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Emma Swan feels as though she is stuck in a blob of Jell-O and on the verge of drowning. She can’t tell if the well-dressed, slicked-black-haired, but slightly awkward man in front of her has finished his joke or if he is merely pausing to breathe some oxygen into his lungs, something he hasn't done up until this point. He says all of his horrible jokes in one breath and seems to be waiting for his death sentence at the end. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Emma musters a strained chuckle. She tries to be as sincere as possible, but she can’t think of anything humorous that would inspire even a genuine smile, so all that comes out of her mouth is a snort.
She is certain she sounds like a demented witch on crack.
By this point, the man is grinning as well, though she can’t tell if he is laughing at her or simply pleased that his audience seems to like his humor. She hastily raises her glass in front of her face, hoping the man won’t notice her eyes rolling in boredom. She takes a sip of her Screwdriver; it isn’t her favorite drink, but it definitely makes dealing with jerks like this one easier.
Why doesn’t she just leave?
That’s a valid question to which she has no answer. She tries to mingle with every decent-looking man in the pub in order to step out of her comfort zone a little.
This night, he is the fourth.
The first had flirted with her while his partner was in the toilet, it turned out. Emma had to fight herself not to connect her itching palm with the guy's face when his very blonde, very young-looking girlfriend came next to him in a few minutes with a seductive grin fit for a toothpaste advertisement.
The second, while being really attractive, was her quickest no-go once he started talking. Something else had taken the place of his brain... Perhaps some cabbage juice?
Emma added this to her list of "Great Male Mysteries" before moving on to the next. If she has to rank them, the third was the hottest of them all. Emma eventually gave up hope when a tall, slim, redhead girl called Sandy came up next to him.
The current one entered her line of view as she was about to leave the pub for the night. She felt sorry for him as he sat alone on a barstool. She has ten times since then regretted her decision, because she now has to listen to his half-baked, dull, occasionally dark, and misogynistic jokes.
For the first time since she sat next to him, he starts talking about something entirely different - although an interesting viewpoint on the entire situation.
“Has anyone e’er told you how beautiful your eyes are?” He inquires hesitantly, raising his glass in front of his face so he can’t see her reaction right away.
Emma is about to say something snarky, but instead, she smiles nicely and says, "Not many. What about you, though? How come you're alone in this bar?"
"Um, well, I came with one of my friends, but he's already...well, let's just say, he met new friends," the guy adds warily, glancing at the man reclining on the couch at the far end of the establishment, surrounded by at least five young women. "I see," Emma chuckles reflexively, attempting to alleviate the mounting tension.
As another harmless inquiry enters her thoughts to continue the discussion forward, she feels careful but confident arms wrap around her waist from behind, followed by a kiss on her neck.
In the first second, the sensation utterly sweeps her off her feet, and she nearly falls out of her chair. She enjoys the touch at first (it has been a long time, so sure her) until she realizes who is groping her.
"Killian, what the-" but she can’t finish the sentence or the insult on the tip of her tongue because Killian turns to face the guy in front of her, his hand still resting on her hip.
"Good day, Arthur! How are things going, mate? I see you've met my lovely girlfriend," his honey-sweetened voice would have made any woman swoon. His black, nearly ebony hair falls down his brow, and his aquamarine eyes twinkle merrily. Overall, he is a heartbreaker, yet his presence evokes little more than an eye roll from Emma.
"I did," Arthur gulps, ducking behind his glass once again.
"We were just-" she begins to explain, but can’t finish.
"Come on, love. It's time to return home. It was a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. Don't be so stubborn, Swan; let's go." With that, he proceeds to urge Emma towards the exit in a gentlemanly manner, but his hold is firm.
She smiles one final time at Arthur, but the stinging cold air on the street awakens her previously uncooperative tongue and arms, pushing Killian away from her.
"What the hell was that? Who do you think you are?" She yells, raking her fingers through her long, wavy blonde hair, and her fury can’t stop Killian's thrilled, satisfied smile.
"Don't you recall? I'm your boyfriend," he guffaws, pulling out a cigarette and casually lighting it.
"Yes, but not here," Emma coughs as smoke passes in front of her face. "Do you really have to do that?" She motions to the cigarette roll wedged between his fingers.
"We agreed I didn't have to give it up," Killian hunches his shoulders, a sardonic smirk on his lips, and Emma wants to claw his beautiful eyes out.
"Yeah, but... God, forget it! I demand you explain what the hell happened back there!"
"As far as I can tell, I simply rescued you from an awkward and dull situation."
"Next time, I'll decide whether a situation is boring or not. By the way, it wasn't," Emma nearly screams, fully aware that Killian is right. But she'd never, ever admit it in a million years. "I didn't ask you to save me from such things. I do what I want."
Killian raises his hand (and prosthetic) defensively. "Please accept my sincerest apologies. It won't happen again," Emma stares in surprise because it isn’t like him to acknowledge he is wrong. "Next time, I'll just let the poor wanker bore you to death."
