"Are you serious?"
Mary Margaret looked absolutely sheepish as Emma paced back and forth across the room, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. She had only seen Emma this angry on two other occasions: when she'd gotten spoiled on the most pivotal episode of Game of Thrones, and when Mary Margaret had made her hot chocolate with salt instead of sugar.
"I thought it would be good for you, Emma. You're always inside-"
"And what's wrong with that?" Admittedly, she did spend a lot of time inside. But that was hardly her fault; plenty of her friends passed the time indoors, doing all kinds of things. But Emma didn't really have that much of an excuse. The truth of the matter was, she just wasn't up for social interaction most of the time. Outings were so… icky. It was like a debate match, always trying to come up with something else to say while blurting a comment out simultaneously, all while smiling and laughing at the appropriate moments and listening to what the other person was saying. Conversations in the modern age had been degraded to nothing more than lines on a script. And dates? Dates were a nightmare.
It was for this specific reason that she was particularly peeved at Mary Margaret for setting her up with dinner for two tonight. This was the last thing she needed, and the last thing she was looking forward to.
"I'm sorry, Emma, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that... " Mary Margaret thought for a moment. "Okay, how about this. Just go for five minutes. If you're still not interested after that, text me and I'll come and bail you out. I won't do it again. But you have to give it a shot for those five minutes."
It wasn't the ideal way to spend her Friday night, especially considering the extensive list of television shows she was planning to binge, but she would humor her mother at least for that long. "Fine. But just five. No more. Promise?"
Both ladies smiled, and Mary Margaret looped her pinky around Emma's so they could squeeze on it. "Promise."
Emma's friends tended to spend a lot of time on outfits. She couldn't blame them; there was definitely a lot to consider, and even she knew how good it felt to walk outside feeling comfortable in her own skin. But she usually didn't bother too much with outfits for dates, for a simple reason: if the other person couldn't deal with her sweats, he wasn't worth the sweat. It was a phrase she had lived by and planned to live by from now until forever, and it was due to this phrase that Emma Swan walked out of the house at 7:30PM dressed in a baggy pair of sweatpants and an extremely loose t-shirt from her college writing group. She was only planning to stay for five minutes, anyway - what was the point in dressing up when she was going to dress down shortly after?
Mary Margaret had arranged the date at a reasonably casual coffee shop about five minutes from her house - convenient and simple. As for her date, Emma didn't know anything more than a name - Killian Jones. It didn't matter too much; there wasn't anything else she'd need to know, given the duration of her visit. Even though the date would be short, Emma found herself running through traditional conversation starters in her head as she walked: 'Hi, I'm Emma. Where do you live?'
Wait, no, that's incredibly stalker-ish. You're not supposed to scare him away before the five minutes are up. May as well make a good impression.
'Do you work?'
Way too curious. He'll think I'm judging.
'How's your day been?'
Great, until I found out that the girl I was meeting at a coffee shop dresses in sweats all. The. Time.
Well, this is going to be marvelous.
Still incredibly frustrated, Emma yanked the door open at The Busy Bean, and breathed in the lemony scent wafting over from the counter. If there was one thing she didn't mind about this experience, it was the food she would inevitably get out of it. She was not stepping out of this store without an iced lemon cake.
She scanned the room once, but didn't see anyone who seemed to be looking for her. Maybe if he's five minutes late, I can get out of here before he arrives. Best case scenario. She ordered her drink, grabbed a cake, and took a seat at a table for two.
Now came the waiting.
Emma set a timer on her phone for five minutes and set it down on the table. All he had to do was show up… or not.
She was lost in thought, running one finger absentmindedly over the quite extensive menu, when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She jerked her head up.
"Emma… Emma Swan?"
"Yeah, that's me." Emma looked up into a pair of impossibly blue eyes. So this was Killian Jones.
She couldn't blame Mary Margaret - the man was honestly quite attractive. This was a man who had basically everything going for him - his eyes were mesmerizing, his face and features perfectly defined.
What are you doing? Focus.
Killian smiled at her warmly and sat down in the seat in front of her. "Killian Jones - if you hadn't picked that up already."
There it was - the moment for that obligatory chuckle. Emma obliged, after sneaking a quick peek at her phone - three minutes. His tardiness had spared them both some awkward conversation time.
She could tell he was just as uncomfortable as she was, making this that much better. They sat in silence for ten whole seconds - Emma knew because she was watching her phone timer count down. Then, he tried again.
"So, tell me a little bit about yourself while we're here. What do you do?"
That was certainly a smarter way to ask that question than the variant she'd gone over before getting here.
Insert formal answer:
"I'm working towards becoming a scriptwriter right now - for films and television. I'm still in college working towards my degree."
He leaned in, and she could tell he was interested. "That sounds great! What kinds of scripts?"
"Drama, probably." They could drag this line of mundane conversation on for at least another twenty seconds, maybe?
This was what Emma hated about dates. Everything felt so… scripted. Ask him about his life, tell him about yours, keep smiling, laugh when he says something funny, don't stop the conversation for too long otherwise the silence envelopes the both of you and you realize that you're both trying to keep the momentum alive but it's slipping between both of your fingers. It was too much stress and tension for her to bear, especially when they all ended the same way.
Two minutes. Emma wanted to bolt for the bathroom.
She asked him about his career; he went on about the naval academy, which did sound reasonably interesting. As he talked, she noticed the way his eyebrows bunched together when he tried to remember a particular detail, the way a single strand of his dark hair slipped over his eyes and the way he pushed it back without missing a beat. These were the kinds of things she tried to notice, that she tried to put into her own writing - so that way, the scripts she wrote didn't come out sounding like any of her attempts at dating.
Ninety seconds. He ordered a coffee and took a sip, keeping his eyes trained on her all the while. She tried another conversation starter. "So… how's your day been?"
He put the coffee cup down. "All right, I guess. Started off with another cup of coffee - ironic, I guess - then met a couple friends for lunch…" A rosy blush bloomed in his cheeks as he continued. "Honestly, I'll be frank with you. I spent almost the entire day on Netflix."
Emma almost choked on her drink. "What?"
Killian raised his eyebrows. "Yep, Netflix."
She didn't take another sip until they had finished comparing lists, discussing the shows they'd watched that day (she, Game of Thrones; he, Parks and Recreation), examining parallels between each of their OTPs, complaining about the trend of poor writing as the seasons went on in just about any show.
At some point during their discussion, Emma's timer went off. She felt it buzzing against the soft material of her sweatpants and, without breaking conversation once, reached her other hand under the table and silenced it.
Maybe her mom's taste wasn't so off after all.
Through all of her past dates, she'd eventually fallen into that dreaded sense of monotony - the forced conversation, the all-too-familiar talking points. But in the two hours they spent in The Busy Bean, Emma didn't feel that even once. For the first time ever, she felt the connection between them pulsing like something she'd write about it one of her scripts.
And maybe she would.
Ten minutes into their conversation, Killian felt his phone vibrate. Without missing a beat, he ducked his eyes under the table to read a message from Liam.
Ten minutes done. Want me to bust you out?
Smiling to himself and to Emma, he typed out a hasty response.
Not a chance.