"Are you sure you don't want some company?" he asks. "I've nothing better to do."
Emma smiles into the receiver of her cell. "I'll be fine, Jones," she assures him. "I actually need to get work done and, as we well know, nothing gets done when we're together."
"I wouldn't necessarily say nothing," he qualifies. She can just imagine the smugness on his face."Finishing the next level of Mass Effect is nothing."
Killian groans on the other side of the line. "Swan, c'mon, love."
"No," she says firmly. Pushing open the heavy library door, she continues: "I am not going to pull an all-nighter to write this paper when it's so easy. You are going to let me finish this so we can hang out later this weekend."
"But Swan," he whines, causing her to roll her eyes as she ascends the steps to the third-floor quiet zone. "It's Valentine's."
"Exactly. I don't have one; everyone else is going to be doing couplely things, so I'll have only the bookshelves to bother me." But as she exits the stairwell and makes her way to her standard study spot, Emma eyes some brunette and what Emma can only assume is her boyfriend curled up next to each other in a nearby corner. She groans. "Well, the bookshelves and everyone who deems having sex in the stacks an especially romantic gesture."
"That's an awfully dour way to look at the holiday," Killian comments, but his voice is fading in and out. Bad reception, it seems, is the final addition to her Valentine's Day three-way.
Emma sighs into the phone, reluctantly pulling her laptop from her bag. "It's not even a real holiday, Killian," she tells him again. They've had this discussion three times in the last week, she's sure, but he's insistent that she's wrong. "It's society's way of making all single girls inadequate and unloved-"
"Emma," Killian interrupts, gently, because he knows what she's been through, knows that this Hallmark holiday is one tied to bad memories for her.
But she soldiers on in her explanation "- and boosting the economy after the Christmas and New Year's rush."
"And chocolate companies," he adds. It's a weak attempt to distract her, but he's trying.
"And chocolate companies," she agrees with a grin. Her study space all set up, she sighs again and shifts her weight between her feet. She really needs to hang up, she knows, and he knows too, but that doesn't mean either of them will. It's sort of their thing, kind of. They aren't exactly connected at the hip, but they certainly aren't easily separated. Killian's on the phone with her whenever she's about campus on her own, just to make sure she departs and arrives safely, no matter the hour. And, in return, she spends most of her free time at his apartment, debating the pros and cons of each weapon upgrade over usually-cold pizza and occasionally reminding him that he needs to do work in order to stay in school.
It's just how they work.
"Which means," Emma stipulates, "that all that unsold chocolate will go up for sale tomorrow."
She catches the tail end of a dramatic gasp. "Are you suggesting we buy out all the discounted sweets tomorrow?" Killian asks. "Ms. Swan, I do believe you're a genius."
"It's about time you figured that out," she quips. He chuckles and Emma sighs for a third time. "Okay, I actually have to work now."
"Boooooo."
"Shut up." She takes a seat, opens the computer, and presses the power button. "You'd be smart to use this time to do some work too."
"Ah, yes, but then why would this relationship need two geniuses?" he sarcastically asks.
"Be productive," she chides.
"Call me when you leave," he nags right back.
Clicking a button to end the call, Emma puts her phone away in her bag so as not to further distract her. She knows Killian will text her throughout their time apart and beg her to come back, bribe her with promises to splurge on Chinese food or to do her laundry for a month. He has other friends, other plans she's sure, but he decides being a nuisance toward her is more fun.
She sets to work, opening Word and scrolling through the pages of notes she's taken during lecture for any hint of where exactly she wants to go with this paper. After clicking around the Internet and finding some sources that back up her thesis, she begins her outline, letting her fingers fly across the keyboard.
It's close to an hour and a half of the exact same thing: copying and pasting, citing sources, and explaining her thought process in the hopes that her professor or TA, whichever one ends up reading this paper, can follow. Every once in a while, when the bright lights of the screen irritate her eyes or the words all start to blend together, she stretches, reaches for the sky beyond the ceiling, and enjoys the silence interrupted only by the occasional mumbles of Mr. and Mrs. Kissyface in the corner.
"Seriously," Emma mutters at one point in time. "This is the best place you could think of for a Valentine's Day date?"
