#csvalentines

“Hi, how can I help you?”

The woman - Tink - is pleasant enough, a friendly smile etched on her face as she looks at Emma expectantly, but all Emma can wonder is where’s Killian?

“Sorry, uh, is Killian not working today?” She tries not to look too eager, but she’s started to look forward to Wednesday afternoons, when she’d thought Killian was scheduled to work, so she dismisses her disappointment as that of her own deductive reasoning.

“Oh, something came up, so I’m covering for him. I promise I’m just as good at floral arrangements, if not better,” Tink says with a conspiratorial wink. Emma manages a weak smile in return, and she leaves with a bouquet of sunflowers that do nothing to brighten her mood.

The fourth time, she’s on a mission, and it doesn’t even occur to her that it’s February fourteenth when she goes looking for her florist.

(Just like how it doesn’t occur to her that she’s started to refer to Killian as her florist.)

Emma is baffled by the sheer amount of people crowded in the shop, men and women alike, clamoring for the attention of the next available employee as they try to get a last minute bouquet. She doesn’t stop to wonder why so many people need flowers today of all days, and heads straight for the bright yellow arrangements - Killian’s favorite.

She lingers there for a while, her hand trailing over the soft petals as she pretends to browse. Her gaze keeps shifting back to one bouquet in particular, and she begins to wonder when Killian had started using so many buttercups in his creations.

Someone clears their throat behind her, and Emma whips around, her mouth shifting into a sheepish grin as she attempts to hide what had been the object of her rapt attention just seconds earlier.

“Need any assistance?” Killian asks, a cheeky grin of his own in place as he takes in Emma’s guilty expression.

“Just looking,” Emma says hurriedly. “Um - you guys are really busy today. I don’t want to trouble you if someone else needs help.”

Killian’s eyebrows raise and Emma swears he’s trying not to laugh at her.

“Do you actually not know why we’re swamped today?”

From Killian’s tone, she can tell that the answer is supposed to be obvious, but all Emma does is blink at him in bemusement.

“Swan, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Killian’s definitely trying not to laugh at her - and failing, spectacularly.

“So I take it you’re not in the market for flowers of the romantic variety?” Killian teases, studiously ignoring the nearby customers who are rather obviously trying to catch his attention. “No date?”

Emma snorts. “Valentine’s Day is overrated.”

There’s no hiding his laughter now. “Then why are you here, today of all days?”

“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?” Emma shoots back, unable to mask her own smile. Killian reaches forward suddenly, her breath catching until she realizes that he is aiming for something behind her.

Her relief quickly turns into embarrassment as he studies the bouquet she had been standing in front of, her cheeks flushing of their own accord at Killian’s considerate evaluation of the flowers in his hand. His fingers brush against the buttercups, a mirror image of Emma’s own, and he turns his thoughtful gaze from the flowers to her.

“You know I used to not be scheduled to work on Wednedays?” Killian asks conversationally, heading for the counter and leaving Emma to decide whether or not to follow (she does). “The day you first came in, I was actually covering for Tink. Family emergency, you see. I understood, of course, but I was still a tad miffed about having to work on my day off, until a blonde hurricane burst into the shop and near swept me off my feet.”

Emma clears her throat to try and take some of the attention away from how red she must be by now, but from Killian’s knowing smirk, it doesn’t work. “A blonde hurricane, huh?”

“I thought it was an apt description,” Killian says, going behind the counter and ringing up the bouquet in his hand. Emma follows closely, cringing and smiling apologetically at everyone Killian (and her, by extension) is blatantly cutting in front of. “Anyway, the following week I asked Tink if she wouldn’t mind switching shifts again, in the hopes that you’d come back.”

Emma’s eyes widen at his open admission, and she’s certain she must be resembling a tomato.

“Interesting that you picked out the arrangement I made with you in mind, isn’t it?” Killian continues, either completely oblivious or choosing to ignore the fact that Emma is unequivocally, indescribably flustered. “I’d say it’s almost like fate.”

“Something like that, sure,” Emma says faintly.

Killian steps out from behind the counter and bows, the sight of which is so ridiculous that she has to laugh, and presents the flowers to her with a flourish. She takes them, hiding her goofy grin behind the petals, but she knows Killian can see right through her.

“Swan, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me, outside of this shop?”

It wasn’t like Emma had never been with anyone before. There had been Neal, the thief who’d tried to frame her but had screwed up his own plan, landing himself in prison. Then Graham, who’d liked her just fine but had been in love with someone else. She’d had flings and one night stands and everything else that fell just outside of the realm of an actual healthy relationship. But Killian was different.

