It's not that he doesn't like being a hot-shot musician, he enjoys the thrill he feels, the buzz in his stomach or the nerves fluttering around. But what sucks is the lack of stability because of having to move around too often, never being able to stay in one place for any more than an entire week. It's difficult to do that, however fans are always enthusiastic and unbelievably passionate, and that enough helps him to get through the day.
His managers - yes, plural - David and Mary Margaret Nolan are quite the couple. And not just in terms of their representation of true love, but strength in their abilities of fulfilling their duties as his (technically, their) manager.
Whenever he's on stage performing with his band mates, he completely zones out to the music and does his own thing while he still coordinates accurately with the rest of the music being played. Killian Jones the guitar and lead singer extraordinaire in The Ruthless Pirates is known worldwide for his sudden burst into the media for both his musical talent, and well, his dashingly handsome good looks. He's not blind, he sees the articles, magazines and other ridiculous stuff. Time to time he gets asked to attend photoshoots as well upon his manager's combined requests.
For the remainder of the week, he's to be stationed in Boston for one more concert at a venue before moving toward New York and then finally heading back to Dublin for a bit more. He does feel slightly homesick.
Though it's quite aggravating for him to be out in public. Paparazzi trying to follow him to places, even the bloody supermarket, for god's sake, and concealing his identity doesn't work that easily, especially with an Irish accent sticking out in the waves of other people. Today is one of those days for him. He's just trying to get by back to the tour bus so he can grab a couple of possessions before going back to the hotel until he gets mauled - ambushed - by a bunch of men and women with cameras.
Grumpily, he pulls his hood over his head and pushes past all of them, not in the mood to really deal with any of these irritating, persistent people. Not paying attention to where he's going, he knocks someone over and he hears a voice curse. Glancing down, he notices a fumble of blonde hair and a woman rubbing the back of her head, her eyes scrunched closed. Once her eyes open and make contact in his, he immediately loses his ability to speak. She's beautiful, he thinks to himself, gulping at the mere thought that this... this random woman on the street is making him feel things.
"Bloody hell! Sorry, lass," he exclaims, offering his hand to pull her up.
She seems as if she's just woken from a comatose, her lips slightly parted before she takes his hand and she's trembling, and he grins. "Wow - woah... you... you are Killian Jones."
He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Aye, that I am. Apologies for pushing you over, the damned paparazzi aren't very caring in terms of giving me space." He's aware of the cameras that are probably surrounding him and her, feeling apologetic that she's getting this unwanted attention. "Look..."
"Emma. Emma Swan."
"Look, Swan, perhaps I should... well make it up to you for a cup of coffee." He leans forward to whisper, "Honestly, I want to get the hell away from these photographers, so do this for me, yeah? If you don't mind some attention on the front cover and on the news, that is."
He doesn't know what he's doing but when she sighs and shrugs, pointing her head toward the nearby coffee shop down the corner, he smiles appreciatively before following her toward it. He can still feel the burning gazes of men and women behind him or the stolen glances and giggling surrounding them as they walk next to each other.
When they're inside the coffee shop, he's glad that the blinds have been pulled down and that she guides him toward the furthest seat away from the views from the window. He plops down and sighs, pulling his hood off and running a hand through his hair, realizing it's already in a mess. "Apologies for dragging you into... well, this pile of spotlight."
She waves her hand dismissively. "It's... okay, I guess." She shrugs. "Not every day I get to meet the Killian Jones in person and get to help him."
He laughs, shaking his head gently. "Well I must say our meeting was less than pleasant," he says, "unfortunately."
"Unfortunately? What's that supposed to mean?"
She's responsive and there's a sense of attitude from her self-confidence. He likes that. "I didn't expect myself to run into a beautiful woman - which can I say, is very generous - on the discretion of people trying to get photos of me out in public. You have both my humble apology and thanks, Swan."
"Right, uh, yeah... no problem, Mr. Jones."
"Killian will do," he promptly corrects. "Do you still want to take me up on that coffee offer since we're already here? I promise it'll be nothing more than two friends having a cup."
"Friends? I'd hardly peg us to be at a stage of friends," she mutters, her eyes averted from his gaze. "I'm a fan, you're the famous guy, I don't know how that really works out, honestly."
"Love, I'm just as human as you are, and if fame from my own passions turns you away from building a platonic friendship, then that's very disappointing." He smirks, his feet accidentally kicking (not really accidental) hers under the small table separating them. "Unless you want a photo and something signed, then I'd label us to be at least acquaintances at the moment."
"I've heard you get all the ladies, but I've never heard you smooth talk like that before," she says teasingly, raising an eyebrow. She crosses her arms, the look on her face screaming contemplation. "Acquaintances sounds... good for now."
