suicide too. But doing all of that while being near Andrea Sachs? Pretty much a classified form of torture in Emily’s book. 

She’d have to physically pinch herself into not staring at Andrea like a crazy psychopath whenever they’d share the same vicinity. Emily’s eyes seemed to have been created only to follow Andrea everywhere she’d go; as if the mere sight of anything else was paltry in comparison. 

Benji had been the one to suggest it —as much as it could be shocking to discover Emily hadn’t thought of buying Runway for herself by her own devious mind. He believed it’d make Emily delighted with joy to have been blessed by his wonderful ideas. 

(What was it with men and their insane expectations?) 

“Isn’t that great?”, he had asked, right after Andrea had left. “You get to run a company and sabotage Miranda Priestly all in a single shot.” 

Yeah, had said a tiny, old, unbearable voice inside her head, and stab Andrea’s back while at it. 

Emily hadn’t agreed to it right away. She knew there’d be no possibility of going through with the purchase without affecting Andrea in the process —which, truth be told, should’ve not been a problem for her—. This one singular, fearless action could mean everything for her career. She’d finally reach the top of the mountain she’s been so desperately seeking for her entire life. Wasn’t that everything she’d ever wanted? Well, it would’ve been twenty-one years ago. 

Still, there was something, someone, Emily craved, desired, yearned for more than the greatest success she could’ve ever achieved. As humiliating as it was, Emily would’ve traded the best position at Dior, or at Runaway, or at any other fashion house for Andrea’s love in a heartbeat. That clear display of weakness made her skin crawl. 

Would she, though? Had said that same voice. Would she ever love you back? No, Emily had replied, she’d not. She never could. 

If Emily had ever decided to tell Andrea about Miranda’s mistreatment, would she have at least understood Emily’s reasoning? Would she have stood by Emily, defended her from Miranda’s disapproval? 

Emily knew the answer to those questions as well. 

She told Benji she was on board with it the next day. 

Well, blatant lying to Andrea’s face came out to be as pleasant as getting ran over by a car —Emily happened to be aware of what that felt like—. She’d return to her hotel room so severely ill it’d be a pain in the ass to keep herself from passing out right on the floor —very humbling, by the way, to develop an apparent sickness for a woman that did not know how to spell “Gabbana” correctly—. 

Miranda knows, Emily had thought, as soon as they’d entered the much expensive hotel room. Andrea had been blabbing about their mastermind, Runaway-saving plan, when Miranda’s eyes locked in hers. That’s when Emily had known, too. 

They had history. A painful one, for that matter. Emily withholded an especial type of resentment for Miranda that had built in on itself for so long it pretty much had a living of its own. It barely needed Emily’s approval for survival. It simply stayed there, curled up inside her chest. 

She couldn’t bring herself to deny it; couldn’t bring herself to watch as Andrea’s confused face turned into disappointment, either. Emily didn’t know why she’d spitted out to Miranda about her banishment to Dior; it had felt like a humiliation ritual. She should’ve known better.

“You’re not a visionary”, Miranda had said, calm and steady. Emily had barely been able to maintain her face straight, “you’re a vendor.” 

Emily’s eyes had blurred with held up tears. “You don’t know that”, she had said, but it had sounded as if she’d been desperately trying to convince herself of it; holding onto it with a grip so tight it could’ve turned her hands purple. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

Except that perhaps she did. There’d been a reason why Emily was sidelined once Andrea stepped in as Miranda’s golden girl, twenty years before. It hadn’t been because Andrea was the lucky one, or because Miranda hadn’t been appreciative of Emily’s devotion. Maybe, only maybe, it had been because Emily just wasn’t worthy of it. Never had been and never could be. 

Andrea said nothing as Emily walked out of the door —what’d she say, anyway? “I’m sorry I was delusional enough to believe you’d changed”?—. Emily hadn’t even dared to look at her. She’d thought the sight of those beautiful brown eyes, filled with betrayal and sadness, might’ve actually killed her. 

(She’d to steady herself on the wall outside of Miranda’s hotel room. Her stomach had burned up, twisting and turning itself until she’d turned pale.) 

Emily shouldn’t have been surprised Andrea had figured out a solution to Miranda’s problem, because of course she had. What wouldn’t Andrea have done for her precious, wonderful, lovely devil-shaped boss? That’s just how the earth moved: Miranda got everything she ever wished for in the palm of her hand and Emily was left with only crumbs to be grateful for. 

(Perhaps she had been bitter. Whatever.) 

Coach hadn’t been a surprise, either, if Emily was being truthful. Her career had been falling apart at its seams for a long time; the starting point being the second she stepped out of Runway. From then on, everything had simply felt incomplete; as if she’d been living through an unreachable dream that her fingers’d never quite grasp on. 

Well, to be fair, something good did happen in her life at that disastrous time: Benji had finally decided to free her from the torment of dating him. 

“I can’t be with you now that your reputation is this bad”, he said, almost apologetically. Emily nearly rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, no”, she said, emotionless. “How will I live?” 

Benji was so goddamn stupid he didn’t even flinch. Only shrugged, tapped her shoulder and said, “You’ll figure it out, sweet pie.” Jesus Christ. 

Emily dyed her hair a month and twenty-eight days later. She’d been going through a crisis, clearly —there could be no other reason one would willingly choose to become blonde—, when her red hair had begun to turn into a reminder of the person she’d wished to be once. It had been infuriating to watch herself in the mirror and remember all of it: Runaway, her failing attempt at betraying Miranda and Andrea, of course. Always Andrea. She’d thought that, perhaps, if she’d the courage to change everything about herself, she’d be able to get away from her past entirely. 

(She was wrong. Uncommon.) 

The second time Emily Charlton broke her First Commandment was also for Andrea Sachs —God, wasn’t she pathetic?—. She didn’t know what had possessed her into calling Andrea, for that matter. It couldn’t have been the fact that she had thought of Andrea everyday since their last meeting. Or that the possibility of Andrea believing her to be a soulless person pained her much worse than losing her previous position at Dior.

(The breakup with Benji didn’t even come into discussion, please.)

For a moment, Emily thought Andrea wouldn’t pick up yet another time. She’d have no reason to, obviously. Emily didn’t deserve it, not after everything she’d done. 

But, as Emily usually had the tendency of forgetting, Andrea Sachs had the annoying habit of forgiveness. Especially when it came to her. 

“Hey, Emily”, Andrea greeted. Emily almost dropped her phone. So pathetic.

Emily hummed. “Hi”, she gulped and stayed silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. 

“Is everything okay?”, Andrea asked, sounding concerned. God, she was always so insufferably considerate. Emily hated how it made her heart flood with fondness. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m only calling to…” Oh, my God, get a grip, woman! 

“Emily?” 

“I’m still here”, Emily said, fidgeting with her own hands. “I was just wondering if you’d be interested in going out for lunch.” 

Andrea paused. “Lunch? With you?” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “No, Andrea, with my evil twin”, she said, a little harsh. Then backtracked, “Yes, with me. If you’re comfortable with that, I mean.” 

Andrea let out a sweet laugh. “Of course, Em. I’d love to.” 

Emily sighed quietly with relief. “Alright, then. That’s great”, she said, with a nervous tune to her voice. “Well, I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.” 

Emily finished the call before Andrea had the opportunity to say something else. 

(That conversation gave her a headache. Don’t mention it.) 

She’d chosen a very specific restaurant that served her favorite carbs in the city. For whatever reason, Emily had convinced herself Andrea would not show up at all. So, as a consolation prize, the first thing she had done had been to order french fries in case she’d gotten her heart broken once more. Emotional devastation carbs held no calories. 

However, then again, Emily had underestimated Andrea’s ability to see her as someone worth redeeming. Well, unfortunately, Andrea had always been stupid, too. 

(What she had actually meant was: Andrea had always been too good for her.) 

“Cool hair”, Andrea said. 

That’s a lie, Emily wished to say. Blonde is a horrible hair color. Yours is nice.

“Thank you”, was what she said. 

Emily felt anxious. She still had no idea why she was sitting there, next to Andrea Sachs, so desperate for her compassion it made her head spin and her chest hurt. Perhaps, cursing her with human feelings had been God's way of punishing her for her many, many sins. 

“Well, I screwed up”, Emily admitted. “Rather royally.” 

That had been hard to say out loud. She’d never allow anyone else to so much as catch a glimpse of those words rolling from her tongue. Unluckily, Andrea wasn’t just anyone. Emily had prayed for years that she was. 

“It’s okay”, Andrea said, as gentle as one could possibly ever be. Emily couldn’t truly believe it. 

“Really?” 

She sounded so small; almost shy. It’d have ruined her reputation if somebody else had heard it, for dear God. What had she turned into?

“Everyone screws up”, Andrea shrugged.

“I’m obviously very happy to hear that. Although, slightly shocked you’d compromise your much flaunted values for me, but…” 

Andrea laughed. Emily’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, hadn’t she missed that. 

“Well, you know. Sometimes you gotta”, she said as if it had meant nothing; as if forgiving Emily had been the easiest decision she’d ever made. 

I don’t deserve this, Emily thought. I don’t deserve you. 

“How are things at Coach?” 

“Honestly fine. Great”, Emily said. As a response to Andrea’s incredulous face, she continued, “Those other people were so mean about my French. Got a bit sick of it.” 

At that point, Emily had been sure she’d stopped owning full control of her body every time Andrea had as much as glanced her way. There’d been no other explanation for how she managed to go up against all of her personal rules and boundaries whenever they were barely five-feet apart from each other. Just embarrassing. 

“Did you know that I called you?”, she said, choosing to pick up the menu for no reason whatsoever. She couldn’t bring herself to watch Andrea’s face while admitting that; she’d never be courageous enough to do so.  

“Yeah, I do," Andrea said, slightly confused. “That’s why we’re sitting here.” 

“No, I’m talking about when you left Runaway the first time. I called you.” 

“You called me?”

“I called you.” 

Keep your eyes on the menu, Emily Charlton. Don’t give in. 

“Oh, yeah, I remember”, Andrea said. “I got a pocket dial from you.”

Dear Lord, there was no way. She’d spent twenty years agonizing over Andrea never answering her fucking phone, only for her to now casually say she’d thought it to be an accident? It should’ve made Emily relieved; it only made her irritated. 

“Bloody hell”, Emily cursed, then took a deep breath. Andrea Sachs had always managed to twist every one of her nerves. “No, I wanted us to be…” 

Emily trailed off. What did she hope for at the time? To be Andrea’s friend? Perhaps it had been that, and not some sickening feeling of not caring what they were, as long as she could’ve fulfilled that insatiable urge to be near Andrea, in whatever way possible. 

She sighed. “I wanted us to be pals.”

“No!”, Andrea exclaimed, with a pout forming in her mouth. Emily wished to punch it as badly as she wanted to kiss it —well, it’s fair to say one of them had a clear advantage over the other. 

“No, don’t make that face! It’s not a big deal.” 

“You wanted to be friends?”Andrea stretched out her words in a tail-wagging-puppy voice. 

“It’s obviously too late now, isn’t it?” 

Andrea frowned. She then smiled sweetly at Emily. “Why?”

“Because I’m ‘persona non grata’. That’s why.” 

“Not to me.” 

Emily’s eyes watched her; with a disbelief strong enough to be painful. Her stomach clenched in a heartwarming manner. She couldn’t bear it; every single silly little feeling for Andrea that she had ever been tormented with squeezed her chest all at once. She must’ve been staring at her with so much longing anyone else in the room could’ve realized it. 

“Can I just say?”, Andrea continued. “You’re gonna get your shot. To be… whatever it is that you do wanna be.” 

“I don’t know about that”, Emily said. She could feel her throat beginning to tighten up, carrying to her voice any emotion that’d been overwhelming her. It couldn’t happen, not in front of Andrea. “You know Benji broke up with me?” 

Emily cared so little about Benji’s abandonment that it had seemed stupid to bring it up as something that had mattered to her. But what else she could’ve done? Turning the conversation into an emotionless topic was the safest way to go. 

“It’s going to be so hard to find that kind of patron again”, she said, annoyed. 

“You don’t need him”, Andrea said. “Or a fashion house, or a patron, or anything… You don’t need…” 

Andrea paused, exasperated. 

“You are iconic.” 

Well, that’s great. She was definitely fucked up now. 

Emily’s eyes burned with stained tears. It had been devastating the amount of love —pure, torturous love— she had been overcome with. Emily became aware of one thing, at that moment: she was ruined for eternity; there was no recovery from her feelings for Andrea. They had simply turned themselves into a permanent part of her body. 

“That is a lovely compliment”, she said, repeatedly blinking. Oh, fantastic, her hands were also shaking. 

