From a prompt fill via Tumblr: My neighbour's sister got the wrong house number and barged into my apartment AU
He'd been meaning to get that damned lock fixed.
The apartment building had been constructed in the 1970s, and in the 40-odd years since, it seemed like the earth had started to sink beneath it, leaving everything (at least in Killian's unit) just a little off-kilter. The damned brass number on the door wouldn't stay straight, his bedroom and bathroom doors still clicked shut, but they were nothing a good shove wouldn't open right up again, and now he feared the front door was headed in the same direction. And that wouldn't do, no matter how safe the neighborhood was. So he'd finally buckled down, and had the landlord call in to have someone come out this afternoon and fix everything as best as could be down in the older unit. He'd just started preparing a late breakfast, and would probably finish up the new web page he was finessing for that music app company. Such were the benefits of living and working from the same space, in addition to not having to drive into work at the same time as all the corporate sheep, taking your meals when you wanted, peace and—
The sound of his front door crashing open and bouncing off the foyer wall startled Killian; his grip on the honey jar was lost, and it plummeted right onto the top of his socked foot. "Bloody hell!" His bloody landlord was supposed to notify him before the repairman showed up, and what kind of oaf just barged right—
"Elsa!" A decidedly female voice screeched, footsteps approaching the kitchen. "How many times do I have to tell you, when you want to borrow the car, you—" The voice stopped short as its owner reached the doorway, and Killian's annoyance started to fade rapidly as a set of furious, but beautiful, green eyes settle on him. Her shining blonde hair was twisted into a fishtail braid, with a few wisps escaping around the crown of her head (which Killian had the oddest impulse to brush away; Mate, get ahold of yourself!). The anger in her gaze gave way to confusion, and she moved into a kind of bulldog stance, long legs planted wide, arms crossed.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Lass, I believe you've—"
"Don't you 'lass' me, buddy. I don't care if Elsa's still moving, I explicitly told her—seriously, whoare you? Are you her boyfriend?" She gave his mussed hair and flannel pajamas a thorough once-over. "Well, obviously you slept over, you must be." She leaned back against the doorjamb, the corners of her mouth swiftly turning south. "Oh god, she didn't even tell me she was seeing anyone! I guess I have been bitching at her more than usual, but she's been so disorganized, and—hey, has my sister been complaining about me?" She grabbed onto Killian's arm.
His head was spinning. Mornings were, for him, a transitionary period to slowly ease into a state of alertness, which it appeared he was not getting the luxury of today.
"You've never visited your sister at her apartment before, have you?"
"Well, she only started moving last Tuesday; I think I can be forgiven for that!"
"And she told you the address was—"
"1625 Wolfshire Lane, Unit Nine—"
Nine? Killian bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his grin. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly clicking into place; he remembered helping a similar looking woman across the way last week—in the real Unit Nine— carry a hideous walrus-on-an-ice floe glass sculpture up the stairs to her new unit. He hadn't caught her name at the time, but he'd bet money now it had something to do with this mix-up. Well, he ought to at least make it worth his while—after all, stay-at-home contract work for programmers didn't afford many opportunities to meet pretty girls, even if this one was making a right pest of herself….
"Oh, Elsa! Why didn't you say so, darling? She'll, ah…be back momentarily. Tea?" He handed her the mug on the counter, and started rifling through the cupboard for another one.
She took it, squinting at him suspiciously. "You seem to have made yourself cozy pretty quick, Mr.—?"
"Killian. Killian Jones. And you're—?"
She rolled her eyes. "She didn't even mention me? We're so having a long talk when she gets—sorry, it's Emma."
Emma. It suited her. "Now that I think on it, she has mentioned her petulant" –he made a stab in the dark—"little sister." He grinned at Emma's indignant snort, and continued. "But she did think we'd get on famously."
"Is that right? Unfortunately for you, I'm not easily swayed…Killian. You'll just have to wait for me to form my own opinions."
He gave her a haughty little bow, and turned to pop an English muffin in the toaster. "I'd expect nothing less, given what I know about you."
