When the Line Breaks

The Fragile

The air between them was still.

It wasn’t the office anymore, no audience, no sharp walls to ricochet their venom off of, no easy script of power and mockery, just a dim apartment hallway, the faint hum of a broken light overhead, and the thinnest sliver of space between Emi’s shoes and the crack in the door.

Bonnie leaned faintly against the frame, fingers tightening as if the wood was the only thing holding her upright, she didn’t push the door wider, didn’t invite her in, she just stood there, fragile and furious in equal measure, like a bunny cornered by its predator.

Emi should’ve said something, should’ve laughed it off, made a barb, turned on her heel and left before the weight of what she was doing here crushed her, but she didn’t.

Instead, she just looked.

At the mess of hair falling across Bonnie’s face.

At the shirt that hung too loose, slipping down a fragile collarbone.

At the hollowness under her eyes, bruised with sleeplessness.

The silence was too much. It pressed down on Emi’s ribs until she couldn’t breathe, until her chest ached with everything she hadn’t said and everything she shouldn’t.

Her hand moved before her head caught up.

Slow, deliberate, breaking every unspoken rule between them, Emi lifted her fingers and pressed them gently against the door, against the edge of Bonnie’s hand still braced on the frame, not a grab, not a demand, just… there.

Skin to skin, warm against fever-warmth.

Bonnie flinched, almost imperceptibly, but she didn’t pull away.

Emi’s throat burned, she leaned closer, voice low, hoarse, like each word cut its way out.

“I shouldn’t be here. God, I don’t know why I’m here”  

she broke off, swallowing hard, eyes dragging up to meet Bonnie’s

Her hand slid further, covering Bonnie’s where it clutched the frame, and then…slowly, carefully, like approaching something breakable…she pressed the door wider.

Bonnie didn’t resist, she only staggered back half a step, the weight of her own body carried on exhaustion alone, her shirt slipped looser off her shoulder, collarbone jutting sharp against pale skin.

Emi’s chest twisted.

She stepped inside.

The apartment was dim, blinds half-closed, air heavy with the stale scent of too many days in bed, the silence wrapped tighter in here, thick enough to choke.

Bonnie leaned against the nearest wall, breath shallow, eyes refusing to meet hers.

Bonnie shut her eyes, just for a second, and when she opened them again, they were glassy, wet at the edges, but she didn’t pull away.

“Why are you here, Emi?” Her voice cracked on the question, too weak to lace it with the usual bite.

“Why couldn’t you just… stay gone?”

Emi did not reply.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Emi swallowed hard, jaw clenched until it hurt.

“And how am I supposed to look at you?”

Bonnie gave the faintest, broken laugh, a ghost of what her bite used to be.

“Like I’m still your rival, like I can still fight you.”

Her knees wobbled. Emi caught her before she could fall, hands gripping her arms too tightly, desperate, as if letting go would mean losing something, losing her.

For a moment, Bonnie leaned into her without resistance, forehead dipping the slightest bit closer, breath shuddering against Emi’s shoulder, her fragile weight pressed against.

And Emi, fool that she was, let her eyes slip shut, drinking in the weight, the fragility, the nearness.

She wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence before it drowned her, but all that left her was a raw whisper, wrecked and dangerous:

“You make me insane.”

Bonnie’s lips parted, but no retort came, just a sound, low, weak, closer to a hum.

The kind of sound that left Emi’s chest in ruins.