He laughs victoriously, her choice of words giving him slight leverage. "Ah, so you acknowledge our relationship as acquaintances sounds 'good for now.'"
"I've known you for less than ten minutes and I find you insufferable."
"And yet you've not decided to back up and run away," he says, leaning back in his chair as he glances toward the door of the coffee shop. "At least, most girls who meet me are nearly shedding tears of joy and wonder, but you, well, you stutter adorably before you put up that strong bravado of yours. Impressive, love."
"Not your love." She pauses. "And I do not stutter... adorably."
"Oh, Princess, you most definitely do stutter. And sorry, darling, it's merely the truth."
"God, if you weren't famous and if I didn't like your music, I would have punched you in the jaw and kneed you in the nuts by now." She huffs a breath. "I'm gonna get my coffee now."
.~.
He wishes he had spent more time with her but he had places to go to and he had to leave her behind.
And though he has her name, it's quite possibly the last time he'll ever see her. But she's different, she stands out, she's not just another face he catches in the hunch of a crowd huddled in front of the large stage, or the hundreds he swiftly passes when getting onto the tour bus from the end of the concert.
He's not sure why he's this attracted to her (little does he want to ever admit that), yet he finds his mind reminding him of blonde hair, green eyes and the brightest smile ever. In less than two hours (yes, they spent two hours holding a conversation over coffee) - despite it was flirtatious bantering about 90% of the time - he's found interest in her and he can't fathom the idea he'll never - possibly never - see her again.
And he was dumb enough to leave without giving her a pass to her concert.
(Only because she helped him out from the paparazzi.)
(That's bullshit.)
He sighs as he enters the hotel, running into a couple of fans here and there before heading up to his room. It's ridiculous how people can actually stand outside and wait for him to return or leave the building in order to catch a picture or sign something. Dedication is one thing, that's for sure.
There's a lack of rest as he stares up at the ceiling on the hotel bed, and every time he attempts to get some shuteye, he promptly gets an image of her ingrained into his head. If she wasn't so stubborn and infuriating and gorgeous it would have probably been easier for him to sleep by now. And for some reason, he always seems to recall the twinge of sadness in her eyes or the way she glares at him before answering one of his questions. She clearly doesn't trust easily; another wall.
Running a hand over his face, he groans before giving up on the idea of sleep, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and checking his phone for missed calls or messages.
Swiping his hand over the first message, it's from his manager.
David: What is with these pictures of you and this blonde girl that is very much one of my friends?
He rolls his eyes, tapping back a response to the to David. Though the idea of David knowing who Emma Swan is and never mentioning her to him irks him a little on the inside for no certain apparent reason. (Dumb excuse, he likes her... already.)
Killian: I ran into her while trying to escape the paparazzi and I offered her a coffee in order to pay her back for getting me out of there. Nothing else.
He doesn't even get time to set aside his phone before it vibrates with a response
David: Well there are already articles about your possible "romantic interest."
Well, it is sort of the truth, but yet, who's he going to tell about a simple little... crush? God, a crush. It sounds ridiculous regardless of it being real, but David doesn't need to know any of that.
Killian: Ignore them, it'll pass, won't it?
David: The last thing you need is a scandal.
Killian: Believe me, Dave, I know.
He peeks out of the window from his hotel, noticing that it's beginning to rain and people are scurrying around on the streets without an umbrella. The concert is tomorrow evening, yet he's sitting here in his hotel room with nothing but a flat screen TV, a queen sized bed, and nothing to do.
Eyeing his guitar, he moves over to picks it up and begins to play nothing in particular, just going with the flow with a specific woman in mind.
.~.
He spends more time on the tour bus for awhile strumming his guitar and singing while Robin does harmonies. It goes like that for a while before David peeks through the door, telling them it's time to get ready for the concert. Nodding, he sets his own guitar aside before heading inside while keeping a casual conversation with Robin.
Robin's heard of all the stupid controversy about Emma too, and he curses paparazzi because for once, he'd like a little bit of privacy. Clearly that's rare to come by and impossible because of his fame.
And there's also a swarm of girls completely running him down in terms of questioning him.
He's got to apologize to her if he ever comes across her again because for all he knows, she could be hiding in the corner of her apartment refusing to go into the public because of all this dumb shame flooding over the media.
Changing into his addressed wardrobe and sticking the earpiece in his ears, he follows Robin and the rest toward the stage. He can already hear the crowd out there tonight, the loud chatter, laughter, screaming. Shaking his head, they do their pre-performance ritual which is literally them warming up their voices to a couple of songs before they pat each other on the back and run onto the stage, waving at all the fans.
It's dark, but the lights being forwarded towards the wave of people in front of him allows him to see everyone much more easily.
