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The last time Killian Jones went against the plans that Mary Margaret Blanchard had set for him, he ended up in a six-month affair with a married woman that left him brokenhearted. Since then, Killian has made it a somewhat unspoken rule that whenever Mary Margaret suggests something, he will perk up, give her a cheeky salute, and obey her to such an extent that even her boyfriend, David Nolan, begins to roll his eyes and tell him to, “Lay off, man, and stop flirting with my girlfriend.”
This fall, Mary Margaret has plans. The plans seem to mostly revolve around getting Killian to stop moping around about a relationship that ended a year ago and get David’s former foster sister, Emma Swan, to stop moping around about her own failed relationship - some loser she dated for two years - the last year of which, apparently, he was cheating on her with half the girls in their university’s graduating class.
Mary Margaret sent them all a schedule back in August claiming every single Saturday of September and October. It was color-coded. It included trips to every pumpkin patch and corn maze within a two-hour radius, the homecoming football game at the university where they all met, and a few so-called rain dates that include movie marathons, craft projects, and ridiculous themed snacks. She included indexes of recipes, links, and movie lists. She must have spent her entire summer holiday focused on this bloody schedule. Mary Margaret truly needs to find employment at a year-round school so that she can stay busy during the summer.
Emma Swan is conspicuously missing from the first two weekends of Mary Margaret’s planning, meaning that Killian feels like a third wheel tromping around a corn maze with the embodiment of true love and stress-eating four of the six cider donuts that they purchased.
Mary Margaret snaps at Killian about that one. The extra donuts were supposed to be for Emma. Killian scowls and brushes cinnamon and sugar off of his fingers. “If she wanted the bloody donuts she should have come with us.”
The third weekend it rains.
The universe has seemed to remember that it is supposed to be autumn, so the balmy temperatures suddenly plummet . Killian wraps his fingers around the ceramic of his favorite mug, the black one with a skull and crossbones and the words CYBER PIRATE, and his fingers welcome the heat of his morning coffee.
“Movie marathon today, Killian,” Mary Margaret chirps, bouncing into the kitchen wearing what is unmistakably David’s flannel pajama bottoms and his university sweatshirt. “Hocus Pocus double feature or Tim Burton’s backwards trilogy?”
Killian raises a brow and takes a sip of his coffee. He has no idea what she means.
“Frankenweenie, Corpse Bride, and Nightmare Before Christmas. Obviously they all have the same male lead.”
It doesn’t seem obvious to him at all, but Killian goes along with it. It’s better when he does.
“I’m more a fan of his non-animated works. Sweeny Todd perhaps. Or Sleepy Hollow.”
Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow. “Do you just want to see people get decapitated?”
Killian gives her a playful smile. “It is the spooky season, is it not?” She sighs heavily as Killian makes his way out into the living room, where David is already seated and nursing his own cup of coffee
“Morning, Jones.”
“Morning, mate. Movie marathon today?”
David shrugs. He goes along with Mary Margaret too. With more cheer, but, then again, the woman practically lives with them. And she fucks David. Killian doesn’t get that perk. The front door opens and Emma walks in, a frown on her lovely face.
She’s a vision.
She’s always a vision.
A vision who has always been off-limits.
She catches Killian’s eye and twists her face into something that must be an attempt at a smile, but feels more like a grimace. “Morning.” Emma shakes out her wet hair and sends water droplets flying across the entryway. It is pouring rain outside the door she quickly closes. “Please tell me there’s hot coffee in the pot or I’m gonna turn into a popsicle.”
David laughs, twisting on the sofa to get a look at the woman he’s always called his sister. “Should be. Or Mary Margaret can start another one.”
Emma musses up his hair as she passes him by. “I’m stealing a sweater, too! Who told the universe that it could be fall already? I wanted six more weeks of summer!” She disappears into the kitchen and Killian forces himself to tear his eyes away from the delightful curve where her t-shirt meets her black sweatpants.
David’s heavy sigh draws his attention. “I should take back what I said five years ago, right? When I threatened you freshman year and told you to never look at my sister?”
Killian schools his face into a flirtatious expression. “We both know I’ve looked, mate. I’ve looked often.”
David rolls his eyes. A vast improvement over the 18-year-old that would have punched his randomly-assigned dorm roommate over similar words. “Yeah. Hard for me not to notice that.” He takes a drink from his mug and seems to be thinking something. Killian settles into the leather recliner, content to let David take his time. Unlike Killian, David thinks before he acts, thinks before he speaks. There are nuggets of wisdom there that go beyond his twenty-three years.
“If you guys started dating I think I’d be okay with that.”
