a/n: Straight up sweet and simple Christmas fluff. Enjoy! and Happy Holidays :)
Emma has never actually met the people that live in the apartment above hers. She's never had a reason to. Besides the occasional loud noise of someone running across hardwood, or dropping something on the floor, they are as perfect as upstairs neighbors can possibly be.
Well they had been.
At least before today.
Before they decided to blast Christmas music as loud as humanly possible first thing in the morning.
The ceiling shakes above her in time with the cheerful bravado of Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas Is You. And she swears little tiny pieces of ceiling float down every time the chorus plays.
Emma groans as she grabs one of her pillows and smashes it over her face in an attempt to drown out the music. It's barely past nine in the morning on a Saturday that she very much wishes she was sleeping in on. But instead she's found herself jarred from sleep by a song that is more than likely going to be stuck in her head all day now.
"Shut up!" she shouts towards her ceiling, throwing her pillow at it for good measure. But it's useless, Carol of the Bells now blasting in all its holiday glory.
She groans again, mumbling to herself as she kicks her way out of her blankets and grabs a robe out her closet so she can afford herself some level of decency before she goes raging upstairs to tell them to turn it down.
It's barely the second day after Thanksgiving, and she'll never understand people's enthusiasm to race in full throttle to the next holiday.
She likes Christmas, she does. But she likes to ease into it. Especially after she spends her Thanksgiving holed up in her apartment alone, the lights off and her movie of choice playing as she gorges herself on Chinese food.
Holidays—family holidays in particular—have never been her thing. But it's not like they really can be her thing, not when she's alone in every sense of the word.
So maybe she's a little cranky—but the holidays tend to do that to her. There's nothing better at reminding you how lonely you actually are than an entire month dedicated to celebrating being with your loved ones.
But despite her own feelings, it doesn't change the fact that their music is still ridiculously loud.
She doesn't even bother to run her fingers through her hair, not caring how she looks as she locates a pair of slippers and heads out her front door. The music grows even louder as she takes the stairs up to the next level two at a time.
It's not hard to find the culprits, they're directly above her and the wood of their door is doing nothing to hinder the music surging through it. It's amazing the whole apartment complex isn't out here banging on their door.
Emma swallows a lungful of air as she steels herself for whatever confrontation she's about to encounter, and lifts her hand to rap a firm knock on the door.
Nothing happens. The Christmas music simply continues to echo throughout the hall as she stands there waiting.
She knocks again, louder this time, and finally she hears the music stop as someone shuffles on the other side of the door before it swings open.
Immediately Emma inhales, opening her mouth as she prepares to rant on about what on earth possessed them to play their music so loudly, so early in the morning, but her words fall from her lips as she takes in her upstairs neighbor for the first time.
And damn is he attractive.
He stares at her. Dark, messy hair that looks like it hasn't yet been combed through, and equally as dark scruff frame a pair of the bluest eyes she's ever seen. He's got on a pair of red plaid pajama pants that hang loosely on his hips, and a black cotton V-neck that revels just a hint of chest hair.
Aware on some level that she's gaping, Emma snaps her lips closed and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Suddenly self-conscious about the fact that she hadn't even bothered with looking in a mirror before coming up here.
Her neighbor arches an eyebrow at her, because she still hasn't said anything.
"Can I help you with something, love?"
He has an accent of all things, as if the blue eyes and dark scruff weren't enough.
"I-I live below you," Emma stammers, finally gaining control over herself. She is not the type of girl that gets speechless at the sight of a man. "And your music is too loud, would you mind turning it down?"
The request somehow comes out with way less indignant frustration than she was planning, but she's thrown off by this whole hot-upstairs-neighbor thing.
As an after-thought, she throws her hands on her hips and hopes that the forceful stare she gives him clues him in on how unamused she is by the whole thing.
His eyes widen slightly before he tilts his head to the side and scratches behind his ear, a pink blush tinting his cheeks, and Emma curses herself because she shouldn't find it as attractive as she does.
