Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

“Coffee’s out.”

“Of course it is,” he scoffs, tossing the empty pot into the sink with a clatter. She’d managed to drink the entire pot again. Again .

From the kitchen island, Emma sat, her posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, a porcelain mug cradled in her hands. She tilted her head, lips brushing her cup’s rim as she took a slow, deliberate sip. She looked so uninterested, which only made his irritation flare.

“I think you’ve had enough coffee this week. It’s only Tuesday.”

She looked up at him with a small, almost condescending smile. “Oh? I didn’t realize the coffee was yours. Are you claiming ownership of the kitchen now, Killian?”

He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, I did make it. You just seem to think that’s an open invitation to drink it all.”

Her lips quirked as she tilted her head, clearly not impressed. “Maybe you should just buy more. It’s not like you have any other better use for your time.”

“I’m not the one lounging in someone else’s apartment drinking all the coffee,” he added. “Have you considered making your own? I’m sure you know how.”

The tension was palpable now. He watched her tense up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gave him a look that could’ve cut glass. Her fingers tightened around her mug as if she were resisting the urge to throw it at him.

Just as the air between Killian and Emma thickened, one of the bedroom door creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway. Both of them froze, their gazes still locked—intense, like two people caught in a silent, unspoken battle. Killian's smirk hadn't faded, and Emma’s stance remained stiff, eyes narrowed just slightly, lips pressed in a tight line.

Neal appeared in the doorway, wearing his usual laid-back grin. He froze when he saw them, his eyes darting between them with a raised eyebrow. "What’s going on in here?” he asked, casually sitting down on the stool next to Emma. His voice was light, but the way his eyes flickered between Emma and Killian made it clear he was aware something was off.

Emma didn’t break her stare from Killian. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying her best to look unaffected, though the flush of her cheeks said otherwise. "Nothing,” she snapped, her tone sharp but forced, like she was trying to pretend there was no tension at all.

Killian didn’t even flinch at her tone. He leaned casually against the counter, looking unfazed, though his eyes still lingered on Emma with a mischievous glint. “Oh, just a little heated discussion about coffee,” he said, his voice dripping with that signature charm. "Nothing major."

Neal's gaze darted back and forth, clearly piecing things together. "Right. Heated discussion, huh?” He looked at the empty coffee pot, then at Emma, and then at Killian with a sly grin. “I’m guessing Emma’s involved, since the coffee's gone, and I know damn well you’re not making any.” He directed the comment at Killian.

Emma shot him a quick glare, her arms still crossed, as she muttered, “I didn’t drink all of it.”

“Of course not,” Killian said smoothly, the words just a little too sweet. "You just had a lot ."

Emma’s lips tightened, but she didn’t argue further. Killian watched her closely, sensing the slight shift in her—her usual defensiveness was there, but there was something else in the air. Something that made it feel more than just a bicker over a cup of coffee.

Neal smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort in the room. “Right,” he chuckled. “If you’re done with your heated debate , I’m just gonna go grab some food.”

Emma gave a stiff nod, clearly relieved for the distraction. She shot one last glance at Killian, her gaze meeting his for a second too long before quickly looking away.

Killian didn’t move, still watching her with that amused, unbothered expression. “Enjoy your snack,” he said with a wink, before turning his eyes back to Emma. “But hey, don’t worry about the coffee. I’ll make sure I’ve got plenty next time.”

Her lips parted, as if she were about to snap back, but then she swallowed the words. There was something about the way she looked at him now—something less irritated and more… something else. But she turned away before either of them could say anything more.

Killian stood there for a moment, watching as Neal and Emma’s playful banter started to take on a different tone. The way Neal was leaning towards her in his seat, grinning, and Emma—who had been rigid as a board only moments ago—was now laughing at something he said.

Killian’s gaze flickered between them. He hadn’t expected that . Emma’s smile was softer, lighter, her arms uncrossed as she tilted her head in that way she did when she was genuinely engaged.

Something in Killian snapped. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. He’d told himself it wasn’t, anyway. But he wasn’t about to stick around to watch them flirt. Not when the last few minutes had been an unsettling mix of bickering, tension, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He didn’t owe them anything. He wasn’t about to stand there awkwardly, pretending he didn’t care.

Killian grabbed his keys off the counter, turning toward the door. The overpriced coffee was well worth it if it meant he didn’t have to stay.

//

The sun hung low over the lake, casting the perfect golden hue over the water and the bustling group of friends gathered around the lake house. Laughter echoed through the air, the scent of grilled food wafting on the light breeze, and the steady thrum of excitement filled the space.

Killian and Belle were in the middle of setting up food and drinks at a long picnic table, the playful chaos of their movements adding to the lively atmosphere. Mary Margaret and David were organizing the cooler by the lake, directing Ruby who was arriving with the drinks.

Belle, ever the meticulous one, was arranging snacks into neat piles while shooting Will a side-eye. He, of course, was lounging near the grill with a bottle of beer, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Can you stop acting like you’re at a pub, Will, and actually help?” Belle snapped, her tone clipped as she grabbed a tray of fruit.

Will smirked at her, his accent making his response sound like a lazy drawl. “I’m helping, darling. I’m making sure the important work’s being done—someone has to keep an eye on the grill, don’t they?” He leaned back, taking a slow sip of his beer, clearly enjoying his own sense of charm.

Emma chimed, rolling her eyes. “Right. You’re such a big help . I’m sure you’ll save the day if the burgers catch fire.” She set the tray down on the table, eyes narrowing as she scanned the layout. 

Killian chuckled from the other side of the room, clearly enjoying her irritation. 

“Aye, the important stuff,” he winked at her, and his grin was a little too cocky, like he was savoring the moment. “Why are we even celebrating this anyway? Half of us aren’t even Americans. This probably counts as betrayal.”

“Shut up, Scarlet.”

“This is child labor,” he grumbled from his spot in the shade, beer in hand, as David handed him a bag of ice.

“You’re not a child,” David reminded him, deadpan.

“Yeah, well, I feel oppressed.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she carefully arranged plates and utensils on the picnic table. Everything had to be organized, just right—burgers on one side, hot dogs on the other, condiments evenly spaced, napkins folded neatly—

"Really, love?" a voice drawled from behind her.

She clenched her jaw before even turning around.

He leaned against the table with an insufferable smirk, watching her arrange the food like it was a science experiment. "God forbid the ketchup and mustard be two inches apart instead of perfectly symmetrical."

"Some of us actually like things to be organized," Emma shot back, glaring at him.

"Ah, yes. Little Miss Perfect. Always making sure everything is in perfect order, aren’t you?" Killian teased. "Let me guess, you have a color-coded checklist for this party too?"

Emma huffed, crossing her arms. "I like things to be done right. You wouldn't understand, considering the closest you've ever come to being responsible is—oh wait, you haven’t ."

Killian placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You wound me, Swan."

"Good," she muttered, grabbing a stack of napkins a little too aggressively.

"You know, you should really try relaxing for once," Killian continued, that smirk never leaving his face. "Let loose, enjoy yourself, maybe even— gasp —break a rule."

She crossed her arms, clearly not amused. “Oh, should I be more like you? Bring a different girl home every weekend and forget her name the next day?”

Killian’s smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered, taking another casual swig from his beer. “Is that jealousy I hear, Swan?”

“In your dreams.”

“Aye.” He paused, looking her straight in the eye before carefully returning the smirk that seemed to forever stitched on his face. “And what’s wrong with that? I’m just living my life, enjoying myself. You should try it sometime.” He flashed her a roguish grin. “Or, you know, maybe that’s why you’re so uptight—too worried about what everyone else thinks.”

Emma’s face flushed slightly, but she quickly composed herself, not letting him see how much his words had affected her. “I’m not uptight , Killian. I just think it’s sad that you can’t have a real relationship, just a bunch of empty flings.” Her voice was sharper now, a challenge hanging in the air between them.

Killian’s eyes narrowed, the playful edge fading from his features. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we really going to pretend you’re some saint, Swan? You’ve got your own history , don’t you?”

Emma stiffened at the insinuation, but before she could snap back, Ruby appeared between them, interrupting the brewing tension. “What’s going on here? You two bickering again?”

Emma shot her a quick, pointed glance before turning back to Killian. “Nothing. Killian’s just being—well, Killian.”

Ruby looked between them with a raised eyebrow, clearly sensing the sharpness in the air. “Right. Well, try not to break anything, alright?” She chuckled, giving Emma a pat on the back and grabbed something from the fridge.

To Emma’s relief, Killian only scoffed before walking off to join the others by the grill.

The moment Killian disappeared, Emma exhaled sharply, slumping against the island. “Orange juice, really?”

Ruby only shrugged, “gotta balance out the booze.” Taking a sip of the liquid straight from the carton, which she didn’t even want to think about how unhygienic that was. 

“I really don’t get what the issue is with you two,” she heard Ruby say. “All this sexual tension. You know you should just fuck and get it over with.” 

Her words were said in a joking manner but still Emma froze, the air around them suddenly charged with a different kind of tension. Ruby’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Emma knew it was too late to pass it off as anything else and hoped Ruby didn’t notice when she saw the tall girl’s eyes going wide in shock.

“Oh my God, you already have, haven’t you?” 