“So…”, Andrea spread her right hand on the table, offering it for Emily’s hold. “Friends?” 

Emily stared at it. She wanted to; so badly it made her skin itchy from the desperate need to. And still, she was terrified of giving in to that desire and not being able to come back from it. It would’ve been addicting to touch Andrea, Emily knew. It might’ve wrecked her to never do it again. 

So, she lied, “I don’t want to hold your hand”, Emily said. Andrea’s laugh had been sufficient. “But yes, friends.” 

Emily Charlton could be Andrea Sachs' friend. She hoped it would be enough to satisfy the monster inside her chest that craved for Andrea; if only to trick it into believing it had her, somehow. 

She was a grown woman, too, for Christ’s sake, not a teenage boy with unstoppable hormones. She’d be fine. 

Emily had been surprised to learn Andrea had expected to see her once a week, minimum. “It feels like I’m signing up for a therapy session”, she’d said, on their first lunch together after the ‘let’s be pals’ agreement. 

Andrea giggled. “You’ve never had any real friends before, have you?” 

Emily felt a bit embarrassed by her apparent lack of ‘friendship’ skills. Her cheeks heated up. 

“Shut up.” 

It seemed, as well, that constantly texting each other was another classic ‘friendship rule’ Emily hadn’t been familiar with. She’d receive dozens of messages from Andrea on a daily basis. 

“Is that your husband, Emily?” Alice had asked, after Emily’s phone had buzzed five times in a role during a meeting. 

She picked up her phone. It was Andrea —she’d sent her a video of an orange cat, writing underneath it, “Please, be honest: was this you in a past life?”—. Emily scoffed in annoyance. 

“What? I don’t have a husband.” 

“Oh”, Alice said. “I’m sorry, then. It 's just that… You were blushing when reading those messages. So I figured…” 

Emily’s eyes snapped up. “I wasn’t blushing.” 

Alice smiled. “Yes, you were”, then, she added, “You’re blushing right now.” 

“No, I’m not, Alice.” 

Alice held her hands up in the air. “Okay, m’am. Forget I said anything.” 

“As if…” Emily shook her head. 

They’d established Friday nights as mandatory for their weekly ‘hangout’, as Andrea would call it —Emily obviously hadn’t agreed to that—. Two Fridays in, Emily learned about the existence of Peter, The Australian.

“So”, Andrea started, stabbing her pasta with a fork, “have you been with anyone since Benji?” 

Emily moved uncomfortably in her seat. She was aware enough of female affiliations to understand that relationship talks were rather important. It didn’t make her enjoy them any better. Especially when her female counterpart happened to be someone she was in love with.

“No, not really”, Emily said. “I’m done with all of that nonsense. The only committed relationship I’m having is with my job.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes with affection. “Of course it is.” 

Emily knew she should repeat the question back to Andrea; that’s how normal conversations flowed. And yet, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to hear the answer. 

“What about you?” she said, anyway, maintaining her eyes glued to her plate. “Any stuck-up poets on your mind?” 

Andrea laughed. “No, actually”, Emily felt relieved for a moment. “He’s a real estate agent.” 

Oh. 

“That sounds…”, Emily trailed off, still not looking at Andrea. “Unpleasantly boring.” 

“He’s quite funny, actually. Reminds me of you.” 

Well, it might’ve been better to simply shoot her in the head. Go on, Andrea, rip her heart out! 

“Then he must have tons of qualities.”

“I mean…”, Andrea said. “He’s Australian. Oh, and his name is Peter, obviously”, she laughed. 

Emily’s eyebrows arched. “He’s an Australian named Peter?” 

Andrea sent her an incredulous look. “Oh, come on, that’s completely normal!” 

“Sure”, Emily shrugged. “If that’s what you’re into.” 

“I don’t know… maybe I get off on accents.” 

Emily nearly choked on her food, reaching for her wine almost immediately afterwards. Her face warmed up and her cheeks turned pinkish. She’d missed Andrea’s pleased expression at that. 

They hadn’t discussed Peter, The Australian again for the following month. Andrea hadn’t felt the need to bring him up, and Emily wasn’t yet self-hating enough to do so herself. 

They’d spend roughly six hours on each other’s company every Friday; going through so many different topics Emily hadn’t even thought were possible. She’d found in Andrea someone to confide in; about her stressful workplace, horrendous past relationships and, sometimes, when she’d feel tired out of her mind, even her troubled parents dynamic. It turns out, being Andrea’s friend had been one of the finest decisions she’d ever made in her life. She’d never admit it out loud, though, still had a reputation to keep. 

(If the Andrea-shaped disease inside Emily’s brain had gotten considerably worse, or if she’d needed to go see a doctor more than twice for stomach problems in the last three months, Emily thought best not to mention it.) 

Shockingly, in Emily’s opinion, it had taken Andrea over ten Fridays to begin the ‘Miranda’ conversation. She’d clearly been dragging it out almost as much as Emily had. If Andrea ever brought up workplace related matters, Emily would dismiss any possible mention about Miranda and pretend not to notice Andrea’s disappointment. 

Still, it was bound to happen someday. 

They’d been arguing over ways Andrea could write political articles in the fashion industry. “No”, she said, slightly stressed, to Emily’s fifth suggestion. “Miranda would never let me do that.” 

Emily scoffed. “Of course she wouldn’t. When has she ever cared about anyone else’s personal career goals?” 

She’d regretted the words as they’d been leaving her lips. Emily sighed, closing her eyes. She could feel Andrea’s stare —the one where she’d destroy any and every one of Emily’s armors— deep in her bones. 

“Don’t look at me like that”, Emily said. 

Andrea dismissed her entirely. “She might be able to still forgive you, you know…” 

That got a laugh out of Emily; a bitter full one. “Yeah, definitely. How are things going with Alice in Wonderland, by the way?” 

Andrea threw her a pointed glance. “I’m serious, Em. I have forgiven you, haven’t I?” 

Yes, Emily thought. I have yet to understand why, too. 

“It’s not the same thing, Andrea”, Emily said. “You’re as close in personality to Miranda as I’m to Princess Diana. Besides, why’d I even want her forgiveness, as a matter of fact? She chose to let me go. Not the other way around.” 

Andrea sighed. “She’s not as bad as you believe her to be, Emily. She’s changed, all right? I’m positive you’d see that, too, if you’d just give her a chance.” 

Emily’s entire body went rigid. Her jaw clenched tightly; her nails pressed against her thighs. That ugly, dark feeling splattered across her chest again, as it had been threatening to every time Andrea said Miranda’s name. 

Jealousy. 

“Of course you’d say that.” 

Andrea straightened up. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Emily shrugged. “I don’t know, Andrea. Perhaps it is that ever since I’ve known you, you’ve put Miranda on a pedestal. It doesn’t matter that she has forced you to steal Paris from me, or that she has been treating me with the same kindness one would treat their garbage. You keep finding excuses for her.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Yes, it is”, Emily said with a bite to her tone. Her skin burned up; she could feel her face turning red. “You’re always on her bloody side.” 

“There are no sides to choose from, Emily”, Andrea said, still calm. “You’re my friend. She 's my boss. I’m only thinking about what’s best for both of you.” 

Friend. That word stung harder, at that moment, than ever before. That’s what Emily would only ever be to Andrea; what she could only ever be.

Andrea’s hand reached for hers over the table in a millisecond. Emily flinched, but Andrea didn’t backtrack. Instead, she squeezed Emily’s palm with her own, holding it, holding her, with care. 

“Neither of you would ever admit this, but…”, Andrea said, quieter. Her brows were furrowed in Emily’s direction. “I know how much she means to you. And, I swear to God, Emily Charlton, don’t you dare deny that, because I happen to know you quite well, too.” 

Emily’s lips lifted slightly upwards. Andrea smiled at her, tracing small patterns on Emily’s hand with her thumb. 

“She does miss you, too, even if you don’t believe it”, Andrea said. “I might be her favorite project, but you are her greatest creation. And she is very much aware of that, as am I.” 

Emily turned away from Andrea’s watchful gaze. “You have to stop saying these sentimental bullocks to me.” 

Andrea laughed. “Well, I do enjoy getting to see that look on your face.” 

“Thank you”, Emily said, feeling shy all of a sudden. “And I apologize for snapping at you. That wasn’t far.” 

Andrea shrugged. “It 's all good. I’m kind of used to it. You did it a lot back in the day.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “If you weren’t so insufferable, I wouldn’t have to. It was merely the appropriate response to your… troubled behavior.”

“Wow, that was an improvement! You didn’t even remotely say the worst thing about me that came to your mind.” 

I didn’t say the best one, either.

“Whatever. I happen to be willing to admit you’ve grown on me a bit.” 

Andrea’s smile became wilder. “I knew it! You like me!” 

Emily dismissed it with a flick of her hand. “Oh, don’t let it get to your head. It certainly wasn’t by choice.” 

Andrea laughed, again. Emily softened up immediately. She adored that sound so much it had been overwhelming to be graced with the possibility to cause it. 

“For the record”, Andrea said, turning serious another time. “I’d never take everything Miranda’s done to you lightly. It’s not because I can empathize with her that I don’t see your pain, Em. And, trust me, I’d do anything to take it away, if I could”, she added, so gently it made Emily’s chest hurt. “You’re my number one.” 

Emily only nodded, squeezing Andrea’s hand back. There’d been many words Emily wanted to say; she could feel them at the back of her throat, stretching it with their claws and begging to be let out of her body for once. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. 

“Now”, Andrea said, with a higher voice, lightening the air around them and letting Emily’s hand go, “what was it that you were telling me about gym wear in public spaces again?” 

“Oh my God, don’t even get me started.” 

Emily’s entire left arm tingled for the rest of the day. 

The first time Emily had been invited to Andrea’s apartment was around their twenty-fourth Friday ‘hangout’. They’d planned to grab dinner at an Italian place Andrea had been obsessing over for weeks, talking on-and-on about it through text messages, ‘till Emily got tired of it and pulled a few strings to book them a reservation. 

She had been preparing to leave her office when Alice knocked on her door, waiting for permission to come in. Emily waved her hand in a positive gesture. 

“Emily, Andrea Sachs’ on the line”, Alice said. 

Emily frowned. “Andrea Sachs? Are you certain?” 

“Positive.” 

“Alright. Thank you, Alice.” 

Alice nodded and returned to her previous position. Emily reached for her office’s phone, slightly confused and concerned about Andrea’s unusual form of communication. 

“Hi, Emily Charlton speaking.” 

“Hi, Em! It 's Andy.”

“Yes, Andrea, I’m aware”, Emily said. Then, more kindly, “Is everything fine?” 

“Well, to be honest with you, not really”, Andrea admitted, nervous. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” 

“No, yeah, I’m great”, Andrea said. “Physically, I mean. Not that much, actually…” 

Emily breathed in, impatient. “Andrea, will you get to the point?” 

“Yes, I’m sorry!” Andrea sighed. “It’s just… I’m waiting on a call back from a business partner that was supposed to have emailed me hours ago. Miranda allowed me to go home, but I have to stay in until he does his fucking job.” 

Emily’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Oh, that’s not a problem. I can call the restaurant and reschedule our dinner for next week.” 

“Are you sure?” Andrea sounded like an injured puppy. Emily smiled at that. 

“Obviously”, Emily said. “Besides, I’ll be happy to be free from you for a Friday. You’re getting on my nerves already.” 

“No, wait. That’s not what I…”, Andrea stopped herself. “I thought you could come over, maybe? You know, to keep me company while I wait.” 

Emily’s heart skipped several beats. “You want me to come to your apartment?”

“Yeah, I do. If you’re cool with that. We can order pizza, or whatever non-carbs disgusting thing you’re into this week”, Andrea laughed. 

Emily bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling harder. “Sure, we can do that.”

“Great! I’ll text you my address.”

Andrea’s apartment was exactly as Emily had imagined it would be. Traces of her personality were splashed out all over the place; from the many, many plants to the several book copies layered in random spots, with no hint of any organization system whatsoever. It made Emily feel warmingly annoyed. 

“Please, excuse my mess”, Andrea solicited, as she picked up a few pieces of paper from the floor and threw them on the nearest trash-can. “I haven’t had the time to keep it clean, as you can clearly tell.”

Emily laughed. “It’s all right. Wouldn’t expect anything else from you, to be honest.” 

Andrea led a hand to her chest and let her mouth fall open, in an stupid attempt to pretend to be offended. “You definitely know how to make a girl feel good about herself, Emily Charlton.” 

“Well, you can take it as a compliment. I haven’t been near a closet with this many sweaters ever since I shared a bedroom with a hippie in college”, Emily said, walking around Andrea’s living room in small steps. “So, I’m obviously depicting signs of great compromise with our… agreement.” 

