Archive of Our Own ^beta

Emma doesn’t know Killian Jones very well. At all, really, he’s just sort of a name she hears on occasion with a vague image of a man to go along with it. A friend of a friend of a friend and all that. She’s probably spent time in the same room as him all of three times. Definitely not enough time for him to be hiding love letters inside of her European Lit textbook.

So, what she knows about Killian Jones now boils down to this; He’s kind of a creep. A sappy creep.

It’s not even that he left a love letter in her book, but he left a secret admirer letter in her book. The guy seems like a total cliche, from his flowery words to the sneaky way he’d slipped the note into her things. Mary Margaret and Belle had taken a bathroom break, because they have to go in pairs and she’d complain but she knows it’s one of those things girls with friends are taught and, well, she skipped the whole friends thing. So, while they ran to the bathroom, Emma decided to look for a reference book in the library shelves.

Enter one Killian Jones. Stage right, walking like he’s so sure of himself. Emma could laugh, so sure of himself he didn’t even have the balls to sign his name. She’d spotted him from the shelves just as he’d closed the book and he’d been gone before she could make it back to the table.

Mary Margaret and Belle had come back before Emma could find him and she’d had to stow the note. Now, she’s found it again, crumpled in her jacket pocket and just as annoyingly poetic as when she’d first read it.

“What’s that?” Ruby asks from the kitchen as Emma tosses her coat over the couch. Surprised, Emma looks up and fumbles for a moment. She shrugs and, caught off guard, goes with the truth.

“You know Killian Jones?” Emma asks. Ruby shrugs and Emma figures her interactions with the guy are about the same as her own. “He wrote me a love letter.”

“Really?” Ruby laughs, leaning against the wall and dangling a beer between her fingers. “He’s hot. You gonna hit that?”

“God, Ruby,” Emma frowns, rolling her eyes at her roommate. “I barely even know the guy.”

“That’s the lamest reason for not having sex you’ve ever given me,” Ruby sighs, lifting the bottle to her mouth and turning away from Emma. Shaking her head, Emma shoves the note back in her coat pocket and heads down the hall towards her room, carefully evading Ruby’s discarded pumps from the night before. She has a paper to write, Killian Jones and his misplaced affections can wait.

-/-

The next day, she spots him crossing campus with his friend Robin - who is friends with David, who’s dating Mary Margaret, thus completing Emma’s four degrees of Killian Jones. She has about a half an hour until her first class and is willing to sacrifice five minutes before she gets her coffee to talk to him. She has to jog across the grass of the quad to catch up to them, earning herself some glares from barely awake college students, but manages to grab their attention.

“Emma, hey,” Robin greets first. Emma offers him the best smile she can muster this early in the morning. “I haven’t seen you lately, how are you?”

“Ah, you know,” Emma shrugs, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. There’s a knot in her shoulder that she thinks has been there since orientation three years ago. “Busy.”

Robin nods understandingly. Emma figures she’s probably being rude not asking the question in return, but once she’s finished with her busy week she’s sure she’ll see him at a party this weekend. Besides, she’s willing to sacrifice five minutes, not her entire allotted coffee time. She turns to Killian.

“Killian, can I talk to you for a minute?” She asks. Killian frowns, brow pinching in confusion, but nods. He asks Robin to grab him his tea before Robin bids Emma a goodbye.

“Everything alright, Swan?” Killian inquires once they’re alone, as alone as the busy quad will afford anyway. She’s used to the nickname from him, despite their non-friendship. It’s usually a smug “alright there, Swan” when she stumbles, buzzed in a pair of too high heels, or a challenging “fancy a game of beer pong, Swan” when she catches him playing. Emma isn’t actually sure why she’s never questioned the endearment, considering she doesn’t think any of her friends actually use it to talk about her.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, a little haltingly. Emma likes to think herself a brave person, but she’s never been good at this stuff. Now that she actually has him in front of her, her nerve is waning. She tugs the crumpled note from the pocket of her red leather jacket. She holds it up for him, forcing a calm confidence into her voice. “I just wanted to talk about this. Look, I’m flattered and all, really, but we barely even know each other. I just think whatever you think you’re feeling for me it might be a little misplaced.”

Killian is looking between her and the note she’s holding aloft. There’s a definite confusion and something else Emma doesn’t recognize on him - is that embarrassment? - and Emma’s words fail her. They stand like that for a minute, annoyed students pushing past and around them on the sidewalk, before Killian laughs. He actually laughs, lifting a hand to his chest and everything, and Emma feels like she’s missing out on the joke.

“Is this how you cope with rejection?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, fingers tightening around the piece of paper.

“No, sorry, darling,” Killian says, sobering and shaking his head. Emma bristles a little at the endearment, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s just that, I’m sorry to say, that note wasn’t intended for you.”

“It wasn’t?” Her arms fall from her chest in surprise and Killian shakes his head. He looks a bit like he might start laughing again and Emma will absolutely punch him if he does. “How did it get in my book, then?”

“Ah,” Killian nods once, no longer looking amused by the situation as he lifts the hand on his chest to scratch behind his ear. “I must’ve put it in the wrong book, easy mix up, I suppose.”

“When you were creeping around the library?” Emma points out.

“I wasn’t creeping,” Killian says, affronted at the accusation. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“You didn’t even sign your name,” she says, holding the note up again. She unfolds it between her fingers, but Killian snatches it from her before she can read the note again.

“Sort of the point of a secret admirer, wouldn’t you say?” He’s frowning now and Emma figures this could have gone better. At least she hadn’t actually had to reject him, she supposes. Either way, this is starting to severely cut into the time she has for a coffee run before her class.

She waves a hand to dismiss Killian. “Whatever, next time just put your sappy crap in the right person’s book, alright?”

With that, she turns to take her leave. Robin had headed in the direction of the closer, more expensive coffee spot on campus. Emma’s tastes were more cheap and heavily caffeinated, her coffee shop in the opposite direction.

“This actually may be a happy accident, love,” Killian says, falling into step next to her. Emma gives him a wide eyed look at his sudden reappearance. The whole point had been to leave him.

“How’s that?” She asks, immediately knowing she’ll regret it.

“This sappy crap, as you so delicately put it, was intended for a friend of yours,” he explains. Emma hums in response because, yeah, she’d figured as much. “That being the case, perhaps you’d be up for helping me win her heart.”

Emma halts in her steps. Killian makes it two more steps before he realizes and turns to face her, an eyebrow raised.

“You want me to be your pimp?” She asks dryly. Killian heaves a great sigh, as if she were the one making this whole thing difficult, and takes a step towards her.

“You’re quite crass, Swan, do you know that?” He asks. Emma shrugs, she’s heard that once or twice. “No, I just mean help me to woo her. A lady deserves a proper courting.”

“God, who are you?” Emma groans.

Ignoring her, Killian continues, “It’s been a while since I had feelings for someone, I admit. I’m not sure if she feels the same for me, but perhaps you could help me figure it out.”

“No,” Emma answers immediately, stepping around him to continue down the pathway. She hears Killian groan behind her before following.

“Don’t you think you owe me?” He asks and Emma scoffs. “You did read a very personal letter of mine, reject me, and then mock me. I’m hardly asking the world of you here, Swan.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Emma huffs, looking up towards the heavens as she stops again. This time Killian crashes into her back, stumbling backwards when she whirls around on him. “Fine, whatever, I’ll find out if whoever it is likes you back, alright? Just let me get my coffee, please.”

Killian’s eyes light up and he nods.

“But, let’s get this straight,” Emma continues, jabbing her index finger into his chest. Killian frowns, looking down at the offending digit before pushing it away gently. “This is not tricking her into liking you if she doesn’t, it’s not elaborate ways for you to win her or whatever. I will find out how she feels about you, that’s it.”

“Of course,” Killian nods. “Her feelings for me are just as important as the reverse.”

“I assume it’s not Mary Margaret because that’s just barking up the wrong tree,” Emma says and Killian smirks at her. “So, Belle, right? I’ll ask her, alright?”

“You can’t just ask her if she likes me,” Killian insists, a little panic in his voice. “She’ll know I sent you.”

“Oh my God, are we twelve?” Emma asks, rolling her eyes tremendously. He glares at her.

“Just be subtle about it, won’t you?” He asserts. “Assuming you’re capable of such a thing.”

Emma offers him a tight smirk. “Don’t worry, Romeo, I won’t hire a sky writer or anything.”

She turns again, intent on actually leaving him behind this time. Instead, she hears him call out, “If that was meant as an insult, that’s one of the greatest romantic stories of all time.”

“They both die at the end,” Emma reminds him, spinning back just long enough to flip him the bird and spot the answering chuckle that lights up his face.

-/-

She’d expected to see Belle again before the weekend, but their schedules haven’t meshed. It doesn’t help that the girl is more of Mary Margaret’s friend than her own. On a normal week, Emma might see Belle around the loft as she waits for Mary Margaret to get ready for an outing or they’d all - Mary Margaret, Emma, Belle, and Ruby - meet for a coffee break-slash-study session.

That’s midterms for you, though. Everyone scrambling to get their late work turned in, information crammed into their brain, procrastinated papers written. In the past three days she’s seen two people crying quietly in her coffee shop, three people yelling at the printer techs at the library, and one guy actually passed out on the grass of the quad.

College is a trip. Emma never thought she’d be so grateful to hear Ruby bearing news of a party. They need it.

“Where is it?” Mary Margaret asks, heating water on the stove for hot cocoa. Emma usually just goes with microwave but Mary Margaret’s is always better.

“One of Will’s buddy’s place,” Ruby says with a dismissive shrug, clearly not as interested in the actual details.

“Will?” Emma groans, slouching back into the couch. “All of his friends are shady as hell. I want to be able to drink without threat of being drugged.”

“His friends are shady in the hand you a pot brownie way,” Ruby counters. “Not the slip you a roofie way. If I thought you were into that, I’d take you to a frat party, okay? We’ll just keep an eye out for each other like always and it’ll be fine.”

Emma shrugs in concession and the tea kettle on the stove whistles, pulling Mary Margaret from the conversation. Ruby’s right, she has to admit, there are worse goings on around some parties than some weed. Besides, they’re girls in college, it’s not like they’re ever really safe. All she knows is she needs a full liter of rum in her system and she can almost guarantee Will’s friend will have that.

“Besides,” Ruby continues, as if she hasn’t already convinced them. There’s a tone to her voice that Emma recognizes as trouble. “I’m sure Killian Jones will be there.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pressing herself further into the couch. She hasn’t seen Killian since their initial exchange on campus and she still doesn’t really know how to react to that whole mess. She should maybe feel a little embarrassed, a little annoyed at the way he’d laughed at her thinking the note was for her. It was a little absurd, considering their few interactions, but still. He didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

“Why should that matter?” Mary Margaret asks, genuine confusion coloring her tone as she places a mug down on the coffee table in front of Emma, cradling one in her hands for herself. Whipcream overflows the top of both, brown flecks of cinnamon decorating the topping.

“He wrote Emma a love letter,” Ruby sing songs. Mary Margaret turns a surprised look on Emma who is already shaking her head as best she can from her spot nearly inside of the couch cushions.

“Didn’t I tell you?” She asks. “It wasn’t meant for me.”

“Then who was it meant for?” Ruby inquires, hands on her hips as she stares Emma down as though she might be lying about this. Emma could tell them, they are her best friends and roommates and if they think about it the answer will probably become obvious. Then again, Emma hadn’t mentioned when she’d received the note. And, as much as she loves them both, Ruby is a horrible gossip and Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.

Better let Killian’s crush stay between the two of them for now.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Emma lies easily, leaning forward to grab her own mug off the table. She drags her index finger over the top of the whipped cream, popping it in her mouth. “It’s not like we’re friends, really, why would he tell me?”

Ruby seems to accept this, shrugging and heading into the kitchen. She comes back with a can of Coke and sits down on the couch as well, causing Mary Margaret to squeeze into Emma’s side. Emma huffs as her ribs press uncomfortably into the sturdy arm. They need a bigger couch. Unaffected by what is normal behavior for them all, Ruby starts talking about what they should wear to the party. It’s standard procedure, Ruby picks out everyone’s outfits in her head ahead of time and neither Emma nor Mary Margaret wear what she tells them.