Killian, who had been drinking coffee again, nearly does a spit-take. He sputters and gets some up his nose instead, which he has to hastily wipe away.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I am dreaming or hallucinating while your lovely girlfriend drags me through another godforsaken pumpkin patch. Did you just encourage me to date your sainted sister?”
David snorts. “We both know she’s no saint. And I didn’t encourage you as much as tell you I won’t discourage you. If that’s what you want to do. If you’ve been holding back out of respect for me, then I thought maybe I was overdue to say that you don’t have to do that.” David’s eyes leave his mug, dart to the open kitchen entrance, and then lock on to Killian. “She dumped Neal like eight months ago and the only guys she’s dated since then are losers. At least I know you’ve got a job, a place to live, and some human decency.”
Killian knows his mate holds him in higher regard than that, but when it comes to his sister, no man will ever be good enough. He accepts the compliment with another gulp of coffee. He hopes it makes him look thoughtful.
That would be a lie. Killian’s mind has clear left him.
And any remnants of his mind fly out the window when the ladies enter the living room with their coffees, the pot, and a box from the donut shop. Because Emma Swan is wearing his sweatshirt.
His. Sweatshirt. Killian Jones’s favorite faded crewneck sweatshirt he practically lives in come fall. The one emblazoned with their university mascot. The one that’s got a tear on one sleeve but is just too comfortable to part with. The one he left by the back door.
The one he hasn’t washed in weeks. The one that smells like him.
Killian gets a sudden image of Emma smelling the sweatshirt and smiling at the scent. Emma wearing only his sweatshirt. He gulps at his coffee to hide a whimper. She steps up in front of him while he’s trying - and failing - to reign in his emotions.
“Want more?” she asks. Emma’s expression has softened a bit. She still looks guarded - she always looks guarded - but not actively annoyed with the world. She holds up the coffee pot when he blinks at her, trying to decide to tell her that he’d love more of her in his life.
“Please, love,” he chokes out. Killian holds up his coffee mug and she fills it almost to the brim. “Thanks.”
There’s a moment when their eyes meet that he wonders… something. Something he hasn’t allowed himself to wonder in a very, very long time. But he brushes it aside before it can take residence in his heart, which is prone to further deterioration.
Emma settles on the couch, the side closest to Killian in the leather recliner, and he watches her fiddle with the cuffs of his sweater all day long.
The rain, as well as the movie marathon, lasts long into the night. Sometime during Edward Scissorhands, Killian passes out. When he wakes up again, the living room is dark and he’s alone. Mary Margaret’s favorite Halloween blanket - a light pink one with little blushing ghosts sporting hairbows - has been draped across his sleeping body.
A good friend, that Mary Margaret.
It takes him a few days to realize that his sweater is still missing. And it isn’t until the next Saturday, when Killian peers out the backseat window at Emma crossing her yard to carpool to the pumpkin patch, that he realizes what’s happened.
Emma Swan is wearing his sweatshirt. Again. Still.
Killian’s jaw nearly hits the floor and he covers it up by gesturing to the cupholder that’s separating his seat from hers in the backseat of the small sedan.
“Pumpkin spice?”
Emma grins. She seems lighter today than last week. “Just what I was in the mood for,” she says.
There’s a question on the tip of Killian’s tongue - he wants to ask if she realizes that she’s stolen his favorite bloody sweatshirt - but he reigns it in by focusing on his hot apple chai and on the conversation in the front seat. Today’s pumpkin patch is less than an hour away and the drive passes quickly.
If Killian thought the sight of Emma in his sweatshirt was fetching as she reclined on his couch, drinking coffee and slurping chili and devouring grilled cheese and munching on popcorn, then it is nothing compared to the sight of Emma out in public in his sweatshirt. She poses for pictures next to faded plywood signs, giggles as she feeds goats, and spends entirely too long deliberating over the perfect pumpkin. She even makes Killian carry it back to the hayrack for her, wrinkling her nose about it getting dirt all over her clothes as if she isn’t wearing his bloody clothes!
But dammit, Killian carries the pumpkin for her. He holds it tight as they return to the parking lot, Emma’s knee jostling his knee with every bump of the hayrack, and insists, with a roll of his eyes, that he carry it to the car for her as well.
“Wouldn’t want to ruin your favorite sweatshirt, Swan,” he says with a pointed smirk.
She appears not to get the joke.
The next weekend is the homecoming football game at his alma mater. Killian drags his arse out of bed early so that he, David, and Mary Margaret can join with some of their college friends for tailgating before the game. With his favorite sweater still missing, Killian settles for a worn t-shirt and a plain black hooded sweatshirt. This time of morning, the temperatures are chilly, though the forecast predicts that it will warm up as the day goes on. Killian dutifully fills three thermoses with coffee and hands two of them off to David and Mary Margaret as the three of them stumble out the door.
