His traitorous gaze slips away from the lightly swirling liquid in his glass and lands on the phone in the corner of his coffee table. The little green light is mocking him, he is sure of it.
His phone started ringing and pinging and vibrating right after midnight the night before. Not constantly, not all that frequently even – Killian doesn't have that many acquaintance anymore and even fewer friends – but enough to make him turn off the sound and toss the thing as far away as possible. He hasn't checked a single one of the messages or missed calls he has received in the last twenty hours.
Four more and everybody will forget about him just as suddenly as they remembered. He is not bitter about it. He understands.
Truthfully, he is being kind of unfair. Will in particular has been especially present and vocal in the last month or so (the "so" being 1 month, 2 weeks, 2 days and about 3 hours). During Killian's "mopolympics". Will's phrase. Which Ruby has been all too willing to adopt. And Belle has accidentally used at work twice already.
He tears his gaze away from the blinking light and leans his head back on the couch. His arse has gone 90% numb by this point so he doesn't have a sufficient incentive to leave his position on the floor. His book, his glass of rum, the coconut cookies he dug out from his deserted cupboards and the phone he does not intend to answer are all within his reach. He is set for the night.
That's when the knock on his door comes. It's 8.24 pm. It's his 30th birthday. He is shocked Will waited that long.
The sound comes again. If he had a movie or some music on he wouldn't hear it. Not the kind of sound that Will or Ruby would produce. Belle perhaps?
He hears bone hitting wood again. Soft but resolute. Belle it is then. Probably the only person who can make him get up right now.
"Bloody— Fuck."
His leg is numb as well. He semi-drags it to the front door.
It's not Belle. And he was wrong – she is not the only person he will get up for. He just never thought this person was an option. Consequently, his brain is helplessly blank.
"Hey."
The hand that was tentatively knocking on his door quickly imitates her other one, sneaking into her pocket, but her eyes are determinate to not leave his face. It makes him shockingly, uncomfortably self-conscious. He hasn't showered since the day before, he hasn't shaved in much longer, he is pretty sure his eyes are bloodshot and his hair has definitely gotten too long.
She, on the other hand, looks spectacular – all soft blonde waves and his favourite white sweater. He is torn in two – the bitter, wounded part of him furious that she obviously hasn't been carrying around even an ounce of the suffering that he has been bowled under for the last month or so (the "so" being 1 month, 2 weeks, 2 days and now a little over 3 hours) and the part of him that loves her so damn much and would never wish her a second of pain is glad for it. And that second one is basically all of him – all of him loves her so damn much. Yet he can't deny the stab of pain at her perfect eyeliner and glossy lips.
"Swan."
He doesn't know what to say after this so he is as relieved as he is surprised when she gulps, seemingly gathering her courage, and opens her mouth.
"I called you."
Bloody hell. If he'd known that was one of the reasons for the stupid blinking light he wouldn't have—
"And sent you a bunch of messages. But you know that."
No he didn't, he—
"And I know silence doesn't mean "come bother me in person" but I—"
"I didn't see them."
"What?"
"I haven't looked at my phone all day. I wasn't ignoring you. I'd never—"
"Oh."
Her whole body seems to loosen a bit, her shoulders dropping, her chin lifting, her hands coming out of her pockets. He wishes he could follow her example.
"So, would you— I mean, can I—" she tries a few times and huffs in frustration and in any other situation it would make him smile but—
"Happy birthday."
Right.
"Thank you."
"You probably have plans."
"I don't have plans."
Great, sound even more pathetic than you look. Gods, she looks beautiful. She must have plans.
"Oh."
He shrugs and silence reigns supreme again.
Maybe he should invite her inside. He wants to. He's not sure he can take it if she waves off his offer. He has never felt so awkward and uncertain in Emma Swan's presence before.
"You look good."
Will she notice if he casually bashes his brains out against the door casing?
She looks confused by the simple statement, then he swears she is about to blush and then she gives him this look – he can't believe he missed a look that basically spells out "you're an idiot".
"Well, yeah, you try to look your best when you're going to beg someone to take you back."
What?
"Ugh. Just— Killian, I—"
"Do you want to come inside?"
Her look is one of the utmost longing and reluctance.
"I'd rather not if you'd want me to leave right after."
"Do you want to leave?"
She shakes her head and he moves to the side.
"Come in, Emma."
She does. Though it's more barreling into him than into the apartment and he barely has time to realize what is happening when her hair is in his face and her hands are clutching the back of his t-shirt.
His arms come around her slowly, hesitantly, and he desperately wants to go check on the bottle of rum in his kitchen and make sure he's really only had one glass. Maybe the cookies had gone off.
Her cold nose digs into his collarbone and he feels the press of her lips right over his out of control heart and he decides he doesn't care if he has food poisoning if hallucinations like this are among the symptoms.
His hand is in her hair now and he can feel her breathing – it's as uneven as his heartbeat. He kicks the door shut and slowly starts to maneuver them toward the couch. It's quite the process since Emma obviously doesn't consider ungluing herself from his side a viable option. Until she does.