Emma’s face went crimson, her hands fumbling with the spoon she had been holding. "Ruby, please, don't—"

"Don't what?" Ruby interrupted, her grin widening. "You’re telling me you and Killian? That’s juicy stuff, Em. I’m just trying to process this.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a great secret. "I bet he told you you were the most annoying person he’s ever met, but in that charming, Killian sort of way, right?”

Emma groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "Ruby, please, I’m serious."

"I’m sorry," Ruby said with a shrug, finally relenting a little. "But seriously, Em. I just– You two are always at each other’s throat. Does Neal know? When did this happen?"

Emma sighed, shoulders slumping. "No. It happened before we were together, before we even really... started anything serious. It was a one-time thing. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t even know he was his roommate. And when I realized, I just—"

Ruby shifted, her gaze flicking over to Killian outside. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of something that Emma had never quite caught before. "Well, honestly, I get it. I mean, if you’re really going to try to ignore how he is , then sure, pretend you two just hate each other. But deep down, it’s not like there’s zero chemistry."

Emma blinked, her brow furrowing. "Wait, what do you mean by that? Are you—are you seriously saying—"

Ruby shrugged casually, her smirk never leaving her face. "Oh, come on, Em. I’m not blind."  She gave a knowing glance to Emma. “And really, I’m the last person to judge you for sleeping with Killian.”

Emma looked up, confused. "What?"

Ruby let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t make that face. Yeah, we’ve... we’ve done the thing. Back in college. It’s how we met. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, I mean have you seen the guy? I think he might’ve ruined every other man for me. Anyway, after that, we just ended up being friends. Nothing serious."

Emma’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she couldn’t form words. Emma shook her head slowly, still reeling from the information. "But he’s so… annoying.” She tried to reason, lamely. 

Ruby leaned in, her tone light but teasing. "Annoying? That’s the word you’re going with?” Then her expression softened, and she leaned in a little closer, her voice a mix of understanding and playful honesty. "Look, Em, I know that Killian is… complicated. But, honestly he’s not a bad guy, I promise. Just talk to him and at least try to work it out, because if you don’t, you’re going to end up killing each other… or jump each other’s bones and honestly I don’t know which one would be worse.”

The fireworks crackled overhead, lighting up the night sky in bursts of red, blue, and gold. The air was warm with the scent of fresh-cut grass, the low hum of conversations blending with the distant sounds of the party outside. The lake house was alive with energy, but inside, Emma felt her mind churning with thoughts that had been festering all evening.

She had tried to enjoy the night, but there was always a lingering sense of unease whenever her gaze drifted toward Killian. The tension between them had been simmering for months, but maybe it was time to confront him.

Taking a deep breath, Emma made her way outside, where Killian was standing by the firepit, talking animatedly with a few people. The light from the flames cast flickering shadows across his face, his usual smirk in place as he laughed at something one of the guys had said. He looked relaxed, but there was always something beneath that—something Emma couldn’t put her finger on.

She walked up to him, trying to keep her tone casual but failing to mask the nervousness. "Hey, Killian."

He turned toward her, his grin fading just a little. His eyes flickered with recognition, but there was a slight tension in his posture. "Swan," he said, his voice a little too casual, too stiff.

"Can we talk?"

Killian raised an eyebrow, his casual demeanor slipping slightly. "Sure."

They slipped through the crowd, the noise of the party fading as they moved to a quieter part of the house. An alcove tucked away with a view of the lake. The soft glow of lamps illuminated the space, and the air felt calmer, more intimate. Emma’s pulse still raced, but the quieter setting allowed her to breathe a little easier.

Emma bit her lip, taking a step closer, trying to muster the courage to say what had been on her mind for so long. "I need to know why you’re acting like this around me. Like... like you can’t stand me. What did I do?"

There it was. The question that had been hanging between them, unsaid for months. She held her breath, waiting for his response, her heart thudding in her chest.

Killian stiffened, and for a moment, Emma thought he might brush her off, like he always did. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He took a sip of his drink, eyes drifting to the firepit before turning back to her. "I don’t know if I want to do this right now, Swan."

"Please," she said, her voice more fragile than she meant it to be. "I just want to know why you hate me?"

His eyes softened slightly, but there was still a guarded look in them. He seemed torn, like he didn’t want to admit whatever was eating at him. "I don’t hate you," he muttered, almost too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself more than her. 

Emma snapped, her irritation growing. "Really, cause you sure act like you do."

He glanced away for a second, his gaze drifting toward the firepit before he finally turned back to her, his expression tightening. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah," Emma said, her voice firm but still uncertain. "I do."

Killian stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched, as if trying to decide whether or not to say what was really on his mind. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. It’s because of you. You’ve been acting like we don’t know each other—like you’ve forgotten what happened between us. When Neal introduced us, you acted like we’ve never met."

He set his drink down, his hands rubbing over his face in frustration. "I had no idea how serious things were between you and Neal when we... He was already talking about you nonstop before New Year’s—like he was falling for you or something." He shook his head, his gaze hardening as he looked at her. “And then when you acted like nothing happened, like we didn’t even know each other, it felt like... well, like you were hiding it all."

Emma recoiled, the words hitting her like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Killian to think that she was the one who had betrayed Neal. Her mouth went dry as she processed what he had just said. The accusation felt like a weight on her chest.

"You think I cheated on Neal?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, despite her attempts to remain calm. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Killian exhaled sharply, a guilty look flashing across his face as he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Neal’s my friend and I don’t want to see him get hurt. No, I don’t think you were cheating in the traditional sense. But it felt like you were leading him on. It felt like you were sleeping with me while he was already thinking about you. And then when you acted like nothing happened—like you didn’t even know me—and if you lied about that, then I don’t know what else you would lie about."

Emma felt a surge of frustration and disbelief. "Killian, you’ve got it all wrong," she said, her voice rising now, the anger and hurt starting to mix. "Neal wasn’t even with me yet! I didn’t cheat on him. We didn’t even start dating until after New Year’s, after everything happened. I wasn’t leading him on—I wasn’t even with him!"

But Killian wasn’t backing down. He shook his head, his expression hardening. "It doesn’t matter when you started dating Neal, Emma. He was already talking about you. He was already all over you before New Year’s."

Emma's eyes burned, a mix of frustration and disbelief clouding her thoughts. She felt like she was drowning in misunderstandings, each one worse than the last. How had it gotten so complicated?

"You don’t get to decide what was going on between Neal and me," she said, her voice shaking now with the weight of the emotions she had been holding in for too long. "We were just getting to know each other. We weren’t even together yet."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but it wasn’t easy. "Neal and I have been figuring things out since then. But you —" she gestured between them, "—you’re the one who’s making all of this harder. By making it about something it isn’t."

The silence between them stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Killian looked like he was about to say something more, but Emma couldn’t bear to hear it. She wasn’t going to let him keep pushing this guilt on her.

"Look," she said, her voice much quieter now, though the sting of his words still burned. "I don’t have to prove myself to you.” Emma took a step back, her eyes meeting his one last time. "I really don’t care what you think of me, I just– I can’t do this anymore.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she turned and left the quiet alcove, the weight of the conversation still heavy in her chest, but her mind resolute. She wasn’t going to let him turn this into something it wasn’t. She had to protect herself, even if it meant walking away from this conversation unfinished.

//

It was a few days after when they finally see each other again.

She was stretched out on Neal’s couch, half-watching some reality show while he was out with Will and David. It was late, and she wasn’t in the mood for company. She didn’t have to look up to know who just walked in, and as much as she especially didn’t want his  company, she can’t exactly kick him out of his own apartment.

“If you’re going to pick another fight, Jones, I’m really not in the mood.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but he didn’t. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “I wasn’t. I actually wanted to…” He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Apologize.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Did Will dare you to do this?”

Killian let out a dry chuckle. “No, Swan. Believe it or not, I can admit when I’m wrong.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Let’s hear it then.”

He rolled his eyes but nodded. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, that was unfair.” His voice softened slightly.

Emma studied him for a moment. She could tell the apology wasn’t easy for him—Killian never backed down from anything, especially not with her. But there was something more underneath his words, something heavier.

She sighed. “I wouldn’t do that to Neal. Or to anyone. I’m not that kind of person.”

He looked away, jaw tightening, before he spoke again. “I know. And I was out of line.” He hesitated, fingers drumming against the doorframe. “It’s just… trust isn’t something that comes easily for me.”

Emma frowned. Killian never talked about real things—not with her, at least. He was all flirtation and deflection, the kind of guy who acted like nothing ever got to him. But now, he wasn’t hiding behind a smirk or a sarcastic remark. He just… was..

“What do you mean?” she asked, softer this time.

He let out a slow breath, like he was deciding whether or not to say the words. “A few years back, I was in a relationship. Thought it was serious. Turns out, I was the only one who did.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “She lied. Constantly. About me, about where she was, about who she was with. And the worst part was, every time I caught her, she’d just spin another lie, made me feel like I was the crazy one for questioning her.” His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax. “I told myself I wouldn’t be that idiot again. So when you lied to Neal about not knowing who I was, I just— I don’t know. I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Emma felt a pang in her chest—because she understood. Maybe more than she wanted to admit.

“I get it,” she said quietly. “Trust isn’t easy for me either.”

Killian gave a small, humorless laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? Two people who don’t trust anyone, somehow managing to drive each other insane.”

Emma smirked slightly. “Yeah, well. You deserve it.”

He smirked back, and for a moment, it felt normal —like before everything got complicated.