“Hey,” Emma says, nudging Mary Margaret with her elbow. “You should invite Belle.”

-/-

“Swan!” Killian calls as he ambles into the living room. The party is in a nice house off campus, big enough that Emma figures more than one person is paying rent. Emma raises an eyebrow at him as Killian nearly stumbles right into her, clearly well on his way to sloshed.

“Whoa there, pal,” she says, catching him by the arm just enough to steady him. His drink, rum if his smell is anything to go by, spills over the edge of his cup and he grins at her once he’s standing mostly upright again.

“So, you’ve got this under control, right?” Ruby asks teasingly before stepping around them, surprising Emma with her lack of interest to stay and hear the conversation. Emma turns to follow her movement and spots Victor waiting for Ruby in the doorway. Boy, some best friend.

“Tell me, Swan,” Killian says in a stage whisper. She wonders how long he’s been here and, more importantly, if he has someone to get him home. “Have you talked to you-know-who yet? Does she love me?”

“No, I’ve been busy,” Emma tells him, though she doubts he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow. “And lucky for you, Belle is busy tonight. I gotta tell ya, Jones, this whole wasted and needy look? It doesn’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me, darling,” he responds, surprisingly lucid as he presses suddenly into her space. Emma swallows at the brightness of his eyes, blue irises contrasting the red bloodshot of his eyes. Then, like a flipped switch, he’s slouching again as he leans his weight heavily onto her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” she says, leaning her head away from him and breathing through her mouth. Suddenly her own rum in her hand has become unappealing. “Maybe it’s time you call it a night, huh?”

Killian turns his head into her shoulder and mumbles something unintelligible, the scruff on his jaw catching in her t-shirt and the corner of his lips moving against the bare skin of her shoulder. She suppresses a shudder and considers that maybe Ruby is right, it’s been too long if something so small from a drunken idiot is affecting her.

“Aw, well don’t the pair of you make a pretty picture?” A voice calls from the doorway, making it over the loud din of the party and the music that seems to be playing from everywhere and nowhere. Emma groans loudly and Killian cuddles a little further into her neck.

“Scarlet,” she responds, swiveling her head uncomfortably to be able to see the man. She lifts the hand holding her cup and gestures towards the useless lump clinging to her side. “I think you lost this.”

Will chuckles as he crosses the room to join them. He does, at least, unstick Killian from her side and hoist him upwards. His cup is completely empty now, the contents ruining the finish on the wood floor beneath them. Killian lets out an uncomfortable groan at the shift, his eyes fluttering.

“Let this be a cautionary tale against pre-gaming,” Will jokes, but Emma is frowning at Killian as he shifts his weight against Will. “Don’t worry about him, Emma. He’ll sleep it off in the upstairs bathroom and be good as new in the morning.”

Emma isn’t worried because worry would involve an interest or affection towards someone. Killian Jones is a nuisance to whom she, sort of, owes a favor. So, she tips her glass at Will and turns to leave the living room. Ruby and Victor are probably doing something unseemly in a dark corner somewhere but Mary Margaret and David are usually pretty chill at these things. She’ll find her friends and worry - or not worry, definitely not worry - about Killian tomorrow.

-/-

Emma wakes up in the morning with a slight hangover and the unshakable feeling of concern for Killian.

She takes an aspirin and convinces herself there's no way for her to check on him, so it's pointless to worry. She does her laundry down on the first floor of their building, runs out to pick up milk and eggs, and follows her usual day off routine.

It doesn't make her feel any better about leaving him in the questionably capable hands of Will Scarlet. Emma doesn't have Killian's number, because up until this very moment, she's never needed it. She does, however, have David’s number. So, she asks him for Killian's. It takes him a surprising amount of time to get back to her, for a Saturday afternoon, and she thinks he may have had to get it from Robin. But, eventually, she has his number. So, with minimal humming and hawing, she texts him.

How ya feelin slugger

Funny you should phrase it as such. I do feel strongly as though someone took a Louisville to my frontal lobe.

Emma actually chuckles at the image he's created. He'd been so far gone last night, for all he knows someone very well may have. She considers saying this, but decides she's sated her curiosity - that's what this is, not concern - for the day.

At least ur alive this is Emma btw

I know.

She frowns at the response and sets her phone aside, deciding not to engage in a conversation of how he knows. Maybe Robin had asked before just handing his number out to every girl who asked for it, she'd expect that courtesy from her own friends. Regardless, Emma decides to leave well enough alone and focus on other things.

She’s sorting through her laundry when her phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. She ignores it, tossing aside a shirt she’d borrowed from Ruby and making a mental note to return it to her room. It goes off twice more, right in a row, after she’s created a stack of folded towels on the coffee table. Curiosity getting the best of her, Emma tosses a half folded pair of jeans back in the basket and crosses the room to the kitchen counter.

How goes the crusade for my accursed love life?

You know, most men would find your silence off putting.

I love a challenge.

Rolling her eyes, Emma wonders why she couldn’t have been the one to take that baseball bat to his cranium last night. She moves to put the phone back down and ignore the question entirely, but thinks better of it. The sooner she can get this Shakespearean farce over, the better.

Ever consider i might just be busy

Almost immediately the little grey dots pop up, signalling her of his response. She wonders if he’s this desperate, this bored, or both. He doesn’t seem the type to be embarrassed by his feelings, though. More the kind to wear it on his sleeve, consequences be damned. It makes her wonder why he’s pulling out all the cloak-and-dagger stops for Belle.

Busy avoiding me, perhaps. You’re not reconsidering helping me, are you?

His perfect grammar is becoming irritating. Emma considers, for a moment, saying yes. Trying to remove herself from this ridiculously teenage situation. She thinks about it, though, and where’s the harm really? She’s not trying to convince Belle to have feelings for Killian, no schemes to make her fall in love with him. Belle either has feelings for KIllian or she doesn’t, anything beyond that is out of her hands.

Nope i haven’t talked to her yet tho i’ll let you know when i do

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

-/-

Mary Margaret met Belle during Spring semester of last year and began including her in group things at the beginning of this semester when she discovered they had another class together. Emma likes Belle, she’s smart and witty with a sense of humor dry enough to keep up with Ruby and a generosity to rival even Mary Margaret’s. She fits well into their little group of friends, even if Emma really still doesn’t know her that well.

But Emma’s always been good at keeping her distance from people. It’s kind of her schtick.

So, it would definitely be weird to invite Belle out for coffee or to the library just to ask her about Killian. Subtle isn’t Emma’s strong suit, she prefers a straightforward approach to most things. But, admittedly, it’s not her feelings on the line here. It deserves a light touch. Which means she has to wait until they all get together for dinner one night, on Mary Margaret’s insistence that they deserve it after midterm stress.

“Somewhere that doesn’t take a meal plan,” she’d said.

“And doesn’t card,” Ruby had piped up with a smirk. Emma can’t deny that a nice meal she won’t have to clean up and some wine sounds amazing. So, they set a date for Thursday night when they all have afternoon classes, or no classes in the lucky case of Ruby, the next day.

Emma thinks about texting Killian, just to let him know she’s finally going to be seeing Belle, but decides against it. If it doesn’t go the way he wants, she doesn’t want him bugging her for an answer. Not to mention every time she tries to text him something simple, she ends up getting sucked into a debate over something ridiculous. It’s happened on more than one occasion over the few days she’s had his number.

Emma is not proud of it.

She convinces herself she’ll get a moment alone with Belle to just ask about Killian and feel out Belle’s feelings towards him. When it doesn’t come, but the wine certainly does, Emma makes her own moment.

“Hey, do you know Killian Jones?” Belle’s just come off the end of a story about an encounter at her job in the library and Emma pretty much surprises the whole table with the question.

“Uh, yes,” Belle nods, an amused quirk to her brow but otherwise unperturbed by the sudden inquiry. “We shared a class last year.”

“He’s in our Political Theory class, isn’t he?” Mary Margaret asks and Belle nods in response.

“What do you think of him?” Emma presses, ignoring the way Ruby is burning holes into the side of her face with her gaze. She’s aware of what this probably looks like, but, dammit, this is the route she chose. She’s sticking with it.

“He’s, uh,” Mary Margaret says, struggling to come up with a descriptor. It doesn’t bode well for Killian, really, considering Mary Margaret can rarely find a bad word to say about anyone. Lucky for him, her roommate isn’t the one he’s interested in. Finally, Mary Margaret decides on, “Eccentric.”

Emma hides a smirk behind her wine glass.

“He’s not bad,” Belle insists, shaking her head. “You haven’t known him as long as I have, we’ve spent some time together. He’s just an acquired taste is all.”

“Yeah, like malt liquor,” Emma comments, more to herself. “Or bleach.”

“Really,” Belle says, shaking her head even as her eyes twinkle at the comparison. “He’s a good guy. He just likes his dramatics. Once you get to know him, he’s good company and actually very intelligent.”

“And hot,” Ruby adds, lifting her own glass to her lips. “He’s definitely hot.”

Emma ignores her, focusing on Belle, and asks, “So, are you, like, interested in him?”

“No,” Belle says immediately and there’s maybe a little bit of defensiveness there. Something which would, usually, tell Emma a person is lying. She doesn’t think Belle is now. Her brow is pinched, though, as she studies her nearly empty plate and Emma wonders if she hasn’t unintentionally planted a seed.

Emma thinks of magic beans and beanstalks that grow over night, murderous giants waiting to devour humans at the top. God, she hopes she hasn’t just unwittingly sold her soul for someone else’s goose.

-/-

“Okay, what the hell was that at dinner?” Ruby asks, cornering her in the apartment. Mary Margaret is still unlacing her tennis shoes by the door, but seems interested in the answer as well. Emma covers a yawn with her palm and heads towards the fridge, away from them.

“What are you talking about?” She asks, searching for a bottle of water. It’s not hard to figure out which part, exactly, Ruby is referring to. But, Emma is fully prepared to play dumb for as long as she can get away with it.

“What is going on with you and Killian Jones?” Ruby presses. There’s no water in the fridge, so Emma pushes the door closed and turns to the sink. She pulls down a glass and turns on the tap. Ruby continues, over the sound of the water, “You’re not subtle, Emma. What was that about?”

“I was just curious if Belle knew him,” Emma says, shrugging as she turns back to her friends. She sips from the glass and avoids their eyes.

“What brought on this sudden bout of curiosity?” Mary Margaret asks this time, leaning against the couch. When Emma refuses to answer, focused instead on the small chip in the lip of her glass, Ruby gives a dramatic huff and throws her hands up in the air.

“Emma, come on, seriously?” She says. “First he gives you a love letter that isn’t actually for you and now you’re acting all secretive about him. This is all so ridiculous, we’re your best friends. Can’t you tell us?”

Letting out a long, frustrated groan, Emma opens the dishwasher and places her glass on the top rack. When she turns back, Ruby and Mary Margaret are watching her expectantly. She’s tired, and a little buzzed, and she knows that she should keep Killian’s secret. But, well, if they infer it on their own, it’s not her fault.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” she says cryptically. Mary Margaret’s eyebrows raise while Ruby gives her a calculating look. It’s not hard to figure out, Ruby had laid all the facts out there for them herself. Now, all they have to do is put the pieces together and this charade will be over. Emma sighs. “I’m really tired. Thanks for dinner, guys, it was fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She crosses into the living room and heads past them, down the hall towards her bedroom. On the way, she pulls out her phone and texts Killian to meet her outside of the library tomorrow. Whether or not Ruby and Mary Margaret figure it out, tomorrow she washes her hands of it.

-/-

He brings her coffee, which almost makes it better. It’s bitter, the cream-to-sugar ratio not quite right, but the gesture is there. And the caffeine. That’s definitely there. He’s sitting on a bench outside the library waiting for her and, when she doesn’t sit, stands to join her.

“I take it you’ve spoken to the lady Belle,” he says and Emma frowns at the term. He’s so odd sometimes, she can understand Mary Margaret’s use of the term “eccentric”. There’s a smirk dancing at his lips. “Or have I simply endeared myself to you?”

“Endearing isn’t a descriptor I’d use for you,” Emma responds dryly. “We had dinner last night.”

“You look as though you’re about to tell me you drowned my cat,” he comments.