"Sorry, I didn't realize it was as loud as it was. We're decorating for Christmas and might have gotten carried away." He gestures behind him and Emma leans to the side to see a haphazard mess of storage boxes, garland, lights, and ribbon strewn about his front room. "I'll turn it down," he continues when Emma doesn't say anything. "Again I'm sorry for the disturbance."
"It's fine," she smiles slightly, finding the irritation she was experiencing just moments ago fading. It's kind of sweet, how into the holiday he seems to be. "Just maybe try not throwing a Christmas concert for the whole apartment building next time."
He scratches behind his ear again, biting at his lip. "Right."
A moment of silence passes between them before her neighbor opens his mouth as if to say something else, only for him to scrunch his eyebrows and look behind him distracted. He says something that Emma can't quite catch before sighing and opening the door a little wider to reveal a nightgown clad little girl.
The little girl has her fingers pressed nervously to her lips as she stares up at Emma with large blue eyes and dark brown hair. The resemblance to the man before her is unmistakable. Emma would bet her entire life savings that this little girl is his daughter.
Her dark blue nightgown brushes the floor, and her tiny toes only peek out occasionally as she takes a few hesitant steps closer before retreating to hide behind her father's leg.
Without her permission, Emma feels disappointment sink inside her. If he has a daughter then the odds that he's married or otherwise attached are significantly higher. And she didn't even realize her thoughts were heading that way until the option was suddenly off the table.
"This is Rosalie," he introduces as a hand goes to his daughter's still sleep-tangled hair. "She was curious about who was at the door…thought it might be Santa already." He adds the last bit in a half whisper before smiling affectionately down at the little girl. Reaching beneath her arms he lifts her and settles her on his hip still smiling. "Rosie, this is our neighbor Miss…"
He lifts an eyebrow expectantly and realizing they never exchanged names Emma gives her head a clearing shake and runs a hand through her hair. "Oh…uh… Emma. My name's Emma."
"Emma," he repeats as his eyes hold contact with hers longer than necessary. And maybe she imagines it, but she could swear his eyes lower for a second, taking her in, before lifting to meet her gaze again. A smile lights up his face in a way that should be illegal considering he's got a daughter on one hip. "I'm Killian."
Emma swallows before nodding in acknowledgment. But she's trying her best to ignore the way her stomach is fluttering and so she focuses her attention on the little girl instead of responding. Rosalie's still staring at her, her wide eyes looking way to insightful for how small she is.
"Hello, Rosie. Do you guys like Christmas music?"
The question seems to win Emma some points; Rosie perks up immediately and nods. "We're getting out decorations!"
Emma smiles, she has to admit Rosalie is adorable, her tiny features are delicate and her dark hair, though tangled, easily falls to her waist. "That's exciting!" She pauses, her eyes flicking to the girl's father for just a moment. She's usually not very good with little kids but there's something about the sweet way Rosie's got a hand at her dad's chest that does her in. "How old are you, Rosie?"
Rosalie holds up her fingers before answering proudly. "I'm four."
Killian chuckles affectionately and Emma can't help but smile. "You're a big girl then aren't you?'
Rosie nods again and Killian watches his daughter for a moment before turning back to Emma. "I really am sorry about the music. I promise we'll keep it down."
Emma grabs the edges of her robe and pulls it closed just a little more before folding her arms in front of her chest. "No harm done," she says with a shrug. Though even she can't believe the shift she's gone through in the last two minutes. She'd marched up here in a murderous rage, and now here she is making small talk with a four year old and feeling all flustered because of the father.
She needs to get ahold of herself.
She takes a few steps back and towards the stairs. "It was nice meeting you guys."
"You too, Emma. Maybe we'll see you around?"
His face lights up, almost hopeful, and once again Emma finds herself stammering for words. "Uh… yeah. Maybe."
Killian beams at her before encouraging Rosie to wave goodbye and disappearing into his apartment.
Emma stares at his door for a solid three seconds before she tips her head back and groans.
The last thing she needs is to develop a thing—or whatever the hell it is she's feeling at the moment—for a guy with a kid who more than likely has a wife or a girlfriend in the picture.
