A/N: So I'm just having saddish thoughts about poor darling Killian. And so I drabble. It's over 100 words, but, you know.
Disclaimer: not mine, obviously. BUT THE FEELS ARE.
Sometimes he wishes that he'd lost the year along with the rest of them, that there was a merciful blank instead of long memories of longer emptiness.
Not a day will go by when I won't think of you.
Oh, had that been true.
He was a man to keep his promises. Everything in him and around him had been broken but his word.
But he doesn't tell her about any of that, not even when she asks, with perplexity creased between her delicate brows.
He can't show her his hand of cards, for fear that she will call his devotion as a bluff.
He doesn't have much to offer her, it's true—only his heart, his love. Only all of him.
He's afraid it won't be enough.