“I don’t-” Emma starts to argue, but Killian cuts her off.

“So, she doesn’t share my affections?” He asks. Emma lets out a huff, not interested in hurting him, but eager to be done with this whole mess.

“Honestly, I think the potential is there,” Emma says, moving her shoulders in a heavy shrug. The strap of her bag squeaks against the leather of her jacket. “I’m not saying you should try to force it, but maybe all hope has not been lost.”

Killian studies her with a critical eye. “You don’t strike me as one to put much stock in maybes and hopefullys.”

“I’m not,” She admits. Hope is just one more of her weaknesses, she’s never had much to show for it in the past. It’s something she gave up on believing in a long time ago. Still. “But, I guess, that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

He seems to consider this for a long, quiet moment. Emma has her out, she could walk away and never have to be a part of this again. Something in her makes her stay, that insatiable curiosity peeking it’s head up again. It has whiskers and a tail and one day it’s going to die for the trouble.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks suddenly, her voice startling Killian out of his own head. He raises an eyebrow, but nods at her. “You don’t seem like the kinda guy to be vague or subtle about his feelings. So, why are you skirting around it with Belle?”

It’s an assumption based on their interactions at best, an intuition at worst. His cocky smirks and smug attitude, the words he’d written in that note she’d thought was for her. Killian Jones doesn’t seem like the type of man to shy away from what he wants.

“Ah,” he nods, eyelids fluttering self consciously as he directs his gaze away from hers. He lifts a hand to scratch behind his ear, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “You’ve never been afraid to submit yourself to the possibility of heartbreak, Swan?”

Emma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. He’s got her there, she supposes. Courageous and straightforward as she likes to think herself, how many times has she allowed her own fears to hold her back? It’s not something she’s actually interested in sharing with him, though, so she shrugs. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Killian smirks like he can see right through her and Emma finally walks away.

-/-

She isn’t sure how she becomes Killian’s friend. It honestly isn’t through any conscious effort on her part, but suddenly he’s everywhere. Emma doesn’t know what’s more annoying, the fact that he thinks they’re friends or the that she’s not as annoyed about that as she thinks she should be.

Either way, apparently they’re friends now. Nothing to be done for it.

“Can I talk to you about something?” He asks, an unexpected hesitation to his voice. It’s been a few weeks and she’s seen or texted with him almost every day since the whole Belle thing. Sometimes he just catches her on campus and walks to her class with her, sometimes they make actual plans to get coffee or go to the library. It’s not the worst friendship she’s ever had.

“You say that as if you’re ever not talking,” Emma says, raising her eyebrow at him. Killian gives her an unimpressed look, a sarcastic smirk twitching at his lips. She blinks at him.

“I am trying to be serious here, Swan,” he says with a sigh. “Will you allow me a few moments free from that quick wit of yours while I ask your opinion on something?”

“Sure,” she nods, surprised by his sincerity. It’s not that he can’t be serious, it’s just that it’s a rare thing. She thinks it’s probably a front for some deeper issues, she remembers him sloppy drunk two hours into that party, but who is she to talk, really?

“It’s about Belle,” he explains.

“Oh,” Emma responds, eyebrows raising in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were still…”

“Aye, I am still,” Killian says, an amused tilt to his mouth now. “I am trying to decide on the best course of action, the best way to woo her.”

“Woo?” Emma echoes. God, she still isn’t used to how weird he can be.

“I’ve been considering the letter I mistakenly slipped you,” he continues on, ignoring her. “I think I’ve discovered the fatal flaw in that attempt.”

“That you put it in the wrong girl’s book?” Emma asks.

“No,” Killian argues, shaking his head and clearly missing Emma’s tone. This is exactly the kind of crap she wanted to be done with. They haven’t talked about Belle or the misadventures of Killian’s love life since they started hanging out. Here he goes ruining it. “No, I revealed too much of myself in it. It’s off putting, understandably, to have a stranger admit their feelings in full all at one. What I need to do is mix glimpses into my own feelings with words that match them.”

“What?” Emma asks when he pauses long enough to make it clear he’s waiting for her input.

“Poetry, Swan, I need poetry,” he explains and Emma groans. Once more, he ignores her. “Belle is a reader, she’s bloody brilliant. I can think of no better way to show my affections for her than to do it in literary form.”

“Okay,” Emma says slowly. The point makes sense. That whole note had been overwhelming when she’d thought it was for her, but Belle seems like the type who could appreciate a more romantic, poetic approach. It’s still stupid, in Emma’s opinion, but she isn’t gonna tell Killian what to do. “And you’re telling me this because?”

“Well,” Killian frowns, staring down at the round table between them. He twists his coffee cup in one hand, scratches at the back of his ear with the other. “I just thought I’d get your opinion.”

“My…?” Emma starts and then sighs. She brushes her palm over the table, knocking the crumbs from her bear claw to the floor. “I mean, the whole letter thing wouldn’t really work for me, but, Belle isn’t me.”

“So, you think it’s a good idea?”

“No, I think it’s a terrible idea,” she asserts, meeting his eye. “But, I also think you should try it anyway.”

“Emma Swan,” he smirks. “You’re a softy.”

Groaning, she pushes her chair away from the table and stands, taking her half empty coffee with her. Killian is chuckling as he stands to join her as she heads for the door of the coffee shop.

“I immediately regret helping you,” she comments, earning a full blown laugh.

-/-

“What should I write?” Killian asks. Emma doesn’t even glance up from her laptop screen to answer him. The library is packed with students she recognizes from her psychology class all working on the same paper.

“‘Do you like me’,” she says. “‘Check yes or no’.”

“I’m being serious here, Swan,” Killian gripes, sending a dark look her way. The poutiness of it translates even over her laptop. Sighing, Emma presses her fingers to her temple, knocking her glasses slightly askew. It’s only been a few days since she had to order new contacts and she misses them already.

“I’ve told you I think this whole love letter thing is stupid, right?” She asks, because it’s good to be thorough.

“Aye,” He says. “Several times.”

“And yet you continue to ask for my advice,” she observes, dropping her hand back to the keys of her computer and finishing typing the thought he’d cut off. “Continue to involve me in this at all. I’m pretty sure I’ve done my part.”

“Have you considered that I just enjoy your company, love?” He asks and she can hear the smirk in his voice even with her eyes trained steadfastly on the document in front of her. She needs to finish this before everyone overloads the library’s printers.

“Don’t try to butter me up so I’ll help you write your sonnets or whatever,” she throws back easily. Killian huffs and she sees the movement of him sitting back in his chair, hears the sound of his pen rolling across the table.

“They’re not sonnets,” he says, clearly grumpy at her refusal to help. She wonders if maybe he’s suffering from writer’s block. Is it still called that when you’re trying to write a shitty love letter to a girl you secretly admire? How in the hell does she get herself into this shit?

“Look, this paper is worth a huge portion of my grade in a class I kind of suck at, alright?” She says, pausing in her work to make eye contact. Emma isn’t trying to blow him off, really, and she’s actually grateful for the company. It’s just that this is way more important than his kind of pitiful affairs of the heart. “Let me get this finished and then I’ll help you find the least awful books of poetry here.”

Killian sits forward, studying her for sincerity. She thinks it’s a mostly lighthearted gesture and he confirms it when he sets his palm on the table and grins at her. “Well then, work, work, work, darling. And I’ll supply the coffee.”

Emma shakes her head, fingers moving across the keys once more, as Killian pushes himself from his seat and heads towards the front of the library and, presumably, the coffee cart just outside the doors.

“Not too much cream!” She calls at the last minute, ignoring the annoyed looks from the students around her. He spins on his toe, offering her a flourished salute, and disappears around the corner.

-/-

They’re getting dangerously close to the holidays. The temperature has dropped and most students rush across campus, no longer interested in basking in the weather now that the wind has taken on a chill. Emma works campus security and gets stuck with the shitty Thursday shift more often than she’d like, meaning she doesn’t get home until 5 AM at the earliest.

Mary Margaret is usually supposed to be waking up for her own early job with the campus hosted daycare system. Emma peels her gloves from her fingers and tosses them on the couch, moving quietly down the hall in her thick socks. Her bright yellow coat, which lets everyone know she’s security, is loose on her frame and fits over top of a sweatshirt and her leather jacket.

Opening Mary Margaret’s door slowly, Emma walks inside and crawls into the empty side of the bed. She wraps the warm comforter around herself, pulling it all the way up over her chilled nose, and wraps her hands around Mary Margaret’s bare forearm.

“Jesus, Emma,” Mary Margaret squeals, tugging her arm away from the touch. Emma chuckles to herself, bunching her cold fingers up in the comforter. Mary Margaret shifts, rolling over to face Emma, and cradles her head in her arm. “How was work?”

“Boring,” Emma shrugs. “I did help some poor drunk dude puke in a gutter, though. One hell of a way to start my Friday.”

“At least you’re not the grounds person who has to clean it up,” Mary Margaret offers, always finding that silver lining. Emma nods in reluctant agreement.

“Last I saw David, he was barely holding on to consciousness,” Emma says. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen in concern. “Don’t worry, I drove him home. But, don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from him until this afternoon.”

David works with Emma in campus security. They usually work the same schedule and patrol around the same residence halls. Emma likes working with him, she likes David, really. It makes sense that Mary Margaret would have found someone just as lovely as her to fall in love with.

Mary Margaret rolls over quickly to check the clock on her nightstand before rolling back with a sigh. “Thanks for waking me up.”

Emma nods, her eyes falling shut. They’ve done this ritual before, Emma waking Mary Margaret up when she gets home. Sometimes it’s the only time she gets to see her roommate in the day, if she’s saddled with another night shift the next night, and it makes her miss Mary Margaret. Usually, she can make it to her own bed before she passes out, but Mary Margaret’s never complained when she falls asleep here.

“Can I ask you something?” Mary Margaret asks after a few moments. It startles Emma back into awareness and she shifts to keep herself alert, nodding. “What’s going on with you and Killian?”

Emma is too tired to be defensive. “We’re friends, I think. I dunno. I did a favor for him last month and now we hang out sometimes.”

“With Belle, you mean? The favor,” Mary Margaret clarifies and Emma nods, humming in response. “So, he still has feelings for her?”

“Yeah, he’s trying to navigate them, I guess,” Emma admits, eyelids pulling shut again. She rubs her face against the pillow beneath her and forces them to open again. “Don’t tell her, okay? He’s weird.”

Mary Margaret chuckles at that and Emma feels the bed shift. Her eyes have closed again, but she doesn’t remember allowing them to. She’s wondering if she’d actually opened them at all. She should really go to her own room.

“Alright, I won’t,” Mary Margaret agrees, sounding far away. Emma imagines she’s standing at her closet now, tries to convince her body to move so she can give her some privacy.

The next time Mary Margaret speaks, she’s right next to the bed. Emma is struggling to pull herself into alertness. “Just, be careful, Emma. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“How would I get hurt?” Emma asks, the words muffled by the pillow her face is buried in. Mary Margaret gives a soft laugh, her fingers moving through the hair that escapes Emma’s beanie, but doesn’t answer. Or, if she does, Emma is no longer awake to hear it.

-/-

Halloween is always kind of annoying, between the offensive costumes and the overtly drunk people, but it’s a special kind of annoying when Emma is stuck working it. David had actually managed to get off for it, the bastard, but at least Graham and Mulan are in the same boat as her. It’s gonna be a long night of escorting the inebriated to their dorms and keeping people from puking in the flowerbeds.

Ruby had tried valiantly to get Emma to ditch work and go to a party with them. Already swimming in debt, Emma didn’t really think getting fired from the on-campus job she’s had since freshman year was a good idea. Ruby had been dressed as a sexy Red Riding Hood, of all things, when Emma last saw her.

Technically, with it being a weekday, their shift is only until 2:30 AM. Emma is sure they’ll all end up sticking around for a while afterwards, though, the parties unlikely to end that early. They’d pretty much been told as much by a supervisor, if calls for escorts were still coming in, they would be expected to help people get where they needed to go. It’s the same every year, but usually Emma can get the night off.

