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Emma lets her head fall on the bar counter with a groan, immediately sitting straighter and making a face when she feels how sticking the dark wood is against her cheek. Killian laughs from his place behind the bar, that low chuckle of his, and she throws him a glare, quite frankly not in the mood for his mocking. Her head is buzzing, not in a good way, and her feet are killing her from working in high heels all day long, and she would rather be in her bed right now than to watch her best friend flirt with patrons as he serves their drinks.
Alas – she’s also in the mood for a good old rant, and Killian is the only one ready to listen to anything she has to say on all kinds of subjects.
“I take it your day wasn’t that enjoyable?” he asks as he slides a drink closer to her, and Emma doesn’t think twice before downing it, the rum burning down her throat and settling warmly in her stomach.
“She ruined cake tasting. Cake testing, Killian! It’s the best part and she ruined it!”
He goes for his signature smirk before his lips press into a thin line as he swallows down the laugh – good, she thinks, at least he knows not to push her buttons tonight. Instead, he fills her glass once more and gives her a little nod for her to go on with her story. The bar is empty and quiet tonight, after all, they can afford a discussion without him having to run this or that way.
So she tells him about the cake tasting disaster, one of the many nightmarish stories she has about Anna’s wedding. Emma loves her cousin, she really does, but her bubbly nature isn’t helping in the slightest with the preparations, leaving Elsa and her to deal with all the important stuffs. She really thought it would be easier than that, when she agreed to help – was forced to agree, if Elsa’s desperate glance her way had been anything to go by.
Today hadn’t been any different – Anna taking hours to choose, never certain, always doubting her picks, always coming back to think about every detail again. Emma thought cake testing would be different, easier somehow, but her stomach begs to differ now and, with all the chocolate she had to eat this afternoon, she wouldn’t be surprised to end with food poisoning, or indigestion. All that for Anna whispering, “Maybe we should try another bakery next week,” and for Elsa and Emma to look at each other with panic in their eyes.
Reason 189301 as to why Emma Swan will never get married.
She sighs as she looks down her glass of rum before downing this one the same way she did the first – if anything else, she can drown herself in alcohol. It wouldn’t be the first time, and certain won’t be the last.
Killian pats her shoulder as unhelpfully as possible, the jerk, before he puts a little bowl of peanuts in front of her. She munches on them for a few minutes, glaring at the wood of the counter, before she looks back at him. As if reading her thoughts (sometimes, she believes her really does), he arches an eyebrow in a silent question.
“Ingrid is trying to set me up for the wedding.”
This time, he doesn’t stifle his laugh, and openly mocks her even as he grabs the bottle of rum once more. He’ll be the death of her liver, one day, but she can’t say she mind when she raises the glasses to her lips for the third time in so many minutes.
“And who’s the lucky lad?”
“Fucking Wash,” she replies, making him laugh even louder. “I don’t even know if it’s a name or a surname.”
“Yes, I’m certain this is the only reason why you might disagree on your mother’s meddling.”
She glares at him and he replies with a sarcastic grin, both eyebrows shooting up in challenge. He knows fully well why she hates Ingrid’s habit of forcing her into dates with her friends’ sons and nephews – why she hates relationship as a whole, period. Been here, done that, never again, thank you very much.
“He spends his day restoring old pieces of furniture. What kind of hobby is that?”
“I spend my free days restoring an old boat and you have no problem with that.”
“Yeah but with you it’s endearing. And I’m your best friend, it’s my duty to like your weird quirks.”
Killian shakes his head with another chuckle before he moves to the other side of the bar where a patron asks for a refill. It leaves Emma enough time to gather her thoughts, not matter how cloudy they already are, and to lean on her elbow, hand cradling her cheek. When her best friend comes back to her, it’s to lean with his arms folded on the counter, staring into her eyes with a soft grin.
“You could be my date,” she tells him, matter-of-factly.
He scoffs, shares his head. “You need to stop doing that,” he replies, then goes on before she has time to say that she never does that, thank you very much. He goes on and raises a hand, ticking off his fingers as he goes. “Prom night, Ruby’s sixteen birthday, that one Christmas party at the sheriff station, the Nolans’ wedding, the Fishermans’ wedding…”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I do that a bit.”
“You do that all the time. Every time you need a plus one, I’m the plus one.”
She pouts at him, unable to put into words what weights on her mind – that she’d rather go with him as friends than to bring a real date. Because she always ends up breaking up with those men, and then they become ‘that guy Emma used to date’ when her friends go through the pictures. A not so friendly reminder that she couldn’t keep a man to save her life, let alone open up enough for them to actually stick around in the first place. Killian as her date is simpler, easier – no feelings, no complications, just her best friend and his infuriating grins.