Silence stretched between them, not entirely uncomfortable, but heavy with things unsaid.

“Are we good, then?” he asked, tilting his head.

Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair. “We’re getting there.”

Killian nodded, like that was enough for now. Then, with one last look, he turned and walked away.

//

Killian’s day had been absolute hell.

It had started with a simple miscalculation on a blueprint—not his, of course, but now it was his problem. Then came the supply delay, meaning half his team was standing around with nothing to do while he tried to juggle phone calls and paperwork. And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, his supervisor had pulled him aside for a chat about deadlines and efficiency, as if he hadn’t been running himself into the ground to keep the project on track.

By the time he got home, he was exhausted, frustrated, and in desperate need of a drink.

What he didn’t need was Emma Swan sitting on his couch.

Killian stopped in the doorway of his apartment, staring as she scrolled through her phone like she belonged there. “Swan,” he said, voice rough from the day, “why the hell are you in my apartment?”

Emma barely spared him a glance. “I was waiting for Neal, but he had to run back to his office for something. Thought I’d hang out.”

Killian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “Great. Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to wallow in my own misery without an audience.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, finally looking at him properly. He must’ve looked as bad as he felt because some of the usual fire in her eyes dimmed. “Bad day?”

He scoffed, tossing his bag onto the table. “Understatement.”

Emma studied him for a moment before setting her phone down. “What happened?”

Killian hesitated. Normally, he wouldn’t bother telling her—she was the last person he wanted sympathy from—but something about the way she asked made him cave.

So he told her.

About the mistakes, the delays, the fact that he’d spent the entire day feeling like he was one wrong step away from everything falling apart.

When he finished, Emma was quiet for a beat before she stood, walking into the kitchen. Killian frowned. “What are you—?”

She pulled a bottle of rum from the cabinet. His rum. Then she grabbed two glasses, poured a generous amount into each, and set one down in front of him.

“Drink,” she ordered.

Killian blinked at her, then let out a tired chuckle. “You’re full of surprises, love.”

Emma shrugged, sipping her own drink. “Yeah, well. Even you don’t deserve to suffer alone.”

He studied her, something in his chest loosening just a bit. 

Killian took a slow sip of his drink, feeling the warmth of the rum burn down his throat. He let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to release some of the tension coiled there. Across from him, Emma leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“You know,” she said, swirling the liquid in her glass, “for someone who acts like he’s got it all figured out, you sure let work get under your skin.”

Killian shot her a tired glare. “Forgive me, Swan, for actually giving a damn about my job.”

Emma smirked slightly. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t. Just saying maybe you don’t have to let it ruin your entire night.” She tilted her head. “You always put this much pressure on yourself?”

He hesitated, not sure he wanted to answer that. But she was looking at him like she actually cared, and maybe it was the rum loosening his tongue, or maybe it was just the fact that he was too damn tired to keep up his usual walls.

“Engineering isn’t just numbers and blueprints,” he admitted. “It’s responsibility. I design something wrong, I calculate something incorrectly, and suddenly, it’s not just a bad day at work—it’s lives on the line.” He shook his head. “Mistakes aren’t an option.”

Emma was quiet for a moment, then softly said, “Sounds exhausting.”

Killian smirked, but there was no real humor in it. “That’s one way to put it.”

She watched him for a second longer, then downed the rest of her drink in one go and set the glass aside. “Alright,” she said, “get up.”

Killian frowned. “What?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You clearly need to blow off some steam, and since you’d probably just drink yourself into a stupor alone in your room, I have a better idea.”

Killian arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Oh? And what might that be?”

A mischievous glint sparked in her green eyes. “Come on, Jones. Let’s go have some fun.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Define fun .”

But Emma was already grabbing her jacket, tossing him his own. “Less talking, more moving.”

He sighed but didn’t argue. He didn’t know what Emma had planned, but hell—after the day he’d had, he figured he had nothing to lose.

Killian had expected Emma’s idea of “fun” to be something reckless—dragging him to a bar, sneaking into a closed-off rooftop, maybe even stealing a car for the hell of it.

Instead, she took him to an old diner a few blocks from their apartment.

It wasn’t fancy, but it was open late, mostly empty except for a tired-looking waitress and a couple of night owls hunched over their coffee. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as Emma slid into a booth, gesturing for Killian to sit across from her.

He smirked. “Swan, I hate to break it to you, but this is a terrible excuse for a night out.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping through the laminated menu. “Yeah, well, I figured you could use something other than alcohol in your system. Besides, they have the best milkshakes in town.”

Killian chuckled but didn’t argue. He could admit—begrudgingly—that the quiet hum of the diner was nice. Calming, even.

A waitress came by, taking their order—Emma got a chocolate milkshake, Killian ordered coffee—and as soon as she walked away, Emma leaned back with a sigh.

“So,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table, “since we’re sharing sob stories tonight, want to hear about how much my job sucks?”

Killian smirked. “By all means, love. Let’s make this a competition.”

Emma snorted. “Trust me, you’d lose.” She stretched her arms over her head before letting them fall to her sides. “I wait tables for a living, and it’s the worst. Shitty customers, terrible pay, and my boss isn’t a terrible person but he has this tendency to suddenly disappear whenever things get busy.”

Killian winced. “Sounds delightful.”

“Oh, it is,” she said dryly. “And the best part? I get to squeeze it in between my online classes, which are filled with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds who don’t understand the concept of hard work yet.”

Killian tilted his head. “How’s that going?”

Emma shrugged, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “Slowly. But I’m getting there.”

Something in the way she said it made Killian pause. “Emma… how old do you think you are?”

She shot him a glare. “I’m twenty-six, jackass. ”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just making sure you weren’t acting like you were eighty.”

Emma huffed. “You don’t get it. I’m the oldest person in my classes. Most of these kids are fresh out of high school, while I’m the weird lady who’s been through actual life. ” She sighed, staring down at the table. “But I want that degree. I want to prove to myself that I can finish something.”

Killian watched her, seeing past the sarcasm, past the usual sharp edges she threw up as defense. This wasn’t just about a piece of paper—it was about her. About something she had probably convinced herself she’d never get.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You will.”

Emma blinked at him. “What?”

Killian held her gaze, his voice steady. “You’ll finish. You’ll get that degree. And anyone who has the audacity to think you don’t belong in that classroom is a bloody idiot.”

Emma stared at him, caught off guard. For a second, she looked like she might actually let her guard down completely—but then she scoffed, shaking her head. “Look at you, Jones. Almost sounded like you care for a second there.”

Killian smirked. “Don’t get used to it, love.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, setting them down with a polite smile before walking away. Emma grabbed her milkshake, taking a long sip, and for a moment, they sat there in comfortable silence.

Maybe their lives were a mess. Maybe they bickered too much, maybe they were too similar in ways that made things complicated. But right now—sitting in a quiet diner at midnight, talking about things they never told anyone else—Killian realized something.

He didn’t hate Emma Swan.

Not even close.

//

Killian should’ve known better than to answer Ruby’s call.

But he had, and now he was standing in the middle of some absurdly expensive clothing store, arms crossed, watching as Ruby held up two nearly identical blouses with a look of intense concentration.

“Alright,” she said, turning to him. “Honest opinion—do I go with the white one, which screams ‘I’m professional and responsible,’ or the blue one, which says ‘I’m confident, but also super approachable’?”

Killian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ruby, love, they’re shirts. I highly doubt your future employer will be pondering the psychology of your color choices.”

Ruby gasped, clutching her chest. “Killian! The audacity. ”

Killian smirked. “Forgive me, darling, for not being well-versed in the art of corporate fashion.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Ugh, you’re useless. Why did I even bring you?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Killian muttered.

She ignored him, tossing both blouses over her arm before grabbing another pair of slacks from a nearby rack. “For the record,” she added, “you owe me for making me sit through that ridiculous movie you picked last week.”

Killian scoffed. “ The Princess Bride is a classic. ”

Ruby shot him a deadpan look. “You quoted the entire thing out loud, Killian. Every. Single. Line.”

He grinned. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

Ruby shook her head, muttering something about obnoxious pirates, before disappearing into the dressing rooms. Killian sighed, looking around the store like an animal trying to find the quickest escape route.

Unfortunately, his eyes landed on someone very familiar.

Emma.

She was standing a few racks away, sifting through a display of leather jackets with mild interest. She hadn’t seen him yet, and for a brief second, he considered walking away before she did. But then, as if sensing his presence, she glanced up—green eyes locking onto his with immediate recognition.

There was a beat of silence before she smirked. “Jones. Didn’t expect to see you here. Looking for a new wardrobe?”

Killian huffed a laugh, slipping his hands into his pockets. “As much as I’d love to discuss the finer points of fashion, no, Swan. I’ve been dragged here against my will.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Ruby?”

“Ruby.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Ruby emerged from the dressing room, adjusting the blazer she was trying on. “Okay, verdict?” she asked, doing a dramatic spin.

Killian opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Emma beat him to it.

“You look great, Rubes,” she said, giving an approving nod. “Super professional, but still you. ”

Ruby grinned. “Right? That’s what I was going for.” She turned to Killian. “See, this is why I need Emma around—actual useful opinions.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, some of us weren’t born with an innate knowledge of business casual. ”

Ruby snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Just stand there and look pretty, Jones.”

Killian smirked. “That, I can do.”

Emma just shook her head, muttering something under her breath before returning to her jackets. But as Ruby went back to try on more outfits, Killian found himself sneaking another glance at her.

