Disclaimer: Any characters, places, storylines etc. associated with Once Upon a Time are not mine. All song lyrics are not mine.
A/N: This is set in S4ish. It makes reference to the Frozen arc, and at the end there is a reference to an ongoing storyline, but is entirely CS-centric, and I believe is spoiler-free. Kind of starts off intense and then relaxes as it heads into the future. Enjoy!
You Are In Love
one look, dark room, meant just for you
time moved too fast, you play it back
You don't really remember the exact moment you thought you might be in too deep to go back now, but if you had to choose one, it might be this.
You catch his eye at this, this party, this event, whatever it is happening at the apartment right now. You hadn't even realised he was coming. You'd forgotten to mention it to him.
He edges the door open slightly, and he's a ghost, a shadow, a figure dressed all in black in a room with dimmed lights. No one notices him but you, and you wonder how you even noticed him. Something about him draws your gaze to his, pulls your entire body towards him, and you have no idea what it is.
He glances at you for a moment, eyes dark, and a smile creeps onto your face before you can stop it. All too soon, he melts into the crowd, and your face falls, only for him to re-appear by your side moments later.
His arm slides round your waist, pulls you close to him, gentle enough that you can resist, firm enough to let you know he doesn't want you to.
You glance up at him, the two of you stood in the corner, surveying the cheerful faces of everyone else in the room, wondering how they can laugh when the entire room seems to be filled with electricity. You are so invisible here, just the two of you, that even your father hasn't noticed his arrival.
One kiss on the forehead, lips moving with the words he murmurs to you before he pulls away, and then he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he sends you one last look, eyes still dark, inviting. That look was meant for no one else, and you are pleased, and it scares you a little.
"Can I steal you away, lass?"
You follow him five minutes later, back to a room in an empty hotel because everyone else is at your place. It's all backwards, but somehow it makes perfect sense.
You replay that night a million times for the rest of your life.
buttons on a coat, lighthearted joke
no proof, not much, but you saw enough
Two weeks later, and you're going through his closet.
You find that he's hung up his old clothes so carefully, covered them, given them the attention he clearly thinks they deserve even as he leaves them behind. Somehow it amuses you, but it also makes your stomach swirl. He's a man with so many layers, so many parts that you'd never realised before.
He is capable of anger, and violence, but he is also capable of love, of respecting and cherishing all that he holds dear, and you think, you hope, he is capable of loving you.
Your fingers slide between the material, fastening round something cold and smooth. On closer inspection it reveals itself to be a brass button, his ship's mark stamped onto it. It is polished so beautifully that it could have been sewn on just yesterday.
You crack a joke about it, about how he's going to be great for housework if he pays this much attention to his buttons. He laughs too, but not before a shadow crosses his face.
There is a reason these clothes are covered. You were not meant to go through them. They are reminders of a past, and you know all too well what it is like to not want to let go of something important, regardless of how much pain it seems to represent.
You drop the leather coat, close the doors to the closet and wander over to him.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I don't wear it anymore anyway. Moved on."
Running a finger down a scar on his face so faint no one else would notice, you need no more words to tell him that you want all of him. Past, present and future. Doesn't matter what he's done, what he was, doesn't matter what he will become. And you can only ask the same of him.
small talk, he drives, coffee at midnight
the light reflects, the chain on your neck
You like to escape the town every once in a while, set off driving down an unknown road and stopping wherever the two of you decide to.
Routines fall into place easily. One burger, two fries, a milkshake and a coffee. Milkshake has to have two straws though. You like the innocence, the pretence that you are young again, young and in love the dream seems to be.
Neon lights reflect on sticky white tables, and you play with his feet under the table. He grins at you, straw between his teeth, and you steal a bite of his hamburger, and you laugh. He laughs. You smile at each other for no reason other than to just smile.
One day he reaches across, twists a finger in the two chains you still wear round your neck.
The movement holds curiosity, but no accusations.
Your hand moves without thinking to catch the silver as he lets it go.
"Why do you wear them?"
He is asking you why you still hold reminders of your past loves, why you cannot let go as easily as either of you would have liked.
In response, you push up his sleeve gently, look down at the word etched on his arm.
"For the same reason you wear this."
It doesn't matter how either of you remember your pasts, names tattooed on skin, on hearts, all that matters is that you have learned. You have learned how to patch up a broken heart, how to cope with loss, but also how to love someone so much that you cannot believe your heart could even begin to love another.
"Do you still love him?"
"Yes," you answer with no hesitation. "Do you still love her?"
"Always will," he sighs.
You let the chain fall from your fingers, and pull his sleeve down, and then you lean over the table, over cold fries and half-drunk milkshakes, and kiss him on the cheek.
The kiss tells him you think you might love him more.
he says look up, and your shoulders brush
no proof, one touch, you felt enough
There are nights you roam these streets, this town you've been living in for a while now, and you still do not feel like you belong.
You chalk it down to never having felt like you belonged anywhere.
The two of you walk silently, hand in hand, both lost in thought, and your thoughts always seem to spiral back to the same feeling of confusion, of sadness. You recognise this place as your home. You have accepted it, wholeheartedly, and you will never go back on that. This town is home.