Mary Margaret isn’t sure if Emma is joining them today, and there is a part of Killian that is relieved about that. If he’s found her difficult to resist before, she’s grown to a superhuman level of temptation after spending two weeks in a row watching her wearing his clothes. He and David quickly set up their canopy and David pulls out the little grill while Killian busies himself as sous chef. Mary Margaret sits like a queen on her padded fold-out chair, waving at familiar faces that pass and hugging about every fifth person.
Ruby joins them after a while, dragging her new girlfriend. Killian’s seen many men and women come and go from Ruby’s life, but this one seems to have staying power. Dorothy jokes with Mary Margaret and Ruby seems more at ease than Killian can remember in a long time.
“I think she’s done playing the field. She’s found the right person.”
The voice at Killian’s shoulder makes him nearly swing his spatula out in surprise. It’s Emma. She’s grinning at him like she’s made some joke that only she understands, and he looks back-and-forth between her and Ruby, whom he’d been staring at, and finally blinks.
“Who’s found the right person?”
“Ruby.” Emma bites her lip. “Haven’t you seen how she is with Dorothy? She’s not trying to prove anything anymore. She can just be herself.”
Killian’s eyes linger on Ruby, particularly the way she’s sitting back, quietly observing Dorothy joking with Mary Margaret. That’s so unlike Ruby. Normally she has to be the center of attention.
“It appears so.” Killian turns back to Emma and he catches something in her eye, but it is gone before he can catalog it. “Good for Ruby.”
Emma peers over his shoulder and down at the grill. “Nice meat, Killian.” She winks at him outrageously.
“Your brother said the same thing a half hour ago.”
“Gross!” Emma shoves at his arm as her face screws up.
Bloody hell.
She’s wearing his sweatshirt.
Again. Still.
Killian can’t look away, staring at her blatantly, until Emma shoves his arm again. “Stop staring at my tits.” She turns away and bends over to pull a drink from the cooler. “And stop staring at my ass.”
For once, Killian’s eyes aren’t on her backside. They are focused on the sweater. His sweater. Why on earth does she keep wearing it? And why hasn’t she explained her reasoning? Killian sighs and turns back to his meat. Whatever is going on with Emma, this is hardly the time to ask her. She plucks a chair off the ground and unfolds it so she can settle in next to Mary Margaret. Together they hold court for the alumni that cross their path.
Close to noon and two hours before the game is to begin, a familiar figure appears in the crowd and Killian breaks into a smile.
“Little brother!” Liam pulls him into a hug and Killian returns it enthusiastically, though not without his own grumble.
“Younger brother you mean.”
“Yes, yes,” Liam chuckles. He pulls away, hands on Killian’s shoulders, and gives him a long look as though Killian’s grown in the past few months since they saw each other last. “How are you doing, younger brother?”
“Better than you, ancient brother,” Killian snarks. But then he catches sight of Liam’s fiance, Elsa, hugging Emma, their twin blonde heads leaning on one another. It makes his heart twist uncomfortably, and Liam, perceptive prat that he is, squeezes his shoulder sharpish.
“Somehow, I doubt that. I keep waiting to hear that you’ve-”
Liam stops mid-sentence and his eyes grow wide. Killian follows his gaze and realizes, with a groan, what his brother has zeroed in on.
“Is there something you failed to tell me about, Killian?”
“No,” Killian grumbles.
“Then is there a reason that Emma Swan, the woman you’ve fancied for five years, is wearing your favorite sweater?”
Killian shoves his brother away and reaches down to the cooler to extract a drink. He should have had one already, just to be safe. He’s much too sober for today.
“She was cold. She needed a sweater. So she borrowed mine.” Killian takes a gulp of beer. Liam raises a brow. “She borrowed it two weeks ago.”
Liam’s face lights up like a bloody Christmas tree. Killian groans again.
“It doesn’t mean anything, you arse! She borrowed it and she must have decided that now she owns it because she hasn’t said a single thing about giving it back to me.”
Liam is so damn pleased that Killian downs half his beer.
“Little brother, you’re an idiot.” He shakes his head, claps Killian on the shoulder, and goes to join Elsa and Emma in conversation. He greets Emma warmly and there’s another moment, another twinge in Killian’s chest, before he turns away to attend to the grill.
It seems safer that way.
Once everyone has been properly fed, Killian leans against the tailgate of the truck and thoughtfully crunches on a bag of crisps. If no one stops him, he’s liable to eat them all and get a stomachache. But at least that would make sense. Emma stealing his sweater and traipsing all around their weekend activities without an explanation? That makes no sense at all.
Emma’s perched on the other side of the tailgate, grocery bags of crisps and desserts separating the two of them, looking thoughtful as well. Killian learned a long time ago that David Nolan and Emma Swan are best left to their own devices when they get thoughtful. If they want your opinion, they’ll ask for it. But until then, keep your mouth closed and be ready to talk when they’re ready.