Ruby clapped her hands together as she stepped out of the dressing room, now back in her usual ripped jeans and red tank top. “Alright, I think I’ve tortured Killian enough for one day. Let’s go get some lunch.”

Killian let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Finally. I was beginning to think we’d be trapped in this retail nightmare forever.”

Emma chuckled, shaking her head as she hung a jacket back on the rack. “Tempting, but I can’t. I gotta get back to work.”

Ruby groaned. “Ugh, come on, Emma. You never take a proper break. Your boss won’t even notice you’re gone.”

Emma shot her a look. “Yeah, except he will. And I kinda need the job, Rubes.”

Ruby pouted. “Fine. But next time, I’m forcing you to ditch work and have fun for once.”

Emma smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

Killian, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, leaned against a nearby clothing rack. “You know, Swan, I think I’m starting to believe you actually enjoy suffering.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Says the guy who willingly spends his entire day on a construction site in the middle of July.”

Killian smirked. “Touché.”

Ruby sighed dramatically. “Alright, whatever. Go be a responsible adult. I guess I’ll just have lunch alone with this idiot.” She gestured at Killian with mock disappointment.

Killian pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, darling.”

Emma snorted, shaking her head. “You’ll survive.” She grabbed her bag and glanced at Killian one last time before turning to Ruby. “Text me later, yeah?”

“Duh,” Ruby said. “And if your boss gives you too much trouble, just quit and become a professional badass. You’re already halfway there.”

Emma smirked but didn’t argue as she headed for the exit. Killian watched her go, an odd feeling settling in his chest—one he refused to name.

“She works too damn hard,” Ruby muttered, watching Emma disappear down the street.

Killian tilted his head, considering that. “Aye. She does.”

Ruby turned to him suddenly, eyes narrowing like she had just realized something. “Wait a second.”

Killian blinked. “What?”

She crossed her arms. “You two didn’t bicker just now.”

Killian scoffed. “I—what?”

Ruby pointed at him accusingly. “No insults, no sarcasm—just talking. And not even in an I-hate-you way. In a normal way.” She gasped. “Oh my God. Are you two warming up to each other?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ruby smirked. “No, no, this is big. ” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Should I be concerned about a thing happening between you and Emma?”

Killian groaned. “Bloody hell, let’s just get lunch before I regret every decision that led me here.”

Ruby laughed but didn’t press the issue—at least, for now.

//

Killian Jones had spent the better part of a decade in the States, but apparently, finally becoming a citizen meant he had to endure a level of attention that made him want to disappear into the nearest hole.

"Ruby, for the last time," Killian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "this is not a big deal."

Ruby gasped, clutching her chest like he’d just insulted her entire existence. “ Not a big deal?! Killian, you are finally one of us! You’ve been here for years, and now it’s official. We have to celebrate.”

Killian groaned, glancing at the rest of the group for support. But Mary Margaret was giving him a soft, motherly smile, David was nodding in agreement, Belle looked like she was already mentally organizing logistics, and Will—well, Will was just grinning like an idiot, probably thinking about all the alcohol he’d be consuming.

Traitors.

“It’s really not necessary,” Killian tried again, adjusting the sleeves of his button-up. “I filled out some paperwork, answered a few questions about your presidents, and swore an oath. Hardly cause for a bloody festival. ”

"You had to prove your loyalty, " Ruby argued dramatically. "To America. I think that warrants at least a cake."

Killian sighed. "A cake? Fine. A party? Absolutely not. "

Will slung an arm around Killian's shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Mate, you should know by now—we don't throw parties for you. We throw parties to drink. You're just a convenient excuse."

Killian huffed a laugh despite himself. "Charming."

"Also," Mary Margaret added kindly, "you know how much we love you, Killian. We just want to celebrate something important in your life."

Killian opened his mouth to argue again, but the look on her face made him pause. Bloody hell, how was he supposed to fight that?

Ruby clapped her hands together, sensing his resolve crumbling. "Great! We’ll do it this weekend at David and Mary Margaret’s place. I’ll handle decorations, Belle can be in charge of food, and Will—well, Will just has to show up."

"I do love a good party," Will agreed.

Killian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Bloody relentless, the lot of you."

"That’s why you love us," David said with a grin.

Killian rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. Fine.

As the group started chatting excitedly about plans, Killian caught sight of Emma standing slightly apart from the others. She hadn’t spoken much during the conversation, but she was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

He arched an eyebrow. “Something on your mind, Swan?”

She shrugged. “Just… I get why you don’t want a big deal made out of this.”

Killian tilted his head, intrigued. “Do you?”

Emma gave him a small smirk. “Yeah. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong somewhere, even after you’ve been there for a long time.”

Something in Killian’s chest tightened, but before he could say anything, she patted his arm and added, “But you’re stuck with us now, Captain America.”

Killian scoffed. “Bloody hell, don’t call me that.”

Killian had fought valiantly. He had argued, dodged, and tried to change the subject at every opportunity.

But in the end, resistance was futile.

So here he was, sitting at a long table in the private room of their favorite restaurant, surrounded by his friends, while they all grinned at him like this was the most important event of the year.

“See?” Ruby said smugly, raising her glass. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Killian exhaled through his nose, glancing around the table. Belle had gone all out, making reservations and even bringing a small American flag to stick into the centerpiece, much to his dismay. David and Mary Margaret were beaming at him like proud parents. Will was already on his second drink, Neal was chatting with David about some sports thing, and Emma…

Emma was sitting directly across from him, watching him with that knowing little smirk.

“Not bad at all, Jones,” she said, sipping her beer.

Killian arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emma shrugged. “Just that you’re actually letting people celebrate you for once instead of being a stubborn ass about it.”

Killian scoffed. “It’s dinner, Swan. Hardly cause for such a dramatic observation.”

She smirked. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Captain America. ”

Killian groaned, rubbing his temple. “I should have never told you lot about the test.”

Mary Margaret raised her glass. “Well, I’m glad you did. Because we are celebrating, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Aye, clearly,” Killian muttered, though a small smile played at his lips.

Will raised his glass, grinning. “To Killian bloody Jones! Finally an American, whether he likes it or not.”

The group cheered, glasses clinking together, and Killian found himself laughing despite himself.

When the dinner was winding down and people were distracted with dessert and drinks, Emma casually slid a small bag across the table toward Killian.

He eyed it like it was a live grenade. “What’s this?”

Emma smirked, resting her chin in her hand. “A gift. ”

Killian groaned. “Swan.”

“Oh, relax,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a real gift. Just something stupid.”

That didn’t reassure him. He hesitated a second longer before finally pulling the tissue paper aside, reaching into the bag—

And pulling out a giant ceramic mug with ‘ GOD BLESS AMERICA’ plastered across the front in obnoxiously bold letters, complete with tiny American flags and eagles.

For a second, there was complete silence.

Then Killian burst out laughing.

A full, deep, genuine laugh that caught the attention of everyone at the table.

“What’s so funny?” Ruby asked, leaning over to look, before immediately grinning. “Oh my God, that’s perfect.”

Killian shook his head, still chuckling as he turned the mug in his hands. “This is atrocious, Swan.”

Emma grinned. “You love it.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “I hate it.”

“You love it,” she corrected, clearly enjoying herself.

Killian sighed dramatically. “Bloody hell.” He ran a finger over the rim of the mug, still smirking. “Fine. I’ll keep it.”

Emma clapped her hands together. “Mission accomplished.”

Killian wasn’t exactly sure when things shifted between him and Emma.

One minute, they were exchanging sarcastic remarks and barely tolerating each other’s presence, and the next… they were having actual conversations.

It had started small—casual questions about work or school, harmless banter over group dinners. But then, one night, she had mentioned her online classes, and he’d actually asked about them.

"You chose to juggle waitressing and coursework?" he’d asked, sipping from the ridiculous ‘ God Bless America’ mug Emma had given him.

Emma had smirked at the sight of it before answering. “Didn’t have much of a choice. If I want to do what I actually care about, I need a degree.”

“Right, social work, right?” He remembered her mentioning it that night. That first night.

"Yeah," she had said, almost hesitantly, like she was waiting for him to make a joke. "Helping kids in the system."

Killian had simply nodded. “Admirable.”

Emma had looked a little surprised but didn’t question it.

Since then, their conversations had somehow deepened. They still bickered—old habits died hard—but there was something else under the surface now. A mutual understanding, maybe. A grudging respect.

They both knew what it was like to keep their guard up. To feel like an outsider.

And, as it turned out, they both loved The Princess Bride.

“That’s the best sword fight scene in cinematic history,” Killian had insisted one evening when they found themselves sitting next to each other at a group hangout.

Emma had scoffed. “Obviously.”

Killian smirked. “Didn’t peg you for someone with taste, Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And I didn’t peg you for someone who could recite the entire movie from memory.”

Killian grinned. “I am full of surprises.”

She shook her head but didn’t argue.

They definitely weren’t best friends or anything. But at least they weren’t trying to kill each other anymore.

//

Killian wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—sitting at a booth in their favorite bar, across from Neal and Emma, nursing a whiskey while pretending this wasn’t the absolute worst way to spend his evening.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic.

But still.

He hadn’t even planned on staying when he first walked in, only stopping by to grab a drink and say a quick hello to the group. But then Neal had waved him over, grinning, and Emma—well, she hadn’t glared at him, so that was progress.