The first few hours are always slow, them all patrolling their own assigned residence halls. Some people, too lazy to walk or headed too far off campus, call for rides to their respective parties, but not many. Graham makes awful jokes over the radios and Mulan reminds him that they’re supposed to keep the channel clear. It’s all pretty routine, the only difference in the gaudy and over-the-top outfits most of the people who pass her are sporting.

It isn’t until a little after two, when Emma’s feet are really starting to hurt and the cold air from the constantly opening doors is starting to get to her, that Graham’s voice crackles over the radio apprehensively. “Um, Emma, there’s someone here looking for you.”

“What?” Emma asks, lifting her own radio towards her mouth. “Who?”

“Swan!” The voice coming through the radio now is definitely not Graham’s. A little higher in pitch, the vowels a little smoother and more distinct. Emma shakes her head. “I need an escort.”

There’s feedback from the radio, the sound of the button being pressed and released a few times from the other end, before Graham takes control again. “Maybe you should just come get him, Emma.”

Unable to contain her smirk at Graham’s annoyance, Emma assures him she’ll be right there and heads towards the door at the end of the hall. It takes her about eight minutes to get from her residence hall, a Junior/Senior accommodation, to Graham’s, one of the Freshman halls. When she arrives Graham is watching Killian apprehensively as he studies a doodle on a white board hanging from one of the doors.

“Does this belong to you?” Graham asks dryly, waving his hand towards the transfixed Killian. Emma throws him a sarcastic smile while Killian, hearing him, turns to face her. His face lights up when his gaze lands on her and Emma heads down the hall towards him.

“Swan,” he says, a beatific grin blossoming across his face. “You’re here!”

“And you’re drunk,” she comments. Killian chuckles.

“The tell of a good outing,” he says, raising a hand to tap his finger against the side of his nose. When he misses, he looks down to inspect his finger with a frown. Emma tries to temper her smile as she returns her gaze to Graham.

“He lives off campus,” she explains, ignoring the way Graham is surveying them. There’s a knowing glint to his eye and Emma doesn’t know exactly what he thinks he knows, doesn’t think that she wants to. “I’ll get him home. Radio me if you need anything.”

Graham nods, but Emma is already pulling Killian gently by the arm out of the dorms. She doesn’t even know how he’d gotten in, the halls are only accessible with the appropriate key cards. It’s something she can ask Graham later, she figures. They have to walk to the security office to borrow one of the escort vehicles for off campus. She watches Killian warily as they walk, concerned he might throw up or pass out.

“So,” she says, earning Killian’s attention. “What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?”

“I’m a pirate, darling,” he says matter-of-factly, bowing in her direction. He manages the action while still walking down the pathway and Emma inwardly commends him for the coordination while also being wasted. She should have guessed, really, with the dramatic leather duster and the chains hanging around his neck. It’s good he can answer her, though, makes her concern for him dropping unconscious at any moment lessen.

“Aren’t you cold?” Emma asks, waving her hand towards where his vest bares an almost obscene amount of his sternum. Killian’s eyes flash, a smirk growing on his lips, and she immediately regrets asking.

“Why?” He asks. “Interested in helping me warm up?”

“You’re drunk,” Emma reminds him on a scoff. Killian shrugs, as if it’s neither here nor there, unashamed of his inebriated state.

“The tell of a good outing,” he says again and Emma wonders if he rehearses these lines. She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, you said that already,” she points out. Killian falters for a moment, brow pinching in confusion. She huffs a laugh to herself. “If it was so great, how come you left so early?”

“Ah,” Killian shrugs, scratching behind his ear. It’s his nervous tell and Emma frowns. “I missed you.”

Emma doesn’t know how to respond to that, how to respond to the warmth that spreads across her skin in the chilly October - now November, she remembers - air. So, she doesn’t. They reach the security office and she grabs a set of keys, helping Killian into one of the SUVs.

He dozes on and off on the way to his apartment. It’s not too far from campus, no further than her own, but in the opposite direction. She’s hyper vigilant, though, aware of both the time and the date. Despite the school’s reminders and encouragements, not everyone is smart enough to call for an escort.

“Ah, my humble abode,” Killian announces as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. He matches it with a grand sweeping gesture that nearly has him sprawled out across the entryway floor. It’s a small thing, Emma thinks he’s mentioned a roommate, but hasn’t spent enough time in the apartment to have met them.

She helps Killian steady himself and he clings to her hand even after he’s straightened up. Emma raises an eyebrow at him and he chuckles, pulling his hand away.

“Help me to my room, Swan?” He suggests, waving an arm towards the hallway. The movement is more hesitant now, the showmanship lacking.

“Is that a come on?” Emma asks.

“It’s a request,” he says, stepping towards her. He teeters on his legs and Emma sighs, nodding at him. She’d hate for him to take a spill in the hallway and crack his head open. That’s not a call she wants to get in the morning. Actually, she doubts anyone would call her. Just suddenly no more Killian Jones.

God, that’s a morbid thought.

“In the name of safety,” she says, wrapping her hand gently around his bicep and leading him down the hall. He indicates the door that’s his and Emma pushes it open, helping him stumble towards the bed. He flops back onto it, bringing her with him, and she lands on top of him with an oof.

“Seriously,” she groans, struggling against him. Killian has wrapped his arm around her now, though, and her chances of escape seem slim. Giving in, she props her chin on her hands where they lay beneath his collarbone. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Enough,” he shrugs and Emma shifts with the movement. The metal hooks of his vest are digging into her skin through her jacket sleeves. She raises an eyebrow at him and Killian huffs. “Quite a lot. Mostly rum, a touch or two of tequila, if I remember correctly.”

“You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Jones?” She asks quietly.

“Where’s the fun in that, love?” He’s smirking but there’s something there, something dark and sad, and it makes Emma wonders what lies behind that. It makes her wonder just how much of Killian she doesn’t actually know. She can’t decide if she wants to know.

She pushes against him again and this time his arm falls away from her waist and she’s able to stand. Hooking her thumb towards the door, Emma looks down at him. “I should get back to work.”

“Aye,” he nods, though he’s looking at the ceiling instead of her now. “Do you think you could come back? I did miss you.”

Emma frowns. He’s wasted and probably lonely as a result, or lonely and wasted as a result maybe. If she comes back, he probably won’t even be awake to know it. She’ll have to text Ruby and, God, that’ll be something to explain. He’s her friend, though, and Emma knows that had the request come from Mary Margaret or Ruby, she wouldn’t even need to be asked.

“Yeah,” she says, finally, swallowing heavily. “I’ll make sure they don’t need me and clock out, then I’ll come back. Can’t have you asphyxiating in your own vomit, after all.”

“A lovely picture,” Killian comments, tossing his arm over his eyes. Emma laughs at him and heads out the door. It takes her about twenty minutes to check in with Graham and Mulan, clock out, and get back to his apartment.

He seems to be barely holding onto consciousness when she gets back, Emma thinks maybe he’d been waiting for her, and reaches out a hand towards her. Hesitantly, she toes her boots off at the edge of his bed and lets him pull her onto the mattress.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, voice rough with his tiredness. They’re lying on their sides facing each other, Emma still clad in her nearly neon yellow jacket and Killian still mostly dressed like a pirate. “For coming back.”

“It’s what friends are for,” she tells him, shrugging the shoulder that isn’t pressed into his mattress. On a whim, she reaches forward and brushes her fingers gently over his face, dragging them down from his forehead and forcing him to close his eyes. His warm, liquor scented breath puffs out across her palm. “Go to sleep, Killian.”

He nods. “Goodnight, Emma.”

-/-

They start to hang out at his apartment more. Not that they ever really talk about Halloween. Emma had slipped out early in the morning and, honestly, she’s not sure Killian even remembers it. His drunken state was a bit in and out, but he never brought it up so neither did she.

She learns that his roommate’s name is Tink.

“Tink?” Emma had asked.

“It’s short for Tinkerbelle,” she’d said. Tink was tiny and blonde, but actually a little terrifying. Emma could respect that about her. “My parents are sadists.”

“Why not Belle?”

“What?” Tink had scoffed. “Go from one Disney character to another? No thanks.”

It was a fair enough answer. Lucky, too, because Emma could only handle one Belle in her life. Especially since they were both related to Killian in some way.

So, she probably spends too much time at his apartment. With the holidays coming up, hers is covered in gaudy decorations and the constant smell of Mary Margaret’s cooking (which would be fine if it were food Emma was allowed to eat and not meant for every single spot the woman volunteered at).

Killian and Tink don’t seem interested in any of the upcoming holidays, their apartment unchanged from the first time she’d been inside. Even then, there had been no Halloween decorations, no hanging spiders or grinning bats. Neither of them were born in America and she wonders if they find these traditions ridiculous. Killian had no trouble using the holiday as an excuse to dress up and drink, at least.

She’s not exactly looking forward to the upcoming breaks. Thanksgiving is easy enough, four days alone in a quiet apartment to be spent catching up on school work before finals. They always do a dinner between their friends on Tuesday or Wednesday, of course Mary Margaret insists on hosting and it gives Ruby the excuse to decorate even more. Emma wonders if she should invite Killian. Belle will be there which would be good, she supposes, for the whole being in the general vicinity of a person you have feelings for.

But, on the other hand, she’s never actually spent time around Killian and Belle together. She knows they hang out, but Emma’s never been part of their outings. It could be weird for her.

Is that selfish?

“You’re thinking too hard, Swan,” Killian comments from where he’s set up at his desk. His laptop is open, a Word document lighting up the screen. From her spot on the bed, Emma can see it’s riddled with errors he’s yet to correct, red and blue lines bright against the white background. “Your brow’s all pinched and your mouth is doing the Grumpy Cat thing.”

“I don’t know if that’s creepy or just rude,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him and forcing her face to relax. He’s right, she had gone and gotten all tense in her thoughts. He huffs and leaves his spinning desk chair to join her on the bed, moving her Psychology book out of the way. She gives a halfhearted protest, but it’s not like she was getting any work done anyway.

“What is it?” He asks, gently. His hand lands on her shoulder, thumb rubbing hard circles into that knot from her bag she can never seem to get rid of. She sighs, eyes drifting shut at the feeling.

“I’m just thinking about the holidays, is all,” she admits.

“Thinking about or stressing about?” He presses. Emma shrugs, his thumb digging into just the right spot with the movement and sending a shiver down her spine. He chuckles at the reaction and eases up his movements, but doesn’t stop.

“Bit of both,” Emma says begrudgingly. She shakes her head and twists on the bed to face him better. His hand falls from her shoulder, but lands on her knee. “What are you doing for the break? Does your family still live in Ireland?”

“Uh, no,” he says, shaking his head. She realizes he’s never talked about his family before. Coming from someone as open as Killian, it’s surprising. “No family to head home to, actually. Tink’s the closest I’ve got to that and she usually heads to New Zealand for the holidays.”

“Oh,” she responds, a little quietly. She shrugs and decides to return his honesty with some of her own. “Yeah, I don’t have anywhere to go either. I usually spend Christmas Eve watching crappy TV and Christmas day taking down Ruby’s decorations.”

“Emma-nezer Scrooge,” Killian jokes with a smirk. Emma lets out a surprised laugh at the terrible joke and shoves at him. He hooks his arm around her shoulders and drags her down onto the bed with him. She lands with an oof and Killian chuckles. It’s not the most comfortable position, her mostly on top of him with her nose pressed into his collarbone, but it’s not terrible.

“Maybe we’ll start a new tradition this year,” he suggest. Emma lifts her head enough to raise an eyebrow at him. He’s already looking down at her. “A couple of nobodies spending Christmas together.”

“I am not a nobody,” She refutes, poking him in the chest. Sofer, she adds, “And neither are you.”

Killian’s arm tightens around her, but he doesn’t respond. Emma lays her head back down on his chest, taking in the familiar scent of him. They’re miles from the ocean but he, somehow, always smells like saltwater. She’s never really questioned it before.

Eventually, after they’ve both dozed off for a few minutes, they return to their prospective studies. Emma never does invite him to Thanksgiving.

-/-

“I left my textbook for Intro to Poetry at the library,” Killian says over the phone. Emma rips open the package of instant rice and presses the release on the microwave door. “Did you happen to pick it up?”

Emma turns, quirking her eyebrow at the extra textbook with the rest of her study materials. Honestly, she kind of wanted to let him sweat a little before she returned it to him. She should have known he’d know her well enough by not to know she’d grab it for him. “Yup.”

