(POV Killian.)

The first time we kissed, we were in Neverland. The dark ambient forest surrounded us, as icy drafts sent chills through our bones. It was constantly dark—shadows creeping in on every corner of the ominous island. Be that as it may, whenever I looked at you, everything seemed a little more luminous, and my body grew more tepid.

Peter Pan had captured Henry, which resulted in us—heroes and villains—working together to save him. Although I had no reason to rescue the lad, I was there for you. I think everyone was aware of that.

I had just returned with your father from our little side mission, and he told you that I saved his life. Though he held back from the entire truth, I never expected him to tell you anything at all. He didn't want me to win your heart, after all.

You pulled me to the side, and we had a moment alone. You thanked me, and although your gratitude caused a smile to tug at my lips, I pushed for more. "That's all your father's life is worth to you?"

The first time we kissed, you said I couldn't handle it. You were right.

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," I quipped, smiling mischievously. Your stunning green eyes gazed into mine—and for a moment, I forgot that we were stranded in the treacherous territory of Peter Pan. Suddenly you were tugging on the collar of my jacket, pulling me close and colliding our lips. The feeling of your lips on mine spread throughout my body like a wildfire; making my skin tingle and my heart flutter. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. The previous chills from the dark forest that engulfed my body were replaced by the warmth of you. You set my heart on fire, Swan. It pounded against my ribcage, seeming to accelerate with no control. I knew you would be a good kisser, but bloody hell; that was a feeling I've never experienced in all my years of living, and I've lived for centuries. I found my hand buried in your soft, light hair—tentatively running my fingers through it, as though one wrong move would cause you to stop. I never wanted it to stop. Your fingers were tangled in my locks, as well, tugging with just enough force to make my heart stutter. All too soon, our lips were apart. Our kiss came to an end almost as quickly and abruptly as it had started. It felt as though we kissed for an eternity, yet it seemed far too short-lived at the same time. We were both panting. I could feel your hot breath against my lips, and for a moment, I wondered if it was possible for you to feel what I had just felt. I'm not sure what I was trying to say, but the words slipped out of my mouth before my brain could catch up. "That was—"

"A one-time thing."

Perhaps you didn't feel the same—not then, at least. Though I couldn't stop myself from thinking how it was even possible for me to feel… well, feel all of that, and for you to just feel nothing.

You told me it was a one-time thing and you told me not to follow you as you walked away—but I couldn't take my mind off the electrifying feeling that still lingered on my lips. I brought my hand up and placed my fingers where your lips once were, trying to memorize the feeling of your lips moving against mine. I inhaled deeply, followed by a long sigh—still not able to process what happened. I had imagined what kissing you might be like in a million different ways, but not a single scenario or feeling that my mind could think of came anywhere near reality.

—

(POV Emma.)

Our last kiss came too soon. I can hardly remember what had caused that fight, but we were yelling at each other. Things quickly became heated and I told you to leave. You did. You didn't bother grabbing your wallet or the keys. You didn't even bother grabbing a jacket. It was snowing outside.

I was mad at you. Tears started streaming down my face after you slammed the door on your way out. My makeup probably looked chaotic, but I couldn't care less. My walls were back up because I was alone and I didn't know what to do and I was scared. Fists clenched tightly in my long, gold locks as I sat on the floor of our kitchen, trembling. My brain shut itself down; I have no clue how long I sat there for. Seconds turned into minutes, and the thought that you were outside in the cold, alone, hadn't crossed my mind quite yet. Although I was the one that told you to leave, I needed you by my side more than ever.

Killian, you were my world.

When I calmed down, I was still mad—but I was mad at myself. I looked out the window and I could barely see anything past the sea of snow that rushed down from the sky. The reality that you were out there had finally sunk in and I was no longer afraid of you; I was afraid for you. I grabbed the keys to the bug and a jacket for you as I rushed out the door. I had no idea where you might be but it didn't matter; I had to find you and I had to return you to the warmth of our home.

I drove down the street and turned the corner. That's when I saw it. The glaring lights of police cars and ambulances illuminated the darkness of the night. I put the car in park, stumbling out messily—needing to see what was going on, and God, just please don't be Killian.

I was wearing only a t-shirt, too busy worrying about you to remember that getting a jacket for myself was probably a good idea. The flurries made contact with my skin and soaked up my warmth, but the adrenaline that rushed through my veins made it go completely unnoticed. I blundered through the thick snow towards the cars—my short breaths appearing in the frosty air. I pushed my way through the crowd, desperately trying to see past the police and medics.