She taps her fingers on her cheek as she keeps staring at him. “I just really need Ingrid to stop it. Please, Killian?”
“And what?” Another scoff. “You pretend you’re dating me, and then you pretend you broke up with me, and she’ll leave you alone? She’s known me since I was twelve, she’ll see right through our bullshit, and then she’ll tuck me in one of her freezers as revenge.”
Emma shakes her head, even if she can’t quite hide her smile at his antics. Ever the dramatic one, which is probably why she keeps him around – he keeps her entertained.
Still, he doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she, until he sighs and almost lets his head drop to the counter the way she had done only minutes ago. “There are worst way to die, I guess.”
Her grin widens.
…
The wedding is in two months, and Emma knows she needs to drop the news at some point so that her dating Killian doesn’t appears out of the blue – she needs it to be believable, after all. The perfect opportunity happens the following Sunday, during their usual family brunch with Aunt Gerda, Anna and Elsa. They sip on mimosas and eats more waffles and scrambled eggs than should be allowed as their review the latest details about the wedding. Elsa has an enormous binder she keeps with her at all times, with all the bills and contracts and important papers they need for Anna’s big day. It’s a nightmare.
“We’ll need to go through the sitting charts too,” Gerda says, and Elsa writes it down on a post-it she sticks to the first page. “Has everyone RSVP yet?”
“Not everyone,” Anna replies, and Elsa looks for the list of guests. And then she adds, “Emma hasn’t,” because sometimes she can be annoying when she doesn’t mean to.
Both her mother and her aunt stare at her. Emma wishes the ground would just swallow her right now, because it sure would be more agreeable than anything they have in store for her.
“Is it because you’re not sure about your plus one?” Ingrid asks. “Because I told you, Walsh would be more than –”
“I have a plus one,” she says, stuttering on her words so her mother doesn’t go on with that painful sentence. “I’m going with Killian. As my date. Because we’re dating.”
The women gape at her.
Elsa’s fork falls down.
Emma wants to facepalm.
“I knew it!” comes from Anna, before the bride-to-be staggers on her own words too. “I mean – you’ve always been close – I mean – it makes sense. Right?”
“Oh Emma, it’s wonderful!” Elsa confirms.
Ingrid doesn’t look convinced, if the way she clicks her tongue is anything to go by, but then Anna starts speaking about the flower arrangements, and the subject of Emma’s date isn’t broached again that day.
…
Emma isn’t exactly certain what she is supposed to do for her relationship with Killian to look convincing – they already hang out together all the time, and neither of them is a particular fan of PDA so it would be weird to suddenly be all lovey-dovey about it. She does make it official on Facebook, though, which leads to almost ending deaf when Ruby calls her only to yell into the phone for five minutes straight. She tells Ruby the truth, but it doesn’t stop the brunette from commenting on her new relationship status with more capital letters than anyone should ever be allowed to use.
(And if she receives an impressive amount of “finally” and “was about time”, Emma lets it slide, because she doesn’t have time to dwell on it.)
Killian does show up at the next Sunday brunch, though, which is both hilarious and embarrassing all at once. He’s been a fixture in her life ever since she started living with Ingrid when she was twelve, the boy next door with the chipped tooth, but he still dresses to impress and shakes Ingrid’s hand like he didn’t spend his teenage years in her backyard, and does polite conversation with the entire family as best as he can.
Emma remembers that one time Gerda almost caught them smoking weed, and she stifles a laugh around a mouthful of French toast.
At some point through brunch, Killian’s arm settles on the back of Emma’s chair, his fingers idly playing with her hair as they talk of some thing or another with Elsa. He makes it look so easy, that casual closeness of theirs, that Emma feels awkward when she puts her own hand on his on the table, lacing her fingers through his.
Ingrid still looks half-convinced, glaring at them once in a while as if daring them to make the tiniest of mistakes. She only seems to ease down when Killian drops a kiss to Emma’s temple before he stands up to take a call from his brother, promising he will be back as fast as possible. (All Arendelle women start whispering at once the moment he is gone, commenting and analysing every detail as if Emma isn’t sitting at the table and hearing everything. She rolls her eyes, and is relieved when he comes back only minutes later.)
He tells them all goodbye when they’re out of the restaurant, having to run to the bar so he can open it for the day. Anna pulls him into a hug, and Elsa pats his forearm, before he nods his goodbye to the two older women. When he turns to Emma, his smile is less forced, and she can only mirror it as they move down the street so her family won’t eavesdrop on them.