He cooked her dinner and she washed the dishes. He let her pick the movies and the music, unless she was feeling particularly indecisive, and even then, he always chose something he knew she’d like. He held her when she was sad and cold and angry and also when she was happy and proud and excited. He laughed at her horrible jokes and shared her anger at her one co-worker who just couldn’t seem to pull their weight.

Maybe she does love him, actually. She thinks to herself, knowing that any shot she had at sleep is definitely gone now that he’s said those three words. She wonders if he’s thought it while conscious, but hasn’t voiced it for fear of scaring her off. He’s right to be afraid, as she’s definitely tried to push him away before when things became too much.

The first time she realized they’d spent a solid week sharing a bed at night, she hadn’t answered his calls for three days, until he showed up at her apartment with flowers and some version of The Princess Bride with extra scenes she hadn’t seen before, as though everything was normal. She hadn’t been able to shut him out when he barged in like that, and within an hour, she was in his arms on the couch, questioning why she’d wasted three days of her life avoiding someone who cared for her like this.

She’s still awake, wondering if she should tell him she heard him, or maybe just say the words even though she’s not sure, when light trickles in through her window. She’s glad she’s off today, that it’s a Saturday so she can be lazy and stay in bed for as long as she wants. He stirs beside her as she starts to finally drift off. She feigns sleep when he sits up, forcing her breathing to be even and slow.

“I love you,” he says again, but this time he’s awake and telling her when he thinks she can’t hear him.

He does mean it then, and is just trying desperately to let her know without sending her running for the hills. He kisses her forehead, and her eyes flutter. She pretends to wake up and he grins down at her.

They agree on breakfast in bed, and he goes to make pancakes and eggs to bring back for them to share.

She wonders if they should move in together. Maybe that conversation would be easier. It’s more logical than the emotions involved in the three words he’s whispered to her twice now. They spend nearly every night together anyway, so shouldn’t they save on time and rent and bills by just living under one roof?

Emma knows even as she thinks it that it won’t happen. She’ll never bring up cohabitating just like she’s not sure if she’ll ever tell him she loves him. She wonders how long he’ll stick around before he gets tired of constantly climbing the new walls that pop up around her. He’ll leave her, surely, when he realizes just how closed off she really is.

It’s just as well, since that would save her the trouble of trying to voice the fact that she's realized that she does love him. Undoubtedly and completely.

Shit.

He comes back into the room, a smile on his face and a breakfast tray he’d purchased a week ago just for occasions like this, when they don’t want to leave bed for any longer than they need to. There’s a rose in a vase on top and when he sets the tray in her lap, she sees the pancakes are shaped like hearts. She looks up at him, confused.

“It’s, um… Happy Valentine’s Day, Swan.” He scratches behind his ear, clearly thrown off by the fact that she hadn’t known what day it was. Were holidays like this important to him?

Emma is torn between trying to make holidays like this important to her because she loves him, and figuring that they can’t be all that great for each other if he believes in corny Hallmark holidays. She’s unsure of what to say when he speaks again.

“I know it’s a stupid holiday, and I didn’t get you a gift or anything, but I thought at least our first Valentine’s Day together should at least have heart-shaped pancakes. Or something.”

“So it’s… Valentine’s Day isn’t, like, important to you?” She finally finds her voice as he sits beside her, arranging his pillows – his pillows? – so he can lean against them. He laughs, reaching for a forkful of egg.

“No, Swan,” he says after he swallows. “It’s a false holiday made up to sell more candy and flowers.”

She leans over to kiss him then, nearly toppling the breakfast tray as she does so. He reaches out one hand to steady it while the other hand buries itself in her hair.

“I love you,” she says. She’s amazed by how simple it is to say once she’s resigned the fact that it’s the truth. He’s done so much before to get her to open up and let him in, that she thinks maybe for once she should do it on her own. “I love you,” she says again with a laugh, and he’s grinning at her, seemingly as shocked as she is by the admission.

“You do?” he asks, her chin in his hand.

She nods once, realizing that he hasn’t said it back yet. He said it first, really, but it didn’t count since he didn’t know she could hear.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing I love you back then, isn’t it?” He’s kissing her again, and the tray in her lap nearly crashes to the ground before they both stop and stare at it. She gently takes it and places it on the ground. “I made you pancakes…” he whines halfheartedly.

The first time he walked in, she paid him no mind. Didn’t even look at him. The second time, their eyes met when he sat at the table across from hers, but then she looked back down at the book she was reading.

The third time, she couldn’t help it. Her eyes wandered up from her phone to sneak a glance at him. Then another. And another. She’d noticed how attractive he was the first moment he’d swaggered in, but this was the first time she allowed herself to really look at him.

Damn.

That disheveled black hair and those tight black pants. She could tell he had a strong, lean body by the way his shirt stretched between his shoulders.