It's easy to play the guitar and sing, to be able to share and experience his passions for the rest of the world, to be able to bring joy and happiness to others, to have other people be capable of relating to the band's songs. They say he smiles a whole lot on stage, yet that doesn't surprise him. Of course he smiles a lot, it's fun and easy to get lost in the beat of the music or the flow of lyrics combining together song after song.
(It's even better when the fans sing along and sway to the music.)
They're not some punk rock band, but they're also not the typical targeting teenage girls boy band either. They're right in between, making music for any person to listen to. (Although getting into the Top 40 songs in America is quite the refresher, to be honest.)
Suddenly, his eyes latch onto a certain pair of green ones in the crowd and blonde hair and he immediately recognizes her. It'd be impossible not to recognize her anyways. He smiles, attempting to be sure not to target it toward her - otherwise everyone's going to trample over her later - and continues to sing the lyrics to their song, the words tumbling out of his mouth naturally.
By the end of the concert, the entire band bids everyone good night.
"Wow, you were totally looking at that girl you met yesterday, mate," Robin teases, nudging him in the arm. "Look at that though, it's like fate brought you two together earlier and then you meet again. How convenient."
"Gods, don't put ideas into my head, Locksley," Killian mutters, pulling of his earpiece. "She's just a girl, an acquaintance. No need to make us sound like we're dating."
(He'd wish.)
"Right," Will drawls, throwing his arm around Killian's shoulders. "Don't ya think it's funny she didn't tell ya she was comin' to the show today?"
"She wasn't obligated to tell me of her attendance," he shoots back, shaking his head. "You two are making this a big deal for nothing."
"Because it is," Robin insists.
"What big deal?" David says, bursting the bubble of their little conversation. "Don't tell me this is about Emma."
"Oh, it definitely is," Will throws in, smirking like that moron he is. "The bloke hasn't been with a girl in forever and now he's got eyes for that friend of yours, Mr. Nolan. Funny, ain't it?"
"Not funny," David grumbles. "She's been in bad spots in her life - which includes uptight, dumb, boyfriends."
"You implying I am not boyfriend material, Dave?" He feigns offence, raising an eyebrow at his manager. Though he does wish to know more about the bad track she's had with men before, and well, possibly punch them if they broke her heart. "Besides, I am not going after your friend. However - should anything occur - whatever happens to us is as much as it is up to her as it is to me."
David scoffs. "Right, well... there are fans out there dying for the meet and greet. You three should get yourself out there, and remember, don't talk so much otherwise we won't get through everyone."
"We're just trying to be friendly to all the fans," Robin reasons, siding up beside Killian. "Make their memories worthwhile."
"Be friendly but keep it short."
The three bandmates groan in unison before David shoves them toward the direction of the meet and greet, bypassing Mary Margaret who has her usual sweet smile that screams a warning as much as David has to verbally warn them.
.~.
Just as he's heading back to the bus, he catches Emma loitering around, talking to David with a smile on her face. Her eyes are shimmering under the light from the street lamps and he can't help but wonder about how someone could dare to harm a soul like her. She seems precious and too good to be true.
They both catch a sight of him and he instinctively waves with a smile on his face and they wave back. Originally, he was going to get back to the bus but then his plan changes when he decides to go up to them, remembering Mary Margaret had called for her husband.
"Dave, Mary Margaret was asking for you back at your bus."
"Huh? Alright," David says, glancing between the two of them. "I guess I don't really have to introduce you to each other... but hey, I'll call you later, Emma. And Killian, don't get in trouble with the paparazzi this time around."
He rolls his eyes, his head dipping down in slight embarrassment. "Aye, I know, mate."
He's lucky to have David and Mary Margaret as his band manager. They're not strict and rude and he's just glad enough that they'll be sticking around for a while. Plus, he benefits in return to know that he's friends with Emma Swan, the woman who's haunting his thoughts about 24/7. It's much to his demise - giving into selfishness - with his attraction and pull towards her.
Long distance relationships don't work, he knows that. Yet for some reason, she makes him want to try. As pointless as it may be, as much of a failure of an attempt as its outcome, he still has the want to try.
"And then there were two," she quietly mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
Discovering that is like knowing it's a defense mechanism on her part, something he's familiar with. Or he's completely over-thinking like the moron he can be sometimes. "Isn't that bad now, is it?"
She chuckles and he notices her shudder slightly, the cold breeze enough to break through the blue sweater she's wearing.
"Cold, love?" he asks.
She glares at him before she shrugs. "Just a little."