“Ingrid loves you,” she fake-whispers, effectively making him laugh.
“The murderous glares are her way of showing affection, I know.”
She shakes her head, not knowing what to do or say, especially not when she can feel four pairs of eyes burning holes in her neck. She sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“That you will,” he replies softly, his eyes fleeting above her shoulder – no doubt to check if they still have an audience or not, which they obviously have.
And then, when she least expects it, Killian leans forwards to brush his lips against hers, a barely-there kiss that ends before it even begun, the pressure of his mouth almost non-existent. Her eyes widen as he winks at her and then, as if nothing out of the usual had happened, strides away with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
If her lips still tingle when she goes back to her family, well…
…
Killian met Milah when they were in college – the beautiful, mysterious art student that kept bumping into him at all the parties they attended, of course he was deemed to fall in love with her at some point. Even if he’ll always deny it, Emma knows he’s a romantic that way, and it’s borderline on gross sometimes.
He had been so smitten with Milah at first, and then so heartbroken when they had broken up months later, their relationship as bumpy as it was passionate, never meant to last. It was nobody’s fault, really, but it left him as scarred as Emma is, as unable to keep a relationship going as she is. They make an odd pair that way.
Still, Emma remembers the way he would look at Milah, when he thought no one was watching – like she hung the moon, the stars, the sun, and then some, like there was nobody else on earth. Like he could have drowned in the sight of her. It had always made Emma jealous for something she would never get – nobody had ever looked at her that way, and nobody ever would. She had made her peace with that, eighteen and already jaded.
Killian doesn’t look at her the way he used to with Milah, but there is something in his eyes that reminds Emma of their college years when she steps outside of the changing room in her bridesmaid’s dress. His eyes slowly rakes her body, up and down and again, and his tongue darts to to wet his lips when he lingers on the way the fabric hugs her waist and hips like a second skin.
He’s never looked at her that way – with something akin to adoration, or perhaps hunger, or another feeling she doesn’t want to name – and she doesn’t know how to deal with those newfound sensations, with the shiver running down her spine and how clammy her palms are all of a sudden.
“You look lovely,” he says in a hushed whisper, and she smiles weakly before she lets the seamstress do her job on the last details of the dress.
He goes a little further down the shop to look at the suits they have, but his eyes always dart back to Emma at some point, every thirty seconds or so, like he can’t help himself. Emma forces herself to ignore it. Fails miserably.
…
“You know Killian and I are not dating, right?”
Elsa doesn’t look up from her laptop’s screen as she checks the playlist the DJ sent her for approval. She scribbles something on the pad next to her, before carefully putting down the pen. Emma wonders if she heard her at all, before Elsa sighs softly.
“Yes, I know,” she replies evenly.
It is not surprisingly that she does – Emma and she have grown close through the years, their relationship more sisterly than that of cousins. They share secrets that Anna wouldn’t understand, what with being younger, or that Emma doesn’t feel comfortable telling Killian. They are sisters, in everything but blood.
“If you’re afraid I’ll tell Aunt Ingrid, you don’t need to worry,” Elsa goes on, before writing down another thing on her pad. “What you need to worry is the wedding, because there is way too much disco music for it to be tolerable.”
Emma laughs softly as she takes a seat next to Elsa, if only to look at the playlist herself. And indeed her cousin is right, as she only needs a few seconds to come to the same conclusion. She shakes her head before grabbing her glass of iced tea, and then both women start brainstorming on the kind of music that would be appropriate for the wedding – the classics are good, and then they pick a few of Anna’s favourite bands and songs, as well as Kristoff’s.
When the email with their comments is sent to the DJ, Elsa puts aside the laptop and turns in her seat to face Emma, gracefully folding her hands in her lap. “Can I be honest with you?”
“When are you never?” Emma replies with a roll of the eyes.
“I know you pretend like you being single has everything to do with your insecurities – and I’m not saying it isn’t part of the problem,” she adds hastily when Emma opens her mouth to protest. “But don’t you think that the reason you’re unable to have a boyfriend is because you will always compare those men to Killian?”
She opens her mouth to complain once more, for surely Elsa is wrong and it will not be all that hard to prove it, but comes up with nothing at all, not a word. Because she did exactly that with Walsh, compared him to Killian and found him wanting – she did exactly that with every man she ever met, every man she ever fancied herself dating.
It’s like a revelation to her, light bulb above her head and everything, and she spends a very long time just staring in front of her, mouth slightly agape. The world seems to have shift suddenly, everything the same and different all at once as her life flashes in front of her eyes, each and every moment spent with Killian.
