For shady-swan-jones, not at all what you requested, which was post-break-up fic with the prompt, 'I literally can't sleep alone anymore so I've shown up at your door in my pyjamas. Can we have one more nap together, please?' This hit me first from our convo, so I'll have to go back and write the post break-up version.
Killian weighed the frame in his hand, staring at the photo within as he absently pulled a page of newsprint from the pile on the coffee table. It was from a few years ago, just after commencement, Liam standing to his right, a wide smile on his face, while Emma, Belle, and David pushed in on his left, knocking his cap askew. Emma was mid-collapsing in laughter, her hair loose and covering half her face as Killian's unseen hand dug into her robes, tickling her ribs as he pulled her in tighter. He could almost hear Mary Margaret admonishing them, pleading for them to allow her one photo where she wasn't going to have to edit it in order to make it so they were all looking at the camera at the same time.
He slipped off the back of the frame, pulling the photo out and tucking it into his duffel bag before wrapping the frame and placing it in the last open box. He was taping up that box when a knock rapped at his door.
He wasn't expecting anyone. It was late – too late – for it to be an errant food delivery, and Belle wouldn't be by until the morning. She promised him coffee reinforcements while he watched the movers pack up his apartment and ship his possessions off for storage in Liam's basement, along with a ride to the airport once it was all done.
"Emma?" he asked dumbly as he opened the door to find her in the hallway. She was clad in her favorite grey and white sleep pants and a sweatshirt much too big for her, a pair of beat up old Toms on her feet.
She looked up, wrapping her arms around her waist as she lifted one foot to rub the toe along her ankle.
"Hey," she whispered, not moving forward.
He could feel his brow furrowing as she continued to stand there, not crossing into his apartment with her usual lack of care for an invitation.
"I thought you were heading out of town with Elsa?" he asked, reaching out to coax her inside. They'd said their goodbyes earlier in the day – one last meal at Granny's, complete with milkshakes and an extra order of onion rings – and as much as it would hurt to do so again, he wouldn't deny himself any more time she was willing to give him.
"She got caught late at work," she said, falling against him as he pulled her into a hug. "We decided to leave in the morning."
Killian used his foot to push the door closed and Emma continued to talk into his shoulder.
"I couldn't sleep. Thought you might not mind some company."
He worked his hand into her hair, scratching along her scalp, and he took a step backwards keeping her against him as he did. He side-stepped the kitchen chairs – what furniture he had was stacked up in odd configurations in his living room – and maneuvered to where his mattress was tucked into the corner.
He sank down to the mattress, pulling her with him as he scooted to the far side.
"I'm going to miss this," she mumbled.
"It's only two years," he whispered, ignoring the lump forming in his throat as he wrapped one hand around her waist and tangled the other back into her hair. "And I am allowed visitors and some time off, you know."
Killian hadn't told her, hadn't told anyone, he applied for the Peace Corps. He had started the process soon after Milah left, and hadn't really thought it would go anywhere. He wanted to do this, was beyond thrilled at his placement in Costa Rica and the chance to work with teenagers there. But he hadn't, in all honesty, thought through the reality of leaving everyone. Leaving Emma.
"I know, but who's going to sit up at weird hours and listen to my stories of horrible men who are easily distracted by a short skirt and a low cut top?"
He laughed. "There's Skype, and email, and texting once I have a phone there. Or you could take up tweeting short stories for me to read. Could be a whole new career for you."
That last caused her to laugh, the vibrations echoing into his chest, wrapping around his heart and squeezing.
"I'll see what I can do," she said, laughter still tinging the edges of her words.
They sat in silence for a while, her leg pressed between his, his fingers continuing their idle scratching at her scalp. Emma curled her hand at his waist, her thumb swiping at his side. Killian wasn't sure how long they lay like that, but when Emma shifted back, her hand rising to his jaw, he blinked. Her finger traced along his scruff, trailing the line at the underside of his jaw and down his Adam's apple as he swallowed roughly.
"Emma?" he asked, his voice sounding thick even to his ears.
She didn't answer him, instead she leant in and brushed her lips across his. It was a barely there, wisp of a thing. He could almost have missed it had every one of his nerve endings not been lit by the caress of her finger on his skin.
"Emma," he breathed again before tightening his hold on her head and crashing his lips to hers. It was messy, and brilliant, and everything he'd wanted to do for more years than he wanted count. He opened to her at the first nudge of pressure to his upper lip, capturing her tongue with his and drawing it into his mouth. They continued for a while, trading kisses and even a laugh when Kilian brushed his hand along her ribs, accidentally hitting the spot guaranteed to make her twitch.
"Couldn't let you go without telling you," she whispered once they pulled away, her lips hovering just out of reach of his own. "Needed you to know."
Killian wrapped a lock of her hand around his finger, letting it fall loose when it got too tight and started the twining over again. His heart thudded at her words, and he used his free hand to pull her closer to him.
"Oh, love," he answered, nosing along her temple and placing a kiss to her forehead. His mind flashed with so many images from the recent past, nights spent at the corner pub, others bickering over movie choices, and meeting for runs along the Charles River. Then he imagined how different those moments might have been, the casual intimacy they already had, just deeper, had he only knew.
She shook her head and said, "Don't. I don't want this to become a thing."
"A thing?" he repeated, stiffening involuntarily.
She ran her thumb along his jaw and he pressed into it. "I don't want to spend the night second guessing if I should have said something sooner."
Killian nodded and dove back in for another searing kiss, choosing not to question the gift tucked neatly against his chest.
Belle texted the next morning, asking if he wanted to add anything to his coffee order. He answered with a request for a second coffee.
Her answering reply of just the eyeballs emoji said all that needed to be said.
He was rustling in his duffel, trying not to disturb his seatmate as he looked for the book he'd packed for the flight. Instead he stumbled on a small, orange bound book he didn't recognize. Flipping the pages, he found himself greeted by a series of photos spanning last seven years, mostly of him and Emma, mostly of them unaware of the camera. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Turning back to the first page, he found a note scrawled on backside of the cover.
Killian,
I'm sorry I couldn't hand this to you in person. I am trying to be brave for once, but it appears breaking habits is hard.
Seems Mary Margaret's been busy. She had two of these made, sneaky wench that she is.
I hope it helps remind you that you have someone waiting for you on the other side of your adventure. Two years has got nothing on us, as this book seems bent on reminding me. Perhaps MM should have handed us photobooks years ago.
Can't wait to hear all about your service training and what comes next.
Maybe I will look into that Twitter thing.
L,
-E
Killian grinned, tracing the looping L with his index finger, his hunt for his book forgotten as he began to plot out just what he might owe Mary Margaret.