There it is.
He laughs again, and a thick cloud of smoke escapes his lips as she rolls her eyes.
"Shut up. You smoke like a factory chimney," she complains.
"Love, you've clearly never met a true smoker," he says with a withering hot glare, and Emma tries to act unimpressed. “I barely go through a few cigarettes a day.”
"That's more than enough. You'll die slowly and painfully," she declares, stressing each word in a sarcastic tone.
"Careful, love, one might start to think you care," he smirks, and she begins to think of ways to hide his body. "And I seem to recall you complaining about me grinning all the time, too," he tries to replicate her tone, and he should have sounded stupid, but he manages to make it seductive as well. "You know the old wives' tale about how smiling extends your life? Well, that's how I plan to balance out the smoking," he says, inhaling deeply from his cigarette.
"Do you honestly believe it will prolong your life? I have my doubts. Someone will be so annoyed by your constant grinning that they will murder you one day."
"Is that what you call a long, painful death?" he winks.
"I'll make sure it is!"
"How thoughtful of you, Swan. At the very least, I won't have to hire an astrologer when I'm fifty to uncover the unfathomable secrets of my future. You've already spoiled my demise."
“Hey! Don't make fun of my mother! It only happened once," Emma tries to defend her infinitely naive adoptive mother, the kindest woman she'd ever met.
Mary Margaret Nolan worked as a social worker at the group home where Emma was residing from age three to seven. She and her husband, David Nolan, were failing to have a child on their own, so when Emma was returned to the foster home for what felt like the hundredth time, they chose to adopt her.
She is eternally grateful to them.
"Because they only picked up once, and the other times they simply stole her money," Killian jokes, searching in his pocket for the keys in front of their apartment.
He has a one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment in a modest, four-story condominium where Emma has been living for the past three months.
"No..." she groans as Killian shows her his empty palm, his ears flushing with shame, but his non-stop grin remains. "You haven't seriously locked us out again."
"I'd like to point out..." He gestures with his index finger. "... that you were the one in such a blasted hurry, bugging me every second for half an hour like a Duracell Bunny to get going. In our haste, you might have at least paid attention to the key. Now, up you go," he says, holding out his hand to her, but she bats it away.
"I don't need your help; I'll manage," she declares stubbornly, heading for the eaves and clinging to the tree opposite to ascend onto the second-floor balcony.
She is taking this journey for the second time now, although Killian has assisted her on the first. She ascends gingerly, her hand hardly sliding once. She arrives at her location fast and securely. She stares down at Killian as her feet are firmly planted on the ground.
"You're going to sleep downstairs tonight! I'm not trudging down the stairs because of you. You deserve it anyhow," she says, turning around and climbing through the unlocked window, where she can no longer hear Killian's indignant swearing.
He quickly understands that shouting vulgar comments on the street isn’t going to get him far; perhaps the elderly lady living below them would call the cops on him. He walks to the street-door-bell, leans his neck on the palm of his hand, and braces himself against the button number six until Emma has had enough of the sound and a keychain falls from their window, just in front of his nose. Emma yells down as he lets go of the bell and stoops down to pick up the keys.
"Just hurry up!"
Killian goes up to their floor, where the front door is already open and strange noises are coming from within. He first believes Emma is talking to someone, but as he gets inside, he is relieved to learn that no neighbors are there.
Emma is very still and pallid in front of the coffee table. She clutches one of her magazines as if about to smack something with it. After a little while, Killian discovers she is listening to a voicemail. His voicemail, to be precise.
"What in the world are you doing with my phone?"
Emma turns so violently that he fears she will smack him across the face with the magazine, but her other hand eventually reaches his face, putting her palm over his mouth, causing only a weird murmur-like sound to come out of his lips.
"Shh..." she whispers gently, as though afraid the voicemail may overhear her. "Listen!" she exclaims, lowering her hand, moving to the phone, and rewinding the messages so he can hear them all over again. The speakers provide a cracking, depressing, and strange sound.
"Please pick up, Killian! Emma, I know you're there! If you don't want to talk to me, I understand, and I apologize. I should not have spoken such heinous things to you the last time. Please come back home!" It's Mary Margaret.
Killian is ready to begin his diatribe when a beep signaling the following message breaks the silence.
"Emma, please pick up your phone. Don't do this to me..."
Another beep.
"I think I understand what's going on. You love that boy, don't you? So be it. What are your plans for tomorrow? Do you want to come over for lunch? I could learn more about Killian. I’ll make your favorite dish. So...just drop over around one o'clock in the afternoon."
And then another beep.
"I'd really appreciate a response. Pick up! I swear I'm going to call the cops!"
There are three additional beeps.
"If you've done something to my girl, Killian..."
"Where are you? Why don't you pick up the phone?"