Andrea giggled. “I’m happy to hear that. Still waiting for you to properly address me as your friend, tho.” 

Emily shrugged. “Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it. Might give you back pain.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes with a smile. “Sit down. I’ll get us some wine.” 

Emily did as she was told. Her phone buzzed with new messages from Alice, most likely about her scheduling for Monday. Emily liked her; much more than her previous assistant, Rachel. Alice was efficient and never complained about any difficult tasks Emily put her through. It reminded her of Andrea at Runway.

“Are you up for a pizza?”, Andrea asked as she returned from the kitchen, handing Emily a glass of white wine. The spot next to her on the couch dipped under Andrea’s weight. 

“Surely”, Emily said. “But only if it’s a vegetarian one.” 

“Oh my God”, Andrea groaned, throwing her head back onto the furniture. “You’re so boring.” 

Emily’s eyes went wide. “You did not just call me ‘boring’, Miss ‘I Only Wear Neutral Tones’”. 

“That’s not true!” 

“I’ve never seen you put on any actual colors.” 

“Oh, okay!” Andrea said, raising her eyebrows at Emily. “I’m guessing you’re purposefully forgetting the Emo phase you happened to be going through when I first got to Runaway.” 

Emily sighed, a bit embarrassed. “That was twenty years ago, mind you… Some of us have grown! Don’t you think I’ve ever forgotten that ridiculous cerulean sweater you loved so much, in fact.” 

Andrea shook her head. “I still don’t know the difference between that and normal blue, by the way. They both look the same to me.” 

“Jesus Christ”, Emily muttered. “You’re lucky I actually like you, now. Miranda might’ve fired you if she’d heard that.” 

Andrea laughed. Her left hand, the one not holding the glass, rested casually on Emily’s thigh for balance. It was a brief, innocent touch. And yet, Emily’s entire figure burned up. 

Bloody hell, she thought. Can’t you just shut down for once?

Emily couldn’t recall how they’d gotten into that topic later on. Perhaps it had been the multiple glasses of wine, or the delicious slices of pizza Emily had sworn would stop her brain from functioning properly —“Which is why I don’t eat it!”—.

Andrea had slid closer to her, with both legs crossed on the couch. Emily had, at some point, turned her entire body to face Andrea. Their knees were brushing against each other. 

“You’re the only British person I know who’s not a total dick”, Andrea said. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. She pressed her lips together. “Well, that’s not exactly true. You’re kind of a dick, too.” 

“Oh, go to hell”, Emily cursed, shoving Andrea’s arm. “That seems impossible. How about your real estate agent, what’s-his-name?”

Peter, Emily knew. He was Australian. 

“His name is Peter”, Andrea said, rolling her eyes. “And he’s not British, he’s Australian. But whatever, he doesn’t count.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because he’s way too plain to be British.” 

“You can’t date a real estate agent and expect him to be fun or interesting, Andrea”, Emily said. “Wait, are you not together anymore?” 

Andrea shook her head. “Nope.” 

Emily’s heartbeats echoed through her ears. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

Andrea shrugged. “I don’t know. He just… didn’t really get me, I think.” 

“Fair”, Emily nodded. “I have yet to meet a man that gathers enough brain cells to understand me as a person.” 

Andrea snickered. “Wow, that was profound.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

Andrea smiled at her in that way that made Emily’s legs tremble. Her eyes were soft; as they usually were when watching Emily. 

Emily couldn’t believe it, still. To have Andrea be this close to her at twenty-three would’ve made her lose her sanity. At forty-three, it felt as if she were standing right in the passage between the heavens and hell. Yes, it was maddening, but the thought of Andrea moving away felt worse than anything else. 

“You’ve never told me about Frank”, Andrea pointed out, as if that fact had just popped into her head. 

“There’s not much to tell," Emily said. “We were married for nine years. He got bored of me and filed for divorce. That 's it.”

Andrea’s brows furrowed. “Em, I’m so sorry.” 

Emily laughed. “No, it’s fine, really. I was happy with the decision. He bore me out for eight and a half years.” 

“Then why did you marry him?” Andrea asked, confused. 

“We functioned well together. Our careers never got in the way. Isn’t that everything you hope for in a marriage?” 

“But you didn’t love him?” 

“No, I don’t believe I did”, Emily said, shrugging. She couldn’t understand why that’d be a hard concept to grasp. 

Yet, Andrea seemed shocked. “Em… Can I ask you a personal question?” 

Emily’s eyebrows arched. “Isn’t that all of what we’ve been doing for the last six months?” 

Andrea laughed, nodding. “True”, she paused for a moment. Then, “Have you ever been in love?” 

Emily’s breath caught in her throat. The glass in her hold trembled slightly from her shaking hands. Her eyes left Andrea’s while she swallowed her nerves down. 

It would’ve been best if she had lied. That’s probably what she should’ve done. 

“Yes, I have”, Emily confessed. 

Andrea sighed. A small, brief sigh. Emily heard it, still. 

“How many times?” 

Emily bit the inside of her cheek. She brought the glass to her lips and took a single sip of the wine inside of it. “Only once.” 

That’s when the air around them had changed. From laughter, bickering and friendly to tension, heaviness and heated with something Emily couldn’t quite name. Her body reacted in the same way it always had done in Andrea’s presence: by completely dysfunctioning. 

“What about you?” Emily questioned. She ignored the tightness in her chest; pretended not to care. 

(But she did. She cared so much it had nearly ruined her life.) 

Andrea shifted slightly. Her bare feet touched Emily’s right leg; her hair brushed against Emily’s arms. The room felt warm, all of a sudden. 

“I have, yeah”, she said. “Maybe a few times.” 

Andrea went silent for a moment. Then, she turned to Emily, resting one of her arms on the back of the couch behind Emily’s head. “Were you ever attracted to Frank?” 

It had been her voice; the way she’d pronounced the question. An octave lower than her usual high pitched tone. Fuck, Emily thought. In any other situation, with anyone else, she would’ve cursed the person out for intruding and walked out of the room. 

But Andrea had always known how to tear down her walls; how to get through to her. Emily believed that if Andrea had asked anything of her —the most absurd thing in the world— using that exact same tone; standing that close to her, she would’ve done it in a heartbeat. 

“I don’t know”, Emily said. “I was never…”, she gulped, “enthusiastic about sleeping with him, if that’s what you mean.” 

Andrea appeared even more confused than before. “So having sex with your husband was never pleasant for you?” 

“Well, Frank wasn’t really interested in my own pleasure”, she shrugged. “Yes. Perhaps I had been condemned to awful sex for nine years as a punishment for all of my wrongdoings.”

Andrea didn’t laugh; instead, her eyes turned wild. “That’s insane, Em.” 

“It might be. I’m sure you’ve had better luck than me, but I wasn’t thoroughly surprised a man couldn’t give me an orgasm. They’re awful at that.” 

“Wait”, Andrea paused. “You’ve never gotten an orgasm from a man?” 

“No.” 

Andrea tilted her head to the left. “But you’ve had orgasms before, right?” 

Emily smirked. “Yes.” 

She watched as Andrea’s face changed; as her eyes winded up, as she blushed from something that wasn’t alcohol induced. Emily pressed down a smile, There she is, she thought, There’s my Andrea. Twenty years before, she would’ve purposefully teased Andrea to get a reaction like that; playfully flirted with her to enjoy herself as Andrea turned into a burning mess. Emily had (and still did) found it adorable. 

“Oh”, Andrea said. She stretched her throat, placed a lock of hair behind her ear. “That 's… surprising.”

“Why?” Emily asked. Then, with a more flirty tune to her voice, “Do I not look like the type to enjoy women?” 

Andrea let out a nervous laugh. “No, you do. I mean, you… Definitely, yeah.” She smiled, brought the glass to her lips. With a shrug and a careless façade, Andrea continued, “Can I ask if I know any of them?”

“Well, not most of them”, Emily said. “You might’ve seen a few at Runaway. Except, the only one you’re probably familiar with is Serena.”

Andrea choked on her drink. “Serena?”, she repeated, surprised. 

“Yes”, Emily said, slightly perplexed by Andrea’s obliviousness. “What do you think we were doing during those lunch breaks?”

Andrea’s shocked expression faded, replaced by a press of her lips and an eyebrow raise that much resembled irritation. “Wow”, she said, with a bite to her voice that surprised Emily. “I didn’t know you were one to sleep with colleagues.”

Emily wasn’t at all embarrassed or offended by the assumption. “Not any colleague, no. But when you have Miranda Priestly as your boss it’s important to have a form of stress-relief, as I’m sure you must understand.” 

Andrea stared at her. Her brown-eyes were so dark they seemed black; watching Emily in a way they never had before. Emily knew what that stare meant; she herself had watched Andrea with that same intense, shameless hunger many times before. As if aware of it, her body responded: Emily’s thighs pressed close together as that familiar, usual feeling of want, of need, she had become accustomed to handling around Andrea returned with a force strong enough to tear her apart. 

Andrea noticed. Of course she did. 

Her right hand settled the glass on the table in front of the couch. Then, she placed it on Emily’s leg carefully. Her eyes never left Emily’s, not for one second. 

Holy fuck, Emily thought. Am I about to have a heart attack? 

“Was she the best woman you’ve ever been with?” Andrea whispered. Emily believed she would’ve died from how desperately she craved Andrea right there, with her hand on Emily’s thigh. That’d be a nice way to go, she thought. 

Her palms were sweating. Still, Emily Charlton was no amateur, so her voice remained steady when she answered, “Yes. One of the best out of all of them.” 

Andrea bit the inside of her cheek. They were both aware Emily had said that as a challenge; they were both aware it had worked perfectly, too. Andrea slipped closer to Emily; now, with both of her legs touching Emily’s. 

There was no chance Andrea wasn’t listening to the absurd rhythm of Emily’s heartbeats. They felt moments away from ripping out of her chest. If she had gone to a hospital at that exact moment, a doctor would’ve absolutely diagnosed her under cardiac arrest. 

Andrea hummed. “I’m not sure I believe you.” Her eyes dropped to Emily’s lips, while she licked her own. Oh, God, this woman will be the death of me. 

Emily’s breath caught up in her throat; anticipation built in her stomach. Fuck it. Go for it. “You should try and change my mind.” 

Andrea smirked. She leaned in, painfully slow, as if allowing Emily the opportunity to backtrack. Their noses touched; Emily closed her eyes. Her thoughts were a mess; from intoxicated by everything Andrea to feeling sick with their proximity. Twenty years before, a simple brush of their fingers would’ve given Emily a hospital bill – and yet, she’d still dream of it every single night.

The moment Andrea’s mouth crashed into hers, Emily felt like she was floating. 

Everything else disappeared. The world narrowed down to Andrea’s tongue moving over her own; Andrea’s hands gripping her waist; Andrea’s sweet perfume turning her senses dizzy. Andrea, Andrea, Andrea. 

Emily was overwhelmed with every sensation coursing through her body. Multiple times she had fantasized about kissing Andrea; never once were they nowhere near as good as her current reality. 

Her right hand moved up to Andrea’s soft hair, pulling at it only for the need to feel it in between her fingers. That earned her a groan from Andrea, almost enough to send her over the edge. 

This is it, Emily thought. I’m going to die kissing Andrea Sachs.

Their lips moved at a slow pace; Emily could tell Andrea wished to savour the moment for as long as she could. Her hands rolled up further inside Emily’s shirt, sending shivers down her spine from the bare skin contact. 

Andrea suddenly broke apart, breathing heavily. Her mouth grasped Emily’s jaw; her cheeks, finally reaching her earlobe. “You’re not close enough”, she whispered, voice rough. Emily couldn’t help the small tremble that escaped her. “Sit on my lap. Please?” 

God. That had completely ruined her underwear. 

Emily pushed Andrea against the couch with both hands. Her hips settled on Andrea’s upper thighs, with her knees on each side of Andrea’s legs. Andrea shook her head and, before Emily could get confused, covered Emily’s waist with her right arm and pulled her in closer. 

“That’ll do for now”, she said, still in a low tune. Their eyes locked on each other. Andrea’s face was flushed; her lips were swollen and her chest moved in deep patterns. 

Emily believed she’d never seen anything more beautiful. 

Andrea’s hand pulled a string of hair behind Emily’s ear and grabbed her neck down to kiss her again. They moved faster now; more desperately in need of each other than before. Emily’s fingers combed through Andrea’s brown curls, while Andrea’s hands touched her bare ribs. They would’ve probably morphed into one another if they could’ve by that point, Emily had thought. 

Emily’s hips rolled against Andrea’s in an involuntary motion, sending a wave of pleasure down her body. They moaned in synchrony in each other’s mouths without ever breaking the kiss. 