“Fantastic! Mind if pop by and grab it?” He asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she says, placing the bag of rice in the microwave and setting the timer. “Ruby is working and Mary Margaret is out with David tonight so it’s just me.”

“Any special plans while you’re all on your lonesome?” Killian presses and Emma can hear the smirk in his voice. She already knows where his mind has gone. “Perhaps walking about in your underwear or, oh gods, please say you were thinking of taking a bubblebath?”

Emma leans against the counter and rolls her eyes at him. Maybe her plans had required no pants and some alone time with the object hidden in her bedside drawer, but he definitely didn’t need to know that.

She glances once more at the textbook on the counter. She’s pretty sure it’s where Killian had gotten his grand ideas about anonymous love letters being the way to a girl’s heart. “You know, Killian, this textbook of yours looks expensive and rented. It’d be shame if it were to end up tossed out my living room window.”

“I’m only teasing, love,” he chuckles. “You are dressed, though, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Emma huffs. “When are you coming by?”

Her question is punctuated by a knock at the door and she turns to it with a frown. Kilian is quiet on the other line and it mostly confirms her suspicions. She hangs up the phone as she pulls the door open, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Huh,” she says. “I didn’t know you could teleport.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d have had the book,” he admits with a shrug. “So, I didn’t call until I was outside your building.”

“And what exactly would you have done if I hadn’t grabbed it and you’d wasted the trip?” She asks, waving him inside. She directs him to the counter where his textbook is in the mess of her own books and things.

“Probably still come up,” he says. “Hardly a wasted trip if I get to see you.”

“Kiss ass,” Emma smirks, turning away from him and ignoring the way her cheeks heat. The microwave beeps and she pulls a fork from the door before pulling the steaming bag from the microwave. She tears it open fully and stuffs the fork inside, stirring the rice and beans inside.

“What’s that?” Killian inquires, joining her in the kitchen and sniffing the air.

“Dinner,” she explains, holding the bag up for him to see. His nose wrinkles and Emma raises an eyebrow at him.

“Heavens, Swan, is that what you eat when there’s no one else here?” He asks and she stuffs the fork into the bag with a little more force than necessary, digging out a big helping of the over seasoned food and shoving it in her mouth. “My Gods, woman, you are an adult.”

“I didn’t invite you inside to be judged for my eating habits,” she says.

“I can’t let you do this to yourself,” he says, ignoring her and pulling open first her fridge and then one of the cabinets. “I care too much for you to watch you kill yourself with microwavable starches.”

He pulls a few things out, Emma watching him but not intervening, and suddenly he’s got a pan heating on the stove where he’s searing chicken and a pot boiling water for pasta. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Emma empties the rice into a plastic container and puts it in the fridge. She’s still going to eat it for lunch tomorrow, or later tonight if she gets hungry. He hasn’t really saved her from herself, but it’s a nice gesture regardless.

Emma isn’t one to turn away someone else cooking for her.

Killian tries to stick around after they eat to help her clean up, but she practically throws him out with a reminder that he has a quiz the next day. She’s filling the dishwasher when Ruby gets home, unwrapping the bright red scarf from around her neck and watching Emma with narrowed eyes.

“Is Mary Margaret home?” She asks as Emma pushes the door to the dishwasher shut. There are still some things in the sink that need to be hand washed, but they can wait. “I thought tonight was date night.”

“Yeah, she’s still out,” Emma says, turning to Ruby and wiping her hands in a dishtowel. “Hey, should we be concerned that our twenty-year-old friends have date nights like they’re already an old married couple?”

“Nah, it’s Mary Margaret and David,” Ruby says, waving the concern away as if that’s enough explanation. Emma shrugs and threads the dishtowel back through the handle on the stove. “Seriously, though, if Mary Margaret isn’t here, why are you doing dishes? Did you actually cook?”

“I’m trying really hard not to be offended by your surprise,” Emma frowns. Ruby raises an eyebrow at her and she shrugs. “But, no, I didn’t. Killian had to pick up a book he left, so he made us dinner.”

Ruby goes quiet for a few moments as she crosses the room to lean back against the couch. She surveys Emma from this post, eyes calculating and arms crossed over her chest.

“Killian, the guy you were trying to set up with our dear friend Belle, came over and cooked you dinner?” She clarifies. Emma’s frown only deepens as she crosses her own arms over her chest.

“Killian, my friend, came over and cooked dinner, yes,” she says. Ruby sighs, her expression going a little pinched as she pushes herself away from the couch and crosses into the kitchen.

“Listen, babe, I love you,” Ruby starts, her hands coming up to rest on Emma’s arms. “So, I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing here.”

“Doing?” Emma asks, lost at her friend’s meaning.

“Killian has feelings for someone else,” Ruby says and Emma nods slowly at her because, yes, she is aware. “You know that. So, I just hope you’re being careful.”

“Careful?” Emma echoes. “Ruby, I don’t have feelings for Killian.”

“If you say that, I’ll believe you,” Ruby says, raising her hands up in a defenseless gesture. “Just make sure that you’re sure of that before you get hurt.”

Emma flounders for a minute at her friend’s accusation. Sure, she spends a lot of time with Killian, but that’s because their friends and their schedules happen to mesh. It’s not really any more time than she spends with her other friends. It’s not what Ruby is implying, of course, Emma knows that. Still, she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Ruby doesn’t give her a chance to say much of anything, though, giving her a pat to the arm before announcing she’s going to take a shower. She leaves Emma still confused in the kitchen and Emma doesn’t move until she hears the water start up. She figures the dishes can wait until tomorrow.

-/-

Thanksgiving comes and goes, Emma spends most of the four day holiday in her apartment drinking too much hot chocolate and not enough wine and working on assignments. The leftovers in the fridge from their mini-Thanksgiving are too much for just her, so she packs up a few containers to take to Killian and Tink. She tries not to feel like an awful person for not inviting him.

When people get back to campus, it’s suddenly a flurry of overworked and under rested students rushing to prepare for the upcoming finals. Emma is not unaffected by it, barely having time to breathe let alone spend much time with any of her friends. She sees Mary Margaret when she wakes her up in the morning and Ruby in their shared Art History class. Otherwise, they’re all either constantly locked in their rooms studying, working, or in class.

Killian catches her on campus a few times a week and convinces her she has time for coffee with him. She never really has the time, but she agrees anyway. It feels like before she can even blink, the semester is behind her and Ruby and Mary Margaret are heading to their respective homes for the winter break.

“There are cookies in the container next to the microwave,” Mary Margaret reminds her, as if Emma couldn’t still smell the scent of them baking lingering in the air.

“And whiskey on top of the fridge,” Ruby adds with a teasing smirk.

Emma ushers them out the door, reminding them that this is not her first winter break alone and assuring them she’ll be fine. Two hours after they finally head out of town, driving together to their shared hometown with David, her phone rings.

“Ah, good, you survived the semester,” Killian says, in lieu of a greeting, when she answers. “I was worried about you for a moment there, Swan.”

“Not my first rodeo,” she says, pulling the lid off of the container with the cookies. Snickerdoodles. Emma plucks one from the Christmas tin and lifts it to her nose first, taking a whiff of the cinnamon, before taking a bite.

“Your roommates left yet?” He asks.

“Mhm,” Emma hums around the cookie, covering her mouth with the rest of the cookie even though he can’t see her. “Yours?”

“Aye, by now Tink is well on her way to enjoying a nice, sunny Christmas,” he tells her and she huffs a laugh dropping onto the couch. “Tell me something, your friends seem the inviting type. Have they not asked you to join them for the holidays?”

“Every year,” she sighs. “And every year I turn them down. I appreciate the offer of course, it’s just that… well, the holidays are a time for going home, right? And to Mary Margaret home is the smell of David’s mother’s cooking, or the sound of a busy diner for Ruby. And, I just…”

She trails off with a shrug, studying the flecks of cinnamon in the cookie in her hand. Killian picks it up for her, “You’ve never had a home.”

“Yeah,” Emma says quietly.

“It’s been a while since I had something I could consider home, either,” he admits and her eyes widen. She needs to stop being surprised, eventually, when Killian reminds her just how similar they are. Still, she swallows thickly, feeling a sudden closeness to him. She remembers her conversation with Ruby from weeks ago and bites down on her lip.

“Quite a pair we make,” Killian says after her long silence, a lightness to his voice she’s sure he doesn’t feel. Emma laughs quietly, though, nodding to herself as she takes another bite of the cookie.

-/-

He shows up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve with a bottle of Bacardi and snow in his hair.

“Happy Christmas, Swan,” he says by way of greeting. “Let’s get sloshed.”

Now there’s a holiday sentiment Emma can get behind. She reaches for the bottle, taking it from his hand and leaving him in the doorway to let himself into the apartment. He toes his boots off next to the door and hangs his leather coat from the seldom used hooks while she pulls glasses from one of the cupboards.

She hears the TV switch from the medical drama she’d been watching and turns to find Killian fussing with the remote.

“What are you doing?” She asks coming back to the living room with the bottle and glasses, setting them on the coffee table. He grins once he’s found what he’s searching for and something cheery and animated lights up the screen. Emma doesn’t bother to contain her groan.

“It is a holiday,” he says with a shrug, setting the remote on the table and twisting the cap off the bottle of rum. “We must follow some form of tradition, don’t you think?”

Huffing Emma drops onto the couch, accepting the glass he offers to her and tipping it back. The rum burns down her throat and the claymation on the TV suddenly seems more bearable. Killian joins her on the couch, his high spirits - along with the spirits he’s provided - managing to lighten her mood.

They make a drinking game out of it. One drink every time a woodland creature speaks, two if it’s an inanimate object. They down the whole glass when Santa makes an appearance.

Less than halfway through Rudolph, they’re both a little messy drunk and Emma doesn’t know who initiates it. All she knows is suddenly Killian’s lips are pressed to hers, his hand tangling in her hair while her fingers skim across his beard.

It’s not nice, more teeth than anything else. He sucks on her lip and she tugs on his hair. It’s sloppy and desperate, heightened by their level of drunkenness, but it takes longer than she’s proud of for Emma to pull away.

“We can’t, we can’t,” she pants, pushing Killian back with her hands on his shoulder. His chest heaves, brushing against hers, as he tries to catch his breath. “We’re drunk and you love someone else.”

“Aye,” he says, his forehead moving against hers as he nods, his brow pinched in guilt or pain or some emotion she’s having trouble identifying. Emma squeezes her eyes shut and tries to take slow breaths, tries to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. She should move away from him, offer him the couch for the night and leave it at that. Her body doesn’t seem to be responding to reason, though.

As if reading her mind, Killian says, “Stay.”

“What?” Emma asks, the corners of her mouth turning down in a frown. She can’t bring herself to open her eyes unto his, but can feel his gaze on her.

“In the morning, when you remember,” Killian explains. “Don’t run, Swan, not from me, alright? Just stay.” Her fingers tighten around the open edges of his flannel, material rough but warm against her fingers, like the man wearing it. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and presses her forehead more firmly against his, afraid she can’t promise him this. She’s never been good at staying, was never given a reason to when she was younger. Running she can swing, she’s great at running to save herself the pain.

Emma doesn’t want to run from Killian, though. She wants to stick around for him.

“Stay,” he repeats. “Stay and we’ll fix it.”

Emma doesn’t speak, can’t find the words in her mouth that suddenly feels full of cotton. Sobriety is crashing over her uncomfortably, searing what they’ve done - how could they monstrously fuck this up? - in her memory. Instead, she presses herself a little closer to Killian, allows the warmth of him to wash over her. His fingers, still tangled in her hair, drift down her back and move in circles over her shirt.

“Perhaps I should go,” he says finally, moving to pull away from her. Emma’s grip tightens momentarily before releasing him, but she shakes her head.

“Stay,” she says quietly. Killian is already nodding, but she continues anyway, “Stay and let’s fix this.”

He does, putting a solid foot of space between them on the couch. Neither of them touch the Bacardi again as they pretend to watch the rest of Rudolph. Emma turns the TV off when it’s over and leaves Killian to the couch.

“Merry Christmas, Killian,” she offers softly, not waiting for a reply before she tugs her bedroom door shut.