Suddenly, Emma is aware she isn’t just glancing  anymore when he looks up at her with those piercing blue eyes rimmed with eyeliner (that only makes him look hotter), a quirked eyebrow, and smug smirk on his face.

She looks down immediately and feels herself blush. Quickly, she grabs her things and makes a dash toward the exit.

The fourth time, Emma is making her way to her usual table when she’s confused to find a cup already waiting for her. She looks up to find Mr. Smug Face had arrived before her, looking at her with an expectant look and a smile that makes her feel wary. She sits down and takes the cup, uncovering the lid. It’s hot cocoa alright, the drink she orders every time, but it’s missing something.

The whipped cream and cinnamon.

How he knows her order is a mystery, but he knows about the whipped cream because he’d made a show of pointing out she had some on the side of her mouth last time before he’d caught her sneaking glances at him. (She doesn’t know he only caught it because he was doing the same).

Her face must have shown all sorts of offended for not having the perfect addition to her drink because she can hear snickering. Looking up, she finds that he’s trying (and failing) to hold back his laughter.

Emma narrows her eyes at him. Two can play at this game. Emma was never one to back down from a challenge.

And that’s how this back and forth started between them.

After his little stunt with her hot chocolate, the next time Emma makes sure to get there before him. She goes to the barista she always orders from and asks her if she remembers his order. She gives her a knowing smile, she doesn’t know why, and tells her he usually orders a coffee with cream and sugar.

Perfect.

Emma orders a black coffee and after checking to see he was nowhere in sight, she goes to place it in his spot. Smiling triumphantly, Emma sits back and waits for him to show up.

He walks in a few minutes later and she can’t help but admire his wind swept hair, the urge to brush it away from his eyes too strong.

As he takes a seat he spots her, then looks down at the cup in front of him. He raises an eyebrow in question, but she simply shrugs nonchalantly while smiling innocently. She can tell he doesn’t believe her act, picking up his drink anyway and tentatively takes a sip.

His face scrunches up in distaste immediately from the bitter taste and she can’t help the quiet giggles she isn’t even trying to hide.

And this continues on for the next few weeks. There’s always something missing from her drink, and she responds in kind. Once he really took her by surprise and managed to hide in the kitchen until she came. She was a bit disappointed to find her table empty, but waved the feeling away. He wasn’t important to her. She should be happy, now her Saturdays could go back to being peaceful.

She decided to order something other than her hot cocoa that day. She asked for a Frappuccino with caramel. The kind barista who always serves her hands her the drink and for some odd reason she looks like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. Unfazed, Emma takes a sip and notices that something is missing. Her caramel. She hears a chuckle and turns around to find him standing behind his chair. All she can do is gape at him. How could he have known her order? And it was different this time!

Both of them know what to expect when they come into the shop, but both continue to show up.

Every time. 

It’s another Saturday morning and Emma walks with a light in her step, knowing she’s going to see her… friend… enemy… frenemy? She doesn’t even know what he is and suddenly she stops as she realizes something. She no longer sees him as the annoyance he once was. She now looks forward to their “meetings.” She doesn’t know what to think about it. He’s handsome, she can’t deny it. It’s the first thing she noticed about him. But she doesn’t know him. Should she ask him out? Simply talk to him and get to know him? Change the whole dynamic of how things are between them?

Emma bites her lip, contemplating her next move. She runs when she’s scared, it’s what she’s always done. It’s what she’s had to learn to do after growing up with no one to love her and the one time she thought someone did, he sent her to prison for his crimes.

It’s what’s protected her. But it’s also what’s kept out love and pushed any potential friendships away. This is the first real “friend” she’s made and although she’s scared to break whatever it is they have going on here…

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, making a decision. For once in her life she’s going to be brave and not let her fear rule her. She’s not going to ask him out, she doesn’t want to seem too forward or eager. But she does want to talk to him, to have an actual conversation in hopes of becoming friends at the very least.

She continues walking, making her way toward the shop in anticipation. It’s packed with more people than usual. As Emma makes her way to her table she notices that although it’s empty, no one is sitting there because there are no chairs. She furrows her brows in confusion and looks around to find there are no other available spots, when a cough catches her attention. She meets the amused stare of her “friend.”

Of course, the only other available chair is at his table. This time instead of a missing ingredient, it’s a missing chair. She rolls her eyes, but takes a seat.

Well this is convenient, she thinks since she wanted to sit down with him anyway and he’s just given her the perfect opportunity.

He perks up once she’s seated since he probably thought she would decline his invitation. She smiles at him shyly and looks down, finding a hot cocoa waiting for her. When she looks at him, he just nods encouragingly and she tastes it, finding that it’s perfect and just the way she likes it. After giving him a questioning look, she takes another sip enjoying her drink.