(Emily had sworn she would’ve become addicted to Andrea’s lips. The thought of never tasting them again sounded maddening to her.) 

“Do it again”, Andrea said, moving her hands to Emily’s waist to guide her movements –up, down, up, down, up, down–. There’s no way Emily would’ve denied Andrea anything if she kept touching her like that. 

Andrea’s mouth went down to Emily’s neck, enjoying her time at her pulse point. Emily bit her own lips, still not able to contain the whimpering mess Andrea had turned her into. 

“Andrea…”, Emily breathed out a silent warning. Nothing in her body functioned normally once Andrea Sachs was involved –and certainly not when Andrea Sachs was currently aching her in a way nobody had ever done before. A makeout session had been almost enough to drive her insane. 

(Embarrassing.) 

“Have I shown you my room?” Andrea asked, still with her face buried in Emily’s neck. 

Emily grinned. “Were you not expecting an e-mail?”

Andrea kissed her jaw with a shrug. “I might have another priority right now.” 

Her hands held underneath Emily’s thighs and pushed them both out of the coach. Emily muffled a scream, crossing her legs over Andrea’s waist and holding tightly onto her neck. 

“What the fuck?” Emily cursed, completely in shock, and slightly more turned on. “Have you been working out?”

Andrea giggled. “Actually, you’re the lightest weight I’ve ever carried in my life.”

Emily sighed, covering her face in Andrea’s shoulder. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

Andrea kicked the door to her bedroom open. Emily barely had the time to judge it entirely before Andrea had dropped her into her bed, leaning over her and crushing their lips together once more. 

“And still”, Andrea said, pulling a tiny bit away, “you’re so fucking ready for me.” 

Well, this’ll be the end of me. I’ll be sending you my best regards. Love, Emily Charlton. 

Emily knew having sex with women was more pleasant than with men. That much had been clear throughout the many male-shaped disappointments in her life. A woman simply understood what to do with her body; how to pleasure her in ways no man could’ve possibly learned. There’s one thing that Emily did not know, though: having sex with Andrea Sachs was the same as getting delivered every known Prada piece that had ever existed on your doorstep. Mind-fucking-blowing. 

To be fair, it could’ve been that everything Andrea turned Emily’s entire organism into flames. Any simple, small touches from Andrea had more effect on her than actual sexual activities with previous partners. 

To have Andrea’s mouth all over her; Andrea’s fingers curled up inside her in a way that made Emily scream; Andrea’s naked form on top of her. To be able to touch Andrea herself; to feel her, to trace lines with her tongue on her hips, arms, legs; to have Andrea in a sense Emily had only dreamt of for so long. It was the greatest night of her life. 

“Em?” Andrea had called, looking up at Emily with her chin on Emily's chest. Her fingers trailed Emily’s arms slowly, almost lazily. 

Emily had hummed a response. Her own hands were deep into Andrea’s brown hair —perhaps she had an obsession with it—, scratching her scalp softly. 

“How long was it since your last orgasm?” Andrea had questioned, with a stupid grin on her face. 

Emily had rolled her eyes, pretending to try and shove Andrea out of her. “I’ll literally murder you if you continue talking.” 

Andrea giggled. “Sure”, she had said. “Kill me for knowing how to fuck you the way you like it.”

Emily had groaned. This time, she had actually used both hands to push Andrea away. They didn’t carry half enough strength to truly go through with it. “You’re insufferable. I already regret everything.” 

Andrea’s laugh hadn’t faltered. “Liar”, she poked Emily’s ribs. “Seriously. How long was it?” 

Emily had shrugged. Her mind was too fazed for her to replay the words in her head before letting them out. “I don’t know. I never cheated on Frank or Benji.” 

Andrea’s mouth had opened in surprise. “So fifteen whole years?” 

Emily nodded. When Andrea had huffed, Emily asked, “What?” 

“I can’t believe it”, she shook her head. “It’s insane to me that your own husband couldn’t give you something as simple as this.” 

Emily felt her cheeks burning. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not, Em”, Andrea had said. She sighed, brought her lips to Emily’s shoulder and kissed it. “It’s unfair that a woman like you had to spend all this time without getting everything you deserve.” 

Emily’s stomach had begun jumping around again. Her fingertips stilled on Andrea’s curls, slightly shivering. Nothing came out of her mouth; her heavy breaths spoke for themselves. 

Andrea’s lips moved to Emily’s throat. Her right hand left Emily’s arms and settled in between her legs. “Let me make it up to you”, she whispered. 

The final result had been: Emily had more orgasms that one night than in over an entire decade. 

To say Emily Charlton had a breakdown the morning after sleeping with Andrea Sachs would’ve been an understatement. The second she’d left Andrea’s apartment, Emily felt the reality of what had happened washing over her bones like ice-cold water. Because, bloody hell, how could’ve she been so stupid? 

Of course, she had thought, I’d have the brilliant idea of having casual sex with the same woman that I’ve been losing my mind over for twenty years. Astonishing, actually, to be able to be so incredibly brainless —as a matter of fact, Andrea was to blame for mushing up her brain and not allowing her to think properly. But, for dear God, how could’ve she said no in the first place? It was Andrea, for crying out loud. She would’ve done anything. 

Emily had been terrified of that: of touching Andrea once and becoming addicted to her skin; to her smell, to her taste. It had felt like a drug: if you had it for a single moment, even if briefly, you’d never come back from it; there’d be no cure. Still, she’d known she’d be doomed forever the second Andrea Sachs walked into Dior’s front doors months before. At that, Emily knew there’d be nothing she could’ve done to stop it —Andrea was a terrible mistake that Emily had been dying to make. 

Perhaps, she had thought it all wrong. Andrea Sachs' mere existence wasn’t the punishment for Emily's past sins. Perhaps, it was the knowledge that Emily could have her if she wished to and remain aware that it would never be enough. Andrea Sachs couldn’t love her, not in the way Emily desperately wanted her to. 

Emily had been blessed with the possibility of having a piece of Andrea. And, as much as it infuriated her, that was greater than anything she’d ever expected. 

She should’ve ended it. She should've stopped it from happening another time. Otherwise, she knew she would’ve gotten her heart wrecked. 

However, Andrea Sachs was an addiction Emily couldn’t help but search for. That morning, she’d decided allowing herself one part of Andrea was better than not having her at all. 

Their Friday ‘hangouts’ had turned into frequent hookups. Then, they had stretched onto the weekends. Without even noticing it, Emily had started to spend two and a half days of her week with Andrea. Not counting, of course, their constant need to text each other a hundred times per hour. 

(The texts had turned slightly more heated, too. Andrea had sent her a picture —not a naked one!— and Emily had a coughing fit so bad Alice had to help her. On her behalf, the picture had been from an unusual angle. Andrea knew exactly what she was doing.) 

Emily believed she would’ve found the inevitable changes in their relationship to be strange. Except that they didn’t. In fact, they had felt almost natural, as if that’s how they were always meant to act around one another. 

She was horrified —but not really surprised— to realize that was the happiest she had been in a long, long time. Maybe ever. 

“Your hair color is different”, Andrea said from somewhere behind Emily. 

Emily turned around to see her. She’d been fresh out of the shower, holding a towel to drench her own brown hair. Her blue sweatshirt was large enough to stretch itself out to her thighs. 

They’d been snuggling together in bed for the entire morning. Emily had planned to get up early for a yoga class, but Andrea had insisted —more like begged— she’d stay there with her. Emily would’ve said no —really!— if Andrea hadn’t looked that good or had begun kissing her neck right at the spot that made Emily tremble. Again, it had been mostly Andrea’s fault entirely. 

Well, to be fair, rounds two and three might’ve been her fault. 

“Yes, it is”, Emily agreed, frowning. “I dyed it back a month ago, Andrea.” 

Her blonde crisis had lasted longer than Emily had expected. After a while, she had, shockingly, become affectionate of the color —it had fitted her well enough. Besides, it had an emotional meaning. You know, leaving the past behind and everything. 

Then, a month before, Andrea had casually revealed in a conversation over dinner that she enjoyed Emily’s previous hair color more. 

“You’re crazy beautiful in both of them, obviously”, she had said. “I just think the red suits you better.” 

Logically, Emily had switched it back two weeks afterwards. 

(Please, don’t.) 

“No, Em, I mean the color tone”, Andrea said with a laugh. She dropped the towel on the couch —so messy— and walked over to where Emily was sitting near the kitchen table. “It’s different from the old one.” 

“Oh”, Emily said. Then, trying to sound nonchalant, “Do you not like it?” 

“If I’m being honest”, Andrea said. She crossed her arms around Emily’s waist from behind and pulled their bodies closer together, “I love it”, she pressed her lips against the top of Emily’s head. 

Emily had learned soon into their newfound dynamic that Andrea was very much touch-starved. 

She enjoyed cuddling after sex —and throughout the night—, had at least one of her hands on Emily at all times and would complain out loud every second Emily happened to be over ten feet away. 

Emily hated clingy people. Any type of physical affection would feel a total nightmare for her; even with romantic partners —actually, especially with them. It had taken every bit of her self control to not murder Benji Barnes during their two-month relationship due to that exact reason. 

Although, with Andrea Sachs, Emily liked being touched. Her usual cold skin warmed up the moment it came into contact with Andrea’s face, or chest or hands. Those insufferable butterflies in her stomach pretty much lost their minds whenever Andrea pulled her in and kissed her cheeks. In fact, not only did Emily relish it; she had begun to search for it, too. Constantly. 

(It’s like I’m turning mad! Emily had thought. Maddeningly in love. For fuck’s sake.) 

“Well, thank you”, Emily said, face burning. Andrea took the seat next to her. “Take that grin off your face.” 

Andrea’s grin turned bigger. “You’re so pretty when you blush.”

Emily huffed. “I don’t blush.” 

“Sure you don’t”, Andrea said. As if to prove a point, she continued, “baby”. 

Oh, that’s a low blow. Emily’s neck felt warm. “I hate you.” 

Andrea laughed. “If you say so.” 

Perhaps Emily had also despised pet names once. The mere fact that she could barely contain the stupid smile threatening to take over her mouth because Andrea used it was irrelevant. Really. 

“You know, I always saw right through you at Runaway”, Andrea said. She reached out, grabbed Emily’s chair and pulled her nearer. Their legs tangled together. 

Emily rolled her eyes. “There was nothing to see through.” 

“There definitely was”, Andrea chuckled. “You kept trying to seem so tough around everybody, but I knew you had a good heart.” 

That had hit Emily right in the gut. “No, you did not. I was awful to you, Andrea.” 

Andrea shrugged. “You weren’t anywhere close to awful, Em. You were just… ambitious and thought I was getting in your way”, she scrunched up her nose. “Which I was.” 

Emily shook her head. “Stop it, Andrea. You were only better at our job than I was. I was too young and desperate to realize it, that’s all.” 

Andrea stared at her as if Emily had gone crazy. “Emily, you were the one that taught me everything. I would’ve been a mess without you.” 

Emily smiled. “You were already a mess.” 

“That’s right”, Andrea laughed. “And then I wasn’t anymore. Because of you.” 

“As much as I find that flattering”, Emily scratched her tightened throat, “you did it all by yourself. You had a thousand reasons to give up, God knows I was responsible for half of them, and they simply made you fight for it harder”, she pressed her lips together. “You earned the right to go to Paris.” 

Andrea’s eyes glistened. She had that soft, sweet look on her face —the one that made Emily’s heart melt. “That means a lot to me. Thank you”, Andrea bit the inside of her cheek. “I still should’ve said no, though.” 

Emily huffed. “Oh, Andrea, please”, she dismissed it with a flip of her hand. “You should’ve said yes even if it had been your bloody mother instead of me.” 

Andrea snorted. “That’s not what you told me.” 

“I was bitter and more devastated than I had ever felt. I believed Paris would’ve been my ticket to the fashion industry, and to have that taken away was heartbreaking. Especially by someone who…”, Emily’s sentence got caught up in her throat. 

“Someone who what?”, Andrea whispered. 

Especially by someone who I was in love with. 

“Someone who I had only started to not feel so annoyed by”, she said, instead. 

Andrea smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, Emily noticed. It was as if she knew Emily hadn’t been completely honest; that something had been missing from her confession. 

“I’m sorry, Em.” 

“You don’t have to be”, Emily reached over and grabbed Andrea’s right hand. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago for that”, she said. “Besides, we’ve both fucked up and forgiven each other. I guess that makes us even.” 

Andrea intertwined their fingers. “I always thought you were pretty amazing. Did you know that?” 

Emily blushed, avoiding Andrea’s gaze. “I did not. You are not so bad yourself, either.” 