"For God's sake, I don't think you're already sleeping! It's only... oh... half past ten? So... Emma, I'm coming over tomorrow."
In the background, there is a mumble that sounded like David. "I'm not going," he announces.
"You are, of course! So, Emma, I'll be around lunchtime tomorrow with your father, who -" there is a crash. "also wants to see you. Stop it, you're coming. So lunch tomorrow. Good night!"
Emma and Killian glance at the phone, which has thankfully gone silent and is no longer playing messages. Emma's palm still trembles dangerously, ready to strike the machine with Britney's smiling face on the front page. Killian raises his head slowly, attempting to process Mrs. Nolan's comments.
"Your parents? Tomorrow? Here? I n my apartment?" Piece by piece, the facts enter his head.
"What is she thinking? She can't come here!" Her one-octave higher tone fills the room and reverberates in the stairway, courtesy of the open front door, which easily lets in and out every sound they make, as well as the coolness; the air in the apartment quickly becomes chilly. In the end, Emma doesn’t spare Britney; she smashes the magazine to the ground and curses. Killian's eyebrows shoot high on his forehead in astonishment.
"Alright, Swan, calm down," he seeks to ease the situation before closing the door so the elderly woman next door doesn’t start ranting about millennials again. “It appears I’m quite a bad influence on you, darling. You have quite the mouth on you,” his distinctive shit-eating smile returns.
"If there's anyone who's a terrible influence, it's me. Killian, look around. This place is a disaster! If my mother sees this, she will have a heart attack. I don't know how you're still alive, with your OCD and all," he rolls his eyes and places a calming hand on her shoulder when her voice has reached so high that a bat would have fled in fear.
He understands how hectic her work schedule can be, with late-night or early-morning stakeouts, tracking down and apprehending an elusive skip, and then them into custody. There are days when they barely see each other and times when she forgets her laundry or throws her belongings carelessly on the couch and coffee table because she is in a rush.
Usually, he tidies up after her and he doesn’t mind, but yesterday was a busy day in the gallery and he simply didn’t have time, and now the apartment almost resembles a garbage dump.
“Then we should get to work,” he claps his hand and prosthetic bemusedly and walks into the bathroom. Returning, he brings with him a bucket, a broom, and some cleaning supplies, which he hands to the petrified Emma. “Take it, please. I can’t really play Harry Potter one-handed, though I’d love for you to sweep up with the speed of Firebolt.”
She recovers as soon as her palm closes around the handle of the broom. “What do you think I am? A maid or something?”
“No, not exactly. But I’d really like to see you in a dress like that.”
The sloppy, merely chaotic cleaning eventually gave way to stormtrooper-paced packing, since the only problem was the clock, which had been ticking obscenely fast since they arrived home (at 4 a.m.), and the sun is starting to come up. While cleaning, they don’t say anything to each other except for a few words like, "Get your socks out of here or I'll toss them out the window!" "What happened to the cup from earlier?" "Wait a minute... the vacuum won't pick up those glass shards." "That salami was just a week old!" , so Emma has plenty of time to reflect on how exactly she has gotten here.
She moved out of the family home over two months ago, just one month after being fired from her first job (which she also hated). When she announced at home that she no longer wanted to work in the business world and would rather make friends, go to parties, and learn something new, her mother was so upset that she didn't speak to her for a week.
The conflict erupted again a few days later, and Emma couldn't stand it any longer. She opted not to abandon her convictions; she is an adult, and she does what she wants. That's when her mother said that she didn't know anything about life. Emma packed her belongings and went over to her friend Ruby, who comforted her, and gave her strength and even a little self-confidence, but in the end, she declared that she was leaving town next week because she had received an irresistible offer from a company.
Needless to say, Emma was desperate: she didn't want to go home, but she also couldn't remain in her friend's apartment since she had already rented it to a young couple. Miraculously, Killian, the always cheerful, organized, artistic soul, Ruby's cousin who was five years older than them, was also there at the time.
Since Emma was eight years old, she couldn't stand Killian. At Ruby's ninth birthday party he targeted her favorite Barbie doll and at the end of the event, Barbie's head was placed on top of a robot doll, with hair dyed green and a few purple stripes...
Emma upheld her vow of silence towards Killian until he offered her to move in with him for a while due to the family dispute, about which he appeared to know everything. And Emma made the terrible mistake of accepting the offer. Yes, she had no other choice, but she couldn't simply move in with Killian.
She knew that her mother would think she was insane. That's when he got another brilliant idea: pretend they've been in love for a long time and are moving in together as a result. Killian was confident that her mother would not stand in the way of love. Of course, he didn't say anything about how this would finally get rid of a particularly troublesome woman for him... Emma ultimately agreed, but she, like Killian, imposed certain conditions.