Her eyebrows shot up. "And just what do you mean by that?!"
"Please, darling. Even if I hadn't heard of you before now—which I have—you've got everything one needs to know written all over your face."
She crossed her arms again, but relaxed against the doorjamb. "Really now. And what're you reading?"
"Oh, you're very close to your family—small though it is. Just your sister and perhaps…a mother? You've got just a few friends, and make new ones with difficulty, I gather. But when someone's finally earned your trust, you'd fight to the death for them. You've probably never been in love, but if you have, it ended badly. Oh, and gathering by those little glances you keep stealing when you think I'm not looking, you find me rather striking." He gave her a wink in closing.
Emma grunted. "Modest. And that would be ouradoptive mother. Otherwise…not bad," she said grudgingly.
The toasted halves popped up, and she gave a little jump. Killian walked over with a plate. "Shall I butter your muffin, lass?" he asked, gaze widened innocently.
"Are you always this forward with your girlfriends' sisters?"
"Now, I wouldn't say that. We're…acquaintances."
"I sure as hell don't let my acquaintances sleep over. Well, I mean, not unless—" She cut off, holding her hands out. "God, why am I telling you this? I'm shutting up now." She slipped her phone out of her pocket, glanced at the screen. "Still no word from Elsa. Would you be cool with it if I hung out until she gets here? Or have you got things to do?"
Hmm, sit around adding details to his design while waiting for the repairman—or, continue to stealthily uncover more of what this blonde firecracker who'd come out of nowhere (heaven, maybe?) was all about. Sick Beatz could wait another day.
"I've—er, Elsa's got Netflix. Do you fancy Bob's Burgers?"
Her radiant answering grin told him he'd made the right decision.
They were already three episodes in, and Emma wasn't even checking for missed texts anymore. She seemed to prefer to annoy Killian with imitations of the various characters' accents, while he just tsked and pretended to be annoyed andwhen had she slid her feet into his lap? Well, no complaints on his end.
"Another one?" Killian asked, hand on the remote.
"Why not? You know, Killian, I'm actually…enjoying myself."
"Why so surprised?"
Emma shrugged. "I guess I'm not used to—" She gave a small jerk, and fished around her pocket. "Dammit, I got a call from Elsa. Left it on silent."
"Don't be bashful, you can say you wanted it on silent to enjoy our time together."
She just shook her head, gave him a pinch, and gave her sister a call back. Killian started sinking back into the couch cushions.
"Elsa? Well yeah, I told you I'd help today, but you still took the—yeah, I've been waiting for you for hours now! What'd you mean, 'where am I?'. I'm at your apartment!"
Her brows furrowed; Killian bit his lip. "I'm right here, what're you talking about? Yes. With Kil—what? In the doorway? There's no way…" She turned, glared at him, and bolted off the couch, making for the front door. Killian was hot on her heels as she flung his door open for the second time that day, looking around wildly. The woman from last week—Elsa, he knew now—was on her porch across the way, and ended the call when Emma walked to the top of his stairs.
Emma spun slowly, glancing first at him, then the apartment number. Killian grinned sheepishly, placed the tip of his finger on the end of the "9", and gave it a 180 degree clockwise turn—back into a "6".
"I couldn't resist, darling. How could I let you go that easily?"
Elsa gave an enthusiastic wave. "Hi, Mr. Jones!" she called. "Thanks for the help again the other day! Emma, what are you—" Her eyes widened as she took in Emma's flushed face, Killian's pajamas. "Emma, I'd really appreciate it if you let me settle into the new place first before you start schtupping my neighbor!"
"What?! We weren't—"
"Yeah, sure." She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can—can you just get over here and start helping—"
Emma turned back to him, mouth set in a firm line, but a twinkle in her eye. She rose up on her toes, lips at his ear, one hand on his collar.
"This isn't over, Jones."
"Oh, I'm counting on that, love."
He was really glad he hadn't had that lock fixed any sooner.