“I’m serious, Em”, Andrea said. “You were cool and gorgeous and damn good at your job. I have been impressed by you since day one.” 

Emily laughed. Not a joyful laugh, but a disbelieving one. “Sure, Andrea.”

“It’s true!” Andrea exclaimed. “That’s why I gave you my Paris clothes. I wanted you to like me.”

Emily’s eyes turned to their joined hands. She fidgeted with Andrea’s thumb before asking, in a quiet voice, “Then why did you not call me back?” 

Andrea paused, seemingly surprised by the sudden question. “I told you, Em… I thought it was a pocket dial.”

Emily nodded, frustrated. “I know that. But, still, you could’ve called me back. Only to be certain that I had done it by mistake”, Emily hadn’t meant to sound hurtful. She hadn't meant to bring this topic up, either. Once she had realized that, it had already been too late to backtrack. “Why didn't you?”

Andrea sighed. Somehow, she pushed her seat even closer to Emily. Their knees brushed against each other. Emily felt overwhelmed with all things Andrea; her touch, her smell, her closeness. “I was afraid.” 

Emily’s head snapped up. Andrea’s face was mere inches away from hers. “What?”

“When I left, I thought that you’d never want to hear from me again. You had no reason to, Em”, Andrea let out a shaky breath. Her eyes never left Emily’s. “I had hoped that, by giving you my clothes from Paris, you’d at least not hate me so much”, she laughed. It had sounded shallow to Emily’s ears; not that beautiful sound she loved hearing. “So, when I saw that missed call from you, I…”, Andrea moved her shoulders. “I wanted to call you back. I did, you have to believe me. I’d have done anything for us to be friends. But I was too scared that it had been a mistake. That I’d call you and you would’ve told me it was an accident and that I should just leave you alone”, she confessed. Emily’s heart hammered against her chest. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you, Andrea”, Emily said. “I could never hate you.”

A tiny smile was born in Andrea’s lips. “I know that now. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. It kills me that you believed I was just uninterested in you. That couldn’t have been more far from the truth”, Andrea had actually laughed now. That’s the one, Emily thought. That’s the laugh. 

Emily groaned. “Stop apologizing”, she shoved Andrea’s arm in a playful manner. “It might've taken us a while, but I’m happy we’re here now”, Emily said, shyly. A part of her had been terrified by the way every piece of her begged for honesty with Andrea near. 

Andrea’s eyes softened again. “Me too”, she said. Then, opened her arms. “Come here.”

Emily rolled her eyes. She climbed onto Andrea’s lap, sitting sideways, and crossed her arms over Andrea’s neck. “You’re so bloody clingy.”

Andrea chuckled, hiding her face in the crook of Emily’s neck. ”You love it.” 

I do, Emily thought. I love you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling.”

Andrea giggled and poked her ribs. “Should I order us take out?” 

Emily hummed considerately. “Well, no”, she said. Her mouth found Andrea’s earlobe, Emily let her teeth grasp it. Andrea trembled underneath her. “There’s something else I’d like to eat.”

Andrea grumbled against her shoulder. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

One thing about Emily Charlton was that she did not enjoy vulnerability. It had been a recurring issue in her previous romantic relationships: her partners would claim her to be “heartless” or “soulless”, even, for never engaging with their petty needs for emotional intimacy. 

It wasn’t as if she had no feelings at all (clearly). Emily had sometimes felt so much it had suffocated her. However, unlike the childish men she’d dated, Emily knew how to handle her emotions on her own quite well. There’d be no necessity for someone to help her through it, for God’s sake, she was no incompetent person. If she had the capability of succeeding as Miranda Priestly’s first assistant, she definitely could handle a few psychological problems by herself. 

Over forty-three years, Emily —supposedly— had suffered from five burnouts. In two of them, she had been obliged to step out of her job at Dior —which, if you had actually ever met Emily Charlton, you’d know would only make matters worse. By her third one, she’d enough experience on the subject to perfectly act as if nothing was happening. 

(Or perhaps her boss simply couldn’t have cared less about her “mental health”, as therapists liked to call it.) 

Well, the point is that Emily had always devoted herself to her career. Ever since her early years at Runaway, she’d work twice as much as anyone else and willingly give up her own life to please Miranda’s. Without a single complaint, because she had loved it more than anything. And still did. 

(Listen, the “Disclaimer: Andrea Sachs” isn’t necessary anymore. Right?) 

Therefore, of course she’d emotionally and physically collapse from time to time. Or endure through days —weeks, months or even years, really— so awful she’d return home and lay motionless for several hours until her brain came back from the dead. Totally normal. 

She hadn’t meant for it to happen on a Friday. 

To say the very least, Emily’s week had been stressful. She’d to solve an exceptional amount of problems everyone else in her department was apparently too stupid to handle; deal with her bosses distress and anger issues (because he had decided it should be aimed at her that month) and, not truly surprisingly, the cherry on top had been yet another meeting with Runaway and Miranda Priestly on Friday. 

Andrea hadn’t been there. Thank God, indeed, because she would’ve noticed Emily’s forehead vain popping out furiously at first sight. 

The meeting had gone smoothly. They'd decided on similar solutions that were beneficial to both companies; nobody had tried to betray the other suddenly. It had been as perfect as it could've been. 

And yet, Emily could still feel it. Miranda’s judgmental gaze; her hidden snarky commentary on Emily’s inferior position and, surely, the sharp irony in which she’d refer to the ‘Benji buying Runaway’ incident. To anyone else, Emily might’ve seemed paranoid for feeling targeted —but she knew Miranda too well to not recognize her patterns. 

Once she reached her car, Emily’s hand was shuddering so violently she struggled to place her key on the ignition switch. Oh, dear God, she thought. That’d been her first sign. 

(Because, naturally, she’d ignored all the shivering breath, sudden urges to vomit and piercing headaches that followed her hours at Coach.) 

Her vision was blurry by the time Emily had opened the door to her apartment. Everything in her body had malfunctioned entirely; to the point where she could barely throw her purse onto the floor before her torso collapsed into the couch on its own.

It all came crashing down in unison: her breathing was erratically heavy, her hands and feet were tingling, her brain felt as if it was crawling out of her forehead and her chest pained as if it were attempting to rip her skin apart and squeeze her heart out of it. Well, perhaps she should’ve seen it coming. 

The loud noise of a phone’s ring startled Emily. She picked it up from her pocket instantly —because it could be a work emergency!— and tried not to drop it while putting it on speaker. 

“Hello?” Emily breathed. 

“Em, it’s me”, Andrea’s voice came through. “I don’t mean to rush you, but our reservation is up for five more minutes. I’m working with my charms to stall the manager… tho, as you might agree, I’m not sure it’s going anywhere”, she laughed. 

Bloody hell, Emily cursed. Her eyes closed in frustration. Andrea had booked them a table at Emily’s favorite restaurant in the city —as a surprise she could barely hide for three days—. Due to her current situation, Emily had completely forgotten about their dinner date. 

(She wouldn’t have been able to make it regardless.) 

“Fuck”, she mumbled. Her throat tightened up. “I’m sorry…”, Emily managed to spit out a mess of shaky sighs. 

Andrea must’ve heard something in her voice. “Em, are you okay?”

Emily hummed. “Yes”, she said. Every word demanded a large amount of strength from her. “I just… can’t really move.” 

“What do you mean?” Andrea’s tone had changed. Instead of the sweet, warm one usually reserved for Emily; the one that followed through the call was alarmed and concerned. 

“I…”, Emily tried to inhale a deep breath. “I’m fine.” 

“Emily, where are you?” The sound of rushed footsteps echoed across Emily’s ears. A background noise that resembled a crowded room filled with chattering people pitched into her senses. She listened as Andrea muttered apologies to faceless strangers. 

“Home.” 

“I’m on my way”, Andrea said. A door slammed closed in Emily’s mind; a car's engine started somewhere far away. “Don’t do anything ‘till I get there, alright?” 

Emily hummed once again. 

She heard Andrea struggling with her spare-keys sometime later —Emily couldn’t tell exactly how much. Perhaps ten minutes?—. Her apartment’s door flew open and her eyes turned as Andrea hurried inside of it. 

“God, baby”, Andrea knelt down in front of Emily. Her eyebrows were deeply furrowed and every inch of her face yelled ‘apprehension’. She reached out to cup Emily’s cheeks carefully. “What happened?” 

Emily shook her head. “It’s all good.” 

“Emily”, Andrea warned firmly. “You’re not hiding from me. Fuck, you’re literally shaking”, she said. “Listen to me, I’m not going anywhere ‘till you let me help you, okay? Not a goddam inch away.” 

Then, Emily crumbled entirely. Andrea’s loving voice had torn apart every bit of her lasting fortitude. 

She sobbed without warning —without reason, even, it had simply fallen out of her throat—. Everything came crashing down all at once. Emily hadn’t truly cried in years; it was as if every tear she’d held up in her chest had exploded through her eyelashes. 

“Oh, baby”, Andrea whispered. “Come here”, she pulled Emily into her arms. “It’s okay. I’m right here with you.” 

Emily gripped onto Andrea’s shirt with trembling hands. Her sobs were uncontrollable as she soaked Andrea’s shoulder with her tears. At any other point in her life, Emily would’ve rather died than let herself be this vulnerable around somebody —the mere thought of allowing another person to see her cry was insufferable. With Andrea, she couldn’t remember why that had been; because shattering each of her personal walls had apparently become a goal of hers. 

Andrea’s hands stroked her hair with a suffocating type of care; brushed her lips against Emily’s forehead and gently reaffirmed her in overwhelmingly soft wording. 

“It’s okay.” “Let go, I’ve got you.” “You’re safe with me.” 

Emily focused on Andrea’s smell; the sound of her voice, the feeling of her touch until her breathing calmed down. Her tears stopped flowing through her face and her trembling faded into nothing. 

Emily’s eyes shuttered close. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

Andrea pulled away only to look at her, shaking her head. “Please, don’t ever apologize for this.” 

Emily bit her lip. “We missed our reservation.” 

“I don’t give a damn about the reservation, Emily. I would’ve dropped anything at any time the second you called”, Andrea said, still so damn sweet. 

“For fuck’s sake, you can’t say these things to me”, Emily cried out, opening her eyes to see Andrea’s small smile. 

I can’t ever hope for your love, she thought. It’ll kill me. 

“They’re true.” 

“I know.” 

Andrea’s thumb dried out the tears still wet on Emily’s cheek, caressing her face with her fingers. “Will you talk to me? Please?”

Emily sighed. She hoped that, someday, she’d be able to say no to Andrea. That day hadn’t arrived yet. 

“It’s just… something that happens to my body occasionally”, she revealed, in a quiet voice. “If I overwork myself or have a very stressful week, it’ll simply shut down completely for a while. It only lasts a few minutes.” 

“And this has happened many times?” 

“Yes. I’m familiar with it, it’s fine”, Emily said, shrugging. “I can handle it on my own.” 

Andrea's eyes saddened. “You shouldn’t have to, Em. I don’t want you to.” 

Emily sniffed. “Well, that’s how it’s always been. You’re the first person to ever hear about it.” 

Andrea bit the inside of her mouth, slightly scoffing. Emily could tell she had been reminded of the “Frank-was-a-terrible-husband” situation, which had angered her several times. Emily thought it to be devastatingly attractive. 

“I want to be here for you if this ever happens another time. Please, If you let me”, Andrea begged. Emily’s heart sank to her knees. 

She nodded. Her slightly shaken hand touched Andrea’s hair; pushed it behind her shoulder. Let her fingers brush against Andrea’s collarbone. “I’ll let you”, she whispered. 

Andrea turned her head to kiss Emily's palm. “Thank you.” 

Emily’s eyelids felt heavy. Her mind seemed fuzzy. “I’m a bit tired.” 

Andrea laughed. “I see that, baby. Can I help you to bed?” 

Emily grumbled stubbornly. “I feel like a child.” 

Andrea got up and held out her hand to Emily. “You’re not a child for allowing yourself to be taken care of.” 

Emily sighed. She grabbed Andrea’s hand and pushed herself up. “You’re sounding irritating to me already”, Emily said, with no actual bite to her tone. 

Andrea smiled. “Good, that just means you’re going back to normal”, she said, wrapping one of her arms around Emily’s waist for support. 

“You don’t have to carry me.” 

“Do you want me to let you go?” 

Emily paused. Then, she threw her own arm around Andrea’s shoulder. “No”, she mumbled. “What if I fall? I can’t risk breaking a bone and missing work for a month.” 

Andrea snorted. “Yeah, definitely not”, she grinned. “Still, you’re never falling on my watch.”

Emily blushed. They moved towards the bedroom in slow steps, Andrea guiding her gently while Emily scolded her for taking too long. Once they’d reached the room, Andrea had assisted Emily into her pajamas and argued against Emily’s request —or demands— for a “night routine”. 