Now he was stuck in this weird semi-awkward social situation, trying not to look like he noticed how easily Emma laughed at Neal’s jokes or how casually Neal draped his arm over her shoulders.

Not that he cared, of course.

“So, Killian,” Neal said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Emma says you’ve actually been nice to her lately.”

Emma scoffed. “I never said nice. ”

Killian smirked, swirling his drink. “No, you’d sooner swallow nails than admit to such a thing.”

Neal chuckled, completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that always seemed to exist between the two of them. “Well, whatever you wanna call it, it’s an improvement.” He turned to Emma, nudging her. “Remember when you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without a full-blown argument?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean, he is still an ass most of the time.”

Killian placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, love.”

Neal laughed again before taking a sip of his beer, missing the way Killian and Emma locked eyes for half a second too long.

Emma looked away first. “Anyway, let’s not make this weird,” she muttered.

Too late.

Neal, still completely unaware, leaned back in his seat. “So, Killian, any new one-night stands to report?”

Emma stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Killian’s jaw ticked, but he kept his expression neutral. “Why do you ask?”

Neal shrugged, grinning. “Dude, it’s you. You’re basically allergic to relationships.”

Killian chuckled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aye, well. Some of us aren’t quite as lucky as you, mate.”

Emma finally spoke up, voice a little tighter than before. “Okay, wow. This conversation sucks. Can we move on?”

Neal blinked. “What? I’m just messing around.”

Killian smirked, though there was an edge to it. “Oh, no, I’m fascinated. Please, do continue analyzing my love life.”

Emma shot him a look, and for once, it wasn’t the usual glare—it was something closer to a silent warning.

Neal, still oblivious, just laughed again and took another sip of his drink.

Killian, for his part, was suddenly very aware of how much he wanted to get the hell out of there.

//

Mary Margaret and David’s house was alive with laughter, the smell of roasted turkey, and the occasional shouting match over board games. It was Emma’s first Friendsgiving with the group, and she wasn’t exactly sure how to process it.

She had been invited, of course—Neal had made a point of asking her to come. But stepping into this house, surrounded by all these people who actually liked each other , who cared —it was a lot.

She wasn’t used to this.

Family had always been a complicated word for her. Yet here was a group of people who had chosen each other, who made their own version of family. It was… nice. She just wasn’t sure how to let herself enjoy it.

The warmth of the night, however, was hard to resist—especially when Killian, of all people, was running around like an absolute idiot with David and Mary Margaret’s five-year-old son, Leo.

“Uncle Killian, faster! ” the kid shrieked as Killian chased him around the living room, dodging furniture with surprising agility.

Killian, laughing breathlessly, caught him and hoisted him up into his arms, spinning him in a circle. “Aye, Captain Leo, you’re far too fast for me!”

Emma blinked. Huh. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing that side of Killian—so unguarded, so genuinely happy —did something weird to her chest.

"Killian’s huge pushover," Ruby whispered next to her. "He acts all tough, but he’s basically a human golden retriever."

Emma snorted. “That tracks.”

Killian, having finally set Leo down, caught her staring. He arched an eyebrow. “See something interesting, Swan?”

Emma smirked. “Just wondering how you of all people ended up someone’s godfather.”

Killian placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Are you implying I am not godfather material? ”

“Yup.”

“Rude.”

Their playful exchange was interrupted by Will’s voice booming from the dining room. “ Monopoly time, losers! ”

Somehow, Emma found herself locked in the most ridiculously intense game of Monopoly she had ever played.

It had started innocently enough—just a casual post-dinner game with the group. But then, of course, Killian had to be there, which meant their usual competitive streaks kicked in.

"You're going down, Jones," Emma muttered as she calculated her next move.

Killian smirked, lounging back in his chair. "Swan, I hate to break it to you, but you've just landed on my Boardwalk with a hotel."

Emma cursed under her breath as she forked over a ridiculous amount of Monopoly money.

"Are they actually taking this seriously?" Belle asked from the sidelines, sipping her wine.

"Oh, absolutely," David answered.

The game stretched on, and soon it was just them . Everyone else had either gone to play cards or to watch Leo build a Lego tower in the corner.

“You could just forfeit, ” Killian taunted, stacking his bills neatly.

Emma scoffed. “Not a chance.”

And so they continued, exchanging money, buying properties, trading insults—until finally, after an epic battle, Emma won .

Killian groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Bloody hell.”

Emma grinned triumphantly. “Face it, Jones—I’m just better than you.”

Killian smirked, eyes flicking up to hers. “Rematch next year?”

Emma rolled her eyes but didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. ”

And for the first time all night, she realized something—

She actually liked being here.

Emma was still riding the high of her Monopoly victory when Neal came up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

“ That’s my girl,” he murmured, grinning.

Emma smirked, leaning into him slightly. “Damn right.”

Killian, still sulking over his loss, rolled his eyes as he gathered the Monopoly pieces. “You two need a bloody warning label.”

Neal chuckled. “Oh, c’mon, man. You jealous?”

Killian snorted. “Hardly. Just concerned about public safety.”

Ruby, sprawled on the couch nearby, smirked at him. “Aw, don’t be salty, Killian. Just because Emma destroyed you and has a boyfriend who actually likes her—”

Killian cut her a look. “Piss off, Ruby.”

Ruby only laughed, and Killian turned back to the board, but Emma didn’t miss the flicker of something in his expression.

She wasn’t sure why she noticed. Or why it sat uneasily in her chest.

Neal, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious, tugging Emma down onto his lap as he reached for his drink. “Anyway, you totally deserve a reward for that Monopoly win.”

Killian made a pained noise and stood up abruptly. “Right. I need more rum.”

Emma arched a brow. “Seriously?”

Killian waved a hand over his shoulder as he strode toward the kitchen. “Forgive me for not wishing to witness the live reenactment of a bloody romance novel.”

David chuckled from across the room. “You know, Killian, some people actually enjoy love.”

Killian shot him a withering look but said nothing as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Emma watched him go, her stomach twisting slightly.

She ignored it.

Instead, she let Neal pull her closer, focusing on the warmth of his touch and the sound of her friends laughing around them.

This was good .

As traditions go, or so she was told, Friendsgiving wouldn’t be complete without the annual Roast of Will Scarlet.

It started, as most things with Will did, because he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“So,” Will announced, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “I think we can all agree that I was the most valuable guest here tonight.”

Killian, sitting across from him with a fresh glass of whiskey, arched an eyebrow. “Oh, aye? And what exactly did you contribute to this fine evening?”

Will shrugged. “My charm. My wit. My undeniable good looks.”

Ruby snorted. “You brought a six-pack of warm beer, Will.”

“And I drank it , didn’t I?” Will shot back. “So it wasn’t wasted.”

Belle, ever the patient one, sighed. “That’s not how hosting works.”

Will waved a hand. “Whatever. I helped. ”

Emma, still sitting curled up next to Neal, smirked. “Yeah? And what did you help with, exactly?”

Will grinned. “Moral support.”

Killian scoffed. “Ah, yes. Because if there’s one thing you’re known for, it’s morals. ”

The group burst into laughter, and Will pointed an accusatory finger at Killian. “Oi, that’s rich, Captain Eyeliner. ”

Killian smirked, unfazed. “ Captain? Why, thank you, Will. I accept this promotion.”

David chuckled. “You two bicker more than Leo and his preschool friends.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Whatever, mate. We all know I’m the true star of this group.”

Ruby grinned. “Will, honey, you’re like the annoying little brother no one actually wants but we’re allstuck with.”

Mary Margaret nodded solemnly. “Like a stray cat that just keeps showing up.”

“Hey, I’m delightful, ” Will argued.

Belle patted his arm. “ Of course you are, dear.”

Will groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “You’re all just jealous . ”

Killian clinked his glass against Will’s beer bottle. “Aye, mate. That must be it.”

David was trying to enjoy the game. Trying to watch his beloved team without unnecessary distractions. But, of course, the Brits wouldn’t let him.

“This isn’t real football,” Killian declared, lounging on the couch with a glass of rum, smirking like he lived to be a pain in David’s ass. Which honestly, he might.

Will nodded, feet propped up on the coffee table. “Exactly. Too much stoppin’ and startin’. Where’s the actual game?”

David sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “For the last time, it’s American football.”

Killian smirked. “Which is a bloody contradiction, mate.”

Neal, ever the mediator, chuckled. “Look, I get it. You guys call soccer football—”

“Because it is football,” Will interjected.

“—but this is a completely different sport,” Neal continued, ignoring him.

David, determined not to lose this battle in his own home, pointed at the TV. “See that? That is strategy. Strength. Skill. ”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Oh, aye. Skill. Because nothing says athleticism like standing around for half the bloody game.”

Will grinned. “And all that padding? Bunch of blokes runnin’ around in armor ‘cause they can’t handle a proper tackle.”

David groaned. “ It’s for safety. ”

Killian scoffed. “Oh, but footballers— actual footballers—don’t need it. We take our tackles like men. ”

“You flop like fish the second someone breathes on you,” David shot back. The room erupted into laughter.

Will clutched his chest in mock offense. “How dare you.”

Killian chuckled, tipping his glass in acknowledgment. “Alright, mate, that was a good one.”

David smirked, triumphant. “Thank you.”

Emma, passing by with a fresh drink, shook her head. “God, this conversation happens every time, doesn’t it?”