She needs to shut it down and close it out.
She needs to just go back to her apartment and never venture onto the floor above hers again. She'll forget about Killian and his blue eyes and his adorable-Christmas-loving daughter eventually.
She doesn't forget about them.
I mean sure it's only been one day, but her mind has roamed to them way more times than she deems healthy or normal.
But maybe if his eyes hadn't lit up every time he smiled or maybe if he hadn't been wearing those stupid plaid pajama pants—that looked way more sinful than any pair of Christmas themed pajama pants ever should—then maybe she'd be able to forget about him.
But instead she's found herself wandering her apartment and feeling disappointed that he's kept his word on keeping the Christmas music down. Perhaps if a stray carol had wafted down through the ceiling again she'd have an excuse to go knock on his door.
Instead she's stuck trying to distract herself as she splits her time between thinking about him and berating herself for thinking about him to begin with.
She doesn't even know if he's single.
She sighs, frustrated, and sinks a little further into her couch as she scrolls through Netflix in search of something to take her mind off things.
She's about three minutes into some incredibly cheesy, romantic comedy when a solid knock at her front door splices through the room. Grabbing the remote to pause the movie, Emma throws off the blanket from her lap and pads barefooted to the front door.
She swings it open to reveal the very two people she's trying her best not to think about.
"Killian," she gasps surprised. "What are you doing here?"
He's dressed in jeans and a sweater this time, and his hair is tamed, but her heart still does that stuttering thing when she sees him.
"We brought you Christmas cookies, as further apology for our intrusive music the other day."
He lifts an eyebrow at her and smirks, and all Emma can do is open her mouth and blink as she tries to think of what to say.
"Rosie helped decorate them," he continues when she doesn't say anything. It's only then that Emma looks down to find his four year old daughter standing in front of him. Like her father, she's much more put together. Half of her long hair tied back with a ribbon, and a sweater of deep purple swallowing her tiny frame.
"Sorry our music was loud," Rosie apologizes with an adorable scrunch of her nose and shrug of her shoulders. She extends her arms forward, holding out the cookies as she rocks back and forth on her feet.
Emma squats so she's eye level with the little girl and takes the offered cookies. The plate holds an array of sugar cookies, some expertly frosted into snowmen and Christmas trees and others colorfully splattered with frosting on what she supposes are stars and angels.
"Thank you, Rosie. They're very nice."
"Your welcome. Daddy was worried you wouldn't like them. Kept saying maybe we shoulda done chocolate. He said pretty girls always like chocolate."
Emma lifts an eyebrow, finding this information amusing. She looks up at Killian who is now running a nervous hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Did he now?"
"Yep," Rosie answers simply, popping the 'p' at the end.
Emma straightens and smirks at Killian. "Well thank you, again. You really didn't need to give me anything. How did you know which apartment was mine anyways?"
Killian smiles at this and shoves a hand in his pocket. "You said you lived below us and we gave it a lucky guess."
"I see," Emma hums as they stare at one another again. Her heart feels like its somewhere in her throat, and the intense way he doesn't break eye contact isn't helping matters. She clears her throat after a moment, dropping her eyes and trying to blink away the way his gaze seems to burn through her.
"We're about to go pick out a Christmas tree," Rosie declares excitedly, oblivious of the tension between the two adults.
Emma, grateful for the respite the girl's excitement offers from Killian's unfairly blue eyes, returns her attention to Rosie and grins. "That'll be fun. Do you always use a live one?"
"I think so?" Rosie answers unsure, her eyebrows scrunching together. "I don't think we've ever used a dead one before."
A small, quiet laugh escapes Emma before she has the chance to bite down on her lip and hold it in. Killian, on the other hand, keeps his laughter free, chuckling affectionately as he reaches down and runs his fingers through a few strands of her hair.
"We've never used a dead one," he assures her.
Rosie shrugs as if the matter is inconsequential anyway. "You could come with us!" She looks up at Emma, pure delight in her expression. It doesn't matter that she met her only a day ago, from the way Rosie stares up at her you could swear she was her best friend.
