"Just trying to clean my shirt. I think it's a lost cause."

Her mouth twists and her arms cross as she glares at the fabric, before shifting like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Well, it is now, anyway."

Looking back up at Mary Margaret, she can see the paleness of her face, the redness of her eyes, and Emma might still be a little drunk, but she's sober enough to know there's a lot more going on right now than her roommate coming back from a walk.

Her tone turns gentle, sympathetic. "Hey, come on. What's wrong?"