He clears his throat, “I couldn’t give you a drink you don’t like on our tenth date. It’s quite the milestone.”

Emma chokes on her hot cocoa for a moment. Once she can breathe she asks, “Tenth date? Did I miss the first nine?”

“Aye, your hot cocoa with no whipped cream and cinnamon’s the first, my greatly distasteful black coffee’s the second, and well I’m sure you remember the rest, lass,” he jokes.

His accent. It makes her want to swoon. Hold yourself together, Emma.

All humor disappears when he continues, “In all seriousness, love, I was hoping to ask you out. To dinner, or something,” he mumbles shyly.  

It’s so different to see the man that oozed confidence, suddenly become this shy person whose cheeks have reddened. He’s rubbing his finger behind his ear, a nervous tick she’s sure.

“Oh,” is all she says.

Honestly he caught her off guard. She came in here, finally brave enough to speak to him, hoping he’d at least be her friend. He must think she’s not interested by the way his face falls so she quickly continues.

“It’s just you surprised me. I finally found the confidence to talk to you today, but you beat me to it,” she says with a reassuring smile.

Her words and smile have the desired effect. His face quickly changes from disappointed to relieved and a bright smile that reaches his eyes spreads across his face and she can’t help it when her smile widens just the same.

“Killian Jones, at your service,” he says as he reaches his hand out.

“Emma. Emma Swan,” she replies, placing her hand in his. He surprises her when he brings it closer, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, only giving her a cheeky wink when she shakes her head, but her smile never wavers.

It turns out Killian’s brother, Liam, owns the coffee shop which is how he knew her orders. The friendly barista is his sister-in-law, Elsa, who knew of Killian’s interest in her and the little game he started in the hopes of getting her attention, which explains those looks she’d give her.

She learns he works at the docks, he is good with ships, and moved to Boston a few months ago to be closer to his brother and sister-in-law as they are the only family he has. His mother died in childbirth and his father abandoned them when he was a child.

They sat talking for hours, getting to know one another. When Emma finally had to go home, reluctantly they said goodbye to each other and Killian told her he’d text her so they can set up a time for their first actual date.

She didn’t have to wait long since he texted her only ten minutes after she left and she laughed at how adorable he is.

Their first date is wonderful, both expected and unexpected. When they talked in the coffee shop, he seemed to be a gentleman and that’s how he acted on their date. When they played their game however, he was a different person. He was a mix of both on their date and she was happy to see that, see all of him. She also saw how easily she could fall for this man. And for once, the thought of falling in love didn’t scare her.

Many more dates follow and soon they find themselves celebrating their two year anniversary. Emma’s come a long way in the past two years. Not only did she find a man she loves and who loves her in return, she also found a family and friends.

Liam and Elsa were very welcoming, she and Elsa hitting it off straight away. When she didn’t have plans with Killian, she was with Elsa.

Since it’s their anniversary, Killian has a special surprise to mark the occasion. 

He proposes that night. With an empty box.

“Seriously?”

He gives her a mischievous grin, then pulls out the ring from his pocket and places it on her finger.

She sighs exasperatedly, but he just kisses her while pulling her close. She can’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, eventually smiling into the kiss. 

If you asked Emma what’s missing from her life, she’d say nothing at all.

“Shit,” Emma whispered and closed her door. It’s not that she hasn’t been around attractive males in her line of work… but Killian, well, she had thought of him so many times in the past two months she’d stopped using his last name in her thoughts and got used to the idea that his looks had really swept her off her feet.

His behavior, however, being so cocky and arrogant all the time, was the last she was prepared for. Said behavior was the reason he hadn’t yet worked with Emma. Everyone talked about how hard he was to work with, and how Emma couldn’t possibly handle it. How little they knew.

On her desk lay a paper with all she needed to know for his new costume - which apparently was described as “black and extra skinny”, hence the need for new measurements. Before she even had a moment to collect herself, Killian opened her door without knocking and walked in, chin held high.

“Good morning, love,” he said. Funnily enough, his voice sounded harsh.

“I assume your voice was lost along with your manners,” she said without looking up at him. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that his stance hadn’t changed.

“Aye, screaming at a rock concert late at night will do that to you,” he said without missing a beat.

“Losing your manners or your voice?” she said, finally glaring up at him.

“Apologies,” he said and took a bow.

A bow. Was he serious?

She looked at him warily for a few seconds, measuring tape in hand, wondering what to tell him to get started. Finally she said, “Undress.” It was the coolest verb she could find without making the command sound sexual.

His eyebrow went up anyway, for the second time in a few minutes. “As you wish.”

Come on, Emma, focus.