She insisted on having her own bedroom and that she may spend as much time as she wanted in the bathroom. Naturally, she requested to have locks on the doors leading to both rooms. Killian accepted, merely asking Emma not to touch his painting equipment or enter his little art studio - because Killian made his living from painting, he had a lot of stuff all around the place.
Emma plops down on the armchair at 7:30 a.m., fatigued from the frantic cleaning, but the end product is finally obvious. The place has changed from a battlefield to a cozy, modest apartment. As one enters the place, they find themselves in a little hallway with nothing more than a hanger, a doormat, and a mirror. There is an immediate view into the rather large living space, which comprises a modest kitchen on the left side, separated by a counter, and a bathroom on the right. The living room leads to two additional rooms: Killian's art studio and Emma's bedroom.
Killian emerges from the small pantry behind the kitchen, where he has exiled the mop and other terrible cleaning supplies - at least for a week. She is splayed on the armchair, out of breath.
"That's my armchair... get out of there," he murmurs half asleep as he steps in front of Emma.
"I was here first," she yawns, but he grabs her, pulls her away, and tucks himself into the unfortunate armchair, which occasionally creaks ominously beneath the weight of the two people. Emma only lets out a groan, she doesn’t have the energy to fight him this time.
"Now look at them..." a woman in her fifties exclaims, startled, as she draws open the ajar door and enters, followed by her tall, clean-shaven husband. Her surprise is triggered first by the open door, then by the sight of the armchair.
A young man in a nice checkered shirt sleeps on the shoulders of their daughter who is seated on his lap. Even in his sleep, he holds her by the waist. Emma leans her head against his head, her gentle snoring indicating that she, too, is fast asleep.
"They're sitting in the armchair, and they can't pick up the phone..." grumbles the woman as she wipes the bottoms of her shoes on the doormat and approaches the sleeping couple. "It's half past twelve, what have they been doing all night?" she wonders, but as soon as she realizes what she is saying, she turns her eyes to her husband, who is trying to hide his smile beneath his palm. "I'd rather not know..." she mutters, reaching for Emma's shoulder carefully.
She pauses for a moment, inspecting the young couple before nudging Emma. She springs awake as though struck by a cannonball. She jumps in Killian's lap, who has awoken with a groan of pain as Emma presses him at a rather uncomfortable spot. When he regains consciousness and looks around to see where he is, he gently moves Emma off him, and she quickly gets on her feet.
"Mom, how are you...? What? What time is it? How did you get in?" Emma mumbles as she rubs her emerald eyes and tries to adjust her hair.
"The door was open..." her mother says coldly, then glances away suddenly when her sight falls on Killian's painfully tight pants.
"Um," he stutters. "Excuse me for a moment..." He dashes to the bathroom and, for the first time in his life, thanks the heavens that he installed the lock on it two months ago.
Emma stands still, unsure of what to do with herself. Her mother speaks first:
"What on earth are you wearing?" She examines her daughter's clothes, which she hasn't changed since the previous night. She is shocked by her black nylon stockings, short red skirt, and low-cut black-patterned shirt. She's never seen her well-behaved, well-educated little girl dress like this before. It isn’t a little girl standing in front of her, but a boldly dressed, grown woman with smeared makeup.
“I, well... we fell asleep…”Emma stammers clumsily while attempting to pull down her crumpled skirt. "What time is it?" she asks to change the subject and searches around for a clock.
"It's half past twelve," her father remarks, lingering on the threshold. Emma stands on tiptoe, peering out from behind her stern mother, who towers over her.
"Dad..." She exhales in relief and wraps herself around the man's neck, ignoring her mother,
Her dad starts laughing and whispers in her ear: "Don't worry about your mother; you look great."
Emma smiles and blushes as she untangles herself from her father's clutches and makes her way to the kitchen.
“I... I had no time for anything. I wanted to throw together something delicious, but there was no time. We were...um...cleaning in the evening, and I ended up falling asleep," she starts nervously as she turns on the faucet to fill the rickety coffee machine. "Do you want some coffee?" she asks, but her mother doesn’t appear to hear her; instead, she murmurs something under her breath:
"You've been cleaning, huh?" She mainly tries to convince herself of this fact, but she fails. A bizarre vision floats in front of her mind's eye, which she can’t get rid of. Her spouse tries to remedy the situation:
"So, how are things going? Are you enjoying yourselves here?
"Yes, yes, everything's great," Emma confirms as she turns to the opening bathroom door. "Killian, help me, this stupid coffee machine is fucking messing with me again and..." - Emma bites her tongue in the middle of her sentence. Partly by mistake, and partly because she becomes aware of the manner in which she is speaking in front of her astonished mother. Her father resists another grin, but Killian, amused by the situation, asks back as he crosses the living room:
"What's the problem?"
"Just that this lovely coffee machine is broken," Emma states in a girlish tone.
Killian arrives and lays a brief kiss on his 'girlfriend's' cheek before lowering his gaze to the seemingly broken machine.