And there you were, Killian, on the stretcher, being taken into the ambulance. My heart stopped as I saw your bloody and battered body. You were already unconscious by the time I arrived.

"Killian." It came out as a choked sob. I fell to my knees in the frigid, numbing snow with a cascade of tears streaming down my face. An officer came over, asking me to get up. She explained what had happened to you.

The roads were coated in ice, causing the car to spin out of control and hit you. You were wearing black, which made you even more difficult to see in the sombre atmosphere. The driver didn't see you in time to use the horn to warn you. It wasn't the driver's fault. It wasn't your fault, either, Killian. It was mine.

I'm so sorry.

I was shaking. I was so scared. The officer drove me to the hospital you were being taken to. I sprinted to the concierge, begging to see you and desperate to know that you were going to be okay. They informed me of where you were located, but I wasn't allowed to see you. You were in critical condition. Although I was prohibited from seeing you, I ran to the sector where you were being treated. Despite my icy, wet hair and my limbs that were raw from the cold, my body felt like it was on fire. My damp hair clung to my shirt as I ran through the hospital corridors. When I found you, it was already too late. Your heart was no longer beating—and in that moment, it felt like my heart had lost its pulse, as well. Thick, heavy air engulfed my body, suffocating me as my skin became ghostly pale. Dozens of machines were hooked up to you; wires sprouting off your body in every direction. The once steady beep of your heart monitor merged into one continuous line. The doctors backed away from your body, wiping the sweat from their foreheads as they sighed in defeat.

"Killian…" I whispered as I moved toward your bed where you laid lifeless. I took your hand in mine, assessing the damage that had been brought upon your body now that I was close enough. You were covered in scratches, presumably from broken glass. Dark bruises were scattered across your limbs, and a gash that ran across the side of your arm was still bleeding.

One of the doctors approached me and said, "I'm so sorry, we did everything we could." His voice was empathetic. It wasn't his fault, it was mine. It was my fault that you went through all that. It was my fault that you were dead and fuck. A sharp pain consumed me, as my vision instantly became blurry with tears. "Killian." It came out being hardly a whisper. My grip tightened on your hand, tears falling and soaking your cotton t-shirt. My free hand came up to brush against your soft cheek, as I choked on a sob. My heart constricted in my chest, overwhelmed with hurt. I tried to catch my breath, but each inhale—no matter how deep—felt like it wasn't giving me enough oxygen.

I leaned down and placed a light kiss on your lips, wishing that somehow you would come back to life and return my kiss. I straightened up as tears continued to flow down my cheeks in an unbroken stream. "I'm so sorry, Killian." My eyes scanned your body once more and everything just felt so unfair. If I hadn't told you to leave, you would still be alive. Perhaps I deserved the torture of overwhelming pain—but you, Killian, you deserved to be alive.

I wished you were mad at me. I wished you were furious with me. You resenting me would hurt less than the torment of staring at your lifeless body. Anything would hurt less. You were gone, along with the piece of my heart that you held. What remained was but an empty space, desperate to be filled. Nothing could fill it except for you.

For a moment, I was mad at you. You told me you were a survivor, Killian, so why didn't you survive? You told me that there would be no getting rid of you, so how come you were gone? I didn't understand—you went to hell and back, yet you couldn't survive a car? Why couldn't you just survive?

You shouldn't have left me, Killian. You should never have walked out that door because if you hadn't, you would still be alive—and that would be enough.

All at once, everything came crashing down. It hit me that you were dead. I would never get to hear your voice or your laugh. I would never be able to make you smile again. You would never hold me again, or comfort me when I was sad or scared. I would never wake up beside you again. You would never calm my nightmares. I would never get to go sailing with you or watch movies with you. We would never be able to go on dates and walk outside late at night to watch the stars. You would never hold me again. You would never kiss me again. What hurt more than anything, though, was the fact that we never made up. You died while you were mad at me. You died thinking that I hated you, while in reality, I loved you more than anything.

I sat on the bed beside you, staring at your face as silent tears spilled from my eyes. After what felt like an eternity, the doctors told me that I should go home and get some rest. I couldn't move. Heavy blocks of lead remained where my feet used to be. I hadn't even noticed that it was nearing three am until the staff pointed it out. I had been sitting by your side for two hours. My breathing started to even out, and the adrenaline started to fade; making me become aware that I was extremely cold. My eyelids felt heavy, and I could tell that I would soon give into the exhaustion that had consumed me—whether I liked it or not. I didn't want to leave you, but I knew I had to. Before I left, I kissed you one last time. "I love you, Killian."

The last time we kissed, you didn't kiss back.