When the questionable amount of stability in your life hangs on a 6-month lease and on the fact that there's no coastline nearby to move even closer to, small habits start to matter. Probably more than they should.
Which is how Emma finds herself burning a whole into the black laptop bag tossed carelessly on her armchair. Alright, so it didn't technically belong to her but, considering the amount of coffees and hot chocolates she has bought from this place, she has probably paid for the stupid armchair and a couch to match. And now somebody apparently just waltzed in and took her spot. The very spot she has been occupying from 9 to 12, before she starts on the fieldwork part of her job, every fucking day for the last 3 months (except that one weekend when she was too sick to even think about hot chocolate let alone get out of bed in search of one).
Her fury is swiftly changing direction and turning on herself because she is standing there like an idiot, with her steaming mug in her hand (and, of course, this is the one time she didn't order her drink to-go, just in case), unable to decide what the hell she should do because no way is she taking the loveseat on which just yesterday she watched two teenagers almost start on the journey to parenthood. No, she would just have to go back to the bar and ask for a to-go cup and-
The man that deposits a to-go cup (seriously? like who gets a to-go cup and then thoughtlessly occupies a seat? her, on any other day, but that's beside the point!)on her table is many things. Unnoticeable is not one of them.
Emma sinks into the loveseat almost without noticing and watches the person messing with her routine. It's not the only thing he is messing with. And no, it is not just because he is absolutely gorgeous and his hair is falling in his eyes (hello, warm-sea-in-the-mid-afternoon-sun blue) in the most charmingly adorable way. She is not that superficial, thank you very much. It is more his quick, practiced but slightly nervous movements, as if he is in a terrible hurry even though he seems to be settling down for quite some time. He is just fascinating.
He takes out his laptop and what she can only assume is a back-breaking amount of books from a bag next to her chair (still hers, dammit!) that she hadn't noticed. A leather-bound tome comes really close to topping his cup over and she can see the dust from the books settling over the croissant he has also precariously positioned on the too-small-for-all-his-shit table.
When he is finally done (and at this point Emma expects him to pull out a freaking writing desk and a typewriter from somewhere), he huffs an equal parts annoyed and relieved breath and shakes his head at the poor table that looks like it would crumble any second under the weight he has deposited on it. She swears she doesn't mean to but he is so obviously exasperated with himself that the chuckle leaves her throat before she can send an Abort! command to her brain.
His eyes (did she mention somewhat over-descriptively how blue his eyes were? Oh, good.) snap to her before she can even think about averting her gaze and he seems startled and stunned all at the same time and all for one second before he grins sheepishly at her, glances back down to his less than admirable arrangement and shrugs as if he is not all that happy with it either but it would just have to do.
She sees him look at her again from the corner of her eye but by that time she has made sure to have her gaze glued to her Kindle and her body angled so that it doesn't look like she is trying to make as little contact with the pillows on her seat as possible.
Her book however has nothing on him when it comes to entertainment and capturing attention. He has barely sat down when he slips open one of his ancient tomes and tucks a pencil behind his ear. How can somebody read so animatedly she fails to understand but the fact remains that as she tries to observe him without being noticed she feels like she is reading the freaking lines right along with him. He begins by nodding along rapidly, as if he knows the gist of it and just wants to get to the important parts. The nodding gradually slows down until he is frowning at the book almost as if it has offended him and Emma is just glad she manages to hold in her amusement this time. He reaches for his laptop, his movements once again jittery and hectic and she really hopes the drink cooling in his cup, which he seems to have completely forgotten about, is not coffee because excess energy is not what this guy needs. His laptop seems to be more agreeable because he is nodding again before turning back to the book only to go to what she thinks must be the Contents page and then rapidly flip towards the middle where the text seems to be more to his liking and his brows knit only once every five or ten minutes (yes, she knows that because she spends half an hour reading all of two pages of her own book and cataloguing all of his little movements).
At one point he reaches for another book and almost tipping his cup seems to remind him of its existence because he curses under his breath and takes a sip, only to grimace slightly. He seems to be contemplating the drinkability of the cooled drink for a few seconds before shrugging in resignation and heading for the bathroom. Not before depositing said drink right next to his laptop, of course.
It is a disaster waiting to happen. Emma can just see him coming back with all that annoyingly endearing nervous energy of his, bumping a book with his hip and knocking down the stupid cup and spilling its stupid contents all over his stupid laptop. She can just see it.