“ Every single year, ” Mary Margaret confirmed with a sigh, though she was smiling.

//

Killian’s day had been absolute shit.

Nothing had gone right at work—delays, miscommunications, a project that should’ve been simple turning into a logistical nightmare . By the time he dragged himself out of the office, he was exhausted, frustrated, and not in the mood for anything .

Which was precisely when David had decided to give him a stern talking to .

“You’re snapping at everyone, Killian,” David had said, arms crossed, wearing his signature dad face . “You need to check yourself before you burn out.”

Killian had tried to brush him off, but David wasn’t having it.

“Listen, I know you take pride in your work, but we’re your friends, not your coworkers. You don’t get to take it out on us.”

Killian had gritted his teeth, ready to argue, but—damn it—David had a point.

So now, drained and thoroughly done with the day, all he wanted was to get home, pour himself a drink, and not deal with anyone else’s problems.

Which was why the moment he stepped into the apartment and heard raised voices , he nearly turned around and walked right back out.

Neal and Emma were arguing in the living room.

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. Brilliant.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Emma’s voice was sharp, edged with frustration.

“I don’t get why you’re being so defensive ,” Neal shot back. “I was just asking —”

“No, you were accusing .”

Killian really didn’t want to deal with this. But it was his apartment, and the yelling was giving him a headache.

“Oi,” he snapped, dropping his keys onto the counter. “Could you two take your lovers’ quarrel elsewhere ? Some of us have had a day .”

Emma turned, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, sorry , didn’t realize our problems were inconveniencing you.”

Killian exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not in the mood for whatever this is, Swan.”

Neal, arms crossed, let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because God forbid anything not be about you.”

Killian’s temper flared . “Careful, mate.”

Neal scoffed. “Or what? You’ll snap at me too, like you do with everyone else when things don’t go your way?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He knew he was on edge—knew David’s words were still circling in his head—but he really didn’t need Neal pushing his buttons right now.

Emma must’ve sensed it too because she let out a frustrated sigh. “This is not the time,” she muttered to Neal.

Killian shook his head, his exhaustion morphing into something heavier. “Whatever. I’m done with this.”

Without another word, he stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. He needed to breathe. Because if he had to deal with one more thing today, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself together.

Killian leaned against the door, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his muscles tense with frustration. Today had been one thing after another , and now his own apartment—the one place he should’ve been able to escape—was just another battlefield.

Bloody brilliant.

With a sigh, he pushed off the door and walked over to his nightstand, yanking open the drawer to grab the bottle of rum he kept stashed there. He poured himself a drink, downed it in one go, then poured another.

His mind raced.

Maybe David was right. Maybe he was being an ass to everyone lately. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose . It wasn’t like he wanted to be this exhausted, this wound-up, this—

A soft knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

Killian scowled. “Not now.”

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

With a groan, he ran a hand over his face and pulled the door open—only to find Emma standing there, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

He blinked. “What do you want, Swan?”

She huffed. “You’re acting like a damn storm cloud. Thought I’d check if you were still alive.”

Killian scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “Touched, truly.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Look, I know today sucked for you. And I get that you don’t wanna talk about it. But you also don’t have to be a jackass to everyone who breathes near you.”

Killian clenched his jaw, looking away. “You’re starting to sound like David.”

“Well, maybe David has a point.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”

Emma sighed, her expression shifting—less irritation, more something else. Something he didn’t have the energy to name.

“Killian,” she said, softer this time. “What happened?”

He hesitated. She doesn’t need to know.

But for some reason, standing there in the dim light of his room, the weight of the day pressing down on him—he didn’t have the energy to keep up his usual walls.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Work’s been hell is all. Nothing’s going right. I’m exhausted. And then I come home to you and Neal tearing into each other like rabid dogs, and I really didn’t need that on top of everything else.”

Emma’s lips pressed together, and she nodded slightly. “Fair enough.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

Then, after a beat, she asked, “Do you wanna be alone?”

Killian hesitated. He should say yes. That was the smart answer.

But instead, he muttered, “Stay if you want.”

Emma studied him for a second before stepping inside, closing the door behind her.

She didn’t say anything else, just leaned against his dresser, arms crossed, as if she was waiting.

Killian sighed, shaking his head with a small, tired smirk. “Didn’t think you were the comforting type, Swan.”

Emma shrugged. “I’m not.”

But she stayed .

And somehow, that made all the difference.

//

Killian hated Christmas shopping.

Not because he didn’t like giving gifts—he actually did—but because navigating through packed stores, dodging frantic last-minute shoppers, and trying to hunt down whatever obscure toy Leo had fixated on this year was a nightmare.

He had almost everything—some ridiculous dinosaur set for Leo, a fancy bottle of scotch for David, a cozy throw blanket for Mary Margaret, a rare first edition book for Belle. He still needed to grab something for Ruby ( which probably just meant a bottle of tequila ) and something half-decent for Will ( which he would put minimal effort into, obviously ).

The others had people—families, siblings, partners —to shop for.

Killian just had them.

Not that he was dwelling on it.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he stepped into the apartment, juggling shopping bags and kicking the door shut with his foot. He was barely inside when he heard them .

Emma and Neal. Arguing. Again.

Killian sighed, dropping his bags by the couch and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t the first time. Lately, it had been happening more often—short, sharp arguments that ended with Emma storming off or Neal throwing up his hands in exasperation. Killian had tried to stay out of it. Not his circus, not his monkeys.

But this one—this one felt bigger.

Emma’s voice was sharp, edged with something dangerously close to hurt.

“So that’s what you think of me?”

“Emma, come on —”

“No, screw this, I can’t do this right now.”

And then, before Killian could even set his keys down, the door flew open, and Emma stormed past him, face flushed with frustration, jaw clenched. She didn’t even look at him as she yanked her coat tighter around her and disappeared down the hall.

Killian exhaled, watching her go before stepping fully into the apartment, gaze landing on Neal.

Neal stood near the couch, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His expression was tight, but he was playing it cool.

Killian crossed his arms. “So. That looked like nothing. ”

Neal let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “It was nothing.”

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Aye. That’s why she looked ready to murder you.”

Neal shook his head, grabbing his jacket from the chair. “She just—she gets worked up. You know how she is.”

Killian’s jaw tightened.

Oh, he knew. He knew how Emma got when she was pushed , when she felt cornered, when someone cut too close to whatever walls she had carefully constructed.

Killian kept his voice even. “Right. Well, I’ll let you get back to your nothing then.”

Neal exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets before heading toward the door. “I need some air.”

And then he was gone, too.

Killian let out a long breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.

The apartment was silent now.

Too silent.

//

The week before Christmas meant one thing— hockey night at TD Garden. It was tradition, one of the few things that had stayed the same even as life changed around them.

When Killian had first moved to the States, he hadn’t known the first thing about hockey. But some college friends had dragged him to a Rangers game, and that was it—he was hooked. The pace, the sheer skill, the strategy, and, of course, the glorious violence. There was nothing like it.

Now, every so often, he, David, Will, and Neal made a night of it. David, proudly decked out in his Bruins gear, took on the role of the outnumbered local. Will, loud and obnoxious as ever, wore his Rangers jersey like armor, fully prepared to chirp every Bruins fan within a ten-foot radius. Killian, also in Rangers blue, had learned to keep his banter sharp but selective —not everyone appreciated a good rivalry.

And then there was Neal, in his usual attire—no jersey, no real allegiance, just there for the atmosphere and the beer. Some things never changed.

They made their way inside, the energy of the arena electric. The ice gleamed under the lights, the pre-game buzz filling the air.

David turned to them with a smirk. “You boys ready to watch your team get destroyed?”

Will scoffed, taking a swig of his beer. “Mate, we both know the Bruins are gonna choke.”

Killian chuckled, already feeling the familiar thrill. 

Neal had been distracted all night, his phone screen lighting up every few minutes. He barely reacted when the Bruins scored, barely acknowledged Will’s running commentary about how the Rangers were obviously the superior team.

Killian knew exactly why. Emma.

They had fought that morning—again. He didn’t know what it was about this time, didn’t ask, but he could tell by the tight set of Neal’s jaw and the way he kept rubbing his temple that it had been bad. It was happening more often now, their arguments. Killian tried not to think about it, tried to keep his focus on the game, but it lingered in the back of his mind.

Emma and Neal weren’t working.

Neal sighed, finally shoving his phone in his pocket, leaning back in his seat with an air of forced nonchalance. “What’d I miss?”

David scoffed. “The Bruins absolutely dominating your so-called team.”

Will snorted. “Oh, please. You got lucky.”

Killian just shook his head, taking another sip of his beer. He wasn’t sure why he felt so tense, why his gaze kept flickering toward Neal like he was waiting for something to happen.

By the end of the night, they were all flat out drunk.

David was the good kind of drunk—the kind that let him laugh even after a loss, shaking his head at Will’s obnoxious gloating. Killian was pleasantly buzzed, the warmth of alcohol making the victory even sweeter. Will was asking for a fight, practically begging for some pissed-off Bruins fan to put him in his place. And Neal, well Neal was drinking like a man trying to forget .

Killian had seen it before—hell, he’d done it before. The way Neal nursed his whiskey, eyes a little unfocused, jaw a little too tight. He was barely engaged in the conversation, only half-listening as David and Will argued about penalties and bad calls.

