Chapter Text
The first time he sees her, she’s hunched over a recently returned copy of Pride and Prejudice, reading glasses perfectly perched atop the bridge of her nose and golden hair pulled back in a messy bun.
He doesn’t speak to her, doesn’t offer any book suggestions like he does for the others, he merely steals glances at the way she turns each page so delicately like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held.
-/-
The second time he finds her is around two weeks later, she’s jammed herself in a corner of the library, between two shelves that hold historical memoirs that are hardly ever touched. He softly asks her if he can help her in any way, and when she looks up to shake her head no, he feels absolutely captured by her too green eyes.
He doesn’t want to leave her presence, he wishes he could stay there with her and listen to her read aloud to him. But, perhaps that’s overstepping his boundaries. After all, she is a complete stranger.
-/-
After what must be her sixth visit, he quickly realises that she never actually borrows a book, never takes one out of the building. She comes in, reads by herself for a few hours, if he’s lucky, she makes small talk with him, and then promptly takes her leave. He’s pretty sure she’s never actually finished a book, either. It makes him terribly curious and far more intrigued by her than he should be.
-/-
“You’d think I like it because we share a name, but she’s my least favourite character.”
It’s a completely off handed comment spilled from her lips as she picks up an Austen novel from his library cart and looks it over. He’s not sure if she’s thinking aloud or if it was meant for him, so he offers her a polite smile. But that’s how he finds out her name.
(Emma.)
(He repeats it in his head over and over, liking how it suits her.)
(God, he likes her, doesn’t he?)
-/-
She has full length conversations with him some days, and he finds himself cherishing those moments. He brings her coffee when she mentions she stayed up late to work on a paper the night before — he thinks she went back to school, or is perhaps getting a PhD — and it feels awfully like a date as he sits next to her with his own beverage. She grins at him and his heart hammers wildly in his chest.
-/-
“Why do you never finish the books you read?” he asks, leaning on a wooden book case that he should probably ask the janitor to dust off properly.
“I don’t know,” she hums while browsing the shelves. “For one, I don’t really have the time. And I guess I’ve always liked the beginnings more than the endings, anyway. It’s never as good at the end as it is at the start.”
He’s sure there’s a story behind that, but he doesn’t ask her any more questions.
-/-
It becomes a routine. A routine that he adores. She walks into the library, just about daily, around half an hour after they open and he has coffee waiting for her at his table. He recommends a new book for her every day, placing it next to her beverage, starting off with The Princess Bride because surely she already knows how that one ends.
She beams up at him from her place, cross legged on the carpeted floor, when he comes to greet her and calls him a big softie for his choice of recommendation. And he wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss her.
-/-
He starts sticking post-it notes on the last page of each book he leaves for her, summarising the endings of the novels.
(“Swan, the endings are the best parts. I refuse to let you put down a great piece of literature without knowing what happens.”
“You’re such a nerd.”)
-/-
“Who’s that blonde girl that comes in here so often?” Belle asks him one day. Really, his colleague was bound to notice eventually.
“Hm? Oh, that’s Emma,” he says nonchalantly, trying his best not to let his undecided emotions for her surface into the conversation.
“You like her, don’t you?”
He scoffs, “Why on earth would you say that?”
“I know you, Killian, and I can tell you have feelings for her.”
“We just share common interests, that’s all.”
“Sure,” she hums knowingly but drops the subject, and he’s never been more thankful for her habit of not prying.
-/-
“How did you end up becoming a librarian?” Emma asks as she flips through The Catcher in the Rye.
“Well, it started off as a temporary job in between working as a guest English lecturer at a university, but after a while it just kind of stuck. It makes sense because I’ve always felt at home around books. Not to mention, it became rather difficult managing three jobs.”
“Three jobs?”
“We all know being this devilishly handsome all the time is a job in its own, love.”
She laughs and shoves his shoulder and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He likes this easy banter between them, this flow of conversation that comes so naturally that it causes him to forget that he hasn’t know her for his entire life.