-/-

He spends the week between Christmas and New Year’s trying to fix it. They were drunk enough for the makeout, not quite drunk enough to forget it. Which figures considering it’s Emma and it’s Christmas. He’s not the only one who’s trying, really, because she doesn’t want to have screwed this up any more than he does. It’s just that she and Killian confront their problems a little differently.

Killian tries to spend as much time as he can with her, proving nothing’s changed. Emma spends her time removing Christmas decorations with even more fervor than normal and trying to distance herself from him.

She’s beginning to consider that maybe Ruby was right. Emma hadn’t been paying enough attention until it was too late and here she is. Hurt. God, she’s an idiot sometimes.

The thing is, she doesn’t want Ruby to be smug. She has the best intentions at heart, but damn does the girl like a good ‘I told you so’. So, once she starts to feel a bit like her bones are too big for her skin, like the thoughts buzzing in her head are becoming too much for one person, she calls Mary Margaret.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs gently once Emma’s explained what happened. It’s not judgement or even pride at being right, because, God, Mary Margaret had even tried to warn her. Emma suddenly feels like someone is on her side. Not that it’s actually her versus Killian, but it’s still nice.

“You know what the stupidest part is?” Emma asks, a sad laugh falling from her lips. Maybe she’d had to down a half a bottle of wine to convince herself to make this call and maybe that’s starting to affect her. Either way her nose tingles and her eyes suddenly feel hot. “I remember it happened, but I can’t remember what it felt like. I know he kissed me, but I don’t remember how or where he touched me. I hate that I want to remember that.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Emma,” Mary Margaret assures her and Emma can almost imagine how this conversation might have gone down in person. She lays sidewise on her bed and imagines Mary Margaret is there, petting her hair gently. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Emma blames the wine when she starts crying quietly into her comforter. Mary Margaret stays on the line with her for a long time, just letting her presence soothe Emma. It’s not enough, not really, but it’s appreciated nonetheless.

Killian convinces her to come out with him for New Year’s Eve. Which, objectively, is a terrible idea considering what happened the last time they got drunk together. But, this time there will be other people and maybe Emma’s holiday sadness has passed enough. Either way, she’s flat out determined not to end up making out with Killian. Surely, there will be a hot stranger to kiss at midnight.

Or, even better, no one. No one sounds much more Emma’s speed right now.

They find some overcrowded bar in the middle of downtown. Most of the patrons are dressed in outfits ranging from dressy to raunchy, but Emma is sporting her usual leather jacket and dark jeans, unbothered by the traditions. It’s what she’ll spend most of the coming year wearing anyway. Why not ring it in this way?

Killian finds them a waiter and they waste no time ordering drinks and pretending things aren’t awkward.

“I don’t want to be wooed,” she says, a little louder than necessary. The rum, coupled with a few glasses of champagne, is buzzing through her system, making her skin warm and her brain fuzzy. Killian raises an eyebrow at her. Maybe she should have known better than to accept the invitation to get wasted in his presence again.

“What’s that, love?” He asks, amused confusion coloring his features.

“I don’t want to be wooed,” She shrugs, tugging at where her sweater is clinging to her stomach. There’s a tank top underneath it and she’s getting too warm, uncomfortably warm for how far into the winter they are. “If someone wants to be with me, I’d rather they just tell me. Be upfront about it, you know?”

He stares at her for a long time, or maybe it’s only a moment. The rum makes those things confusing. Emma doesn’t think she’s imagining the softness in his eyes, they way they crinkle as a corner of his mouth tilts upwards.

“Good to know,” he says and Emma takes a deep breath, something fluttering beneath her ribs. She offers him a small smile and hopes to God she remembers this in the morning. Somethings, she swears, she will just never learn.

-/-

The first thing Ruby does when she returns is hug Emma too tightly, for too long. So, it’s a safe bet that Mary Margaret told her about the Killian thing. She hates to call it a thing, but she doesn’t know what else to think. The sheepish look from Mary Margaret removes any doubt that she’d spilled to Ruby. Emma saw this coming, they’re terrible at secrets. She’s sure David knows as well, probably even Ruby’s grandmother.

God, she hopes Belle doesn’t know.

They propose a girl’s night, to get her mind off of it. Mary Margaret suggests something mellow, so Ruby takes them to the mellowest club downtown. Being a club, it’s not quite the relaxed atmosphere Mary Margaret may have been hoping for. But, it’s loud enough to block out Emma’s thoughts and she dances with a gorgeous girl who buys her a drink. So, all in all, she’d give Ruby an A on this outing.

Except for, like, an hour in when Belle shows up. Which is completely unfair of Emma, because she likes Belle, really! It’s just that Emma is caught between feeling jealous - which is stupid - and feeling guilty - which is even more stupid, because Belle doesn’t have any sort of claim over Killian. Emma hasn’t even heard her mention the love letters Killian has been sweating over. Of course, they’re not extremely close so, why would she? Emma wouldn’t have. Maybe she’s mentioned something to Mary Margaret.

While she’s having an existential crisis and trying not to seem off putting towards Belle, the girl she’d been dancing with gets bored and leaves, taking any chance of Emma getting laid along with her.

She has got to get a hold of herself. Ruby more or less tells her as much once they get home.

“Dude, this is so not healthy, you know that, right?” She asks as Emma strips out of the sparkly tank top Ruby had leant her. Ruby is lounging on her bed and Emma tosses it at her face, finding a t-shirt to sleep in. “That girl was super hot and super into you and you just let her slip through your fingers.”

“I’m tired and not nearly drunk enough for this,” Emma says, pulling a longsleeved grey t-shirt over her head. Ruby tilts her head at her, balling the tank top up in her hands. “So, can we just not do this?”

“Look, it’s just,” Ruby sighs, trying to pick her words carefully. Emma hates that talking to her has become like walking through a minefield. She hasn’t always been this difficult has she? Ruby’s never seemed to have this problem before. “Do you have feelings for Killian?”

It’s a little ridiculous, but, in all of this, no one has actually asked her that question. Emma hasn’t even bothered to ask it herself. So, does she?

“I don’t know,” Emma says, helplessly. She flops onto the bed, bouncing Ruby a bit with the force of it. It all feels so childish. She didn’t think adult relationships were supposed to be this complicated. Then again, complicated is kind of her thing. “Does it even matter? He has feelings for someone else. Someone who is my friend.”

“Of course it matters,” Ruby insists, not unkindly, but less like she’s afraid Emma will break. That’s nice at least, Emma isn’t planning to break anytime soon, so she’d rather not be treated as such. “I’m not talking about his feelings, I’m talking about yours.”

Emma lets the question set in as she pushes her face into her pillow. It’s getting kind of old and there are uncomfortable lumps. Killian has one of those memory foam pillows that Emma usually commandeers when she’s at his apartment. She’s been considering get one for herself. She groans.

“What if I do?” She asks quietly, words muffled further by pillow beneath her. She doesn’t even know if Ruby will be able to hear her. “What do I do then?”

Ruby sighs, her hand falling gently to Emma’s calf. “Figure out what’s best for you, then do that.”

She pats Emma’s leg twice and the bed shifts as she lifts herself from it. It’s cooler, suddenly, without the presence of her friend. The lights go out and the latch on the door clicks shut and Emma is suddenly alone with nothing but silence and her own thoughts.

The truth is she doesn’t know what’s best for her anymore.

-/-

Killian had seemed to finally glean that space was what Emma needed and he seemed willing to give it to her. He’d check in every few days and, reading her shortness in replies, give her more space. It makes Emma sick to her stomach when she thinks about it, but Ruby had been right. Whatever they were doing, pretending it didn’t happen while it was eating her up inside, it wasn’t healthy.

This is how Emma deals with things. She has to process and she has to do it alone. It’s just how she’s built.

When classes start back up, avoiding Killian becomes impossible. Not just on campus, but they now have a Modern British Literature class together. It had been planned that way, mostly by Killian, but Emma hadn’t put up any fight.

“I’ll need someone to keep me awake,” he’d insisted when they’d realized they both needed to take the course. It had required a little messing with of their schedules, but they’d managed it.

“Come on, all that metaphorical prose and tortured love?” Emma had said. “That sounds right up your alley.”

“Mock away, Swan, but you’ll be the one who has to deal with me.”

Killian is already there, once she walks into the classroom. There are two coffee cups at his table and Emma has to fight a smile at the gesture. If he’s offering an olive branch, she figures she can meet him halfway. She takes the seat next to him at the table, reaching for the cardboard cup with her order written in black marker.

“Morning, Swan,” Killian greets, a little overly cheerful with a touch of hesitance. Emma’s lips twitch upwards as she sips from the coffee cup, the perfect ratio of cream-to-sugar.

“Morning,” she says in response, like it’s all normal. It doesn’t feel forced right now, at least. So, maybe it can be normal eventually. She can feel Killian’s eyes on the side of her face as she pulls out her textbook and a notebook, catches the soft, crooked smile on his face.

“Coffee alright?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Not too much cream?”

Emma chuckles and shrugs coyly at him, lifting the cup to her mouth once more. He prods her in the arm with his pen when she does answer and she snatches it from him, taking the writing utensil captive with a quirk of her eyebrow. Killian pouts at her until she has no choice but to give it back, a fond laugh falling from her lips. Something settles in her chest, something she hadn’t realized had been amiss while she avoided Killian.

Then Belle walks in.

Her eyes light up when she spots them and the empty seat at the table next to theirs. Emma hates herself for the smile she has to force that she’s sure doesn’t look quite right, it certainly doesn’t feel right. Killian is stiff next to her and it makes Emma’s stomach roll. What is the protocol of “Good Friend” here? Should she offer her seat to Belle? Suggest that Belle and Killian should partner up for any future projects?

Maybe she should just drop the class all together. That feels like a tempting option.

“Oh, I am so glad to see friendly faces,” Belle says on a breathless laugh as she takes her seat. “Ruby mentioned you were taking a British Literature class, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up for it being the same one.”

“Oh, I, uh, I didn’t realize you and Ruby were that close,” Emma points out, which is a little stupid because so far the only one of the three of them keeping Belle at arm’s length is her.

“Yeah, I mean, kind of,” Belle shrugs, ducking her head to pull her own materials from her bag. Emma frowns once she’s no longer looking at her. “Either way, I’m so excited you’re both here!”

Fuck, is she always this nice? Emma is probably the worst person in the world for wanting to run as far and as fast as she can. Belle has been nothing but nice and welcoming since she’d met her. She didn’t invite herself over or impose on roommate activities, even though they usually invited her anyway. She’s smart and quick witted. Emma gets it, really, why Killian would like her. It just doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Suddenly, Emma realizes she has her answer to the question Ruby had posed. And it fucking sucks.

-/-

Emma’s really only know Killian for about six months. She’s made out with him once and barely remembers it. He cooks her dinner sometimes because he doesn’t think she knows how to feed herself properly. They’d only started spending time together because of his feelings for someone else.

And yet, somehow, he’s become an incredibly integral part of her life. There’s a ranking, really, of like Mary Margaret and Ruby at the top of her closest friends, with David at a close third. Everyone else was a distant fourth. Emma’s just never been very good at the whole emotional connection thing. People have mostly proven themselves as very likely to let her down.

Killian showed up and ruined the whole thing.

Now, Emma puts him somewhere in the middle of those friends. They make study dates and he’s learned her coffee order perfectly. He goes grocery shopping with her when he’s bored and let’s her study in his apartment when he isn’t even home. Sometimes, they fucking cuddle. So, realizing she has feelings for him is… well…

Awful. That’s the best word Emma can think of to describe it. She hates herself a little bit for letting her reluctantly friendly feelings towards him evolve into this. It’s not what she wanted, it’s certainly not what he wants, and there’s no fixing it.

The next time she walks into their British Lit class, Emma takes Killian’s previous seat so he can sit between her and Belle. She figures it’s the least she can do. Her feelings for him are what they are, but Emma considers herself very good at compartmentalizing. If Killian is going to have a chance with Belle, she’s not going to get in the way.

