Delicate - Emily Blunt x Reader

20 - Breathe

"It's the kinda ending you don't really wanna see."
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Somehow, Nolan and Emily are able to set aside their differences enough to make it through the scene with a love convincing enough for people who don't know what their relationship has turned into. You, on the other hand, have a hard time trying to see past the mutual hatred and confusion of emotions.

But, more than anything, you're glad that it's over. You're just worried about what's coming next. You know that Nolan definitely made calls to get your name blacklisted. So what other jobs hire someone with a cosmetology license?

Walking home from set, you pass the diner and decide to stop in. Great service. Great food. In a wealthy neighborhood like this, the tips have to be good. It's a perfect place. Hopefully they're hiring.

The friendly face of the owner greets you from behind the bar, filling glasses of her infamous lemonade for a family in the corner booth.

You slide onto one of the traditional red barstools in front of the owner, trying your best to give her the smile she deserves.

The man on the barstool takes one look at you and the hand shaped bruise peeking through the makeup on your cheek and slides a stool away. You try your best not to steal glances of him while you're waiting for the owner to return from the family in the corner.

"Hello, darling," she leans on the counter in front of in a way that she would only do for her regulars. "What brings you in today?"

And she's right. You only ever come here in the middle of a crisis. Bad days call for shakes from Shelby, what can you say?

"Are you hiring, Shelby?" You ask her.

"Imagine that," she smiles at you, a disappointed smile, "the girl working with America's best wants out of the industry."

You force a smile at her words. You don't want out, but everything else is too long of a story to tell Shelby.

"I supposed having an extra hand to man tables wouldn't be a bad thing," Shelby nods, grabbing a milkshake glass from below the counter and mixing your usual strawberry ice cream into it. No whipped cream. Extra cherries.

"Really?" You try to sound enthusiastic about it. This is the best job you can get after being booted from Hollywood. Why can't you muster a little more sincere excitement?

"Listen, darling," Shelby slides your shake across the counter and hands you a straw, "it sounds like it was a rough day. The job is yours if you decide you want it, but why don't you go home and think about it before you make the final call."

You nod. There's something comforting you've always found about the diner. It's one of the few places in Las Angeles that doesn't feel like such a gossip-filled, densely populated town. Shelby's Diner feels like home.

The black and white checkered floors, freshly polished from the hard work of Shelby's grandson. The black and white pictures hanging from the walls, ones that Shelby took herself on her adventure around the world when she was in her twenties. You could listen to her stories about those years forever. The red leather booths. The food that should be greasy and smell like the booths at the carnival but it's the perfect amount of delicious and balancing. The people who mind their own business and exchange conversation with Shelby like old friends. The old music from the jukebox that happily reminds you of Emily's playlist in her car.

Shelby tucks a loose piece of her grey-blonde hair behind her ear and reaches across the counter to give your hand a squeeze. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"A chocolate shake, please," you reply, "to go."

"Yes, ma'am," Shelby moves to make your second shake.

When she brings it back, you pull out your wallet from your back pocket.

"Ah-ah," Shelby grips the counter with her wrinkled hands, "on the house. You have a good night, darling."

"Thank you, Shelby," you hand her your empty glass and take the chocolate shake with you out the door.

On the walk home, you're feeling a lot lighter than you were before. Shelby's Diner seems to work that way, boosting your mood no matter the situation.

It's the first place you went to when you moved to Las Angeles, Shelby the first face that ever made you feel welcome. It's the place you went to when you couldn't find a job. The place you went to when your first girlfriend broke up with you.

A feeling overwhelms you that you need to bring that comforting feeling of Shelby's Diner back to Louis.

You find him curled up on the couch under the blanket your mother knitted you as a farewell gift. You expect to see Dateline or some dramatic show on the television, but Louis simply stares at the black screen. His face is all colorful and swollen. He looks exhausted, like he missed out on a week's worth of sleep.

You plop down next to him, throwing a loose end of his blanket over your lap, and hand him his chocolate shake, a melted layer sitting on top and mixing with the whipped cream.

Instead of drinking it, he holds the cold plastic to his face and lets out a sigh of relief. "This feels good. Thank you."

You nod, unsure of what to say to make him feel better.

"Y/N?" Louis leans towards you, his head tipping to rest on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, for everything."

"It's okay," you whisper back to him. You forgive him, surprisingly. You're just glad to have him here with you. For the first time in a while, you let the tears fall.

You might be okay with the fact that Louis publicly announced your relationship with Emily, but nothing else about anything that has happened since your first day on the job is okay.

You're not sure you and Emily are ever going to be okay again.

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"Now I don't know what to be without you."