Emma sighs and sends a silent prayer that nobody jumps at her, accusing her of trying to rob the dumbass (he has already taken her favourite seat, she doesn't need him getting her banned from her favourite coffee shop). She gets up, quickly taking the few steps to his table, and removes the cup from the immediate vicinity of any electronic devices. She should've known this was a self-made trap on her part. Because once she is looking down at his absolute mess of a studying place (she guesses studying or he has the weirdest job), she just cannot help herself. Emma has never been a neat freak herself but messy tables just tickle something inside her which is what she uses as an excuse while she puts everything in order as quickly as possible. Stacking the books and removing the plate with his untouched croissant from the edge and placing his laptop cable so that it is not squished beneath said laptop and generally eliminating all of the possible mishaps that could befall the guy thanks to his arrangement skills (or lack thereof).
She is back at her table mere seconds before he steps towards his table, faltering at the altered sight. Emma pulls out some of her best acting skills to appear deeply immersed in her book as he looks around, checking all of the patrons. She knows that she is the most likely suspect after laughing at him earlier but he seems to give up his search eventually, glancing towards the bar uncertainly before scratching his ear and sinking back into his seat, an even more sheepish expression than the one he gave her before taking over his handsome (what? She wasn't blind!) features.
Emma angles her head away so that he doesn't accidentally catch the little smile she just can't keep down.
/
It happens again three days later.
He is in her freaking seat, surrounded by the ungodly mess she thinks he must have a patent to because no way could anybody recreate that.
And no, she hasn't been looking more closely at the people in the coffee shop during the last couple of days and she hasn't been staying just a little bit longer and coming just a little bit earlier and she has absolutely not looked up every time somebody walked into the freaking place. Not. at. all.
So it's not like she is glad that she has to sit in that hormone-infested loveseat again, she just figures that she had the chair for the last two days so she can let it slide today (promptly ignoring the fact that she has never been one to share before).
This time she manages to hold off for a whole hour before she seizes the moment he gets up to get a muffin (double chocolate – at least his taste buds seem to be conducting themselves properly) and puts as much order as possible into his monster of a working space.
/
The third time she can't help but notice that the old tomes are freaking fairytales and there are post-its stuck between numerous pages and what the hell? Is he a kindergarten teacher, a pedophile or did his intellectual development stop when he was 7?
Emma considers the last option quite plausible.
/
A week later he has less books but more cups of coffee (she has noticed that it is coffee and has been very tempted to bribe the barista to start selling him decaf) and he has started writing and she sort of gets it now and she might be sort of impressed and maybe, kind of, sort of interested but all it comes down to is that she has even less patience with his messiness now because three cups of coffee hanging around a laptop that hosts what she is pretty damn sure is the only copy of your work is just about how a horror story starts in her opinion.
/
She has just taken her seat (on the freaking loveseat because somebody's laptop is already in front of her armchair and at this point it's kind of their armchair but she really doesn't need to get even creepier in her head now does she?) when a cup thumps softly on the table in front of her and she can just catch the tempting scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon and maybe she shouldn't have gone for coffee this morning.
Emma looks up to find the man she has been sneaking glances at (alright, downright secretly staring at) for the last two weeks. His eyebrow is so high up his forehead she almost gets distracted trying to imitate him and see how far up hers can go. He is almost grinning at her with the weirdest combination of teasing and shy she has ever witnessed.
"So I know you already have a drink but I figured that's the least I owe you after you have saved me from destroying the nearby library's property so many times. Or my own for that matter," he glances back at his table (which is not that much of a mess for once but that's probably because he just got here and hasn't even finished his first cup yet) and scratches his ear and Emma has to fight every single muscle in her face not to grin at him.
"Excuse me?" she goes for a confused and mildly annoyed frown instead.
"Lass, I have been taking stock of every single patron in this place every time I find my things magically in order. And you seem to be the only constant at the crime scene," he grins at her again and this time it is full on teasing with a strong hint of confident that she hasn't seen on him before and immediately loves (likes! kinda, sorta, maybe, likes). "What did you think I chalked it up to? Coffee shop fairies?"
"Shouldn't you believe in those? Considering that you are writing about them and all that?" she shoots back easily before she can stop herself.
"Ah, and how would you know what I'm writing about?" he asks, his eyes literally sparkling at this point.
Emma is ashamed to admit that she promptly blushes at that.
"Killian Jones."
The guy sketches an absolutely ridiculous bow before straightening up and this time his smile is so genuine and so genuinely perplexed and (did she really wanna go there?) interested that Emma cannot stop herself from returning it.
"And who should I dedicate the survival of my book and many others, if I actually manage not to kill my laptop before I finish it, of course?"
"Emma. Emma Swan," she bites down on her lip softly, thinking this over before saying fuck it because, frankly, she can do with a little of his brand of messy in her life. "And I suppose I can be persuaded to supervise the production of your masterpiece for awhile longer."
If Killian's face is anything to go by, she has already been hired and perhaps she should sign for a whole year next time her lease is up.
So it's been a while but I kinda like this and I kinda wanna continue it... oh, shit xD