But that doesn’t keep Killian from sneaking glances at Emma every chance he can, being as subtle as he can manage under the circumstances.
And every time he looks at her, Killian’s heart skips a beat. It is the most cliche thing in the world, but it is true. As their lives have changed over the years, Killian’s affection for Emma has remained a constant. A North Star. He still seeks her approval in everything that he does and still has to hold himself back from protecting, defending, and encouraging her as more than just one of her good friends.
Liam’s right. He is an idiot.
Killian frowns, turning to the grill he needs to clean before they head inside the stadium, when Emma’s furious string of curses draws his attention. And when he follows her gaze and spots a dimpled smirk beneath a mop of brown curls, he bites back a few curses of his own.
“If that arsehole has any sense of self-preservation he will walk by without a word,” Killian says lowly. He abandons the dirty grill to stand beside Emma, between her swinging legs hanging over the side of the tailgate. He grips his beer in one hand and leans against the truck with the other, attempting to block Emma from her ex’s view. He looks up from his sweatshirt to meet her eyes. “ He’s the one in the wrong here, love. He should slink past like the bottom dweller that he is.”
Emma winces and Killian’s heart sinks. Is there something she’s failed to tell him? Does she still have feelings for Neal Cassidy?
“I’m so sorry,” Emma whispers. Her apology is bewildering. “I am a terrible, terrible person and I’m sorry I sucked you into this.” She looks over his shoulder and she grasps a sweater cuff nervously. Neal must be approaching. Tosser.
Emma whispers furiously, her voice harsh and her eyes pained. “When I found out Neal had been cheating on me I got a little irrational and I told him I cheated on him too.” She grimaces. “With you.”
Killian’s jaw drops.
“Sorry!” she says again.
Before Killian can fully process her words, he senses a presence behind him that makes himself known with a casual, “Hey, Ems.”
Emma’s green gaze leaves him and focuses on the arsehole behind him. “Hey, Neal,” she says weakly.
“Jones.” Neal’s voice is decidedly less friendly. Killian frantically searches Emma’s eyes, trying to determine how to play this. “Surprised to see you here. I always figured once you tricked your way into Emma’s pants you’d be done with her.”
Emma’s quiet anxiety transforms into indignation. Her spine straightens and her eyes flash and Killian can suddenly see what all her passion looks like when it is directed in fury toward someone else. It is… terrifying, to be honest. Killian’s hand leaves the side of the truck and lands on her knee, meeting her eyes and nodding slightly, hoping that she will follow his lead for once.
Killian moves his hand from her knee to her wrist, holding tight as he turns around, and placing it on his shoulder as he leans against the tailgate, between her legs, and gives Neal his biggest, cockiest, most shit-eating grin.
“Surprised to see you here, Cassidy. I always figured once you found out Emma had spent a night with a real man you’d be too embarrassed to show your ugly face again.”
Neal glowers. Killian suddenly remembers a conversation he wasn’t meant to overhear between Emma and Mary Margaret and the secret satisfaction that it had given him for months afterwards.
He lowers his voice. “No matter what she may have told you, Cassidy, size does matter. As does a willingness to get on one’s knees.” He licks his lips significantly and wiggles his eyebrows in as obscene a way as possible. If Neal will focus his ire on Killian, perhaps it will keep him from hurting Emma any more.
Neal is turning an awful shade of purple. A fist clenches at his side and Killian takes a swig of beer, preparing himself for a punch, and is more than a little thankful when David leaves his chair and joins them.
“Neal,” he says evenly. “The game’s starting soon. I think you’d better moving.”
The other man gives him a sideways look and his coloring slowly begins to turn back to normal. But his eyes are still flashing fire and his jaw is locked. “Hey David,” he says slowly. “You’re still friends with Jones? Even after he fucked your sister?”
David’s expression shifts from cautious to bewildered. He looks at Emma for guidance, and she must tell him something silently, because he manages to school his features once more.
“They’ve been dating for months, Neal. Not that that’s any of your business.” Emma shifts behind Killian, moving so that her legs are pressed against his sides, holding him in place, and a second hand lands on his shoulder before both of them slide down his chest and pull him back slightly. Her hair is tickling his cheek in the most delightful way as Emma Swan leans her head against his.
Neal’s turning purple again. It may be Killian’s new favorite color.
Killian preens like the cat that got the cream and finishes his beer. David takes the empty bottle from him without a word, meaning that Killian can grip Emma’s wrists and wrap his hands around hers on his chest.
It is heaven.
He takes a moment to enjoy this farce before the world rights itself again.