Killian nudged him. “You good, mate?”

Neal blinked, like he had forgotten Killian was even there. “Yeah.” He forced a smile, raising his glass. “We’re celebrating, right?”

Will threw an arm around both of them. “Damn right, we are! Especially when this one goes home a miserable bastard” he gestured to David, who flipped him off.

Killian chuckled, but his eyes lingered on Neal.

Emma was waiting when they stumbled in, arms crossed, foot tapping, the very picture of impatience.

Killian barely had a chance to take his coat off before she zeroed in on Neal, her eyes narrowing. She was worried—but she was still pissed.

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re drunk ?”

Neal let out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Nice to see you too, Emma.”

Killian stepped in before it could escalate. “It’s fine, love. Just boys being boys.” He tried to flash her his most charming smile, but she wasn’t having it.

Emma turned her glare on him. “That excuse is bullshit and you know it.”

David, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat. “It was just a few drinks after the game, Em. No one did anything too stupid.”

Will, naturally, picked that moment to belch loudly.

Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, you’re all idiots.”

Neal just shook his head, muttering, “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.” Then, without another word, he walked past her, heading straight for his room.

Killian watched him go, then turned back to Emma, softening his voice. “Don’t be too hard on him, love.”

Emma lingered in the middle of the room, eyeing Neal’s closed bedroom with a mix of frustration and concern before turning to Killian.

"Please just make sure he doesn’t choke in his sleep, alright?" she said, sighing.

Killian smirked. "Aye, I’ll do my best. No promises, though. He’s a grown man."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, as she stepped out, she shot him a smirk of her own. “Oh, and by the way—Rangers suck.”

Killian scoffed, hand over his heart like she’d wounded him. “Blasphemy, Swan.”

“Truth,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

//

Killian never did anything special on Christmas Eve.

He usually just stayed home, poured himself a drink, and watched Die Hard because, despite what some people said, it was a Christmas movie.

But this year, things were different.

Because this year, he found himself walking into a nearly empty diner, the little bell above the door jingling softly as he stepped inside. The place was dimly lit, the radio playing some soft Christmas tune, but otherwise, it was dead.

And there, behind the counter, wiping down a table, was Emma Swan.

She looked up, startled for a moment before recognition settled in. Her expression shifted—confused, maybe even a little amused.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here?”

Killian smirked, sliding into one of the booths. “Would you believe me if I said I was craving terrible diner coffee?”

Emma huffed a quiet laugh, tossing the rag over her shoulder. “I would , actually. You have the taste of a raccoon.”

Killian pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Swan, you wound me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stepping behind the counter and pouring him a cup anyway. “Seriously, though. Don’t you have, I don’t know, friends to be with?”

Killian took the coffee, blowing on it slightly. “It turns out they have this thing called family. I know, terrible .”

His heart sang when it gained a chuckle out of her.

She grabbed a cup for herself and slid into the seat across from him.

For a moment, there was silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just… there .

Killian took a sip, then made a face. “Bloody hell , this is terrible.”

Emma smirked. “Told you.”

They sat like that for a while, just sipping coffee in an empty diner, the world outside still and cold. Eventually, Killian set his cup down, leaning back slightly.

There was another silence, a thick one this time.

Emma tensed just a fraction before exhaling sharply. “Neal’s going home for Christmas.”

Killian frowned and waited for her to continue.

Emma’s gaze was fixed on her coffee. “And he didn’t invite me. Didn’t even talk to me about it. Just told me he was going .”

Killian went still.

Ah.

That… explained a lot.

“I take it,” he said slowly, “that you had other expectations ?”

Emma let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, apparently that was my mistake. I thought that being in a steady relationship that this finally, finally, the year I wouldn’t be the one stuck working on Christmas Eve while everyone else played happy families.”

Killian tilted his head slightly, studying her. There was frustration in her voice, but beneath it, something else—something like hurt .

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, love… I’ve met Neal’s parents.”

Emma looked up at that.

Killian hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “They’re not… welcoming people. His mum’s fine, but his dad—he’s a stuck-up, judgemental bastard. Perhaps he was just trying to protect you from that.”

Emma scoffed. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice if he actually talked to me about it instead of just deciding for me.”

Killian inclined his head. “Fair point.”

Emma sighed, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

Killian shrugged. “Or maybe you just want to be with someone who wants you there.”

Emma blinked at him, lips parting slightly as if surprised by the statement.

Killian didn’t elaborate, didn’t push. He just took another sip of his godawful coffee, watching as Emma sat there, looking a little lost .

After a long pause, she cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Anyway. That’s my sob story for the night.”

Killian smirked. “I feel privileged to have heard it.”

Emma rolled her eyes but huffed a small laugh.

They lapsed into another quiet moment, the snow tapping lightly against the window.

Then, casually, Killian asked, “How are your studies going?”

Emma blinked, thrown by the shift. “Uh… fine, I guess.”

Killian gave her a look.

Emma sighed, swirling her coffee. “It’s harder than I thought. But I’m managing.”

He nodded. “And remind me again—why social work?”

Emma hesitated.

For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer.

But then she took a deep breath, reaching for something in her pocket.

It’s a picture.

The photograph was small, its edges softened by time and touch. Creases ran through it, evidence of years spent folded and unfolded, tucked into a pocket, held between trembling fingers. The surface was worn, the gloss dulled by the countless times someone had traced its image with absentminded care.

In the picture, a young boy stood barefoot in the grass, his grin wide and unguarded. The sun caught in his tousled hair, turning it almost golden, and his eyes—bright, full of mischief—seemed to sparkle even through the faded ink.

“That’s Henry. He’s eight now.” Her voice small as if she were telling him a secret, but he didn’t miss the smile she had when she said his name. 

Killian waited, listened.

“I was pregnant in high school.”

Killian stilled.

Emma didn’t look at him, just kept tracing invisible patterns against the table.

“I didn’t trust the foster system,” she continued. “Not when I’d been through it myself. But I also knew that I couldn’t take care of him, you know? I couldn’t give him his best chance. And then there was this one social worker—she was… different . She actually cared . She helped me set up an adoption, made sure my son went to a good family.”

She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “It’s stupid but I used to think that if I’d had someone like that when I was in the system, if my parents had someone like that, that maybe I wouldn’t have spent my whole life feeling like I was on my own.”

Killian swallowed, something in his chest twisting.

“Swan—”

She shook her head quickly. “It’s fine. It’s… I don’t regret it. But that’s why I’m doing this. Because maybe I can be that person for some other kid. Maybe I can make things a little less shitty for them.”

Killian didn’t respond right away.

He just looked at her—really looked at her.

And for the first time, he saw something beneath all the walls and sharp edges.

Not just strength. Not just resilience.

But who she was .

He exhaled slowly, a small, quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know, Swan… you might just be the most admirable pain in the ass I’ve ever met.”

Emma snorted, shaking her head. “High praise, coming from you.”

Emma clinked her mug against his, her expression softer than usual.

The diner was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the heater and the soft melody of a Christmas song playing from the old radio. The world outside was dark and dusted with snow, but inside, it was warm— not just from the heat, but from something else. Something unspoken.

Emma tapped her fingers idly against her empty coffee cup, studying Killian as he leaned back in the booth, staring down at his own. He had gone quiet after her story, and she could tell he was turning something over in his mind.

Finally, she nudged his foot under the table. “Alright, your turn.”

Killian blinked, glancing up. “My turn for what?”

Emma tilted her head. “You asked me why I chose social work. Now I’m asking you—why civil engineering?”

Killian let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t let a man brood in peace, do you?”

Emma smirked. “Not a chance.”

He exhaled, tapping a finger against the side of his cup. “Alright, then.”

A pause.

And then, quietly—

“There was this bridge.”

Emma’s brow furrowed slightly. “A bridge?”

Killian nodded, gaze distant, like he was seeing something far away. “Back home. I used to pass it every time I went back and forth to the courthouse.”

Emma didn’t say anything—just waited.

Killian took a slow breath. “Liam—my older brother—was fighting for custody of me after our dad left.” His voice was even, but there was something tight beneath it. “He was old enough to fight for me, and he did. Every bloody time.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

Killian gave a small, almost wistful smile. “That bridge—it was solid . Reliable. It never changed, never wavered. And I… I needed that. I needed something that wasn’t falling apart.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Didn’t realize it at the time, but I think that’s what drew me to engineering in the first place. I liked the idea of building something that lasted. Something people could count on.”

Emma swallowed hard.

She had never heard him talk about his past like this.

Sure, Killian had mentioned Liam before—always in that reverent, older-brother way. But she hadn’t known… this .

She shifted slightly, her voice softer now. “Did he win?”

Killian’s lips twitched. “Aye. Eventually.”

Emma nodded, glancing down at her coffee cup.

She looked back up at Killian, studying him. “You ever tell Liam about the bridge?”

Killian smirked. “I suspect he’d just call me a sentimental bastard.”

Emma snorted. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

They talked throughout the night, about nothing and everything.

It started with childhood stories—Killian telling her about the time he and Liam tried to build a treehouse and ended up with a pile of splintered wood and a very angry neighbor. Emma countered with the time she tried to sneak into the county fair without paying, only to get caught and accidentally befriend the security guard’s dog.

They moved on to dumb arguments—like whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie ( it absolutely was, and Killian was offended she even questioned it ) or whether pineapple belonged on pizza ( Emma swore it was a crime, and Killian took that very personally ).