It’s be easier if she wasn’t almost positive Killian knows. He starts to act all weird, when he realizes why she’s switched seats. He’s perfectly normal and charming with Belle at his right, but tense and hesitant with Emma to his left. It makes her a little sick to know that their friendship is actually so terribly fragile. He still brings her coffee, presented without comment now, and has started bringing one for Belle as well.

“Hey,” Emma says, prodding him after class one morning to grab his attention. He whirls around to face her, eyebrows raised in surprise at the direct contact. Maybe he isn’t the only one that’s been pulling away. “You wanna work on that paper together? I bet we can find some British poets at the library to write about.”

She hopes it’s the olive branch she wants it to be. Killian’s eyes soften a bit and something like hope flares in her chest. He nods and Emma can’t force down the feeling that perhaps, this once, not all is lost.

They meet later in the afternoon, once both of their classes for the day are over. Emma brings him a tea this time, holding one for herself as well with the hope it will calm the sudden anxiety building in her. They’ve done this a hundred times over the past months, studied together or sat and bugged each other while one of them studied. It shouldn’t be making her stomach so upset with worry.

“What about the Brontes?” Emma asks. They’ve been here about twenty minutes, most of it just screwing around and avoiding doing actual work. Eventually, she’d opened her laptop, sliding it in between them on the shared side of the table, and insisted they at least each pick an author. She scrolls down the list of prominent British Authors from the assigned time period. “Oh, what about Virginia Woolf?”

Killian has gone silent and she can feel his eyes on her, so she turns to raise an eyebrow at him. He’s studying the side of her face, a faraway daze to his eyes. Emma frowns. “Killian?”

“Did you want me to kiss you?” He asks suddenly, his eyes clearing as they meet hers. Emma freezes.

“What?” Is this what a stroke feels like?

“On Christmas, when I kissed you,” he explains, brow pinched as his eyes drift away from hers and travel along the bridge of her nose. He continues, quieter. “Did you want me to?”

“When you…” Emma repeats, the words failing. The kiss had been so fast and sudden, she couldn’t recall who’d initiated it. If it had been Killian, she didn’t want to imagine what that might mean. It would only make things more complicated.

She’s still staring at him, realizing how close they are as they share her laptop, when she hears her name being called from the other end of the section of the library. David is moving swiftly towards her, pulling her attention away from Killian and earning dark looks from people at nearby tables.

“Emma, hey, Ruby said you’d probably be here,” David says, sounding a little out of breath and clearly missing the moment he’s interrupted. “I needed to talk to you about the schedule this week.”

“Oh, um,” Emma says, shaking her head and trying to clear her thoughts. “Can we talk about it later, maybe?”

“That’s alright, Swan,” Killian interrupts, pushing himself upward from his seat. Emma whirls around to face him, surprise creasing her brow. His voice is all false cheer and his grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “I forgot I told Tink I’d cook dinner tonight, so I should be heading out anyway.”

“Killian, I,” Emma tries, but he doesn’t really give her a chance. He slings his bag over his shoulder and skirts carefully around the table. He manages a wide berth between himself and her, knocks clumsily into David who frowns.

“What was that about?” He asks once Killian has made his quick and uncouth escape. Emma stares after where Killian’s disappeared to for a moment before turning her attention to David. She decides to ignore his question.

“What did you want to ask me about the schedule?” She asks, instead.

“Oh, yeah,” David nods, moving on hesitantly. He may have missed the atmosphere when he’d first showed up, but Killian’s exit hadn’t been subtle. Emma gives him a look and David sighs, clearly deciding not to press. He goes on, “It’s about this weekend.”

-/-

He doesn’t bring it up again. In fact, his behavior the next few times she sees him can really only be described as one thing.

Killian Jones is avoiding her.

It’s ridiculous since not only did he admit to being the one to initiate the Kiss Heard Round The World, but he’s the one who brought it up again. Emma doesn’t want to falsely convince herself that means something, but that definitely means something.

He doesn’t talk to either her or Belle in class. He doesn’t even give Emma the chance to start conversations, with how late he shows up to class and how quickly he’s out the door afterwards. One time, she catches sight of him crossing the quad and, upon spotting her as well, the bastard actually turns and runs. Like, runs. A track and field member, Killian is not.

It’s a little embarrassing, honestly, how long it takes her to read the situation. It’s just that, despite his quietness and avoidance, he’s not actually giving her any vibes that he suddenly hates her or finds her repulsive. If Emma had a dollar for every time she feels his eyes on her face in class or from across the dining hall, she’d probably be able to quit her job.

So, she stops trying and Killian’s mood seems to get worse. She sees him for two hours, twice a week in class and anything other than that is radio silence. She writes her paper in her own apartment, by herself. Killian doesn’t text her stupid pictures he finds on the internet or awful poetry he discovers.

In a real sense, not a whole lot changes. Emma still hangs out with Ruby and Mary Margaret, even Belle is becoming a staple in their group. She patrols the resident building at night and listens to David and Graham chat over the radio while Mulan puts in her annoyed two cents every once in a while. All things considered, her life goes on exactly as it had before Killian had forged a path in her schedule.

So, why the fuck is she so lonely?

The proof of her desperation for an insight into Killian’s mindset comes in the form of one Will Scarlet. It’s ironic, in a way, considering how well Will and desperation usually go together. She catches sight of him in the library’s computer lab. It isn’t until she’s made her decision to speak to him, is halfway across the wing of the library, that she realizes Tink is with him.

It trips Emma up. One of Killian’s friends knowing she’s going out of her mind trying to figure out what the fuck is going on is bad enough. That’s pretty much the cap of Emma’s embarrassment intake. Not to mention, Tink is Killian’s roommate. Any hope of their conversation not getting back to him is almost nill.

She lingers for a moment, ducking behind a shelf and trying to conjure up that brave, straightforwardness she always prides herself on. It’s not the embarrassment, she realizes with a sinking feeling, that she’s afraid of. It’s the answer.

Emma can’t think of a single answer they could give her that would make her feel better. She can only think of the ways and reasons with which she’d managed to make Killian leave. It was bound to happen, she should have seen it coming. Everyone gets bored eventually. It just happened sooner than she’d expected.

Still, she deserves a fucking reason.

Will and Tink are bickering when Emma finally joins them. They’re sharing a desktop against one of the walls and Emma leans back against the table, towering over Will who looks up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey, Emma,” Tink greets before Will can get a word out. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Emma frowns, prepared to just ask outright if there’s a reason for that. Will beats her to it this time.

“Wait, really?” He asks, a smirk dancing across his features even as his brow quirks in surprise. He looks between Emma and Tink. “You and Jones on the outs? Is that why he’s been such a git lately?”

Tink elbows him roughly in the side and Will’s hand moves to sooth the injury, giving Tink an offended look. She returns his look with a dark glare. Emma watches the exchange and waits until their attentions have returned to her.

“Yeah, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about,” Emma says finally. Their eyes are on her now, clearly interested in this. It makes Emma hesitant, if they’re this interested in discussing it, that probably means they have no information for her. Still, she’s come this far. “Do you know what’s going on? Because he’s barely said a word to me in the past three weeks. Thursday, I watched him climb into a strangers car to get away from me.”

Will snorts and Emma’s nose scrunches in embarrassment. Tink whacks Will with the back of her hand, her eyes trained on Emma the whole time. “Honestly, Emma, I wish I knew. He’s been especially surly these past few weeks.”

“And he hasn’t talked to you about it?” Emma asks, looking between the two. “Either of you?”

“We’re not really feelings people,” Will says with a shrug. Emma bites down on her lip and leans back further against the table. It shifts a bit under the pressure and butts against the wall behind it. Tink and Will are giving her twin sympathetic looks - which, sympathy on them sort of makes it look like pity, and that is definitely not something Emma needs.

She pushes away from the table and nods at them. “Alright, well, thanks. I guess.”

“I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll come around,” Tink says, trying for reassuring. Her frown isn’t making Emma feel better though. “Killian gets into these moods sometimes. It’s usually not this intense, but it’s probably got nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, not feeling the least bit better about the situation. Tink may doubt it’s Emma’s fault, but Killian’s secretive looks and turning tail when he spots her makes Emma find that unlikely. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t offer them a goodbye as she heads away from their table, doesn’t notice their bent heads and hushed whispers. Her stomach is churning and she can’t help but feel like she’s standing on a precipice. The edge between fixing whatever she broke and losing Killian.

Maybe Emma’s already lost him.

-/-

The conversation does nothing to clear her already distracted mind. It really only gets worse, it’s a lucky thing that mid-week aren’t big party nights during the winter. She spends work just pacing the halls of her assigned residence hall and ignoring the chatter over her radio.

The shift seems longer than normal with only her own thoughts to occupy her, Emma almost wishes someone would come in or call needing an escort. She’d jump at the chance to escort someone across campus if it meant no longer feeling like there’s a tornado in her mind, rushing through and kicking up everything she thought she knew.

Tink’s mention of Killian getting in these moods occasionally had kind of thrown her off. They’ve been friends for a while and she’s never known that about him. Had she not noticed the mood or had he not had one? Coupled with his sudden resistance to any form of communication with her, Emma is beginning to wonder if she actually knows Killian as well as she’d thought.

Maybe he doesn’t know her all that well, either.

The office is a flurry of bright yellow coats as Emma waits her turn to clock out. Graham gives her a concerned eyebrow raise.

“You alright, Emma?” He asks. “You were pretty quiet tonight.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, trying for a reassuring smile. She hopes he can’t read her internal distress. “I’m just tired.”

He seems to accept this, nodding despite the concerned pinch to his brow. He pats her shoulder gently before heading out of the office. Mulan huffs a general goodbye, a scarf wrapped tightly around her throat and covering most of her face as well. Emma smirks at her, the usually tough and fearsome woman is easily the biggest freeze baby Emma’s ever met.

“Hey, you seem distracted,” David comments, waiting for her as she puts in her employee ID and clocks out for the evening. He’s leaning against the desk and watching her. “You alright to drive or do you want me to give you a ride?”

“Nah,” Emma says, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just a lot going on is all.”

He nods, eyes narrowing. Emma knows he’ll be able to read her better than Graham, due merely to more exposure. Emma sees David nearly as much as she sees her roommates, it’s only natural he’d be able to read her nearly as well as them.

“This about Jones?” He asks, a little gruffly. Emma raises an eyebrow at the tone. David is the channel through which she knows Killian, but it sounds like there’s some level of distrust there. She can read David, too. “Did he do something?”

Emma sighs, shaking her head. “No. I think I might have, actually.”

“Is this about whatever I walked in on in the library a few weeks ago?” David observes and Emma’s surprised he remembers. He hadn’t seemed particularly interested in the event then, but perhaps he’d just been trying to respect her privacy.

“Maybe,” Emma shrugs. “I’m not really sure. He hasn’t talked to me since then, actually.”

David frowns. “Well, I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll come around.”

Emma nods, though she’s still feeling pretty hesitant about that. His hand lands gently on her shoulder, squeezing in a friendly gesture. She offers him her most sincere attempt at a smile and David returns it.

“From what I’ve heard, you two are peas in a pod, so I’m sure it’ll work out,” he assures her. Emma shrugs, not sure how she feels knowing people apparently talk about her and Killian, and he removes his hand from her shoulder. Turning, he pulls the door to the small security office open and waves her outside into the chilly winter air. Emma zips her jacket up to her chin.

“And, if it doesn’t,” David continues, a teasing tone to his voice that matches the crooked smile he shoots her. “Then, it’s his loss, of course.”

Emma rolls her eyes at him and shoves him in the direction of the parking lot. David laughs and gives in to her urging him, turning towards where she can spot his truck in the nearly empty parking lot. Her own yellow bug stands out just as brightly as her jacket and she heads towards it, actually feeling a little bit better at the conversation.

-/-

Coming home two days later to find Ruby and Belle making out on the couch just adds one more level to the less-than-comedic comedy of errors that has become Emma’s life. It takes her a full thirty seconds to realize exactly what she’s looking at.

“Oh, my God,” she says, once it’s set in, and closes the door behind her with a less than delicate push. Her shout, or the slam of the door maybe, startle the women enough that Ruby flails and falls right off the couch onto the hardwood with an oof.

“Ow,” she groans, pushing to her feet and rubbing her ass while pouting at Emma. Belle pushes herself up from the couch as well, hands covering her mouth. The red glow of her cheeks shows from beneath her pale fingers.

