She's sure wasn't supposed to see it.
Knows she wasn't.
But it's not one of those things that you can unsee- hell, there are quite a few memories that she would be wiling to part with if it meant she could keep this one.
Ah, to have it running on a loop in her brain. What was that site Henry's friends were always on? Vine? She'd initially found the constant loops annoying, but a constant repeat of the past few precious seconds wouldn't be a bad thing.
It'd be a friggin' gift.
He'd told her to meet him at his room at Granny's, and she was uncharacteristically punctual. Fifteen minutes early, to be exact. And while Killian had retained his military sense of time, he wasn't yet waiting for her.
Emma noticed that his door was standing ajar, so she (innocently) went to open it. It was only when she was close enough to see inside that she stopped, mouth agape.
Captain Hook was shirtless.
It's not that she didn't have any idea what was underneath all that leather- he did seem to have a disdain for anything remotely close around his neck- but disasters and monsters did provide a bit of a damper for alone time. Even an innocent swim.
He was facing the wall, running a damp sponge over his torso. Though she knew that he had acclimated to this world, even its showers, it seemed that old habits die hard.
Not that she's complaining.
The muscles of his back flexed with each movement, fluidity bespeaking a motion repeated innumerable times. Multiple scars criss-crossed their way around his back, though there weren't as many as she had suspected there would be. Perhaps he was better with a blade than he had initially led her to believe.
There were not, however, any tattoos. She knew he had the one on his forearm- the one for her- but she was a little bemused at the fact that his back seemed to be free of them. Her confusion was short lived when he turned slightly so that she could she his left side.
And the piece of art that took up almost the entirety.
It began near the leather of his pants slung low on his hips. What looked like a backwards 'S' curled around his hip. From that rose a dark wing, unfurled and covering the length of his ribs. The tips of the wings faded as if they were applied with a brush rather than a needle.
It didn't actually sink in what it was until her eyes had flickered over every inch of it.
A swan.
It was relatively new, the black ink vibrant against his tanned skin. Gorgeous didn't even cover it- apparently leather was no longer her lone penchant weakness- but she didn't want to necessarily dwell on the meaning behind it all.
Or the warm feeling that swirled within her even as he turned and pulled on a loose black shirt.
As he turned towards the door she quickly backed away and knocked against the faded wood. Praying she didn't look as flushed as she feared- knew- she was.
He swung the door widely, a dimpled grin spreading across his face. "Swan."
"...yep."
Much to her chagrin, it took her more than a couple minutes to string together a coherent sentence.
And if his ego happened to be bolstered because his purposefully cracked door had so shaken her, well- all's fair, right?