The noise outside the apartment was ridiculous They lived several blocks from Times Square but still the sound permeated everything. The TV on in the background as well, only adding to the din. Henry had gone off to bed a few hours ago, complaining loudly that he was old enough to stay awake. She had checked on him a half hour before, only to find him fast asleep.
Killian sat close beside her on the couch, watching the television with an incredulous look. She studied him, watching the lines crease his forehead as his eyebrows raised at something the short host on the TV said. His eyes were glued to the television, watching intently as the numbers slowly counted down.
"Explain it to me again," Killian asked her, a bemused smirk upon his face.
She sighed, wondering once again why she allowed him to stay in the apartment. She trusted him, though she could not say why. "The ball drops when the clock reaches 10. It hits the bottom when the new year begins."
"What a strange custom," he replied, his eyes finding her own. "In my land, everyone simply gathers together and enjoys each other's company. Then, when the moon reaches it's peak, loved ones share a kiss. Simple…none of this nonsense," he finished, gesturing dismissively at the TV.
"We do that here too…kiss loved ones I mean," she said, a blush heating her cheeks as she remembered the first time they met at the door or her apartment. She'd thought she was crazy then…still did actually. But she trusted him.
Why did she trust him?
She frowned at the TV as the counter in the bottom corner began to flash brightly with only a minute to go. He'd told her all these impossible things and kept referring to "his land". He told her that fairy tales were real, that magic existed, that her whole life that she had was a lie. A rational person would have called the police and gotten a restraining order. But here he was, two weeks later, sleeping on her living room couch. He was just so…frustratingly charming. And she trusted him.
Why did she trust him?
The crowd on the television began to count, though she could hear their echo just as clearly from down the street.
Ten.
What on earth was he doing here?
Nine.
He couldn't really be Captain Hook.
Eight.
Everything he said was impossible.
Seven.
Wasn't it?
Six.
But then…
Five.
Why did she trust him?
Four.
She felt his gaze on her.
Three.
She turned, caught instantly in burning pools of blue.
Two.
He was going to kiss her again. And part of her wanted him to.
One.
Why did she trust him?
"Happy New Year, Swan," he whispered, pressing his lips gently against her own.