Killian finished undressing, and Emma had to put on all her professionalism to stop herself from doing anything out of line. He was just a handsome model, she’d seen plenty of them before. Few of them however were allowed to keep their chest hair. As Killian rarely posed half-naked, in favor of deep V-necks or half-open shirts, his chest hair was perfectly intact and just perfect.

She cursed herself for wearing tight jeans, as she felt her knees starting to tremble a little. Luckily, Killian was looking high up, so she approached him and put the measuring tape loosely around his neck. They were both used to it - Killian having other people touch him non-sexually and Emma touching models non-sexually. But she would lie if she said she didn’t feel his heartbeat raise for one single moment when her fingers touched his chest as she folded the tape between his collarbones. She felt goosebumps on her own as his breath caressed the skin of her arms.

She took off the tape and turned around to write the numbers on a paper, and she could swear she saw him raise his hand and scratch behind his ear. As soon as she turned back, he was smiling again, though this time it looked less suggestive.

Next came his chest. Great. Trained as he was, he raised his arms on his own so that she could wrap the tape around his torso. She definitely didn’t need to lean into him so much in order to do that, but as awkward as it was, she didn’t comment on it and went on.

“Hold it for a sec,” she told him after measuring and his hand flew to his chest, brushing her right one as she took it off the tape to write the next measurement. That definitely needn’t have happened, but he wasn’t complaining. She dared a look at him, and was surprised to not see him too amused by that. Well, he seemed fine, but the smirk he’d greeted her with seemed too long ago now.

After she measured his waist, he took care to not touch her hand, so that wasn’t an issue, but then came the time to measure his hips.

This time, she actually let herself wonder what could happen if she touched him there.

Oh crap, Emma, come on.

She felt relief to see that all went smoothly as she carefully wrapped the tape around his hip. The fact that she did feel relief actually surprised her.

She measured his legs, which was not weird at all with her hand actually going very close to his crotch, and then finally came the time for the arms. She would lie if she said she was never curious, so she threw a glance at the stump on his left wrist. She knew that she wouldn’t need to - and maybe she shouldn’t - touch it at all to measure the arm, but she felt the desire to touch it, not out of curiosity, but for the same reason her heartbeat had raised since she started working on him. She was glad she was standing behind him.

“Have you tried ice-cream from the parlor across the street?” he asked suddenly.

She looked up at him, focusing on his very soft looking hair. “Not yet. I’ll only indulge if I’m certain their rocky road is decent enough.”

“Hm, haven’t tried that one yet. Their grapefruit one is worth it.”

“Who even eats grapefruit-flavored ice-cream?”

He tsked. “It’s got lots of vitamins, Swan.”

“It’s full of sugar. Aren’t you supposed to, not eat that kind of stuff or something?”

“Don’t pressure a model on their diet, please,” he said with mock embarrassment.

“I never do and you know that.”

“I do, love.” His smile now seemed terribly nice and she couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not. But their casual discussion - quite possibly the first one they had since they met - distracted her from the nervousness she felt after touching him all over. She had finished measuring him yet she still stood next to him having small talk. While he was naked save for one piece of clothing.

She cleared her throat and turned her back at him, pretending to work on his measurements in order to give him the time to dress again. This would only be the first part, as later she would need to actually check the fabric while he would be wearing it.

It wouldn’t be a very lucky day if she got fired for unprofessionalism.

Luckily for her, Killian’s schedule changed before she’d finished the costume and he had to leave, so Emma went on with her other projects until she finished for the day.

Overworked as always, Emma entered her apartment and collapsed on the couch. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and waited until the relaxing tune of her neighbor’s rough singing was heard.

She suddenly opened her eyes in shock. Killian’s voice was also rough this morning, but that didn’t stop him from babbling all day. She’d never seen her neighbor and didn’t know his name, plus there were more than a few mailboxes without name tags on them in the entrance of her apartment building. But she had been living there for two months, wouldn’t she have seen Killian around if he really was her neighbor? Plus, she couldn’t believe an arrogant guy like Killian Jones would be singing silly happy songs like Mr. Sandman at seven in the morning.

Her neighbor coughed enough times to make Emma worry a little. If his apartment was as simple as hers, the chances of him having a roommate were thin, so he probably was living on his own. Emma turned her head and looked at the unopened Orange & Ginger Tea package that was lying on her kitchen counter. She heard another series of coughs.

To hell with it, what did she have to lose?

She poured hot water in a thermos, took two porcelain mugs and two tea bags, placed them all on a serving tray and walked downstairs to his apartment door. She stood there for almost a solid minute, trying to find an excuse why she was there as she listened to him sing a variation of House of the Rising Sun. She sighed and finally rang the bell. What was she even going to do if it really was Killian?

“Coming!” she heard from inside. Emma froze. She was almost sure that was how Killian sounded like that morning but still, what were the chances-

Before she could finish her thought, the door opened to reveal Killian Jones, fully dressed in black silk pyjamas and hair wet. His mouth opened in surprise.

