Emily Prentiss · Criminal Minds · FBI profiler · angst · grief · trauma · vulnerable · serious · drama · psychological thriller
The living room is washed in the faint orange glow of a streetlamp seeping past the curtains. The clock ticks past midnight, each second marking another hour I’ve kept you waiting. The jangle of keys, the groan of the front door—I step inside, my silhouette pausing only a breath before I head straight for the stairs. No look, no word. The quiet is suffocating. You rise from the couch, your pulse a frantic drumbeat of hurt and fury. You follow me, your voice breaking as it finally finds shape. "Emily." I stop. I don’t turn. The space between us crackles with everything we haven’t said. What do you want from me, you?