“No one wants you here, Neal,” Emma says coolly over his shoulder. Killian gives him an indifferent look, trying to communicate how little he cares about the man, and, finally, Neal turns on his heel, leaves their section of the parking lot, and disappears into the crowd.
Killian counts to twenty in his head - both to give the wanker time to get away and to give himself just another moment to pretend that this is all real. Eventually, he squeezes Emma’s hands and she allows him to turn and to help her down from the tailgate.
“Are you okay, Swan?”
Emma’s face is downcast. He wants to lift up her chin, make her look at him, but he restrains himself. David steps up to them, the brother come to save the day, and Killain steps to the side. David wraps his sister in a hug. There are words whispered between them, ones that Killian knows would be bad form to overheard, so he walks to the grill and begins to clean it, keeping an eye on Emma and David and Mary Margaret, who joins them after a minute.
Everyone is in cleanup mode. Liam joins Killian at the grill, eyes questioning about the little scene he just witnessed, but Killian isn’t sure that he’s ready to process anything yet. Everyone is hugging Emma or trying to make her laugh or packing up her chair for her and throwing it into David’s truck. Her face is flushed and though there’s a smile on her face, her eyes are sad. She doesn’t look like herself.
Once everything is packed up, their group starts to make their way to the stadium, to get to their seats for the game. Killian lingers behind. The midday sunlight has warmed the earth and the clouds have disappeared. He unzips his hoodie so he can toss it in the back of David’s cab. The key fob is in his hand when something soft lands in his other hand.
His sweater.
Killian turns and catches the eye of the woman who gave it to him. Emma is still a little withdrawn, but she’s obviously putting in an effort to regain the chipper mode of an hour ago.
“It got hot,” she says in explanation. She had been wearing a shirt beneath the sweater with the university’s name in large block letters. “I didn’t want to drag it around all day.”
Killian searches her eyes, wondering what more might be beneath her words. He offers her a smile after depositing the sweater on top of his hoodie and locking David’s truck, slipping the fob into his pocket. “I agree,” he says lightly. “It is a heavy burden, sometimes, to carry things with us that we no longer need.” He gestures toward the stadium, toward the crowd streaming past them. Emma grabs his elbow with both hands and begins to walk, pulling him with her.
He’s afraid his mind may have been left behind in the vicinity of David’s driver’s side door.
“I wanted to thank you, Killian,” Emma murmurs. Her voice is quiet, considering all the noise around them. He has to lean down slightly to hear better. “It wasn’t fair that I used your name to piss off Neal when we broke up. I’m a shit friend.”
Killian frowns. He places his palm on top of her fingers and she looks up at him in surprise. Her grip on his arm tightens infinitesimally, as though it is an unplanned reaction. His heart thumps in his chest.
“You are a wonderful friend, Emma Swan. I’m always here to help. In whatever way you need.”
Her smile is thin, like he didn’t say the right thing. Killian wonders what script he’s supposed to be using and if anyone will do him the favor of providing it to him soon.
Emma clears her throat and her cheeks flush with more than just the direct sunlight. “So, um…” her voice gets a little louder, but not much. “How did you know about Neal and, um?” She raises her eyebrows significantly and Killian snorts. He had been hoping she’d forget about his disparaging remarks, but he doesn’t hate the idea of talking about it.
“I’m actually quite perceptive,” he says playfully. Killian’s hand drops from her fingers and he runs it through his hair, flipping it and giving her a flirtatious look. “And when women are drunkenly having a conversation in my kitchen, even when it is the middle of the night, I hear things that I can’t quite forget.”
She bursts into laughter.
It draws the attention of several people nearby, who look at her as though she’s gone mad, but neither he nor Emma seems to care. Killian grins, laughing quietly himself, and waits for it to pass. When it does, she drops one of her hands from his elbow to wipe at a tear in the corner of her eye.
“Was it true?” Killian asks, because he can’t help himself. They’re getting closer to the stadium entrance and he reaches into his back pocket for his phone. He busies himself with finding his digital ticket so he doesn’t have to look at Emma, feigning a nonchalance he hardly feels. “Does Neal really have a ‘depressingly average penis’ and an ‘unwillingness to spend more than thirty seconds going down on you’?”
He feels her eyes on his but he can’t look at her right now. He’s not sure if he can disguise his true feelings. Killian steps away from Emma’s touch, offers his phone to the ticket scanner, gives the worker a smile of thanks, and waits for Emma to join him once her ticket is scanned.
Her cheeks are still pink. And she looks like she’s trying not to laugh. They remain frozen in place, face-to-face as the crowd streams by them.“It’s true,” she admits. Emma scrubs a hand down her face and groans. When she looks at him again, she’s smirking bitterly. “And since I’m also perceptive and hear things in bars and at birthday parties that I wasn’t supposed to hear, I figured that talking about your big dick and how you spend an hour eating out your dates was gonna make Neal more pissed off than lying about anybody else.” Emma groans again. “Sorry about that.”