-/-
When he presents her with a copy of Peter Pan, she tenses, never lifting her eyes from the cover as she holds it with an iron grip.
She doesn’t read it. She doesn’t even drink her coffee. She sits in her usual spot and thumbs at the edges of the cover.
When he crouches beside her a while after tending to the other readers, he asks her if she’s okay.
“I was a foster kid,” she says barely above a whisper, refusing to make eye contact with him. “Never stayed in one house for too long, they’d always send me back.” She sighs, “I’ve always been a lost girl.”
And she sounds so broken, like someone who has been let down far too many times in her life, and now he understands why she dislikes the endings, why she would rather have the joy of beginning something, the flicker of hope of something good.
So he lets her rest her head on his shoulder, and tucks her under his arm for the rest of her visit, thankful that Belle will understand his abrupt break from work. He tells her he’s sorry for reminding her of her hard times and vows to himself to never let her go.
-/-
They share stories of their pasts, of ex-lovers and petty crimes, of losses and heartache, of hobbies and their love for literature, and he feels an odd connection to her that he’s certain he’s never had with anyone else.
He believes she feels something for him, just by the way she opens up to him, the way her gaze softens ever so slightly when he speaks. He wants her to feel something for him because he sure as hell feels everything for her.
He’s so screwed.
-/-
And really, asking her out should not be this hard. After all, he has known her for months. But he’s so scared she’ll say no, or worse, push him away.
And they’re friends, and from what he gathers, she doesn’t have too many of those. So, what if he ruins it? Not for him, but for her?
He watches her intently read Fitzgerald from his desk and feels a strong jolt of adoration that he’s been painfully aware of for the past few weeks. She has nestled herself in among the stacks of books and the heavy smell of wood and old paper, and he’s sure it’s never felt more like home to him.
-/-
Her visits become less frequent, and soon enough he doesn’t see her for three weeks because she’s having finals. And he wants her to succeed and receive her degree in law more than anything else in the world, but -
But he misses her.
Quite terribly.
(Belle calls him a lovesick puppy.)
(He silently agrees.)
So, when he sees her after her semester is finally over, he’s pretty sure the goofy smile plastered on his face makes him look like an idiot.
She ends up spending more time in the library than before because according to her, it’s not like she has anywhere else to be, really.
(“You can admit it, Swan, you just like being around my stunning self.”
“Please, I’m only in this friendship for the free coffee.”
“Whatever floats your boat, love.”
He winks at her and it takes everything in him not to kiss her right then when a shade of red overtakes her cheeks.)
-/-
He decides he’s had enough of this little charade, and in a moment of insane bravery, he grabs a copy of Pride and Prejudice and scribbles a note before he can talk himself out of it.
(He’s never been so cowardly, never been so flustered when it comes to approaching a woman, and he realises how head over heels he is for her, how serious he is about her, how much he wants her to stay.)
He all but shoves it into the first page of the book and goes about his job, not wanting to be around if she chooses to ignore the note and reject him.
-/-
The first time I saw you, you were reading this book. I didn’t know then that you’d become such a big part of my life. But you must know, surely you must know, that I admire you. Will you do me the great honour of going out with me?
— Killian
-/-
“Killian?”
He’s rearranging the novels in the Romance section, his back to her, and he shuts his eyes hard and God, why does he feel like such a stupid teenage boy with a stupid little crush?
When he turns around with a witty remark on his tongue to brush off the possible rejection, she pushes him into the bookcase and crashes her lips into his. His arms automatically circle her waist as he responds to her kiss. And, she’s actually kissing him. And the shelves are uncomfortably digging into his back but he doesn’t care about anything but her hands fisting into his hair and the feel of her soft lips on his.
When they part, she’s smiling sheepishly at him.
“Nice touch with the Austen quote,” she whispers.
“Shall I take that as a yes?”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
“As you wish.”
-/-
And months later, when she moves in with him, she tells him that she’s never been too keen on endings, but she’s confident that theirs will be a happy one.
He can’t help but kiss her in overwhelming agreement.