Emma opens her mouth a little speechless. "I…uh… don't know…"
"She can come with us right daddy?" She asks looking up at Killian as if it just occurred to her to make sure it's okay with her father.
Killian gives her a warm smile, affection shining in his eyes, and Emma feels her insides melt just a little at the sight.
"I'm not sure Emma wants to come, little love."
"Oh," she says simply, biting her tiny lip as she thinks about something for a moment before looking back up towards Emma. "Do you want to? It's fun. We try to find the biggest tree, and sometimes we see how big it is by how many times Daddy's arms fit around it."
"Sounds so fun," Emma assures her. "But I'm not sure your mom would be okay with it."
Emma knows immediately that she said the wrong thing. Killian's jaw tightens as a shadow passes over his features, diminishing the light she's become accustomed to seeing behind his eyes. But she couldn't think of any other way to figure out if he's single or not—or if he just looks at every neighbor in a way that makes their hearts riot.
But she regrets her assumption, instantly wishing she could take it back.
"Rosie's mother died when she was but two months old," Killian clarifies, his voice choked.
"I'm so sorry," Emma whispers, stammering for some semblance of an apology deep enough. She feels completely insensitive.
Killian smiles, though it doesn't show his teeth and doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "There's nothing to be sorry for, love. You didn't know."
"Still, I—"
"Mommy will watch us get the tree from heaven," Rosie interjects, her statement everything pure, innocent, and simple. As if she's told on a regular basis about her mother watching her from heaven.
"That she will, darling," Killian pauses, scratching at the back of his hair for a moment before he looks back at Emma. "You are welcome to come with us, though. If you want."
For the space of a heartbeat they stare at each other again, and about a thousand thoughts run through Emma's head. It goes against everything she's ever lived by to just hop in some man and his daughter's car and go shopping for Christmas trees. She just met them. But then again there's something about them that she can't quite shake.
She has no idea what possesses her, but soon enough she's nodding her head. "Alright, I'll come."
Rosie squeals and jumps up and down excitedly.
Killian's answering smile could light up their entire apartment complex's supply of Christmas lights.
A giant wood archway reading Fresh Farm Christmas Trees: Spruce, Pine, and Fir opens up to a literal winter wonderland.
Last night's snow storm has left a good foot of snow on the ground and has frosted the hundreds of evergreen trees in white.
It's breathtaking.
Rosie wastes no time. The second they pass under the archway she's gone, running up to the trees in front of them with her head snapping every which direction as she searches for the perfect tree.
Killian chuckles as he watches his daughter spread her arms wide in an attempt to measure the girth of one of the larger trees.
Emma laughs lightly when Rosie reaches up to grab one of the branches but only succeeds in making the tree fling snow onto her face. "She's adorable."
"Aye, she is." Emma glances over at him to find his gaze intent on his daughter. There's a softness in his gaze that speaks volumes on how much he loves that little girl. "Picking out a tree is one of her favorite parts of the holiday. The tree has to be perfect. It's quite the process, sometimes I have to talk her down. Last year she wanted a fifteen foot one."
"I think it's wonderful," and even Emma can hear the wistfulness in her voice. "I never really experienced many Christmas trees growing up."
She didn't mean to say it. She didn't mean to reveal anything about herself actually. But the words are out in the air floating away and she can't grab onto them and bring them back. She can feel Killian's gaze drilling into her, but she's too self-conscious to meet his eyes.
"I grew up in the foster system," she tries to explain. "Christmas wasn't always a guaranteed thing."
Killian doesn't say anything, not right away. And Emma can bare the silence for only a moment before she looks back up at him, hoping she can read what he's thinking on his face.
What she finds is far too much understanding.
"Maybe today can be the day you start making up for that." His words are soft, as quiet as the drifting snowflakes that fall around them. And for a moment Emma's insides tighten, she doesn't do this. She doesn't go Christmas tree shopping, and she doesn't reveal things about herself, and she doesn't let her heart get all twisted up over someone.
But here she is.
And it's easy enough that she decides in that moment not to fight it.
Instead she lets her lips tip up in a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."
