#swanstan

That manages to brings a smile to her lip, and Emma slaps his chest in retribution for his words. “No, that’s brand new information.”

He grins at her and tugs her a little closer, until she falls against him into a hug. Her arms wrap around his waist and she leans her cheek against his chest, right where his heart is. It’s a habit of hers now, one that never fails to warm Killian from the inside out. This beautiful woman who still doesn’t believe someone could love her as much as he does, it still baffles him to no end.

“Fine. Waste your money on costumes if you so wish. But don’t come complaining when your accountant loses his shit.”

She grins and beams a little – he knows even without seeing her face, because she bounces on her feet even so slightly when she does so. “Perfect!” she exclaims. “Your fitting is in half an hour.”

“My what?”

 …

 Killian doesn’t scare easy. He has seen enough weird stuff in his life not to startle at loud noises, and been through enough horror movie marathons with Emma to build a high tolerance to anything that could elicit a scream of terror from him.

It doesn’t stop him from being startled when the door to Emma’s house opens.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, because he is wearing his own costume right now and was perfectly aware they were all wearing outfits from the same theme, but. But Henry wearing a Wookiee costume with only the furry head missing – well, that would startle anyone not expecting it, really.

The costume is quality, of course – handmade to fit the boy perfectly, with the belt thrown over the shoulder and everything. It may have cost Emma a lot, but it came with quality, so Killian can’t really be that mad at her for wasting her money like that. (He knows she didn’t always have money to waste, and so goes out of her way sometimes.)

“Aren’t you boiling in that thing?” Killian asks.

Henry shrugs a little. “Nah, it’s okay.”

He’s taller with each passing day, well in his teenage years now. Killian can’t wait until he grows taller than Emma and she starts freaking out. Because she will. But for now, Henry is more of the size of an Ewok than that of a Wookiee, and Killian smirks to himself a little. He can’t really help it.

“Where’s your mother?”

Henry rolls his eyes – teenager years through and through. “Upstairs.”

With that, Henry goes back to the living room, and Killian catches a glimpse of a bowl full of candy. They won’t be at home for the evening, leaving way before the first trick-or-treaters come knocking, so obviously the mini Mars bars are not for children. No doubt the Wookiee will be on a sugar night tonight, which can only be interesting.

Still, Killian barely lingers on the thought as he makes his way upstairs. It’s still a little strange, living in that big a house – not officially, but he sleeps here rather than in his own apartment more often than not these days. Never would he have thought Emma would buy a house in Hollywood, leaving Boston for good, but she surprised him by settling in at the end of her last tour. Said she wanted some roots somewhere, and he can’t help but thinking she wants root with him. He wants that too.

He knocks softly on the door to the bedroom before opening it. Emma stands in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting her costume. She looks breathtakingly gorgeous in her crown braid and white jumpsuit, slipping into the sleeveless jacket that completes her outfit. She refused to dye her hair, even temporarily – “there are limit to everything!” – but she makes a perfect Leia nonetheless, ready to brave the cold temperatures of Hoth. Or the mild temperature of Los Angeles.

“Your Highnessness,” he says as he enters the room, opening his arm in a mocking bow.

She glares at him through the mirror, unable to swallow down the grin that blossom on her lips. Her double dimples appear on her cheeks even as she focuses back on her outfit, adjusting it one last time to make it perfect. He stands behind her, watching their reflexion in the mirror – their outfits match, of course, because Emma wouldn’t have it any other way. Competitive and perfectionist, the way she always is in her work.

“Scruffy-looking Han Solo,” she laughs as she turns around, fingers brushing again his unshaved cheek.

Killian can only smirk, perfectly aware of what she’s doing. “Who’s scruffy lookin’?” he asks, in a very poor rendition of an American accent. He’s always been bad at those.

Emma smirks back, those damn double dimples flashing once more. Happiness suits her so well, and Killian can only be proud to be one of the few people allowed to make her happy – privvy to her most intimate thoughts and feelings, when she is most private about everything in the public eye, when her fans only know what little knowledge she offers them of her private life.

She leans her forehead against his, rising on her tiptoe as her hand settles on his jaw. It’s simple yet so much more than what it appears to be – it’s Emma letting him in, and Killian knows better than to take it for granted.

“I love you,” she tells him. Easy. Simple.

He knows better than to take that for granted, too, even if his heart beats faster at the three words. It’s her first time saying them, even if Killian already knew of her feelings for him – she never would have dated him otherwise, and so he gave her time, followed her pace and waited for her to come to term with everything.

“I know,” he replies with a grin.

It seems appropriate, and not entirely unwelcomed if Emma’s snort is anything to go by. He’s pretty certain she did it on purpose too, maybe not ready to hear him saying it back. That’s alright. He can wait a little bit longer for that too – he has all the time in the world, after all.

He can wait, but he still leans closer to her, his lips brushing against her.

“I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee.”