The idea that Emma Swan has thought about him in a sexual nature is a revelation. It makes him re-evaluate his entire world and he’s not sure who he will be on the other side of this new information. Killian blinks at her in surprise, rapidly processing, and Emma winces.
“Like I said, we don’t have to be friends anymore.” She turns and begins to make her way toward their seats. “I’d understand.”
Killian trails behind her, dumbstruck.
There are too many bloody people for their conversation to continue as they follow the crowd through the stadium and up to their seats. He wonders if Emma had done more than thinking about Killian as a foil to her awful ex-boyfriend. Had she wished she were sleeping with Killian instead? Had she fantasized about it, as he had? Had she ever considered cheating on Neal to be with him or seeking comfort with Killian once both of them were single?
What does all of this mean?
Their group has all filed into their row, leaving the last two seats open. Killian hesitates, waiting for someone to suggest a shuffle, but no one moves, and so he sinks into the seat at the end, next to Emma.
Mary Margaret is on Emma’s other side. She looks at Emma with worried eyes, checking in on her without the blonde noticing her, and then her gaze shifts to Killian, to whom she offers a shaky smile.
“You two alright?”
He lets Emma answer. “I’ll be fine, Mary Margaret.”
The brunette hesitates and leans closer to Emma, her voice dropping. “This stadium seats thousands of people, but somehow we ended up right in front of Neal.” She tilts her head and, as one, Killian and Emma turn and catch sight of her ex three rows back and a few seats further in. He sees them, smirks at Emma, and flips Killian off.
Emma turns away with a groan.
“Seriously?”
Liam leans across David, who’s seated on the other side of Mary Margaret. “David tells me that I have to welcome you to the family, Emma.”
Emma scowls and flips Liam off. The entire row cackles at that. Apparently, the idea of Emma and Killian dating is hilarious. Elsa pops the back of her fiance’s head and stands up elegantly. “Let’s go get you a drink, Emma,” she says, rolling her eyes. “When we get back, all of our friends ,” she says the word with the vague hint of a threat, “will have reorganized so that we can sit together. And I promise not to give you any shit for holding Killian’s hand.”
Elsa grabs Emma’s hand, in fact, to lead her down the stadium steps, just as the stadium erupts with cheers as the players begin to enter. True to her wishes, they all reshuffle, so that Liam sits down next to Killian, leaving empty seats for the two blondes at the end of the aisle.
“I don’t need to sit with Elsa,” Liam says with a good-natured smile when Killain starts to protest. “I live with her. It’s more fun to go to events like this and go your separate ways. More stories to tell and tea to spill for the car ride home.” Killian narrows his eyes at his brother, anticipating the need to beg him not to tease Killian relentlessly about the predicament he’s ended up in. Liam rolls his eyes. “I’ll stay quiet here, little brother. I’ll refrain from telling you what an idiot you’re continuing to be. Now…” he gestures to the field. “If you can stop demanding my attention, I have a football game to enjoy.”
And somehow, despite all the unexpected twists of the day, Killian enjoys the football game. He enjoys it a great deal.
Without talking about it, Killian takes Emma’s hand when she sits next to him. When his hand starts to fall asleep, he releases it with a squeeze and drapes his arm across the back of her seat, imagining that Neal is staring daggers at the two of them. The imaginary weapons get sharper when Emma leans toward him, placing a hand on his knee and resting her cheek on his shoulder.
It is heaven.
It is much too cruel.
By all accounts, it isn’t much different than a usual activity with Emma Swan and all of their friends. They laugh and they joke and they tease one another. She smiles easily, shedding the sad eyes that Neal had inspired. When he gets up to buy a beer, she joins him to go to the bathroom. But, unlike their normal excursions, she holds his hand as they make their way down the stadium steps.
And she doesn’t drop his hand once they’re out of Neal’s sight.
It is heaven.
It is exactly what he always dreamed of.
Killian plants a large kiss on her cheek when the game is over and their team’s victory is secured. Everyone around them is screaming, standing and jumping and throwing their arms in the air, and he just grabs Emma, holds her close, and pulls back enough to kiss her on the cheek. He doesn’t think much about it. It is an instinct, almost. Or maybe a wish nearly realized.
Emma turns a bright pink that he’s not so sure he can blame on the post-game celebrations.
She holds his hand all the way back to David’s truck.
Ruby and Dorothy offer to escort Emma to her car, and though Liam is giving him a look that clearly says My brother is the biggest idiot in the world, he lets her go with a playful kiss on the back of her hand and a laughing, “See you next Saturday, my darling.”