"Shit."
And then she is off. He watches her wrench his front door open and he really hopes the part where he pukes his guts out and just goes to sleep comes soon.
She doesn't go through it though, she just reaches to the side and comes back with a brown paper bag that she has to support from underneath. She leaves it on his kitchen counter and Killian is about to ask, he really is, but then she is back in front of him and before he can form any words they are on the couch and Emma is in his lap, her hands are in his hair and her lips are leaving wet kisses over every inch of his face.
Eventually he starts to make out the words between her kisses, which don't help him much seeing as they are just a litany of his name, interspersed from breathy "ohmygod"s and he has never heard Emma sound so relieved in his life, he doesn't even care that her grip on him is downright painful.
He runs his stump up and down her back and angles her head a bit so he can kiss her cheek. He finds it damp.
"Emma. It's alright, love."
She shakes her head against him and he nods in retaliation.
"It's alright. We're alright."
"Just like that?"
Her voice is part surprise and part anger and he doesn't know what she has to be angry about, all his own bitterness evaporated kiss by kiss.
"Just like that."
"You can't just let me off the hook like that."
"It's my birthday, I can do whatever I want."
She huffs and pulls back to look at him and his arms clamp around her waist almost instinctively. It's such an obviously desperate gesture he is almost ashamed of it. Even more so when her face crumbles and her hands slip from around his neck to run along his arms reassuringly.
"I'm sorry."
He scrunches his face and shakes his head. He really doesn't feel like apologies right now. She seems to sense that and just tugs him forward – his forehead dropping heavily on her shoulder. Her hair smells fruity and wonderful and he really hopes he doesn't smell like he's been migrating between his bed and the floor at the foot of his couch for the last two days.
"So I started calling you last night."
His eyes jump to his phone on the table.
"I really haven't—"
"It's ok. I'm almost glad, seeing how quick you are to put me out of my misery."
He leans on her even more and kisses her neck. He doesn't like the thought of Emma being miserable even one bit. He doesn't like the thought of her doing penance for him.
"I— I— God, why am I so bad at this? Why can't I say pretty things to you?"
He chuckles against her warm skin and straightens so he can look her in the eyes. They are so desperate. And his soften even further in response.
"That's alright, love. The way you're squeezing the life out of me is plenty pretty."
She rolls her eyes but her grip doesn't loosen in the least.
"I— I love you."
He kisses her. He kisses her with a month or so worth of pent-up kisses (the "so" being 1 month, 2 weeks, 2 days and almost 4 hours and finally over). She whimpers and opens up for him and he squeezes her hip, leaning back, his left arm pulling her further into his lap.
"Killian, wait, wait."
Her lips form the words between kisses but they contrast heavily with the way she keeps tugging him closer by the hair.
"I wanna say it."
"I love you too, Swan."
"Stop. I'm saying the pretty things now."
He laughs against her, kisses her two more times and then pulls back, putting some actual distance between them. It feels unnatural already. He doesn't want it there yet he secretly wants those words as well.
"Alright, love, romanticize me."
He can tell that she wants to roll her eyes but instead she gathers herself, looks straight at him and oh.
"I love you. I love you so much. And— and that was never under question, you know— it wasn't like, I just needed some—"
"I know."
He does. It didn't hurt any less. That she wanted to spend any time at all away from him, even if it wasn't for good.
"It was stupid. It was a stupid idea. I was just— I felt stupid over how much I missed you when we weren't together even for a day and—
He frowns. He didn't know that part.
"Emma, that's not—"
"It's not stupid. I know. I know," she lets go of him for the first time since they fell into each other and drops her head in her hands. "I was… well, stupid. I mean, you… how stupid would it be to not miss you all the time?"
He can't tell. He got lost somewhere around the fourth "stupid" and he is convinced she is not any kind of stupid and just really—
"You're… you're the most wonderful man I've ever met. You're the best thing in my life so like, how stupid is it to not miss you when we're not together?"
Oh.
"And then I had to go and— and I missed you all the time and I'm sorry, I was stupid and—"
She is not any kind of stupid. She is just really in love. He can relate.
"And then it was your birthday and I didn't want you to have a birthday without me and I— I never want you to have another birthday without me. And I know that sounds pretty heavy but we spent like 47 days apart and that's enough, right? That's enough to last us forever?"
Oh.
"Can we just go back to where I only miss you because we're at work and try not to feel stupid about it?"
She is not any kind of stupid. She just really missed him. He can relate.
"I think we can do that, love."
"Good," she leans her forehead against his own and smiles – so happy and relieved, he could cry just at the thought of her doubting they'll be ok.
"Also I wasn't sure where in the celebration I'll catch you so I made that curry you like and got cake and a bottle of Sailor Jerry and I'm wearing really nice lingerie."
He grins at her squeal as he rises to his feet without warning, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
"The celebration is just about to begin and I say we make our way through that list backwards."
She is nodding as she sucks on his earlobe and she is perfect and—
"Wait. Cake before curry? That's stupid."