“Swan? What are you doing here?” His eyes scanned her up and down and focused on her fluffy slippers for a few seconds.

“I… live upstairs,” she said, her voice low. “I thought I could introduce myself to the neighbors.” She felt stupid for not also bringing the cookies she hadn’t opened since buying them last week.

“At nine in the evening? With tea?” He didn’t look like he was judging her, just a lot curious. Finally, he shook his head and stepped aside, letting her in his apartment.

“I… heard you cough,” she admitted without looking at him and bit her lip.

“What?”

She looked around at his apartment. It looked the same size as hers, though even cleaner than hers.

“Yeah,” she finally turned, her hands gripping the tray so hard her knuckles were starting to get white. “Your ceiling is very thin and some planks on my floor are loose so some noises slip through”. She bit her lip again when she saw him almost blanch. “Don’t worry,” she rushed to say, “I can’t actually hear what you’re saying. I can hear murmurs and… singing, and only today, your coughing.”

As if on cue, he started coughing again. Some of the color seemed to return on his face.

“So I thought I could bring you some tea,” she said and raised the tray for emphasis.

“Uh…” he said and dropped his head a little, “thank you for your consideration.” He actually blushed. Killian fucking Jones, famous model and beloved by thousands of fans, was actually blushing and smiling shyly. He scratched behind his ear, as she had sort-of seen him do that morning.

“I’m sorry, is it a bad time?” she said.

“No, no, I won’t be going to bed for an hour. Uh, you can… sit down.”

Emma couldn’t believe that he actually sounded nervous. She sat on the couch, opened the thermos and poured hot water into the cups, letting the tea bags soak it in. Killian sat on the armchair next to her and watched her silently. Emma stifled a yawn.

“So, you can hear me sing, uh?” he asked, the bravado in his voice returned.

“Yeah. Some of my favorites are those that sound like sea shanties…” she looked up at him. “They are sea shanties, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are. But you can’t hear the lyrics, you said?” He was leaning back on his chair and he raised his eyebrow, hand and wrist resting on his lap.

“No. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replied with a shrug. “I gather you’ve learned this one,” and he started humming a melody.

“Yeah, you’ve sung this one many times. What do the lyrics say?”

He smirked. “You don’t wanna know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Well, sailors weren’t known for being coy.”

“And you think that I haven’t heard lewd songs before?”

He reached over and took one mug. “Then, maybe I’ll sing it to you when I’m trying on the leather costume.”

Emma regretted saying anything. He was going to make it way harder for her.

“Hm, that’s very good,” he said after tasting the tea.

“One of my favourite flavors,” she replied. “Not one many brands have.”

“Thank you again,” he said and cleared his throat. “It was the last thing I expected tonight.”

“The tea or finding out we’re neighbors?”

He blushed again, though little. He huffed a laugh. “Both, I guess. How come we never met before?”

“You always leave for work and come back earlier than I do, and I’ve only been here for two months.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was about time we did,” she said carefully. For a few seconds, he was looking at her, as if trying to read her, and she relaxed when he finally smiled softly and nodded.

She didn’t realize how quickly time passed. She stayed there and they talked casually, she asked him to sing, and he did, until he complained with mock self-pity about his tired and sore throat. The night went by and the last thing she remembered was him talking about a fashion show in Paris.

Next thing she knew, she was waking slowly to the lyrics of Sweet Child o’ Mine. She hummed in satisfaction. Her neighbor’s - Killian’s - voice sounded less rough today. Actually, it sounded clearer than she’d ever heard it.

Then she started getting a scent that reminded her of sea, and leather, and... lavender. She never used lavender fabric softener for her sheets. She opened her eyes.

According to the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her, it was 8:15 in the morning. The bedroom was bright and simply furnitured, and completely unfamiliar to her.

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain To quietly pass me by

She sat up on the bed. That was definitely Killian’s voice, and the structure of the bedroom reminded her of her own. She was wearing her clothes from yesterday night and had apparently been taking the whole bed.

Oh, sweet child o’ mine…

She rose and followed the voice to the kitchen. Killian had his back half-turned to her, leaning on the counter as he cut a pineapple into slices. On the table was a jug with fresh-looking orange juice, a few slices of rye bread and a jar with honey, along with silverware, two plates and Emma’s serving tray, with the two mugs from yesterday lying on it upside down.

“Good morning, love,” he said, turning to her. If she hadn’t known that he, as well as other Brits, used the word “love” for basically any acquaintance of his, and if she hadn’t been wearing her normal clothes, she would have been happy to imagine that this was a morning they were going to spend as something more than simple co-workers.

“Good morning. What happened last night?”