“Wait, so you two are-?”

“We were certainly trying to,” Ruby grumps, her pout turning to an annoyed glare. Emma thinks that’s a little unfair, it’s not like Ruby’d sent her a warning text, like the vaguely crude emojis she’d sent that time she brought Victor back to the apartment. Emma had never been able to look at the coffee table the same way.

She turns her attention to Belle. The blush has faded from her cheeks, but Emma can tell she’s still a little mortified at being very nearly caught in the act. “What about your secret admirer?”

“My secret what?” Belle asks, a frown turning the corners of her mouth down. Ruby’s lipstick is smeared across her cheek.

“Emma,” Ruby says, a warning tone to her voice. She shoots Emma a look, but it’s indecipherable. Emma feels as if she’s missing out on something important. Ruby sighs, shaking her head. “No one’s been sending Belle any letters.”

“What?” Emma asks, breath catching in her throat as her head whirls with the information. She feels like she’s spinning, despite her feet being firmly planted on the floor. Belle still looks extremely confused by the conversation.

“What letters?” Belle asks. “Why do I feel like I’m only getting half of a conversation here?”

Ruby turns towards her, an apologetic grimace scrunching up her features. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll explain it later, I promise. Right now, Emma is having an epiphany.”

Emma barely hears them. “Hold on, so, Killian hasn’t been sending you love letters?”

“Uh, no? Not that I’ve received, anyway,” Belle says, confusion pinching her brow. She frowns, then, tilting her head at Emma. “Wait, is this why you don’t like me?”

Emma blanches. “I like you!”

Belle raises an eyebrow in disagreement and even Ruby shoots her a look from behind Belle. Emma throws her hands up in a defensive gesture.

“I don’t not like you,” she insists. “I have no reason to, you’re great. I just…”

“Have feelings for Killian,” Belle finishes for her with an understanding nod. Ruby is smirking now, but Emma isn’t paying enough attention to be annoyed by it.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, a frown on her lips.  She turns around and reaches for the door handle again. “I have to go. Let me know if I should find somewhere to crash for the night.”

She doesn’t stick around to hear Belle or Ruby’s response.

-/-

“You didn’t send Belle any notes,” Emma says as soon as the apartment door opens. She should have thought it through, really, because Tink just stares at her startled. Emma ignores her questioning look and pushes past her into the apartment, set on her mission. She knows the path to Killian’s door easily, doesn’t bother knocking before she pushes it open.

“Swan,” Killian greets, startled by her sudden appearance. He stands from his desk chair, reading her mood easily. Emma doesn’t give him a chance to question her.

“You didn’t leave any of those notes,” she says, crossing to his bed. Deciding against it, she turns and walks back to the door. The movement feels good, with her mind so frazzled, and she begins to pace back and forth in front of him. “I talked to Belle - she’s with Ruby now, I think, by the way. I don’t know, I’m not gonna label it for them. But, I talked to her and she said she never got any letters from you or anyone else.”

She halts long enough to look at him. His fingers are wearing away at the skin behind his ear, the movement growing longer as the silence does.

“Ask your question,” he says finally.

“Why?”

Killian goes quiet for a moment. Not in surprise, Emma can tell, he clearly knew what she was doing here. He had to know she’d find out eventually, that he couldn’t just casually keep pretending he’d been sending Belle those letters this whole time. She realizes, though, that they hadn’t talked about them in a while.

“Did you want me to kiss you?” He asks again. Emma stares at him, annoyance flaring hot and heavy in her chest.

“Why can’t you just answer my question?” She demands, her voice raising a bit in her frustration. Killian, calm demeanor only serving to irritate her more, takes a step towards her. It brings him fully into her space and Emma sucks in a deep breath.

“Technically, darling,” he drawls, but Emma can see now the tightness in his shoulders, the way his hands shake at his sides. “I asked mine first.”

“You’re insufferable,” she breathes, voice failing her. Killian’s lips twitch upwards as he lets out a quiet chuckle. His knuckles drag, light as a feather, over the back of her hand where it hangs at her side. The touch is gone as quickly as it came and he isn’t touching her anywhere else, but Emma shivers.

“Did you want me to kiss you?”

The air rushes from her lungs in a huff, her shoulders falling in defeat as her chest deflates. “Yes.”

Killian studies her face for a moment, the same way she’s felt him do a million times over the past three weeks. This time, though, his proximity coupled with his eyes skimming over her features causes heat to rush to her cheeks.

She thinks he might kiss her again. Maybe she just hopes he will.

“When I was eighteen,” he says instead, his eyes falling from her to the collar of her jacket. His hand comes up, wiping the melted flecks of snow from her shoulder and flicking the wetness from his fingers. “I met a woman. She was slightly older and I knew she was trouble.”

“Trouble is hard to resist,” Emma comments and Killian’s eyes light with amusement as he nods. She should know, anyway, she staring trouble down right now. The precipice comes to mind again, the edge of the cliff. She wants to jump.

“I got swept up in the romance of it,” he continues, his gaze finally rising to meet hers. His startling blue eyes hold a sadness that makes her want to reach out to him. She resists the temptation. “And I got my heart broken. Thoroughly trampled, in fact.”

“That’s why you were afraid to be open with Belle,” Emma surmises.

“Aye,” Killian says with a nod. Emma frowns at him for a moment, tilting her head and studying him in a mimic of his earlier gesture.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she points out. “Why didn’t you send the letters?”

“Letter,” Killian corrects. Emma frowns at him. “I only ever wrote one, besides the aborted attempt I inadvertently gave to you.”

“Killian,” Emma says, irritation flaring again. She needs the answer. “Why?”

“I haven’t been romantically entangled with anyone since Milah, my first love,” Killian goes on, once again not answering her question. Her annoyance might be heavier if she weren’t so enraptured in his history lesson. Months they’ve been friends and they’ve never discussed this. “I never felt that same interest in anyone.”

“Until Belle?” Emma prompts.

“Until Belle,” he echoes, a look taking over his face that Emma can’t decipher. “When I met her, I immediately took to Belle. She’s brilliant and clever, generous and kind while still able to match both mine and Will’s wit. My feelings for her were nearly instant.”

Emma’s stomach clenches at the reminder of his feelings for Belle. They’re clearly one-sided, if the scene she’d walked in on about a half hour earlier were anything to go by. It still doesn’t stop something hot and uncomfortable from stirring in Emma’s stomach. Jealousy, she knows.

“Is this going somewhere?” She asks, feeling weary suddenly at the discussion.

“Yes,” Killian nods, his eyes on hers now, intense and bright. “You.”

“Me?”

“I met you and suddenly my heart was being torn,” he explains. Emma’s heart thuds against her ribs, she’d be surprised if Tink couldn’t hear it from the room over, let alone Killian. “It wasn’t until I kissed you that I realized what my feelings for you had become. But, I still had feelings for Belle as well.”

“Had?” Emma echoes, unwilling to hope. Killian’s lips turn upwards again, a soft smile aimed in her direction that does nothing to calm the erratic beat of her heart. She wants to press her palm to his chest, find out if she affects him the same way.

“I realized, literally stuck between you and Belle in that damned literature class, that my feelings for her were built upon an idealization I’d created back when I’d met her,” he admits. “In truth, I’d been lonely.”

Emma balls her hands into fists and shoves them into the pockets of her jackets, just out of the need to do something with them. It’s a lot of information and she’s got about a dozen new questions. Killian watches her quietly, allowing her to process what he’s telling her.

“How do you know,” Emma starts, voice cracking slightly. She clears her throat, swipes her tongue across her lips, and tries again. “How do you know you’re not just lonely now?”

“I loved things about Belle I had inflated in my mind,” he says. “I created a version of her who was perfect. It wasn’t healthy, of course, but I didn’t know I’d done it at the time. I realized, when things became unsettled between you and I, that I hadn’t been lonely since I met you.”

He lifts his hand now, brushing it over her cheek as he catches a loose curl and tucks it back behind her shoulder. Emma’s eyes flutter at the touch, the pads of his fingers skimming across her skin.

“But, you, Emma,” he says, reverence coloring his tone in a way that makes Emma’s chest tighten, her stomach flipping in nervousness. “You have flaws and you’re incredibly difficult at times. You frustrate and annoy me, run me through the ringer.”

“Is this supposed to be helping?” She cuts in and Killian chuckles. His fingers wrap gently around her wrist, index finger sliding over the tattoo there. He doesn’t look down, Emma realizes, already knowing exactly where the petals begin and the stem ends.

“My point is,” he says, a little pointedly. “I love you anyway.”

“You do?” Emma asks, a little fear creeping its way up her throat. She wants to believe him, can’t find a lie in his tone or his mannerisms. It’s a loaded sentence, one she usually runs away from. She’d already made the decision not to run from him, though. “Then, why have you been avoiding me?”

“Ah, yes,” Killian grimaces, his free hand coming up to scratch at the skin behind his ear. Emma can’t temper the smile at the familiar gesture and reaches up to pull his hand away from the mistreated patch of skin, her fingers wrapping around his. “Truthfully, I needed to be sure of what I was feeling. I couldn’t risk losing you if I wasn’t sure.”

“Losing me?” Emma repeats, confusion pinching her brow.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” he explains, looking at a spot beyond her rather than meeting her eyes. “I can understand and will try to find a way to move past my feelings. But, please, don’t run from me. You’re too important.”

“Killian,” Emma says, shaking his hands off of hers and pulling his attention back to her face. She places her hands on either side of his face, a blurry recognition taking over her as the coarse hair of his beard pricks at her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, she kisses him. It’s slow and gentle this time, nothing like Christmas Eve. There’s no overly cheery Christmas music in the background and neither of them are pulling away. Emma moves her hands, one a little further down his jaw in order to encourage him to tilt his head to a better angle. The other tangles in the hair at the back of his neck, the soft collar of his flannel shirt rubbing against her wrist. Killian’s hands can’t seem to find a place, one moving up her back and tugging her close while the other fingers at the dimple in her chin, moves along her jaw, tangles in her hair.

Emma doesn’t know if she loves him - she’s only just accepted that she wants to be with him -, but she knows she wants to be here, wants to be with him in this moment.

His lips separate from hers, press a kiss to the corner of her mouth before moving down her jaw. She tugs on his hair lightly, moving the other hand to the zipper of her jacket and tugging it down. Killian freezes at the sound of the metal teeth being released and looks up at her, eyes dark and hooded.

“Perhaps, we should slow down, love,” he says, voice rough and strained. Emma wants to know how much lower it can get, how to make him forget all those pretty words he’s so fond of. “Go out on a proper date, maybe?”

Emma rolls her eyes at him, tugging the jacket from her shoulder and dropping it to the floor. Killian’s room is excessively neat and the red blot on the white carpet stands out. She wraps her fingers around the collar of his shirt and spins them around before leading him backwards towards the bed.

“I told you,” she says. “I don’t want to be wooed.”

Killian’s eyes go wide with recognition as his knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls. He nods, clearly not willing to try and deter her anymore than that. Emma laughs and climbs onto his lap, her lips descending on the column of his throat. He swallows heavily, head tilting to the side and giving her better access.

“Tink,” he hollers, loud enough to be heard throughout the apartment. Emma cringes at the sound so close to her ear and nips at his skin in retaliation. “Beat it.”

Emma hears a loud fuck’s sake from somewhere in the apartment, some shuffling, and the sound of the front door slamming shut. She’d be embarrassed if she weren’t distracted by the feeling of the hard ridge of Killian’s growing erection pressing into her thigh.

Chuckling, he throws his arms out and flops dramatically backwards on the bed. It shifts his hips upwards into hers and Emma bites down at groan as he winks at her, a ridiculous thing since he’s incapable of doing it without closing both eyes. She lets out a huff of a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What do you say, darling?” He asks, arms still spread wide around him. His lips are red and swollen from her kisses and there’s a mark blooming on the skin of his neck. Emma wants to leave similar marks all over him. “Ready to have your way with me?”

“Oh, I am so looking forward to finally shutting you up,” she groans. She practically pounces on him, swallowing up his responding laugh with her lips over his.

Emma doesn’t know if she loves him. But, she’s pretty willing to find out.