“Emily, you’re perfect as you are”, she had stated, annoyed. “There’s no need for all of these crazy expensive products.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “I’m very much aware, Andrea, that you only say these things to distract me from the load of crap that comes out of your mouth.” 

Andrea smirked. “Well, can you blame me? It works every time.” 

Emily had settled her head on the pillowcase and breathed deeply, feeling as exhausted as one could possibly ever feel. Her mind had begun drifting away when something pulled at her chest, “Andy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you stay with me?” Emily asked, so quietly that Andrea had nearly missed it. “Please.”

A beat passed. “Of course, Em”, Andrea said. 

Emily had only been able to fall asleep that night once Andrea’s body was curled up in hers. 

At nearly forty-four, Emily Charlton had no trust in nothing truly good that could ever happen in her life —it all seemed too breakable, too easy to shatter. Perhaps, others lucky souls could’ve trusted it when a promotion got offered to them; or when a loving partner finally proposed for marriage. They could’ve believed it when the opportunity of their careers suddenly showed up in their corners —because, well, they’d worked hard enough to earn it, right? And all of these great things happened to those who pushed themselves up to the very limit to deserve them. 

Except for Emily, somehow. Somehow, she’d always be left out of the equation —no matter how much she’d earned it, even if she’d deserved it more than anyone else. At some point, she’d grown accustomed to it; to not be allowed to have anything great that could ever last. Every single good thing that she’d put her hands on, had destroyed itself before Emily could’ve loved it entirely. 

If Emily had ever trusted a God, she would’ve believed to be cursed by him. 

The moment she’d touched Andrea Sachs, Emily had known they had an expiration date, written somewhere by whatever force had decided to despise her at birth. And yet, she’d chosen to leave it alone and allow herself to be happy for once —because that might’ve been the biggest problem: Andrea made her happier than anything or anyone ever could. 

For the first time in her entire life, Emily Charlton had made a decision based on her stupid, reckless heart instead of her rational mind. Well, she should’ve known it would’ve cost her everything. 

“He’s insufferable!”Andrea complained, crossed-legged on Emily’s living room chair. 

Emily laughed, grabbing their wine glasses. “Bloody hell, this man might be the devil himself, if he has gotten you this stressed out.” 

“Oh, you’ve got no idea”, Andrea said, throwing a cheese cube into her mouth. “You would’ve hated him, too. I wish you were there to see Miranda’s face when he called the entire Spring Collection ‘old fashioned’.” 

Emily’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking joking! Uncalled for?” 

“Completely uncalled for!” 

Emily cackled, handing over one glass to Andrea. “Jesus, I can envision Miranda’s expression so clearly in my mind, it’s really disturbing.” 

Andrea smiled brightly. “I thought Amari would’ve collapsed right there. She knew Miranda was one moment away from saying something HR would call a ‘human rights violation’, probably.” 

“Was Nigel there?” Emily asked. “I can picture him going, ‘men this decade are a cry for help’”, she said, twisting her voice to imitate Nigel’s and dramatically moving her hands. 

Andrea choked on her drink in a spur of laughter. Her face turned red, while a hand covered her mouth to stop the coughing fit that had threatened to overtake her. Emily raised her eyebrows, amused. “Holy Christ, Andy. I’m not that funny.” 

“No, It’s just…”, Andrea started, a small smile indicating that another laugh was nearby. “That’s exactly what he said.” 

Emily’s own laughter bursted out of her suddenly. Andrea joined her seconds after, dropping her head onto her knees and struggling for breath as she tried to steady herself. 

“Stop, stop!”, she demanded, chuckling. “My stomach is hurting.” 

Emily wiped away tears. “They’re so predictable.” 

Andrea grabbed her by the arm and pulled Emily into her lap without warning. Emily gasped, surprised, and tapped Andrea on the shoulder. “I could’ve fallen!” 

“No, you couldn’t have”, Andrea giggled. She held Emily’s waist tight and breathed into her neck, sighing. “God, I love you”, she mumbled, thoughtlessly. 

Emily’s body turned into stone. Her tongue dried up, sticking into her mouth. The blood rush in her face faded away, replaced by a skin tone so pale it could’ve easily been mistaken for a corpse’s. 

Andrea tensed around her, most likely understanding the meaning of what she had just said. “Em…” 

Emily stood up, turning her back to Andrea and walking near the kitchen counter, where she put her wine glass at with shaking hands. Her palms felt warm and cold all at once, as if her heart had not yet decided to quit functioning completely or to beat as loudly as it possibly could’ve. 

She heard as Andrea repeated her movements and reluctantly approached her, filling the heavy quietness of the room with her voice, “Emily, listen. I know you want us to go slow and we haven’t really talked about any of this, but…” 

Emily couldn’t bear it, couldn’t force herself to comprehend whatever Andrea’s words were. Her eyes burned with tears. She interrupted her, voice cracking in a whisper, “Why would you say that?” 

“What?” 

She turned around as Andrea’s furrowed eyebrows shined through her glistening eyelashes. Emily wrapped her arms around herself, avoiding Andrea’s watchful gaze. “Why would you say that?”, she repeated, more firmly. “Why would you say that you…”, Emily stopped herself, as her stomach twisted and brought bile into her throat. 

Andrea moved her shoulders, seemingly still confused by Emily’s question. “Why would I say that I love you?”, she concluded, still unsure. Once Emily nodded in affirmation, Andrea pressed her lips together and softened her expression. “Because I do, Em. I love you.” 

Emily’s eyes shut closed as she shook her head, biting her cheek. “No, you don’t.” 

Andrea’s face widened in surprise. “Emily. Yes, I do.” 

“You don’t”, Emily said. “You can’t.” 

Emily could see Andrea’s frustration popping out as her weight shifted slightly. “Of course I can, Emily, how could I not? You’re…”, Andrea stopped, eyes glistening. “It feels like you’re the other piece of me I’ve been traveling around the world searching for, and I know that sounds cheesy, but I still don’t understand how it has taken me this long to figure it out”, she smiled softly. “I love you, Emily. I’m in love with you.” 

A small sob ripped through Emily’s chest. Her hands pressed against her forehead, squeezing her skin with her nails. “Stop saying that”, Emily whispered. 

“Why?”

“Because you don’t mean it”, Emily said, staring at Andrea with an expression so broken she couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it; Andrea’s shoulders dropped at the sight of it. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Emily”, Andrea sighed. “I would’ve never said it if I didn’t feel it.” 

“I’m not saying that you’re lying to me”, Emily said. “I believe you believe you feel this way, but It’s just not true”, Emily shrugged. “You can’t love me, Andrea. It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I don’t fucking care if it makes sense”, Andrea said, a little bit louder. Then, with a sadness that shuddered Emily’s skin, Andrea moved closer. “You have no idea how much it breaks my heart that you truly believe you’re not worthy of being loved by someone. But you are, Em. And I need you to see that”, she added, in a quiet tone. 

“You don’t understand”, Emily shook her head. “I don’t deserve it, Andrea. I don’t deserve you”, she breathed in, still shaking. “And you’re going to realize that soon enough. So”, Emily gulped and ignored the sharp pain that hammered through her chest as she continued, “it’s best if we end it here. Whatever this is.” 

“Emily, all I’m asking is for you to trust me”, Andrea whispered, more desperate. Her brown, beautiful eyes shone with tears. “I love you and I won’t ever not love you. Please, just let me show you that.” 

Emily sighed. “I do trust you, Andy. But I cannot allow myself to get lost in your confusion. It would be stupid of me to do that”, she said. “You have to leave.” 

“Emily…”

“Please”, Emily begged. “Just go.” 

She knew Andrea wanted to argue against it, and could see it in her face. Perhaps she would’ve had twenty years before; ever the persistent, fearless and brave Andrea, the one Emily had fallen in love with. Still, Emily saw the second Andrea’s eyes saddened and embraced their defeat over Emily’s blue stubbornness. 

“Okay”, she nodded. A single tear slipped down her cheek, disappearing into her mouth. “I’ll go.”

Emily should’ve been filled with relief. Yes, she’d done the right thing —she’d saved Andrea from a disappointment no one could’ve prepared her for. Except that she didn’t feel relieved in the slightest. All of her body hurt so much she might've been shot in the chest. 

“I’m not giving up on you. Do you hear me?” Andrea said, with a hand on the doorknob. “I never stop fighting for what I want. You know me well enough to know that”, she turned her head to look at Emily. Her eyes were red. “And I know you, Emily. I know what you want, too. If you’re not willing to fight for it, then I will be.” 

The next morning, Emily showed up to work with the same appearance as a tuberculosis infected Victorian child —she hadn’t slept at all and barely had enough makeup products to cover up the damage done to her face from dehydrating herself through her eyeballs —. Her temper was, to say the very least, the worst it had ever been (a bit dramatic) and she’d decided to force herself into lockdown in her office for as long as it’d take for the murderous feeling to disappear. 

“Emily?” Alice called, quietly, peaking through the glass doors to Emily’s office. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Steven only wanted me to let you know he’s not coming over today.” 

(Steven had happened to be Emily’s nightmare of a boss.) 

Emily scoffed. “Oh, thank God”, she said. “I didn’t really feel like hiding a body today.” 

Alice’s eyes widened. “Hm”, she gulped. “Okay.” 

Emily’s right hand shivered as she picked up a pen. “Is that it, Sophie?” 

Alice hesitated. “Actually…”, before she could try and correct her, Emily lifted her eyes and smiled —a Pennywise type of smile—. She must’ve seemed horrifying, because Alice visibly held her breath and looked away. “No, Miss Charlton, I’m supposed to deliver something to you as well.” 

Emily furrowed her brow as Alice disappeared from her sight for a moment and returned with a gigantic bouquet of roses that covered her entire head. “What in the actual hell?” 

“These were sent to you this morning”, Alice said from behind the flowers. She struggled to set them on Emily’s desk and flinched once her arms grasped onto a branch. “The card doesn’t have an identification.” 

Emily’s eyebrows arched. “Have you read the card?” 

“No, of course not!” 

“That’s all”, Emily said, diverting her eyes from Alice. Oh, God, she cringed, That was so Miranda. 

The second Alice’s figure disappeared through Emily’s glass doors, her trembling fingers held the white card hidden in between the flowers. Her heartbeats pressed into her throat; she swallowed them down. 

Emily didn’t have to guess; she knew who they’d belonged to. 

Morning. I still love you just as much as I did yesterday (maybe even a little bit more). X. 

She dropped it onto her lap and breathed in as her guts twisted madly in her stomach. Her skin burned from the heated emotions that coursed through her body in waves, glistening her eyes and sweating her palms. “Fucking hell, Andrea”, Emily muttered. 

(Alice had offered to call a doctor when Emily stepped out of the office as green as a Goblin and nearly tripped on her heels on her way to the bathroom. Naturally, Emily had threatened to fire her in case she’d lost her mind.) 

Emily had learned soon enough that Andrea had meant what she said about fighting for what she wanted —or for what she had believed she had wanted, as a matter of fact—. The bouquet of red roses had been a once-in-a-lifetime grand-gesture kind of thing: Andrea was, unfortunately, sufficiently intelligent to be aware of Emily’s hatred for public displays of affection, especially at her work environment. Instead, she’d message Emily at random hours of the day, as if they were sharing a never-ending conversation, and finish each sentence with what she had called a “love reminder”. 

At eight o’clock on a Tuesday night: I’ll be at Runaway ‘till very late for work purposes. Oh, and still very much in love with you, in case you’re wondering. Good night, baby! Emily had dropped her phone on the floor and snapped at Alice for staring —”Hasn’t your bed time arrived already? Jesus Christ”—. 

One time, before the sun had fully even risen: Morning. Had a terrible night of sleep without you in my arms. Miss you so bad I think I might start eating those healthy craps you like. See how I’m suffering? I’m losing my mind! God, I love you way too much, Em, It’s a little embarrassing. Well, have a nice day, baby. Emily had arrived late for work for the first time in forever due to a few stomachache problems and had to deal with a handful of colleagues that’d believed she’d died. Which was at the same time, Well, that’s how great of an example I am!, and, Oh, bloody hell, It was only three minutes! Don’t be so theatrical. 

The worst one had been in the middle of the night on a Friday, catching Emily by surprise during a sleepless existential crisis: It honestly makes me angry how you’re so reluctant to accept that I could actually love you sometimes. I mean, most of the time. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Em. And I’d choose to love you a thousand times over If I had to. Because I love loving you. (That’s very sappy, I know. No need to laugh at me!). I hope with all my heart that you’ll see that eventually. Sleep well, baby. I love you. Emily had sobbed for three hours straight and considerably thought of calling in sick for the day. She might’ve as well thrown herself out of a window, for Christ’s sake. 