“You fell asleep on my couch. I tried to wake you up but you were dead to the world. So I… carried you to my bedroom, and don’t worry, I had just put new sheets.”

She was sure she was looking like an idiot but couldn’t stop her eyes from bulging and her eyebrows from rising. He had carried her, as in, bride-style and put her to bed? “And where did you sleep?”

“On the couch. It’s pretty comfortable, I have to admit.”

“Oh,” was all she could say. She sat down at the table. “Thank you.”

“I guess we’re even now,” he said with a soft smile. He looked happy.

She wrung her hands together. “Hardly,” she said. “I just brought you some tea and you let me sleep in your bed because I was too lazy to go upstairs in my own place.”

“You weren’t lazy, you were tired.” He sat on the chair next to her. “Pineapple?”

She obliged and took a slice. It was really tasty. “You work a lot, and it was Friday so it would make sense you would be a little extra tired,” he added.

“A lot? How do you know that?”

“Well, the Nolans are famous for their nice attitude towards their employees, but not for their lenience. If you weren’t hard-working you wouldn’t be where you are.” His voice sounded very calm, and his face looked warm, relaxed and happy. He seemed happy to just spend time with her. He was still in his pyjamas, a few buttons on the top undone, his hair a slight mess and his eyes a little puffy from sleep but he looked the happiest she’d ever seen him.

Quickly, she pulled herself together and raised from her chair. “I should get going. I have to go shopping today,” she lied. She didn’t even know why she had stayed that long and hadn’t run out the door the moment she realized she was still in Killian’s place.

“Oh, don’t you want some juice?” he asked as he raised as well.

“No, it’s- it’s okay, I…” she trailed off as she looked into his eyes, closer than ever before. They were blue, very blue, and they were twitching slightly, as he focused on each of her eyes at a time, and then they flickered towards her lips. They only lingered there for half a second but that was enough to send Emma forward, crushing her lips to his. She more felt than heard his soft oof at the sudden contact but kissed her back quickly. Her one hand grasped at his shirt while the other rose to touch the nape of his neck, fingers softly brushing his dark hair. She could faintly hear his breath getting heavier and faster as he opened his mouth for her, his hand barely brushing her middle, as if uncertain if he was allowed to touch her.

Suddenly, she stopped. Eyes closed, she leaned her forehead into his, lips almost still touching, his warm breath caressing her lips and chin. Her hand left his nape to rest just a little under his collarbone, and she felt his heart beat in a rhythm as erratic as her own. She opened her eyes. His body was leaning towards her as if asking for more, and his eyes were still closed. He definitely didn’t regret it, and if she was to be honest with herself, neither did she.

Slowly, she stepped back. He raised his eyes and looked at her with his lips slightly open, expecting her next move. Who the hell was he really?

“See you Monday,” she said simply and walked out the door without looking back at him. After closing the door, she leaned on it and let her body slide down, sitting on the floor. The kiss was… well, hot. He smelled like spice and sea salt and was actually kissing her back, not taking more than she was giving. He barely even touched her himself. She sighed. She felt like the infatuated school girl she never got to be.

They weren’t exactly friends. They barely even worked together, they’d barely spoken yet she’d felt so comfortable throughout the night, but how would he react if she kept avoiding him the whole weekend? For her, it would certainly be a hard weekend to get through, especially if he started singing again. She stood up and for two seconds contemplated knocking on his door before she turned around and almost ran to her apartment.

Needless to say, he’s been smitten ever since, and had been beyond thrilled when Emma had finally accepted Ruby’s offer to bartend on nights when she “wasn’t being an absolute badass.” An offer that was made because, according to Ruby, they could always use another female bartender who knew how to ward off unwanted company away with a mere look, and she’d always had a knack for sniffing out the downtrodden and picking them back up again.

She’d done it for Killian, after all.

“Swan, you just endangered top shelf rum. The least you can do is open up a titch,” Killian says, making a poor attempt to mask his distaste for the man who returns to the bar every ten minutes, sending a drink to a different woman each time.

Emma follows Killian’s gaze, openly scowling at the customer and rolling her eyes when he tries to wink at her. She knows she’d probably get a thorough scolding for her poor customer service at any other bar, and she also knows that Ruby will get a good laugh about it later. She turns to Killian to make a joke at the guy’s expense, but the comment dies on her tongue when she sees the hard look in his eyes and watches his jaw clench.

“Killian?” Emma tugs on his shirt (the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows, because Killian isn’t stupid and while his bartending is truly excellent, they all know that’s not the reason he makes so much in tips every night) and patiently waits for him to turn to face her. “Hey, the guy’s a cad, but it’s fine. Honestly.”

They both know that it’s a little less than fine, but they can’t do anything to remove Guy from the bar without just cause, so they settle for keeping an eye out for the women he chooses to approach and overcharging him for every drink.