“See you next week, babe,” she teases back, batting her eyes. It makes his stomach swoop in his chest and his own cheeks get warm.
It isn’t until David pulls in the driveway that Killian realizes his sweatshirt is gone.
Again.
Still.
As expected, Emma is wearing his damn sweater when she emerges from her home the next Saturday. She’s paired it with a pair of delightfully tight athletic shorts that cling to the arse he admires from the side mirror as she climbs in the backseat next to Mary Margaret.
The whole way to The Largest Corn Maze on the Eastern Seaboard, he feels like Emma is watching him from the backset, but every time he subtly looks back, her gaze is on Mary Margaret or out the window.
“Alright, are we doing boys versus girls or me and David versus the two of you?” Mary Magraret asks chipperly once they’ve all used the restroom and laced up their trainers. She rubs her hands together as if she’s plotting something. It is a sharp contrast to her usual benevolent nature and the discordance makes Killian smile.
“Does everything have to be a competition?” Emma groans. “We can just try to beat the average time or something.”
Mary Margaret looks aghast. “Excuse me, Emma, are you the person in charge of planning? No. Winners choose the movies for next week’s movie marathon and losers are in charge of food.” Her eyes flicker among the three of them. “So? Teams?”
But David is already inching closer to his girlfriend. There’s no way he wants to spend all day in a corn maze with his roommate. Killian rolls his eyes and drapes his arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I suppose we’re together again, love.” He looks down at her through his fringe, wriggling his eyebrows and pursing his lips. “I would love to watch a whole day of horror movies, myself.”
Emma grins and it makes warmth bloom in his chest. “It’s us against the forces of Disney and family friendly. I think we can take them.”
David’s words of blessing and approval a few weeks ago echo in Killian’s mind as he and Emma set off down a path a few minutes later, along with the way Emma had looked at him and talked with him and held his hand the weekend prior.
And then there’s the sweater that’s taken on a life of its own. The sweater he’s been obsessing over but too cowardly to ask about.
For the next hour, they work together as a team to navigate the complex maze. It is possible to just make it to the end, but the true nature of completing the task is to get marks on a small piece of cardstock along the way, hitting various checkpoints throughout the maze. They disagree often about which way to go, and Killian is often correct, but he doesn’t rub it in and Emma doesn’t seem too worked up about being proven wrong. Their arguments are all good-natured and never get beyond a roll of the eyes - on his end - and hands firmly on hips - on her end.
They’ve gotten a quarter of the requisite marks when Emma proposes they take a minute to sit on a pile of hay at a deadend. This time, he was the one who steered them in that direction. They pull out their water bottles and sit-side-by-side, quite close, and hydrate in peace.
“So,” Killian drawls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and fiddling with the closure of his water bottle. “Do you suppose our friends are actually trying to win this competition or have they stepped off the path to fuck in the corn?”
Emma’s surprised guffaw makes water spurt out of her mouth and down across her - his - sweater. She hastily wipes her chin with the cuff of the sweater and then brushes her hands down the front as if it will make a difference on the soaked fabric. Killian laughs at her.
“I suppose after being worn for a month’s worth of Saturdays it was due for a wash.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him and Killian’s stomach does somersaults.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been washing it every week. Unlike some people, I don’t just wear a sweater for days on end until it smells like my pits.”
There’s an admission there, one that she’s on the verge of making, and it gives Killian the opening he’s been waiting for. He reaches for the baggiest part of the sweater, on her shoulders, and tugs lightly, playfully.
“Is that why you stole it from me, Swan?” He ducks his chin and gives her a knowing look. “Wanted to smell my soap and my beard oil and my musk? You could have just asked to cuddle me instead.”
Emma looks at him for a long moment, eyes searching his own, until a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“First I stole it to see what you would do. But smelling like you was an unintended perk.”
Killian’s heart stops. Her smile becomes a little more solid.
“I think about freshman year every time I see you wear this.” Emma pulls at the collar of the sweater, hitching it up slightly, so that she can tuck her chin under the fabric and run the ridges of the neckline along her cheek. “I thought you were gonna take me to dinner to thank me for buying it for you.” The sweater covers her mouth and she keeps watching him, keeps searching his eyes.
Killian’s heart begins again, but it is going double time as the memories rush back to him. He had forgotten, actually, why it was his favorite sweater. Before the end of their first semester at university, Emma had discovered that her scholarship gave her a great deal of money that could only be used at the bookstore. She’d come rushing to the dorm he shared with David, searching for her brother, anxious for him to help her spend the last few hundred dollars before it disappeared from her account.
She’d found Killian instead.
They piled up a bunch of ridiculous merchandise on the counter, laughing and giggling at her spending spree. She’d been the one to select the sweatshirt, throwing it on top of the pile without explanation and digging it out of the bag to shove it into his hands as they stood together at the student union.