Granted, any place was a great one for a Valentine's date. Not that she ever really had that kind of experience to speak of. Neal was never one for romantic gestures. It was all about sex with him, sex and what she could do for him. Those aren't good memories. She spent three Valentine's Days wishing for an opportunity to do what the couple in the corner was doing, just enjoying each other's company because they actually liked each other's minds and personalities, didn't just deal with them because of their rockin' bod.
But she powers through. Refocusing on her paper, she realizes all she needs now is a conclusion and a better introductory paragraph. Emma can practically smell the good grade from her seat. She spent enough time on being studious and her mind is itching for a distraction. Pulling up Facebook, she mindlessly enters her username and password, reaching for her phone in the meantime. She's surprised to find it blowing up with texts, friends from all walks of her life sending congratulations and lots of love and stupid little smiley face emojis.
"Huh," she huffs absentmindedly. She looks to her screen and the red notification blip has some insane number on it. Her brows furrow in confusion and she clicks on it, names like Mary Margaret Blanchard and Graham Humbert, two people connected to her who've never met each other, have liked a picture she was tagged in. Her confusion deepens until she finally clicks on the original post, Killian's bolded name announcing that he'd tagged her in a picture.
Well, she thinks, at least she can see the post that started it all.
When the page loads, she can't help but smile. The photo he's tagged her in is one of her personal favorites. They'd spent the day out hiking in the woods near campus with his roommates and her friend Ruby. It was probably sometime in the early afternoon when they'd stopped for a water break and someone, Emma forgets who now, whipped out their camera and started taking pictures.
It's nothing really. Not particularly good in a photographer's sense; the light is all wrong, highlights the wrong contours of both their faces, and it's a little bit crooked, but it's the situation behind it all that endears it to her. Killian's chin scrapes against her forehead, smiling like a fool, and his arm is around her shoulder. She's curling into him with laughter from some stupid joke he told she found much too funny. Her eyes are closed, but she's the happiest she'd been in a long time, she remembers that much. When Killian sent her the picture or showed it to her when'd they got back to his, there'd been no words. All they could do was smile at each other before falling into an argument about who got control of the remote.
The only person she'd expressed her love of that photo to was Ruby, and only after she had gushed about how they were the perfect couple, something that didn't register with even after Ruby had brought it up as evidence.
She wasn't very good at arguing after that.
Her eyes wander to the side of the screen, glancing over the caption to the 134 likes and 40-some-odd comments. It's all baffling, what these people are saying, and she goes back up to read the caption, hoping that it'll provide the final and needed piece of this puzzle.
Except it starts an entirely new puzzle by itself.
Here's wishing the love of my life a wonderfully productive v-day even though she has no idea she is, in fact, the love of my life (and here's hoping this declaration goes over well.)
"Excuse me?" she says aloud. The corner couple rouses from the depths of each other's gazes and pauses in their canoodling to glare at her. Emma winces a bit, holds up a hand as an apology (although, in all fairness, this is the library and this is a public space), and looks back at her computer screen. She rereads the post, clicks on the notification tag again just to make sure she isn't dreaming this up, and then angrily slams her laptop shut.
She's fuming, although she isn't quite sure why because isn't this the kind of thing she'd waited for during her three years with Neal? A romantic gesture, on Valentine's Day no less, declaring to the world that, yes, this woman has in fact captured this man's heart?
Stuffing her belongings into her bag, all sense of organization forgotten, Emma grumbles under her breath, cursing the day she met the stupid guy. She's down the stairs and out of the library in a flash, heading straight for his apartment.
How could he have done this? This is too utterly moronic even for him and Killian's gotta be the second stupidest person she knows. They're not together; she's not the love of his life, despite what he alleges on the Internet. Doesn't he know that that kind of thing is forever? And he's gone and done this and all those texts from her friends make sense now, but they're reacting to a lie made up because of the date, a fabrication due to temporary insanity on his part, or maybe it's permanent.
Emma stalks across campus, her unzipped jacket flying at her sides. It's supposed to snow tonight, add more romance to the evening as if there wasn't already enough, so it's gray and overcast and bitterly cold. She's too wound up, too many feelings and thoughts bubbling within her for a small thing like winter to affect her.