“Aye,” Killian says, offering her a small smile. She can tell he’s still bothered, but willing to drop it for her sake, so she gives his arm a last squeeze before attending to the next customers.

This couple is sickly sweet, all doey eyes and yearning looks, and Emma makes a mental note to bet Killian that Snow White and her Prince Charming will be hooking up in a dark corner of the bar by eleven o’clock. She glances over her shoulder to catch his attention, but Killian is already looking at the couple with something akin to distaste and when his eyes shift to hers, his is a shit-eating grin. Emma has to suppress an eye roll when the Charmings ask for two poisoned apple martinis, the special for the night, and flashes them an ingenuine smile as she starts to make their drinks.

“I was going to say you still owe me an explanation for your abhorrence of this particular holiday, but after seeing those two, I’m inclined to agree,” Killian mutters, right into her ear, and Emma snorts.

“What about you? How’s short, gloomy, and bitter doing over there?” Emma asks, tilting her head towards the man they’d deemed Grumpy when he’d realized he’d been stood up and slumped up to the bar with a deep scowl on his face.

It’s Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “He’s had about five beers, so he’s currently waxing poetic about the woman he was supposed to meet. I believe that at some point, he attributed her to a fairy. In other circumstances, I would, perhaps, sympathize with the poor sap, but by the gods is he starting to get on my nerves.”

Emma arches an eyebrow and risks a glance at the Charmings. “Switch?”

Killian bites his lip in consideration and Emma has to force herself not to stare. “Hmm...switch.”

It’s a tactic they only use in extreme situations, usually when one of them is being relentlessly flirted with, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

It’s funny because, for all that she’ll complain and gripe, Emma’s not actually supposed to be working tonight.

Ruby had called her rather unexpectedly that morning, slight panic in her voice as she’d asked Emma to cover her closing shift so she could go on a date with this girl she’d been working up the courage to ask out for months. Emma had been (rightfully) hesitant, but then Ruby had mentioned that Killian would need the help and she’d found herself agreeing before she realized what she was doing.

Coworkers had to look out for one another, right?

Right.

Of course, Killian thinks he has nothing to do with the fact that Emma is covering for Ruby, and credits her with being a model employee several times throughout the night. Emma brushes it off every time, but doesn’t vehemently deny it the way she might have any other day. Better for Killian to think she’s employee of the month than find out that she’d agreed to cover Ruby’s shift for his sake.

“Another beer?” Emma asks Grumpy, inclining her head towards his empty glass. She really should cut him off, but he looks well and truly miserable, and Emma can relate. She’ll just call him a cab when he’s finally ready to leave.

“You know it, sister.”

She fills his glass and slides it back to him across the counter, and when he starts to reach for his wallet, Emma shrugs and says, “This one’s on the house.” She smiles at Grumpy, who ducks his head in thanks, and turns around to find Killian watching her with unveiled amusement.

“Savior of the broken-hearted, are you?”

Emma tilts her head to the side. “You make handing out free beers sound like an act of virtue,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“And you still owe me an answer,” Killian says cheerfully. Someone waves a hand to catch their attention and when Killian sees who it is, his joking demeanor disappears immediately. Despite his obvious irritation, he goes to deal with the sleazebag who insists on flirting with every woman in sight so that Emma doesn’t have to.

“That man is the walking epitome of bad form,” Killian informs her upon his return, his hand grazing the small of her back as he passes her. She nearly jumps at the contact, the gesture such a strange mix of casual and intimate that she has to wonder if Killian even realizes he’s doing it.

“Bad form?” Emma echoes. “So what would the walking epitome of good form be? You?” She grins as she says it, because they both know the answer to that question.

Killian winks, and all Emma can think is that he does it so much better than any other guy in the bar. “You tell me, love.”

“I don’t want to make your ego bigger than it already is,” Emma teases. She’s well aware that she’s going against her own rules by flirting with her coworker and she’s not even sure why she’s doing it, but it feels good - it feels right.

“Well, Swan, I’ll have you know that exemplifying good form means more than letting a woman know you’re attracted to her. Good form is showing a woman you’re attracted to her, but not just physically. You have to let her know that you find other traits of hers just as alluring, like her wit, or her sense of humor, or the way her nose wrinkles when she’s making fun of someone…” he trails off, his smile positively sinful as he tilts his head until his forehead is resting against hers, and Emma’s pretty sure she’s forgotten how to breathe.

She clears her throat, and thanks all the stars above that her voice comes out reasonably steady. “Please, you couldn’t handle it.”

There’s a gleam in Killian’s eyes and Emma knows she’s in deep trouble now. “Perhaps it is you who couldn’t handle it, love.”