Emma flushes as she turns to face her parents.
"Until then, maybe take a seat," she points to the couch, and the married couple plops down tensely.
"How are things going home?!" Emma asks tentatively as she sits opposite her parents. "How is Poppy doing?"
Poppy is Emma's old cat. He received this bizarre moniker because as a kitten, he successfully crawled into an anthill with his snow-white fur, where the poor ants were presumably enraged and perceived the cat as some new amusement park toy, so they totally swarmed him. Emma washed the continually leaping cat for half an hour, who has refused to go near water since and despises any insects.
"Good," her mother says through her teeth.
"How about Leo?" And Leo is her fourteen-year-old younger brother, who could be a handful.
“Great…” answers her mother once again, but her attitude is entirely different. It’s as if she had vowed to herself that she would only answer each question with one syllable. Emma is almost impressed by how she bombards Killian with quite murderous looks from time to time, who is just approaching with a tray full of colorful mugs.
"I hope the mug isn't a problem, unfortunately, we don't have coffee cups," he apologizes to the woman's piercing look, but her expression doesn’t change.
"Did you manage to fix it?" Emma asks to break the awkward silence.
"You know, love, you can't make coffee without electricity..." Killian presses another kiss on her cheek, and she blushes again, although more because of the forgotten power. The kitchen outlet has a switch, and Killian maniacally turns it off every night so that nothing consumes the electricity.
"Sugar?" Killian asks her parents, who are still sitting tensely, till her father relaxes somewhat, leans forward, and nods:
"Just one spoonful and a little milk. Thanks."
"And dear Killian," her mother utters the man's name with such disgust that it’s almost apparent. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a painter," he says simply, offering Emma her coffee in a heart-shaped mug. She hates that mug, and Killian knows it all too well. He grins at Emma's murderous glare, but he also knows she wouldn't dare to make a scene in front of her parents just now.
"And can you make a living from it?" Her mother follows up with another daring question.
"Well…" Killian laughs quietly to himself. "I'm afraid I won't be able to take your daughter to the town's finest restaurant, and I won't be able to purchase her billion-dollar jewelry—yet—but you can still make a livelihood, right, Emma?"
Emma nods, pleased with how effectively Killian is playing his part. She almost believes that she is in a serious relationship with him.
"I don't need those things; I'm perfectly satisfied with Killian," she asserts, brushing his warm palm away from her knee.
Emma's mother doesn’t appear to have heard her.
"Is that your workshop over there?" Her mother inquires, pointing to a door, which is adorned with a huge patch and other bright patterns. Killian merely nods but gets up practically at the same moment as her mother, who rises up and goes straight to the room’s door.
"What are you doing?" she arches her eyebrows contemptuously when Killian appears in front of her at the last moment. "You're not going to let me see?" With it, she moves to the right, but Killian follows. When she crosses to the opposite side, Killian stands in her way again.
"As a matter of fact, I don't like showing my half-finished works to anyone. Only the finished ones. Two streets away, there is a little gallery that sells my paintings, among other things. If you like, I can show you around."
"I'm not going to run around just so you can show me paintings that you may or may not have painted at all."
"Mom!" Emma stands up as well, but her mother doesn’t stop there.
"Let me in now, and I'll believe it." Killian doesn’t move and Mary Margaret continues. "You're a liar and a nobody. Is this the person you want to spend your life with, Emma?" She moves her gaze to her daughter. "Look at you, you're already eating for two," her mother remarks and Emma's eyes widen in shock.
"I just gained a couple of pounds, Mom! I'm not pregnant!" She protests angrily.
"Do you mean to imply that your daughter is overweight?" Killian laughs to himself, still watching the door in case she storms in unexpectedly. "She was all bones and skin when she arrived here. She now has thighs! And a lovely arse!" Emma is even more taken aback; she stares at her mother with wide eyes, then at Killian, who she can’t believe is talking so frankly. He, on the other hand, exudes genuineness.
"Of course, you'd know!" then she turns to Emma. " Do you already work as a model for him? Without clothes, I presume?"
Killian is now laughing loudly as Emma stammers in front of her.
"With all due respect, ma'am, it is not your concern what Emma permits or not. She's been living with me for the past two months. Do you think I have no idea what she looks like? From now on, I will walk around the house blindfolded so as not to catch a glimpse of your daughter then."
Mary Margaret is seething with rage at Killian's arrogance, while her husband sits on the sofa, watching the scene with a smirk on the corner of his mouth. He noted the changes in his daughter as well, although he believes she is far more beautiful.
"I'm worried you don't just simply look at her..." Emma's mother grumbles.
"Mom!"
"Do you actually believe that?" Killian goes on. "Why can't you accept that your daughter is happy without her office work and parents?"
"Killian!" These interjections come from Emma, who simply can’t deal with the sight of her mother and her alleged boyfriend fighting.