(Not even getting ran over by a car had been enough to tempt her into missing a work day. Seriously, she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. Twenty-three year old Emily Charlton would’ve rather died than “calling in sick” —and because of Andrea Sachs, too!)

Emily’s certainty of Andrea’s misguided feelings had begun to slightly fracture itself. She’d been in an emotional slump severe enough to turn her brain into numbness and nearly considered reaching out to Andrea several times, as well as putting her endless concerns about their “relationship” aside. 

Of course Andrea had been convincing —she was a bloody journalist, for crying out loud! Convincing people was her job. But, as much as it was embarrassing to remotely think of it, let alone allow herself to admit it, Emily missed her terribly. Out of every form of self punishing ritual she’d ever put herself through, willingly pushing Andrea away had to be in the top-three category for “most successful ones”. Especially after having her in ways Emily had only dreamt about in her helpless mind for twenty years. 

Which is why you should’ve never had her in the first place, whispered a tiny bit of her brain, you fucking idiot. The largest part of it, though; the one Emily felt tingling in her veins, said: You know having her for a second would’ve been better than anything else in this world. Except that Emily didn’t want her for merely a second —no, she wanted Andrea Sachs for as long as she could breathe. And that was fucking terrifying. 

Emily’s last strip of persistence ripped off on a Wednesday. 

“Emily”, Alice called, “Nigel Kipling’s on the line.” 

Emily’s brows furrowed in confusion. Then, she rolled her eyes. “God, in what way is Miranda going to piss me off today?” 

Nigel hadn’t remotely tried to get in touch with her for nearly a year —ever since that disastrous let’s-buy-Runaway plan failed miserably. Andrea had mentioned him many times, however, so Emily was very much aware he had remained Miranda’s little puppet. 

“Yes, Nigel?” Emily said, as she picked up his call. 

“Hello, dear”, he greeted. “You’ve always been the best at receptions.” 

“There’s no longer need for that with us, is there?” Emily asked, slightly impatient. “Just tell me: what does Miranda want?” 

Nigel scoffed. “Miranda doesn’t even know I’m talking to you right now, good God. She might’ve fired me under the pretense of betrayal.” 

“Of course she might’ve”, Emily mumbled, annoyed. “Why is it that you’re calling me, then?” 

He sighed. “It’s about Andrea.” 

Emily’s spine straightened up immediately. She gripped onto the phone and felt as her heartbeats dropped, “What about her? Is she alright?” 

“Oh, Christ”, Nigel whispered. “Yes, she’s perfectly fine. For now, at least.” 

Emily relaxed into her chair. “What do you mean?” 

“I won’t tell you all of it”, he started, “but I’m afraid Miranda is considerate of firing her.” 

“What?” Emily’s eyes popped up to her forehead. “Has she gone mad or something?” 

“Well, not anything unusual ‘Miranda-madness’, no”, he said. “Andrea refused an order and, putting it lightly, Miranda’s not happy about it.” 

“I understand”, Emily said. “Why is this any of my business?” 

“Because, sweetheart, I’m not stupid or blind”, Nigel pointed out. “I know you and Andrea share an acquaintance or whatever you’d like to call it. I’m requesting you put some sense into her little head and save her from a dismissal card.” 

Emily rubbed her temple with her index finger. She ignored the blush in her face as she said, “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Nigel, but Andrea and I are not contacting each other as of this moment. This is, however, none of your concern.” 

“I don’t care a damn about your relationship problems, honey”, he said, clearly exasperating. “As far as your ‘non-contacting’ status goes, that’s about to fall apart in a few minutes. She’s coming to your office right this second.” 

Emily nearly fell off from her seat, alarmed. “What? How come I did not hear of this?” 

“You’re hearing about it right now”, he replied. “I was supposed to have sent an intern, but I thought best to ask her instead. Not a surprise she was delighted to do so.” 

Emily bit the inside of her cheek with enough strength to draw blood —Bloody hell, this bald man menace. “I should go now, then, Nigel. It was a pleasure speaking with you, as usual”, she said, with a bite of irony to her tone. 

She could hear Nigel’s smile as he said, “I thought the exact same, dear. Have a lovely meeting.” 

Emily believed she would’ve fainted as the reality of being in Andrea’s presence again stroked her with the intensity of a lightning storm —the tips of her fingers went cold while every other inch of her body warmed up. 

Ten minutes later, Alice announced, “Andrea Sachs’ here.” 

Emily didn’t remove her eyes from her laptop screen for a second before Andrea’s high-pitched voice filled the room, “Hi, Emily!” 

She breathed in and looked up at Andrea’s sweet smile, turning sick as a rush of affection poured into her. “Hello, Andrea”, she greeted, formally. 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you in any way”, Andrea said, taking the seat at the front of Emily’s desk without invitation. “We’re doing an article on women’s leadership across the fashion world and I thought it’d be better if I was the one interviewing you. I hope that’s okay”, a nervous laugh echoed through the air. 

Emily was as stiff as a rock, but couldn’t help herself as she softened, “It’s perfectly fine.” 

Andrea beamed at her. “Great! Let’s start.”

They’d fallen back in sync with each other almost instantly, as if no adversity had ever passed between them at all. A small, fresh tension swirled around their bodies in heavy waves and tightened Emily’s muscles to the point where she seriously feared cramping. 

She couldn’t stare into Andrea’s eyes and pretend she didn’t feel her touch lingering in her skin, the ghost of her lips still brushing against hers. Emily couldn’t be near Andrea and act as if they had shared nothing, as if they’d been merely casual. 

She could’ve never felt less when it came to Andrea —it burned her skin, clenched her lungs and tore her insides apart. At twenty-three, Emily had been diagnosed with the Andrea-shaped disease. Twenty years later, she had figured out its only cure was Andrea herself —and, because of that, Emily had been sure there was no way out. 

Andrea had just paused the recording of their interview when Emily asked, abruptly, “Is it true Miranda’s going to fire you?” 

Andrea’s eyes widened in surprise. “How… how do you even know that?”, she stumbled over her words.

Emily shrugged, with a neutral expression on her face. “I have my ways.” 

Andrea narrowed her brown eyes at Emily. “Nigel?” 

Emily sighed. “Yes.” 

Andrea groaned, dropping her head back. “I knew he was up to something.” 

“Will you tell me what happened?” 

“It’s nothing, really”, Andrea said, shying away from Emily’s gaze. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve got it completely under control.” 

Sure, Emily thought. That creepy smile on your face certainly says that. “Andrea”, she warned with a raise of her eyebrows. 

Andrea bit her lip, fidgeting in her chair. “Fine”, she succumbed with a frown. “I had a minor disagreement with Miranda.” 

A smile creeped up in Emily’s mouth. “Minor?”

“Yes”, Andrea nodded. “She gave me an order, I said I wouldn’t do it, she got mad and now I might get fired”, she shrugged. “Nothing exceptional.” 

There was a slight change in Andrea’s body language that made Emily’s suspicions grow. She knew, from the way Andrea avoided maintaining eye contact, that she had been holding the truth from her. A flash of an emotion coursed through Andrea’s face and Emily understood what it was immediately: guilt. 

“What was the order?” 

Andrea puffed, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes. “You know, there was no point in Nigel bringing you into this. It’s not like you’d tell me to drop it and I’d magically agree…”

“Andrea”, Emily repeated. “Please.” 

Andrea’s shoulders dropped, as a gentle gaze lifted from her face. She watched Emily in silence for a moment, seemingly still unsure whether to be honest or spare Emily from whatever horrifying error she had committed in order to compromise her much beloved position at Runaway. 

“Okay”, she breathed. “I’ll tell you.” 

“Good.”

Andrea sighed. She flew a hand over her hair and settled back into her seat, nearly gripping at its edges. “Miranda asked me to write a piece on Coach’s Winter Collection”, she revealed, quietly. 

“Oh”, Emily said. Then, she scoffed. “I’ll assume it wasn’t meant to be complimentary.” 

Andrea let out a bittersweet laugh. “No, definitely not”, she agreed. “The instructions were to criticize your clothing line and question the company’s compromise with meaningful messages.” 

“That’s rich coming from her.” A stiffness in Andrea’s posture set off several alarms in Emily’s mind; a part was clearly still missing from her story. “What is it, Andrea?” 

She closed her eyes and cursed under her breath; Emily fought the urge to smile. “I was supposed to explicitly undermine Coach’s executives responsible for the campaign. Which included…”

Oh, Emily thought. “Me”, she completed. “Especially me.” 

Emily wanted to feel angered by Miranda’s pitiful revenge; wanted the pre-existing hatred to overcome her body and suppress everything else. Instead, she felt an overwhelming sadness that brought unwelcome tears to her eyelids. A twenty-three year old Emily Charlton, desperate and hungry for Miranda’s approval —for her love—, cried out inside of her, obsessively questioning whether she had ever done anything to be unworthy of it. 

“Em…”, Andrea whispered, staring at Emily with so much sympathy and care that she was overthrown by an agonizing need to simply fall into Andrea’s arms and allow herself to be held by her, for once in her lifetime. 

She blinked away the wetness in her eyes and shrugged, ignoring the tightness in her chest. “It’s fine. It’s her way of getting back at me for the whole Runaway fiasco. I get it, really. I would’ve probably done the same thing.” 

Andrea’s right hand came to rest on top of Emily’s laptop, as if she had wanted to find a way to reach out to Emily and comfort her. A beat passed and, reactively, Andrea retracted her hand, tugging it into her pockets. She breathed in and pressed her lips together, shaking her head. 

“I think she was trying to challenge my loyalty, as well. I didn’t have to be the one to write the article.” 

Emily’s breath caught up. “And where does your loyalty lie?” 

A flick of something passed through Andrea’s brown eyes, dilating her pupils and burning her skin red. For the first time, Emily had recognized it for what it truly was: unmistakable, heart wrenching, gut wrecking love. “I told her no, Emily”, she argued. “Where do you think?” 

Emily’s heartbeats hammered in her ears. Her hands trembled in her lap, sweating from a symptom she’d become overly familiar with for years. A sob threatened to spill from her mouth, clenching at her throat. She swallowed it all down —her office was not the right place for her sickly love-induced emotions to come forward. 

“Well, I’m surprised”, she admitted, keeping any sentiment from showing off in her voice. “I thought you loved this job.” 

Andrea smiled, sweetly. “I do. It’s the best position I’ve had in a long time and Miranda’s an amazing boss”, she said. “There are just a few other things I prioritize over my career”, Andrea paused, putting on a casual facade. “Or a few people, for that matter.” 

A small simper tugged at the corner of Emily’s lips. “Really? Like what?” 

“I mean, for starters, my own personal beliefs”, she laughed. “I would’ve never written something I don’t feel passionate about, especially when it comes from a place of obvious resentment.” Andrea’s smile grew softer as she said, in a low tone, “And I would’ve never written something that’d intentionally compromise someone that I love.” 

Emily’s entire figure very visibly melted under Andrea’s words. God, she thought, there’s no chance somebody else has ever felt this much love for another person before. She swore it vibrated from her skin; every inch of her body yelled and begged for Andrea, nearly ripping out of her control. 

“That’s very honorable of you”, Emily said, quietly and almost shy. 

“Yeah, well”, she grinned, “I guess it’s one of my many qualities.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “Sure. It goes along with your incredible ability to read a room and always know exactly what to say”, she joked with a deadpan expression. 

Andrea giggled. “Thank you, Em.” She grabbed her belongings and stood up, standing still in front of Emily. “I should get going. Don’t want to piss off the boss even more, you know?” 

Emily nodded, smiling a tiny bit. “You’re right, Andrea. I appreciate the interview.” 

“You’re welcome!” 

As Andrea reached the door, Emily called, “Andrea?” 

“Yeah?” 

Without lifting her eyes up, she asked, trying to seem nonchalant, “Are you still on for our ‘Friday-hangout’ this week?” 

Emily could hear Andrea’s grin as she said, “Of course. I always am.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised Emily in the slightest that her belief that Andrea might’ve actually been able to love her only came after she’d pretty much given up her job at the greatest fashion company in the world, all because Miranda had asked her to destroy Emily’s reputation. Perhaps, it would’ve been due to Emily considering her career to be the single most important aspect of her life —until she met Andrea Sachs. The thought of willingly jeopardizing everything she’d ever fought for simply to catch a glimpse of what being loved by Andrea felt like was the scariest realization Emily had ever come across —the worst of it all was that she would’ve done it in a heartbeat, without any kind of regret, because there was nothing she’d ever wanted more than Andrea. 