Helping Rosie pick out the perfect Christmas tree takes well over an hour, but Emma finds she enjoys every second of it.
Killian comes up with ridiculous ways for Rosie to measure a tree's suitability. On one he tells her that if she can hop around it in less than seven hops then it isn't big enough. Rosie eats it up, giggling as she obeys the ridiculous tests her father makes her do on the trees.
Emma's assistance is needed on several of these examinations and more than once she finds herself laughing until she can't breathe.
Finally, when their noses are pink and their gloved fingers are numb Rosie makes her pick.
The perfect Christmas tree.
She helps Killian haul it into his truck and tie it down. And as they drive back to their apartment Killian blasts Christmas music, to which Rosie sings along, knowing almost every word.
Getting up the stairs to his apartment is almost as big of an endeavor as picking out the Christmas tree itself. And as Emma holds on to the top she looks down at Killian as they pivot around a rather difficult corner in the stairwell.
"How do you normally do this on your own?"
Killian puffs out a labored breath as he shifts his hold on the tree and grunts. "A whole lot of effort and a few strained muscles in the morning."
Emma laughs. "Imagine if we'd let her get the one she actually wanted. That thing was huge."
They finally make it onto the level ground of his floor and Emma can hear his breathing ease. "We probably would have died trying to get it up the stairs."
Rosie twirls in front of them as they carry the tree the last few feet to his door, humming Christmas songs the entire time they work on getting it upright in Killian's front room.
Finally satisfied with its position, Killian straightens and brushes his hands off on his pants. "Alright, now the fun part," he says turning to Rosie. "Do you know where the lights are, little love?"
Rosalie nods and begins searching one of the many boxes strewn about the room.
Before she knows it, Emma's helping Rosie string lights along the tree as Killian gets the ornaments ready. Their decorations range from traditional gold and red balls to crafts that were clearly made by a younger Rosalie. Killian never tires of lifting Rosie as she places ornaments above her reach, lifting her highest when he lets her try to situate the star on top.
Finally, when all is done, they turn off the lights and sit on the couch to admire their handiwork. The glow of the Christmas tree bathes the room in soft golds that sparkle and glimmer as they reflect off the ornaments.
They don't say much, but it's peaceful and warm, and for the first time Emma feels like maybe she understands why people love this season so much.
Eventually soft snores drift up from where Rosie has fallen asleep with her head on Killian's lap. The long day finally catching up with her.
Killian runs his fingers through her hair, staring down at her with love in his eyes.
Emma watches them for a moment before saying anything. "Thank you for letting me tag along today."
Killian looks up from Rosie but doesn't stop stroking her hair. "Believe me love, the pleasure was mine."
Emma's heart stutters and her stomach flips as she looks at him, and she doesn't know what's gotten into her but she's having a hard time trying to convince herself to leave the warmth of his apartment.
But she really does need to go.
"I should get home," she finally whispers before standing. Killian follows suit, gently lifting Rosie from his lap and laying her down in a more comfortable positon on the couch.
He follows her to his door, and she doesn't realize just how closely until she turns around to tell him thank you one more time and his face is suddenly only inches from hers. Emma's breath catches when his eyes flick down to stare at her lips for the briefest of seconds.
She doesn't know why she does it—she really doesn't—and she'll end up fretting over it for the rest of the night when she's alone in her bed. But before she fully realizes what she's doing, Emma presses up on her toes and places the gentlest of kisses on his lips.
Killian stills in surprise but doesn't object, taking only a second before he melts and kisses her back. It's soft and sweet, and their lips meet with the tentativeness only a first kiss can bring.
It doesn't last long, and soon Emma is falling back onto her feet and licking her lips as she pulls away. Killian touches his lips with his thumb a little dazed.
"We're making gingerbread houses tomorrow—if you want to come over?" he finally says. His voice is low and rough and far too attractive for his own good, but Emma can't help but smile at the absurdity of such a question as a response to a first kiss.
"I'd like that."
His answering smile is devastating, and Emma can't help but think that maybe she'll be able to get into this whole Christmas thing after all.