"She's my daughter, I know her. You've only been with her for two months," she retorts, but Killian still can’t contain his thoughts.
"And what if in those two months I got to know her better than you did in eighteen years? What if you solely thought of her as the one who will carry on the family business? Did you know that your daughter has only one girlfriend?"
Mary Margaret stares at Killian, surprised, and then at her daughter.
"So be it, Emma, if this is the life you desire. Say that you grew up in a horrible family! Let everyone know that I'm a lousy mother who doesn't care about you!" Her eyes well up with tears during her final lines, but she quickly turns away and flees from the apartment. David rises from the sofa.
Emma attempts to catch up with her mother in the corridor. "But mom! I didn't grow up in a bad family, I never said that! Killian didn't say that either! You're not a bad mother!" However, Mary Margaret isn’t moved by these words or simply doesn’t hear them anymore as she is calling the elevator.
"Well…" David starts after only the three of them are left in the apartment. "I don't see it as a bad thing that you live here, Emma. You've really blossomed and those few pounds look good on you," he winks, then hurries after his wife with a sigh and silently closes the front door behind him.
Emma glances at the door for a few more seconds before slowly facing Killian. "Why did you do that?"
"What did I do?" Killian asks innocently.
"Why...why did you get into a fight with my mother?"
"Don't be cross with me, love; I didn't start it."
"You didn't, did you?" She shouts angrily. "What age are you? Five?"
"I can assure you, I’m anything but a boy."
"Why didn’t you show her your stupid paintings anyway?"
Killian's patience has worn thin at this time, and he is no longer the calm, smiling man in front of Emma.
"My artwork is not stupid. What gives you the impression that they are? You’ve never even looked at one! You don't give a damn about them! Even if your mother jumped out the window, I wasn't going to show them to her. And, in case you hadn't noticed, I've been defending you the entire time!"
"You defended me? Really? She now has thighs and a lovely arse ," she tries to emulate his voice and accent, which she knows he hates. "How is that defending me?"
"Please forgive me for being a man...... I can only tell you what I told your mother: you've been with me for two months! In my apartment! Do you think I should close my eyes and go about my place blindly?"
"Of course not, but don't say such things in front of my mother!"
Killian storms away, but Emma doesn’t leave it at that:
"And let’s not talk about the kissing and groping you did, and why the hell do you have to turn off the electricity in the kitchen all the time?"
"As I mentioned, this is my apartment! My money pays for the utilities, my money pays for the food, and my money pays for all of the hot water you use every damn day! It's fine, we agreed on that, but we didn't say anything about the kitchen! This is how I've been living and using it since I moved here, and I'd love it if you could attempt to respect it a bit, just a little!" He stumbles into the hallway as he pulls on his shoes and tores open the door to breathe in some fresh air, but a familiar figure blocks his path. Ruby stands in the doorway with a peculiar grin, as if she has been lurking in front of the door for a long time.
"Am I interrupting something?" She grins and steps around his shocked cousin.
"What the bloody...?" Killian begins, but Ruby waves him off.
"Good to see you too!" Then she turns to Emma, who has nearly forgotten that Ruby, like her parents, is unaware of their little ruse. I can see you're doing great... Seriously... when you first mentioned moving in together, I was rather... scared, but now I can plainly see that you're a fantastic match." She settles into the armchair, satisfied. "Only lovers can argue like that," she says, and Emma instantly tries to change the subject.
"What are you doing here? And what about your job?"
"Oh, I've decided to go home this weekend to see what you two have been up to since my last visit. Emma, you look great. I see you've gained some weight. It looks good on you. Don't look at me like that! I didn't quit just so I could see the two of you. You're not that interesting. At least I thought so," she adds a smug grin on her lips, staring at Emma and Killian, who are deliberately avoiding each other's gaze.
"So what's up? First fight?" Ruby inquires chatteringly.
"First?" Emma snorts and takes the pot off the coffee table to see if there is any coffee left in it. "Coffee? If you want, I can make a new one."
"With electricity this time?" Killian comments under his breath and Ruby laughs.
"I see you two are really doing great. Well, Killian… I never imagined that you would succeed."
Killian turns pale, and Emma raises her head:
"What's that?" she asks, warily examining the two. The poor pot is now in grave danger in her hands.
"Oh, so you didn't tell her about the good old days…" Ruby turns to face her cousin, who has grabbed her arm and is pushing her towards the door. Ruby follows; fortunately, she doesn't take it too seriously when his cousin tosses her out of the apartment:
"Well, that's pretty hilarious," she murmurs, laughing.
"It is," Killian mutters. "All right, now get back to work!"
"As you wish!" says Ruby from behind the slammed door, and her laughter resonates in the stairs for a few seconds along with the sound of her footsteps. Emma takes a deep breath as she slowly turns to Killian to ask again:
"What’s going on? What did you not tell me?" Her hand, along with the pot she’s holding, is trembling.