Not once in twenty years had she ever remotely allowed herself to consider that Andrea might’ve felt the same way. That Andrea might’ve seen her as someone worth losing everything for; someone worth putting above any other priority; someone who mattered more to her than anything else. 

She’d never pondered Andrea might’ve loved her to the full extent that Emily did. 

“Is your hair longer?” Was the first thing Andrea’d said to her once Emily arrived at her apartment on Friday night, having barely stepped foot out of Coach thirty minutes beforehand. 

Emily threw a pointed look at her. “That’s not something you ask a woman, Andrea”, she said. “You’re supposed to pay attention to me.”

Andrea smirked, moving her body to give Emily space to enter her home. “Oh, I do pay attention to you, Emily Charlton. That’s how I know you’re dying for a glass of wine.”

Emily arched her eyebrows, suppressing a tiny smile. “Impressive. It’s as if you see right through me.”

Andrea’s laugh disappeared into her kitchen, as Emily occupied her usual seat on the living room couch, crossing one of her legs over the other. She didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, only terribly nervous and timid, as if that’d been her first time ever communicating with another human being of the same gender —so pathetic!—. 

“Has work been stressing you out lately?” Andrea asked, approaching Emily with two wine glasses in hands. 

Emily groaned as she took her drink from Andrea’s hold. “Jesus Christ, don’t even talk about it”, she rolled her eyes. “My new first assistant is a complete mess. Can you believe she has to write down on her phone every silly little thing I say to her because she is too incompetent to remember them?” 

“You’re joking”, Andrea said, sitting on the other end of the couch. Too far away, Emily noted. 

“I’m unfortunately not”, Emily sighed. “I told her to remind me of an important partner’s address and, I swear to God, she spent nearly ten minutes searching for it on her Google Agenda or whatever the fuck that was.”

“Oh, my God”, Andrea chuckled. “That would’ve gotten me fired twenty years ago.”

“Exactly, thank you!” Emily exclaimed, exasperated. “I almost feel a bit guilty for how awfully I treated you back then. You weren’t anywhere near as horrendous as these young girls are.”

“That’s a lovely compliment coming from you”, Andrea grinned. “Honestly, maybe you were just too good and set the standards way too high for the rest of us to follow.”

Emily actually laughed at that. “Oh, please. You managed to beat me at my own game in less than six months, Andrea. If anything, you're the one raising the standards.”

Andrea shook her head, biting down a smile. “I don’t want to have this argument with you again, Emily.”

“Of course you don’t, you know you’re going to lose.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Andrea said, playfully. “Tell me, then. What was it that I did to deserve such a high opinion from you?” 

Emily pressed her lips together. “Well, first of all, you had to deal with my most insane personality and constant judgment…” 

Andrea shrugged. “I mean, that wasn’t so terrible, to be honest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I sort of happened to enjoy when you were mean to me”, Andrea confessed, sipping her wine and grinning at Emily through the glass. “I thought it was devastatingly sexy.”

A blush creeped down Emily’s neck. She copied Andrea’s motion and sipped her own drink, only to have an alcohol excuse for the clear redness in her face. In a sudden rush of confidence, she said, “I did enjoy messing with you, as well.”

“And why was that?”

“I’ll seriously murder you if you tell anyone of this”, Emily threatened, narrowing her eyes at Andrea, “but I thought you seemed rather adorable every time I did it. I really liked to see you get all flustered.”

Andrea laughed, embarrassed. “God, that’s definitely nice to hear. I just told you I was stupidly attracted to you and you say you thought I was cute?”

“I didn’t say that was all I thought of you”, Emily said, casually. “And that’s definitely not all of how I feel about you right now.”

Andrea’s eyes darkened slightly. “And how do you feel about me right now?”

Like I can barely think because of how much I want to kiss you, Emily thought. Yeah, can’t say that yet. 

She smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Andrea’s face widened and she popped her mouth open in surprise. “Wow, you’re evil.”

“I haven’t really changed that much.”

A comfortable, light silence settled over them for some time. Emily watched Andrea with adoration enough to sentence her as a pathetic soul for the rest of her life —and perhaps she was one; or had been ever since this brown-eyed, sweet girl crashed into her perfect and carefully calculated world and tilted it on its axes. She couldn’t believe Andrea hadn’t cracked her out like a puzzle a long time before; there’d been no way Emily wasn’t ever horrifyingly obvious about her dumb and outward lunatic love for Andrea —she was sure it had all been splashed across her skin like a tattoo for more than twenty years. 

“Is this the part where we have our little ‘what are we’ talk?” Andrea joked, a bit tense. 

Emily swallowed, but nodded. “Yes, I suppose.”

A moment passed. Andrea’s eyes locked onto hers and, all of a sudden, she felt the words simply spill out of her mouth, “I fear I own you an apology, Andy.”

“You don’t have to do that, Em. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Will you let me have my big speech or do I have to win this argument too?” 

Andrea smiled, shaking her head. “No, m’am. Be my guest.”

A shaky breath of air slipped through Emily’s lips. Her heartbeats hummed loudly in her earshot as she tried to restrain her voice from breaking. She’d spent two decades excruciatingly holding onto every inch of her existence that’d claimed torturously for Andrea. Emily felt as if an enormous weight that’d been begging to free itself from her torment was finally allowed to use its wings and fly away. 

“You’ve got no idea how many times I wished you’d never stepped your foot at Runaway”, she said. “I managed to disguise it as hatred, which might’ve truly been the case at the beginning of it all, but… At some point, you, with your stupid chaos and your insufferable sweet attitude, even as I treated you horribly, found a way to rip through my very well constructed armor.” 

Twenty-three year old Emily Charlton would’ve rather been tortured than ever permit any of these deeply locked feelings to be shared with another human being. Forty-three year old Emily Charlton could no longer suffer through the pain of carrying them with her; she’d rather split her pride in half than bare with the possibility of losing Andrea again. 

Emily stared down at her hands, tucked into her lap to prevent them from the shaking madness coursing through her body. “And I hated it, Andrea. I used to demand everyday, from whatever entity that’s above our world, to force you into leaving, only so I could finally be spared the anguish of being near you”, she sighed. “Then, even after you did leave, I’d still crave your presence, somehow. I’d missed you, for God’s sake. How was that even possible?”

Emily felt as Andrea slid closer, the tip of her toes brushing against Emily’s ankle; it sent a wave of shock across her spine. Her mouth kept moving, barely consciously, “I hadn’t understood what it was until you didn’t pick up my call. I’d thought that, perhaps, it was merely a strange desire to get to know you, or to only have a friend for once. But I wasn’t completely unaware of my feelings, Andrea, and I knew what that horrible sense of rejection meant”, she pursed her lips together. With a trembling voice, Emily confessed, “I was in love with you.” 

She heard Andrea’s small, almost silent, gasp. A smile tugged at the corner of Emily’s lips, as she looked up at Andrea’s slightly surprised expression, observing as her face followed through several emotional states at once. Emily’s shoulders relaxed a little: she wasn’t scared of rejection anymore. 

“Are you truly that shocked?” 

“Uh…”, Andrea hummed, a tiny bit distraught. “Yeah, I thought you didn’t like me in the slightest.” 

“Andrea, I used to purposefully give you extra work so we could spend more time together”, Emily arched an eyebrow. “It’s astonishing no one there had the eye to see how pathetic I was.” 

Andrea smiled. “Em, I don’t think bullying me was the best way to show your affection.” 

“Perhaps not”, Emily shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to express my love for you, though. I could barely handle the idea of it for the longest time." 

Andrea shook her head, seemingly still at a loss for words. “I had no clue you’d ever felt that way.” 

“You weren’t supposed to”, Emily said. “It was unbearable, I couldn’t let go of you no matter how much I’d tried to. It hadn’t even made sense to become romantically involved with anyone else; they’d have never compared to you.” 

Andrea softened so much Emily thought she would’ve melted on the couch. “I’m stunned you’re actually saying this to me.” 

“You should be, Andrea, you wouldn’t have gotten this out of me on my deathbed ten years ago”, she rolled her eyes. “The point is: I thought it’d never be reciprocated. For twenty years, I convinced myself that I’d die loving you in silence because you could’ve never felt anything remotely positive about me. You’ve always been too good for me, Andrea.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Please, save your comments for later”, Emily complained with a laugh. “I didn’t see myself as someone worthy of your love; and I still sort of don’t, to be honest. But that’s your problem for being too much of a lunatic.” 

Andrea grinned. “Well, I am crazy about you.”

Emily visibly cringed. “Bloody hell, you’re unbelievable. I’m trying to have a moment here and you cannot put an end to the gooeyness.” 

“Sorry, I can’t help it”, she laughed. “You may continue, baby.” 

Emily groaned and threw a cushion in Andrea’s direction, from which she easily dodged, giggling. 

“That’s why I freaked out when you told me you loved me”, she continued. “I couldn’t honestly believe someone like you could’ve ever felt this way about a person as completely ruined as me.” 

“You’re not ruined.” 

“Andrea.”

“Sorry. Go on.” 

“My fears overwhelmed me and I was terrified of giving myself over to you and having to deal with your inevitable regrets later”, Emily said. “And I can’t handle it, Andy. Losing you again would kill me.” 

“Can I speak now?” 

Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. “Not yet”, she replied. “That’s why I must apologize: I was too much of a coward to be honest with you, but I’m simply tired out of my mind from allowing these feelings to eat me alive”, Emily took a deep breath and grabbed Andrea’s hand, gently playing with her fingers as she said, “I’m still in love with you, in case that hasn’t been cleared out enough. I have been for over two decades and I’m pretty sure I’ll be for the rest of my painful existence.” 

Andrea sniffed suddenly and Emily looked up to see multiple tears streaming down her face. “Jesus, you’re truly absolutely terrible at hiding your emotions”, she said, snorting. 

“You’re crying too, jerk”, Andrea said with a heartfelt roll of her eyes. Emily blinked, frowning as she felt water drenching her cheeks. 

“Well, that’s embarrassing.” 

Andrea’s laughter erased every last bit of tension in the space around them, and Emily leaned into her naturally. The remaining distance between their bodies seemed torturous enough that Emily had to physically contain herself from climbing into Andrea’s arms. 

As if reading her thoughts, Andrea grumbled and pulled Emily by the hand to wrap her arms around her waist, hiding her face into her neck with a soft sigh. “You’re not allowed to stay this far away from me.” 

Emily shook her head, amused, as she hugged Andrea’s shoulders and closed her eyes, placing her chin at the top of Andrea’s head. “You’re aware I cannot be glued to you at all minutes of the day, right?” 

“I’m sure we can figure something out for that”, Andrea said, voice muffled by Emily’s skin. She dropped a small kiss on the spot behind Emily’s ear and pulled away slightly, only to look at Emily as she said, “I love you so much.” 

Emily smiled, tugging a stray of hair behind Andrea’s ear. “I love you, too. Much more than I knew I could.” 

“I’m telling everybody you’re a romantic”, Andrea announced with a grin. “They’re all gonna be shocked that the big, bad Emily Charlton gives crazy love speeches.” 

“Oh, my goodness”, Emily groaned, pinching Andrea’s shoulder playfully. “Enjoy yourself. It’s never happening again.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Emily cupped Andrea’s cheeks and kissed her, sighing as their lips met, feeling warm spread through her face while newly formed tears burned her eyes. 

When they finally broke apart, a sudden thought ripped through Emily’s mind, forcing her to freeze in Andrea’s embrace. “Wait, what about Runaway? Were you fired?” 

“Of course not”, Andrea said, smugly. “I’m way too good at my job, you know? All because this gorgeous woman taught me everything through her mean words and sexy attitude.” 

“Oh, shut up”, Emily laughed. “You’re not an assistant anymore, Andrea. I didn’t teach you a single thing about being a Features Editor.” 

She shrugged off Emily’s comment. “If it’s okay with you, baby, I’d rather not discuss work”, Andrea said in a serious voice. “It turns out, I have said gorgeous woman in my arms right now and I’m currently more preoccupied with making love to her.” 

A cackle ripped through Emily’s throat, as Andrea pushed her down on the couch and kissed her collarbone. “You’re the biggest loser in the world, darling. I can’t believe you just said ‘making love’.” 

“Well, Emily Charlton”, Andrea said, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow, “you’re the one madly in love with a loser. I guess that makes you much worse than me.” 

“Yeah”, Emily smiled and hooked her legs around Andrea’s waist. “I guess it does.” 

The first and only time Emily Charlton broke her Second Commandment was for Andrea Sachs. 

A few months later, she conjured up an entire new set of rules —because, you know, the other one had been shattered to pieces—. Except that she’d only been able to come up with a single Commandment this time: 

1. Never let Andrea Sachs slip through your fingers ever again.