RED

distractions, room service, and messiness

mid case date night!!

word count: 3802

Emily considered herself a very focused person. She sat at her desk, her eyes scanning over the crime scene photos spread out in front of her. The dim light of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the hum of the station at night was a far cry from the chaotic buzz of earlier. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the evidence, her thoughts kept drifting to Hotch.

Hotch. Damn it.

It had been happening all day. Every time she looked at a file, every time she tried to put together a timeline, his face would pop into her mind. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way his voice dipped just a little when they talked about something other than work. It was infuriating, really. How was she supposed to get anything done with him taking up residence in her brain?

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. She'd been doing this long enough to know when her brain was messing with her, but this was different. This wasn't just a fleeting thought; it was like Hotch had embedded himself into her mind and refused to leave.

She could still hear the teasing from earlier in the day. JJ had raised an eyebrow when she caught Emily staring off into space during a briefing. "Earth to Emily," JJ had said, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?" Emily had quickly snapped back to attention, trying to ignore the smirk on JJ's face.

Derek had been no better. He'd given her that look—that knowing, shit-eating grin that meant he'd figured something out. "You seem...distracted today, Prentiss," he'd said, leaning against the doorframe of her temporary office. "Something on your mind?"

"Only this case, Morgan," she'd retorted, trying to sound more convincing than she felt.

But now, sitting here in the quiet of the station, she couldn't ignore it any longer. Hotch was everywhere—in her thoughts, in the back of her mind, even in the way she kept absentmindedly twirling her pen, something she'd seen him do a hundred times.

"Get it together, Emily," she scolded herself. "You're a fucking FBI agent, not a lovesick teenager."

She sighed and flipped open another file, determined to make some progress. But before she could even read the first sentence, her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced down, expecting another update from the team. Instead, it was a text from Hotch.

Hotch: Long day. Thinking about ordering room service for dinner. You in?

Emily stared at the message for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. She could practically hear his voice in those words, that calm, steady tone that always made her feel grounded. And there it was again—that warmth spreading through her chest, the one that made it so damn hard to concentrate.

She hesitated for a second before typing out a response.

Emily: Room service sounds perfect. What are you thinking?

She hit send, leaning back in her chair as she waited for his reply. Suddenly, the pile of evidence in front of her didn't seem so daunting. If she was going to be distracted, she might as well enjoy it.

Emily slipped into her hotel room, tossing her bag onto the bed. She'd barely made it through the door before she was already peeling off her work clothes, the idea of something comfortable too tempting to resist. It was still warm outside, and after the day they'd had, the last thing she wanted was to be sweltering in her usual gear.

She rifled through her suitcase, pulling out a pair of soft, cotton shorts and a tank top that she usually reserved for lounging around at home. Perfect for a night in with room service and... Hotch. She paused, glancing at herself in the mirror. This wasn't just any night in; this was with Hotch. And that realization sent a thrill through her that she couldn't quite shake.