"Nothing, it's not important... It doesn't matter, believe me. I... need some time alone," he walks inside his room, leaving Emma alone with the pot still in her trembling hand.
She ultimately sets it down on the table and heads to the bathroom to soak her numb limbs in a hot tub of water. She has to admit that sleeping on Killian's lap isn't the most comfortable position. Her back and neck ache from the unnatural posture she'd been in for several hours, and so much was going on around her that she hadn't been able to pay attention to it.
She doesn't get out of the bath for another two hours and she realizes she just used up all the hot water again. She looks at the time and notices it's already three o'clock in the afternoon, but Killian is still moping in his room. Emma's growling stomach prevents her from doing anything else, so she stands in front of the refrigerator and rummages for something to eat. And, as usual, after eating, she searches the newspapers and the Internet for a job - because, whether Killian believes it or not, she, too, is beginning to feel uneasy about being a freeloader without even a little support financially.
At eight o'clock, Emma decides it's time to talk to Killian. She approaches his light blue-colored door with caution and carefully knocks. She knocks again, louder this time because there is no response.
"Killian, please, open it... If you don’t I’ll come in."
However, the answer remains eerie silence. Emma knocks three more times but all she hears is the rattling of the door; which starts to irritate her greatly, so she cautiously grabs the handle, pushes it down, and opens it. A strong, heavy odor of paint assaults her nostrils, ranging from tempera to oil paint to some foul thinner.
"So this is where he works," Emma muses as she looks inside, but Killian is nowhere to be seen. She only discovers him standing on the balcony when she pokes her head in, and the shadow cast by the street lamp tells her he's smoking. She pulls her head back behind the door, afraid he'll see her, but when she peeks out again, she's relieved to find Killian standing with his back to her, his elbows against the railing, looking out at the street. Emma's curiosity triumphs over all other emotions, and she walks inside the paint-scented room, which is about the same size as her bedroom. It lacks a double bed and a large wardrobe, but it’s strewn with paints, brushes, works on covered racks, papers, and rags.
Emma's attention is drawn to a simple charcoal painting at her feet, which she gently reaches down to pick up. From the image, a tall, thin, highly attractive girl with long hair stares at her, resting against a wall. She isn't exactly looking at Emma, but rather into the distance, beyond the border of the paper, yet her oversized hoodie is quite recognizable to her. Another sheet of paper has a basic sketch of a woman, this time closer to the frame, with only her upper torso visible under a tight T-shirt. Her lengthy hair dangles in front of her eyes.
Emma casts a wary peek toward the balcony, but Killian continues to smoke. She approaches the covered picture nearest to her and gently peers beneath it. She can't see anything due to the lack of light, but she doesn't dare to turn on the lamp since Killian will undoubtedly notice. She cautiously raises the fabric that's covering the painting to see more beneath it, and she sees a face, but it's still too dark to see what exactly this painting portrays. She slips the cover off with a quick movement, and a light-blonde, green-eyed girl looks her in the eyes. With a little nose and large, red lips.
She always hated her nose.
The painter appears to be stuck on finishing the second eye, but Emma lowers her hand, clutching the cloth with a beating heart, as she recognizes herself. She returns her attention to the other two drawings, in which she identifies herself as well. She glances at them in shock before returning her gaze to the bigger painting.
She is no longer concerned about the size of her nose; her attention has gone from the painting to Killian, who is already stubbing out his cigarette. A small voice in her brain tells her it's time to escape , but she can't move. As she returns her gaze to the room, she finds something strange at the very top of the corner shelf: a robot with a green-haired, purple-striped Barbie doll head.
Killian is now standing at the doorway, looking as surprised and scared as she is.
"What is this?" Emma enquires, her attention darting between the artwork and the green-haired robot doll.
"Well...at least now you know..."
Killian doesn't appear to want to go into further detail, but she waits for a moment.
"I think I'm going to bed now. My neck hurt," Emma announces in a friendly tone as if they were just talking about the weather. She tiptoes out of the room and awkwardly returns the cloth on the painting. She goes to her bedroom, undresses, and ultimately hides in bed because she has so many feelings and thoughts racing through her mind. As a child, she had a tendency of refusing to wear pajamas after outgrowing her favorite one, so she slept in a pair of panties, covered with a sheet, and wrapped with a blanket. She despised the quilts in the bedspread because it made her hot, and because she tossed and turned so much in her sleep, the quilt was usually crumpled up at the bottom of the cover in the morning. With her current method, she only kicks the blanket off in her sleep.
With a flood of thoughts, musing about what happened, she ends up wrapping herself in the sheet, the blanket only covering her legs.
The first rays of sunlight trickle through the half-drawn blinds. Emma slowly opens her eyes. She seldom wakes up on her back, but this time she did, her head and torso shifted slightly to the left. Her right hand is raised above her head and lays on the pillow, her blonde hair cascading behind her. The sheet had slipped down throughout the night, but it still covers both of her not-too-big-but-shapely breasts. The sight (and his sketch) at the very least indicate this. Emma was never content with them, but Killian adores them.