When she finally reaches his building, Emma storms up the stairs and pounds on the front door of their second floor place. She's incessant and unstopping, annoyed at almost everything at this moment, especially him.
So when he finally opens the door, she accidentally hits him in the chest. It hardly affects him, but once she realizes he is not, in fact, the door, she starts slapping him wherever she can reach.
He reacts, of course, recoiling and shrinking back into the sanctity of the living room, but she follows.
"You asshole!" she screams, still hitting him. "You absolute prick!"
"That's hardly how one customarily responds to this kind of situation, love!" he yells over her. He shields his face from her attacks and, after a few more minutes of combat, Emma's forced him onto the couch.
"Yeah, well, customarily, a girl knows some sort of huge romantic gesture like that is coming!" she counters. "Y'know, she has a boyfriend and they're gross in love and they know each other's parents and lives and they spend every waking moment together-"
"And doesn't that sound oddly familiar?" he asks her. There's no malice in the words, just honest curiosity, and it throws Emma for a second.
Killian's got a point: they do spend pretty much every day together. And she knows his brother Liam, the sweetest and kindest man she thinks she's ever met, who raised Killian after their parents died. He met her foster mother, back before she'd cut all ties with the crazy lady, and gave her shelter on the occasions when it was all too much. She knows when he's got class and he knows when she's got her internship and, perhaps, to the unknowing eye, they were a couple.
But they weren't.
Were they?
Her legs go on autopilot, begin pacing the length of the couch before she can register what she's doing. "Explain," she says, her hands coming up and waving in front of her to calm down.
He stands up and takes her shoulders, moves her around until she's facing him head on.
"Know that everything I say to you is the truth," he leads with, his voice gentle, the situation forcing what little of his accent remains out of the shadows. "Even on Facebook. I realize it was a little, or rather a lot, to make public without any notice, but on a day meant for sharing love, I could only contain so much. You told me earlier that you had no valentine and you've been alone and pitying for far too long and you're far too brilliant a lass to have that sort of outlook on any facet of life." Killian takes a deep breath and gives her a small shake. "I know what I did was assholeish, but honestly, I didn't know how else to tell you."
"Didn't know how else to tell me?" she repeats incredulously. "You couldn't figure out a better way to say you love me?" And she can't believe that those words came out of her mouth about this guy.
He shrugs. "A picture speaks a thousand words."
Emma groans and rubs her hand across her forehead. "You had to have just said a thousand words, why wouldn't those have done the same thing?"
"I think you're cute when you're flustered."
Her jaw drops and she moans again, ramming her forehead into his chest. He chuckles and his hands slide down to encircle her waist in a twisted sort of ballroom dance pose. It's comfortable, and every nerve in her body says that this is exactly the opposite of what she means to be doing, but Emma can't help herself.
This is home for her.
"Do you really think like that?"
The point of his chin gently hits the top of her head, signifying his nods.
"Even the part where I shit on Hallmark holidays that only benefit the economy and chocolate companies?" she asks timidly.
"Especially that," he assures her with a smile. He's got a dimple, one that shows up in the picture he posted on Facebook for the world to see, and it nearly kills her. "As long as I'm with you, I would go to every person who commented on that picture and wipe their thoughts about us from their minds."
"Well," she considers, raising her head and swaying in his grasp. "I wouldn't go that far. Maybe just Chinese food and some Mass Effect."
He presses a kiss to her forehead, his stubble scraping against her skin lightly. "That can be arranged," Killian whispers before his lips meet hers.
It's sweet, the way his mouth presses against hers. It's just how she imagined, though she loathes to admit she'd imagined it at all. And only now she's realizing that this is happiness, that she had dreamed of this kind of thing between her and Killian.
"Problem solved?" he asks just short of the moment becoming awkward.
Emma hums. "Pay for my food and I'll consider it."
"It's Valentine's Day, love," he reminds her. His thumb rubs small circles into the small of her back. "You may not like the Hallmark-ness of it, but I fully intend on indulging in it."
She giggles. "Promise?"
a/n: hello there kiwis. hope you enjoyed this little valentine's doohickey. i liked writing it. it was really cute. and it came from my own brain, so im super proud of it. happy early valentine's day, children. share the love, be it with your friends, your family, your s/o, or your dog. everyone deserves to know how special and loved they are 3