At one point, Emma found out that Killian still had never tried a proper s’more.

“You’ve lived in this country for years,” she said, aghast. “How the hell have you never had a s’more?”

Killian smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “Haven’t had the proper American experience, I suppose.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I’m making it my mission to fix that.”

“Be still, my heart.”

She rolled her eyes but still smirked behind her coffee cup.

At some point, the conversation drifted into deeper waters—things neither of them talked about often.

Emma admitted she never really knew what to do when people were genuinely nice to her. That for so long, she’d been alone, always bracing for the moment when things would fall apart, when people would leave.

Killian told her he got it. That he had spent years keeping people at arm’s length because he knew what it felt like to be left behind.

For once, neither of them made a joke to deflect.

For once, it just was.

By the time the sky started turning that pale shade of winter blue, Emma realized she had lost track of time.

She stretched, groaning as she glanced at the clock. “Shit. I need to clean up.”

Killian stood, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll help.”

Emma gave him a look. “You don’t have to—”

“I know ,” he interrupted, grabbing the coffee pot anyway. “Consider it my Christmas good deed.”

Emma huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but didn’t argue.

They worked together in easy silence, cleaning up the counter, stacking chairs. When the last table was wiped down, Emma tossed the rag aside and leaned against the counter, watching Killian stretch with a satisfied sigh.

She smirked. “See? Now you really had the full American experience. Spending Christmas Eve in a shitty diner, drinking bad coffee, and having an existential crisis at three in the morning.”

Killian grinned. “Truly, a night to remember.”

Emma hesitated for a second before nodding toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll walk out with you.”

They stepped outside together, the cold air biting against their skin. The snow had stopped, leaving a crisp, white blanket across the empty streets.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Killian had been in plenty of late-night, early-morning moments like this before. The quiet hum of the city after a snowfall, the air crisp and still, the world holding its breath between night and dawn.

But this one felt different.

Maybe it was because of the woman standing in front of him, bundled up in her jacket, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes softer than he was used to seeing them.

Maybe it was because, for the first time in years, he hadn't spent Christmas Eve alone.

Or maybe it was because, as she stepped closer, her breath visible in the freezing air, she reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

It was brief—just a brush of warmth against his skin—but it wrecked him.

"Merry Christmas, Jones," she murmured, a small, tired smile on her lips.

And then she turned and walked away, boots crunching softly against the snow-covered sidewalk.

Killian didn't move.

He couldn’t .

Because something about the moment—the quiet, the cold, the way she looked back just once before disappearing down the street —felt like the start of something.

Something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Something he shouldn’t be feeling.

But as he touched the spot where her lips had been, as his heart pounded in his chest, he knew—

He was in love with Emma Swan.

Bloody hell

//

Killian wasn’t expecting to see Neal when he walked into their apartment that afternoon, still slightly groggy from a Christmas morning spent doing absolutely nothing . He froze at the sight of Neal casually unpacking a duffel bag in the living room.

“Mate?” Killian’s brows furrowed. “Thought you were off playing the perfect son for the holiday?”

Neal barely looked up as he shrugged. “Changed my mind. Figured I’d come back early.”

Killian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You figured ?”

Neal sighed, shoving his bag to the side. “Alright, fine. I felt bad about how I left things with Emma, alright? It was a dick move.”

Killian felt his stomach tighten at the mention of her name. He kept his face neutral. “Glad you finally noticed.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Spare me the lecture. I’m taking her to dinner tonight to make it up to her.”

Dinner.

Right. Of course.

Killian swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, forcing a smirk. “Romantic. Sure to earn you a few points back.”

Neal grinned. “That’s the idea.”

Killian hummed in response, but he barely heard the rest of what Neal was saying.

Because suddenly, all he could think about was last night.

The quiet of the diner, the way Emma had laughed at his stupid stories, the way she had kissed his cheek—so soft, so gentle —before walking away, completely unaware that she had turned his entire world on its head.

And now, here was Neal, her boyfriend , casually planning a romantic dinner, while Killian stood there like an idiot, trying to pretend he wasn’t in love with his roommate’s girlfriend.

Guilt settled deep in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

So when Emma showed up later that evening, dressed in a simple but devastatingly pretty outfit, Killian did the only thing he could do.

He avoided her.

He stayed in his room, pretended to be busy, barely looked up when she greeted him. And when she left with Neal, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Because this—this was the only way to deal with it.

Pretend. Bury it. Forget it ever happened. Because nothing could happen. Not with Emma. Not with Neal. Not with the mess of feelings he shouldn’t have.

So Killian did what he had always done best.

He shut it down.

The next few days went on like that.

He avoided Emma.

It wasn’t obvious—at least, not at first. He was just busy , always finding a reason to leave the room when she walked in, always checking his phone when she spoke. When he had to be in the same room as her, he kept his answers short, his tone flat.

And Emma noticed. She wasn’t stupid.

The shift between them was jarring. Just days ago, they had spent hours talking in that quiet little diner, sharing stories they hadn’t told anyone else. They had laughed, teased, gotten along for once.

For the first time since knowing him, Killian hadn’t been an insufferable ass.

Now he wouldn’t even look at her.

At first, she thought maybe she was imagining it.

But after the third time he barely acknowledged her existence, after the way he stiffened when she sat next to him at David and Mary Margaret’s place, after how awkward it was to just be around him—

She knew something was off. And she hated not knowing why .

By New Year’s Eve, she’d had enough.

The group had planned a small gathering at David and Mary Margaret’s—nothing big, just drinks, food, and a countdown to midnight. It was the kind of night that should have been easy. Comfortable.

But for Emma, it wasn’t.

Because Killian was still avoiding her.

He wasn’t being rude , exactly. Just distant . Cold in a way she had never seen before. And the worst part? No one else seemed to notice.

Everyone was laughing, drinking, having a good time. Ruby was playfully teasing Will about some drunken mishap from last year. Mary Margaret and David were effortlessly playing host. Belle was discussing some book with Neal.

And Killian?

Killian was fine. Chatting with Will and David, flashing that easy grin of his, looking perfectly normal.

Except when Emma caught his eye.

Because every time she did, his whole demeanor shifted . The grin would fade, his body would tense, and within seconds, he would find a way to excuse himself.

And Emma was done pretending it wasn’t happening.

She found him alone in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, the distant noise of laughter filtering in from the living room.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said, arms crossed.

Killian barely hesitated, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

Emma scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Killian sighed, setting his glass down with a little too much force. “What do you want me to say, Swan?”

“I don’t know, maybe the truth ?” She stepped closer, frustration simmering beneath her skin. “We were fine . We were friends , Killian. And now you can’t even be in the same room as me without looking like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Killian clenched his jaw. “You’re imagining things.”

Emma let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, sure. Because I’m just crazy , right?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“But you’re acting like it!” Emma ran a hand through her hair, exhaling harshly. “If I did something, tell me. Because I thought we were past all the stupid fighting.”

Killian’s grip tightened around his glass. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why— ”

“Because I have to , Emma.”

The words snapped out of him, sudden and sharp, and for the first time in days, Killian actually looked at her.

Emma froze.

His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—something raw, something like regret, like a war he was barely holding together.

The air between them felt thick . Charged.

And suddenly, Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reason.

Because something about the way he was looking at her—like she was the problem and the solution all at once—made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

Like if she pushed too hard, everything might change.

Before she could say anything else, the sound of voices approaching made Killian step back.

And just like that, whatever had cracked open between them slammed shut again.

“Forget it,” he muttered, grabbing his drink and brushing past her.

She caught up to him in the hallway, away from the laughter, the party, the safety of other people.

“Killian.” Her voice was firm. Determined. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say just forget it and walk away like nothing happened.”

Killian let out a sharp breath, his fingers running through his hair. “Emma, please— ”

“No. I want to know.” She stepped closer, searching his face. “Why are you avoiding me?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting anywhere but her . “I already told you—”

“That you have to ? What the hell does that even mean?”

His silence told her everything.

She inhaled, heart pounding. “Killian.” Softer now. “Just tell me.”

He exhaled heavily, looking utterly wrecked before finally—finally—his shoulders slumped, like he was tired of holding it in.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words were quiet, like a confession and a curse all at once.

Emma’s breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say—but it wasn’t that.

Her heart felt like it stopped , like the world around them blurred into nothing, leaving only the weight of those four words hanging between them.

Killian swallowed hard, forcing a small, bitter smile. “I don’t know when it started, or how it started, maybe I have been from the start. And I can’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Emma’s throat felt tight, like she couldn’t quite breathe.

Because what was she supposed to say to that?

Killian had been in her life for months now. At first, they had fought constantly, bickering over everything. Then, slowly, they had become… something else. Not quite friends, but something easier .

And then there was that night at the diner. The way he had stayed with her, listened to her, understood her in a way she wasn’t used to.

She had ignored the way something shifted between them that night.

She swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love Neal.”

Killian closed his eyes for a brief moment, like he already knew that was coming.

“I know,” he said softly. 

And God , the look on his face—Emma hated it. She hated that she had somehow hurt him without meaning to. That this was messy and complicated and not how things were supposed to be. She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what to say. What could she possibly say to fix this?

But before she could even try, someone called for her from the other room.

Neal.

She hesitated for half a second—just half a second—before stepping back.

And Killian took that as his cue to leave.

He walked away without another word.

And Emma let him go.