“For your help,” she laughed, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
“Always happy to help a damsel in distress,” he teased back.
And there had been a moment when he had almost kissed her.
But the conversation with David about respecting Emma and not breaking her heart and David not wanting to end up in the middle of something between his roommate and his sister was still fresh in his mind from a month prior. As lovely as Emma Swan was, it hadn’t seemed worth it to pursue her back then. He hadn’t trusted in himself not to fuck everything up. And he hadn’t believed someone like her would ever take someone like him seriously.
So he’d ignored the chemistry between them in order to protect both of them from harm.
And he’d been an idiot.
Liam’s correct. Bastard.
Emma’s still looking at him, the sweater right under the tip of her nose now, threatening to swallow her whole if this conversation goes poorly. She’s nervous. He can tell underneath her playfulness. Killian reaches out again, hooks two fingers around the neckline of the sweater, and pulls gently until it is back in place.
“Is it too late?” he asks seriously, letting her see the honesty and vulnerability in his expression. “Would you ever give me a chance to buy you that dinner and say thank you?”
Her smile is shaky and Emma’s eyes shift to the wall of corn beside them. She’s getting ready to deflect. He knows her too well. Killian’s fingers move so that he can brush them along the side of her jaw, gently urging her to look back at him.
Now or never.
“But I must warn you. If you let me buy you dinner, I will not be able to stop at that. I’m a greedy bastard. I would want you to spend the night in my bed, falling asleep in one of my t-shirts if you’re wearing anything at all.” Emma’s eyes widen. “And I’d want to spend all day tomorrow with you, only doing things that make you smile.” The way her lips part and tremble is like a candle in the night. Killian’s grip on her jaw tightens and he runs his thumb along her cheekbone. “Aye, just like that. Whatever you want, Swan. Whatever would make you happy.”
He sees the idea land in her mind the instant before she carries it out.
He doesn’t resist.
Emma’s kiss is firm and insistent and it soothes the part of him that had been getting nervous that he was foolishly reading his own hopes into this situation. Her kiss squashes any fears he had. She kisses him like she’s freezing and he’s a sweater, like she’s a basic bitch and he’s a pumpkin spice latte, like she’s starving for love and he’s starving to give it to her.
She kisses him like she never wants to stop.
And if not for the giggles nearby, they just might not. But they’re caught by a pack of teenagers who’d also made poor navigational choices, and they think the pair of them are a hoot.
“You guys are so cute!” one of them exclaims, clasping her hands in front of her chest and nearly swooning. Killian shakes his head slightly and gently squeezes the waist he’s still grasping. He turns his gaze back to Emma, hoping the teenagers will go away. Emma’s cheeks are a pleasing pink and she’s avoiding his eyes, looking up at the sky and obviously trying not to laugh. Killian does laugh and looks at the teenagers again.
“C’mon,” one of the girls says with a huff, tugging on a friend’s arm. “Stop being such perverts and let them get back to it.”
“Oh, alright,” another one frowns. She hesitates and then leans in, her voice dropping lower. “But you should know that they caught another couple fucking in the corn and they got kicked out.”
The girl looks frightened when both of them burst into laughter.
Mary Margaret and David were not, as it turned out, the couple who were fucking in the corn. In fact, from the impressiveness of their time, it appears that they were incredibly focused on their task. Killian and Emma, on the other hand, took every single dead end as an opportunity to make up for the last five years. When they rendezvous with their friends, each of them is sporting several impressive marks on their throats and they are holding hands and grinning like idiots.
“That took three weeks longer than it should have,” Mary Margaret says with an unimpressed eyebrow. She opens an orange cardboard box. “Here, have a cider donut.”
David looks torn between concern and begrudging pride. He opens his mouth and Emma cuts him off before he can speak.
“If you interfere, David, I’m telling Ruth about that weekend when you and James-” She gets no further. David stands up suddenly and claps a hand over her mouth.
“Noted,” he glowers. He eyes both of them before releasing his sister. “The two of you together is gonna be terrifying.”
Emma grins and wraps her arm around Killian’s waist. A warm feeling spreads across his chest, but this time he doesn’t let himself worry about getting his hopes up.
“Just wait until you taste the menu Killian and I are cooking for next weekend. The theme is gonna be too hot to handle.”
On the way home, Emma and David negotiate down from her cruelly-spicy menu and away from a day filled with saccharine Halloween movies. They come up with a compromise, and when the terms have been agreed upon, Emma grins at Killian triumphantly, takes his hand, and leans on his shoulder the rest of the way home.
It is so much like how it has always been. But much, much better.
And he even gets to see her in the sweater that night before they pass out in his bed. Just the sweater.
It is better than he had imagined.