She sits up alarmed when she discovers she is not alone, pulling the blanket up to her neck. Killian is sitting on a chair next to her bed, a pad of paper on his knees, and a pencil in his hand. He wasn't awake for long either. He only has one pair of checkered pajama pants on. He draws lines on the paper before raising his head to meet Emma's gaze.
"What are you doing?" she inquires, unconcerned. She nearly laughs to herself as she watches him draw.
"Uh... you've ruined it now..." Killian mumbles his dissatisfaction. "You simply had to wait a few minutes longer for me to finish."
Emma gently wraps the sheet around herself and climbs out of bed to admire Killian's efforts. At first, he hesitates to see what she's doing as if she's about to slap him, but Emma merely stands behind him, beaming eyes and pursed lips, studying the picture in Killian's hands. Unfortunately, the image lacks her legs; Killian hasn't yet reached that point, but her breasts, which can be seen behind the thin cover, are detailed with exceptional accuracy in the painting. Killian remains still, waiting to see what she will do next. Emma looks at him for a few minutes before saying:
"I see you've captured the spirit of things..." she grins, but before she waits for an answer, she asks, "How did you draw me like that?"
"Not without trouble," he grins, though she can't see him peering down at his jeans.
"Am I that difficult of a model?" Emma inquires, and Killian raises his head.
"No… It was just difficult to restrain myself," Emma maintains her grin, but her eyes widen. "I mean it was hard to restrain myself from drawing you with green hair," Killian adds with an even larger grin, then drops his painting and rises up to seize the girl's arm as she turns away, 'offended'. She trembles as he approaches her and gently pushes her against the wall, gripping both hands, allowing the sheet to start to fall off Emma
"How could you draw me without my permission?" Emma asks, attempting to sound serious.
"You didn't lock your door."
"And this is an indication of my consent?"
"After yesterday's little...scene, I had three thoughts."
"Oh?"
"The first is that you were so afraid that you packed your possessions and fled.
When I entered your room, my suspicions were gone. The second is that you were afraid, yet you'd rather sleep than leave... In which case, I decided to seize the moment while you were sleeping and finally create a realistic portrait of you. And the third, which I'm pretty sure now, is that you were terrified, but not of my feelings, but of your own."
The sheet wrapped around her appears to be waiting for the final words; at that point, it starts to slide off Emma and she is now leaning bare-chested against the wall in Killian's arms, a wicked smirk on his lips as she blushes. Emma pretends not to hear his previous words:
"So, what was Ruby saying the other day? What did you succeed in?"
Killian silently laughs to himself.
“She claimed I'd never be able to win your heart.”
"First and foremost, what makes you think you succeeded?" Emma asks softly, but her shaking body and madly pounding heart in her chest reveal her true feelings. "Secondly, when did you even try to win it?"
"The first question doesn't even deserve an answer," he grins, with the same grin Emma hasn't been able to shake for a long time, which causes her brain to shut down since she's kind of crazy about him. "As for the second, why do you think I took away the stupid Barbie doll?"
"What? Do you really want to talk about something that happened eighteen years ago?"
"Eighteen? I've been trying to draw your attention to areas of my life that you were previously ignorant of. It almost appears as if you did it on purpose... I believed if I took your Barbie doll away from you, you'd start paying attention to me. You, on the other hand, were furious and vowed to never speak to me again." Killian gets near enough to Emma that her nostrils are filled with his enticing scent.
"You completely ruined my favorite doll! What did you expect?" She exhales as if she hadn't heard the rest of his comments.
"Don't start this, Swan. I'm about to lose my mind here, and you're obsessed with insignificant details as if you're not getting the point! You have no idea how horrible I used to feel and how many people teased me for dreaming about a lass five years younger than me. It doesn't matter now, but then?" Killian releases his grip on her hands and scoops her onto his lap, pressing her against the wall. Emma feels his fantasies, the fire in his eyes, and his need up close. She watches with pleasure as he looks at her with almost imploring eyes, practically begging her to say the words, but she simply smiles and annoys Killian some more.
"And how many women have you said this so far?" she mockingly asks.
"How many paintings of women have you seen, and how many green-haired Barbie dolls do I have in my room?" Killian inquires again, almost frantic.
"You must have hidden them," Emma says, laughing as Killian groans.
"Oi, you know what? I' better go look for them, then ..." He lets her go and walks towards the door. Emma is the one who leaps after him this time, or at him, as she manages to pull him back. She smiles sweetly at him before planting a tentative kiss on his lips. That wasn't enough for Killian. Within minutes, he is holding her in his arms with heavenly joy and kissing her with amazing intensity, and presenting her with a sensation she has never felt before.
He won her heart after all...