She whimpers, actually whimpers as she hides her face in her hands and lets Elsa comfort her with little pats on her shoulder.
“He’s my best friend,” she whines after long minutes.
He’s her best friend, and it could ruin everything.
…
On the day of the wedding, Emma barely has time to breathe. The photographer has to stop her and Elsa from running around like madwomen, if only for five minutes, so they can take pictures of the bride and bridesmaids putting on their dresses, and then they’re running again – checking with the florist, the DJ, the priest, everyone.
Thankfully, Ingrid seems to be as prepared as they are, for she sneaks them candies every time she crosses their path. It doesn’t help with Emma’s empty stomach, but at least the sugar prevents her from passing out on the spot in the middle of the day.
She swears she’s never letting herself dragged into such a nightmare ever again when Killian finds her. He looks good in a suit, not that she didn’t know that, but he looks particularly good today of all days. Especially when he snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her to him, lips on her temple. Emma gives herself five seconds against his chest before she lets go of him, promising to be back as soon as she can before she runs away in the other direction.
Not from him, definitely not from him.
At least, that’s the official reason.
It is all worth it with the look of wonder on Kristoff’s face when he sees Anna for the first time, with the tears of happiness and love in both their eyes when they say their vows to each other, in the tissue Emma hands her aunt so Gerda can press it to her eyes. Half the audience is crying. Emma’s eyes might be a little misty, too. Not that it shows.
Everything goes rather smoothly from there – settling in the garden for the afternoon and evening as waiters walk around offering glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, then dinner, before finally the DJ starts with the first dance.
Elsa and Emma are no longer needed to play wedding-planner, so they can finally relax for the first time in what feels like forever as they settle into an easy conversation with David, who was Kristoff’s best man, and Mary Margaret, now sporting a nicely round belly. Ruby joins them soon after, throwing a wink Killian’s way, and it feels like high school all over again – their gang of friends speaking about everything and anything, only cheap beers are replaced by champagne tonight.
It makes for a lovely evening, and Emma almost forgets the dread in the pit of her stomach. That is, until Killian forces her on the dance-floor, stating that they have to dance at least once, like it’s obligatory. Which, of course, means a slow song starts the moment Emma steps foot on the dance-floor, because her life turned into a romantic comedy when she wasn’t looking.
With a sigh, she wraps her arms around Killian’s neck, forces herself not to shiver when he does the same thing with her waist. They sway to the music, their silence not as comfortable as it should be.
“Have you been ignoring me?” Killian asks after what feels like forever, but might as well be five seconds.
Emma looks up at him, eyes wide that he would think such a thing, until she realises that he might not be wrong and she might have avoided him all through the day. “No?” she tries anyway, never one for confrontation when her feelings are on the line.
He doesn’t scoff, but it’s a close thing. Instead he asks, “What’s wrong?” and his eyes do the thing again, when they’re so soft and caring that Emma doesn’t know what to do.
“It’s something Elsa said. It’s stupid, I don’t know why I let it affect me.”
He frowns, probably because it is universally known that Elsa and Emma gets along perfectly and never fought once in their lives, but he also nods a little, as if to ask her to continue on her line of thoughts. Emma has to remind herself he’s her best friend, first and foremost, so it’s expected of her to pour her heart out to him. Only this time it really is about her heart, and him, and she doesn’t know how to handle it.
“It’s just – we were talking about my lack of love life, and what she said was illuminating.”
Illuminating might not be the right word (world-breaking, life-shattering, freaking epiphany) but it’s the only one she can come up with when Killian is looking at her with curiosity in his eyes, and perhaps a bit of fear too. She doesn’t want to think of what might scare him about the things she just said.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Killian asks at the same time Emma blurts “I don’t have boyfriends cause you’re my boyfriend,” and then they stare at each other with eyes equally wide. Which is not how Emma ever imagined herself confessing her love to her best friend, but what is done is done.
What she never imagined, either, is Killian sighing in relief, a “oh, thank god” on his lips as he closes his eyes. What she never imagined is the way he kisses her, soft and hurried and loving and passionate all at once, leaving her dizzy and breathless – light and confused, with a giggle on her lips and questions in her eyes.
He kisses her again, a brush of the lips like the one they shared after brunch, all those weeks ago. Her lips tingle, and she never wants the feeling to fade away. “I don’t want you to break up with me once the wedding is over.”
Her cheeks hurt from grinning. “I don’t want to break up with you either.”
He says “good” and then he kisses her again, and perhaps falling in love with her best friend was the best idea Emma ever had in her life.