Grinning, he shrugs his leather jacket off and places it over her shoulders. "Take it." Although the breeze hitting his skin makes him slightly cold, it's nothing he can't endure, he's been through far worse. She's about to open her mouth to protest against him, her eyes dropping to the jacket wrapped around her, but she stops and his grin broadens. "I'm a gentleman, Swan."
She hums before she nods slowly. "You know I've gotten approached by, like, thirty people today asking me if you took me out for coffee?"
"Oh, really now?" He raises an eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of him. "Can you handle the pressure?"
"I mean, people are pretty nice about it." She drops her arms back to her sides. "Well," she drawls, "except for the one who makes crude comments. Not the best thing to experience, but I guess that's what happens when people start to know who you are."
"Believe me, Swan, it's jealousy talking."
"What's there to be jealous about? We're - uh - we're not together."
He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, his lips curling to a smile at her loss of words to form a coherent sentence. "It's not everyday Killian Jones, leader singer and guitarist of The Ruthless Pirates takes a pretty lass out for coffee in return of a favour." She nearly snorts at that, and he narrows his eyes. "What? I believe it's quite true."
"I don't know what goes on in that mind of yours, Jones, but keep dreaming, buddy."
"Oh, you've no idea, love."
They talk for another couple of minutes before she insists it's time for her to get going since it's getting late. He's more than happy to offer her a walk back to where she lives, and though he notices the reluctance in her eyes and the momentary pause in her response, she agrees to it anyways.
He figures it isn't a bold move to ask for her number by this point, promising to keep in contact with her because they're slowly getting to the point of being friends. He words it with his expansive vocabulary which causes her to roll her eyes and take his phone, inputting her number before handing it back to him. He stops in front of the apartment she lives in, bids her a good night and a possible see you soon, before she walks inside. A smile is plastered across his face the entire time and before he knows it, he's only in his black and blue plaid shirt and she's left him without his leather jacket.
It gives him all the more reason to have her visit him or for him to visit her. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head curtly before making his way back to the bus, the darkness and faint yellow light illuminating him as he walks down the sidewalk.
Albeit the curious glares he gets from his two other band mates by the time he's back inside the bus, he doesn't care.
Setting himself up for the night, he climbs into his bunk, pulling his phone out and sending a message to Emma.
Killian: It appears you've stolen my jacket, Swan. I'm gonna have to get that back some day. :)
Emma: Oh yeah? What if I wanted to keep it?
He laughs quietly, making sure not to be loud otherwise Robin and Will are going to pull his curtain open and demand for answers of what he's doing.
Killian: Then I suppose I'd let you keep it.
Emma: Really?
Killian: No, Swan, not at all.
Emma: Damn it. It's really warm and comfortable.
Killian: But honestly, keep it. I can always get myself another leather jacket as a replacement. Besides, I think it fits you quite well.
Emma: Why are you so nice to me? We still hardly know each other.
Killian: I'd consider us friends by now. And if not, perhaps we should change that some day?
When her response doesn't come for another couple of minutes, he wonders if he's scared her off with his statement, if he was too straightforward this time around. His screen eventually lights up and he swipes at the notification quickly, her response filling him with relief.
Emma: I'll hold you to that... and maybe, next time, let's not have cameras following us around and snapping pictures to spread rumours that we're dating.
Killian: Sorry, love, can't make promises I can't keep.
Emma: You suck.
Killian: Ah, so I've been told multiple times by this certain blonde who I accidentally ran into.
Emma: Good night, Jones.
His cheeks already hurt from smiling and he knows he should not be texting in the dark, it's not good for his eyes, despite his impeccable vision, but he'd make an exception for her. He's gotten her attention, he's enraptured by her to be quite frank, and he doesn't think there'll be much of an escape anymore.
He is royally screwed.
Killian: Good night, Emma.
Best to note down that it's the best sleep he's had in ages when he wakes up in a bloody bunk bed in the tour bus, even if the mattress below him itself isn't that bad quality. Will makes snarky comments about his good attitude and eventually Robin joins in on the fun of teasing him before he pours his coffee into a thermos and leaves the tour bus, heading back into the venue.
He doesn't know why he really does this, but he finds himself strolling through hallways, peeking past corners, exploring what the place has to offer. Perhaps it's just the fun and chance of visiting places one would hardly ever get to visit, or just the fact that he wants it to last in memory. Although most nights all bleed into one, he knows that his Boston trip will forever be his favourite because a certain person has made it all for him.
Holding his thermos of coffee in one hand, he pulls out the phone in the back pocket of his jeans and sends a friendly message.
Killian: Hope you have a splendid day. We leave Boston for New York today, don't miss me too much.
With that, he places the phone back where it was originally, turning hot on his heels to head back to the bus so he can go back to the hotel later and grab a couple of things and sign out of the place.
They leave later on in the day, may as well be prepared ahead of time.