But you still do not belong.
The people that live here, your family, your friends, they come from another place. They have a history which does not include you, and that history seeps into everything they do, everything they say. You understand that if you were a prince in another land, a villainous queen, a powerful imp, those feelings do not just disappear, and feathers were ruffled.
So that history entangles itself in this new world, and you are left feeling like a spare part.
You belong, because your parents belong, but you do not belong, because you do not have their experiences. You are too old to try and fit in, but sometimes, you feel too young to be okay with that.
You're pretty certain that your pirate knows where your thoughts linger sometimes. After all, he is in a similar position. He has uncertain links with a few people in this world, but they are no stronger than yours. You remind yourself that you are, in fact, better off, because at least you have family.
Tonight he stops you in your tracks, literally, pausing and holding on to your hand, pulling you into him with force so that you are inches away from one another.
He tells you that he knows what you are thinking; you challenge him. He recites your thoughts so eloquently you fear for a moment that he is actually reading your mind. You drop your head, ashamed at where your mind is at when right now you have everything you have ever wanted, and more.
To your surprise, he is tender in his actions. You expected a dry comment, perhaps an uplifting speech, but instead he places one finger under your chin, lifts your head up, and gives you one soft kiss.
It ends abruptly, setting it apart from most of the kisses you share, but it does not lose its meaning. He tells you that you do belong here, but should you ever doubt that, you belong somewhere else too. You belong with him. As he does with you.
you can hear it in the silence, silence
Your first argument, your first proper argument, is so trivial but teaches you so much.
The disagreements you've had at other times have usually been resolved in lighthearted ways. A raised eyebrow, a narrowing of the eyes, but ultimately, a smile and a kiss.
This one is completely different.
Looking back now, you cannot for the life of you remember how it started. You can hardly remember what happened, you just remember a lot of yelling, a few things being thrown, curses exchanged that you'd both live to regret, names called that would return to you in the middle of the night years later and you'd hold each other just a little tighter.
You remember how it ended though.
It ended with him telling you that you could leave if you damn well pleased, because running was what you were good at anyway. It ended with you telling him that you were going to, thanks, and you could see yourself out of his pathetic hotel room.
You slam the door behind you for good measure but the moment it closes, you pause and the strangest feeling settles over you. You cannot move. You feel like you almost cannot breathe, and this emotion is so foreign to you, you have no idea what it is.
Luckily, you don't have the time to think about it any further, because the door flies open, the sudden rush of air making the ends of your hair fly, and you spin on the spot to look at him.
He looks surprised to see you there still, amongst the regret and the fear, the fear that you might have left. You don't even know what's written all over your face, all you know is that it's written clear enough for him to see.
You say nothing as you look at each other, because you don't need to. The fact that you couldn't run but he was willing to chase says it all for you.
you can feel it on the way home, way home
Today has been a long day. The longest you've had in a while actually.
You enjoy this job, you do, but today was just plain hard. Most things you can usually ignore. The comments from the people behind bars, the enthusiasm from your parents that can be overbearing, the memories of this place, of certain people, that are still painful. For some reason though, today it all just built up and became exhausting.
As you sort of stumble out into the street at half eleven, realising you haven't been outside for at least ten hours now, not since you gladly volunteered to go on the lunch run, you shiver at the cold air.
The weather is turning, fast.
Checking everything is secure, you don't notice him stood waiting for you until you all but walk into him.
You are surprised, for several reasons. For starters, you were sure he had somewhere to be tonight. Although given how late it was, he could have been and done it. And then there was also the small matter of him holding out a small takeout cup for you, wordlessly, and you can smell the cocoa and cinnamon before you even take a sip.
Has he been waiting out here for hours? You don't think so, because it's cold out, but this drink is hot. Hot and delicious and it's making you very happy right now as the two of you begin to walk home together, hand in hand. So was he spying on you? That would be odd.
You decide not to think about it too much. All you know is that somehow, your mysterious knight in shining... leather, was there to greet you with a charming smile and your favourite drink, and you are very, very happy that you don't have to walk home alone tonight.
Especially when he offers to let you climb on his shoulders for the last few streets and you rest your head on his, giggling like a teenager.
you can see it with the lights out, lights out
You shuffle around in bed, frowning with the effort of closing your eyes, but no matter how hard you try, you cannot get to sleep.
He moans from beside you, the grumpy huffs of someone who is tired but is being kept awake by their fidgeting girlfriend. Well, join the club buddy.
With a sigh, you open your eyes again, checking the time. It hasn't changed in the last thirty seconds, the faint glow informing you that it is the early hours of the morning and normal people are asleep.
You realise, in your sleepy state, that you are not frowning, but squinting. Something is hurting your eyes, stopping you from falling asleep, but you can't for the life of you work out what it is. The room is pitch black, and he's having no trouble sleeping.
There is a crack in the curtains, but the moonlight that filters through is weak, a light you'd be able to sleep through any other night.
And then you spy it.
Abandoned on the dressing table from when they'd undressed rather hastily, a little too eager to go to bed.
His hook reflects the patch of moonlight, the shimmering metal making it ten times brighter. Incredible how he can get on your nerves even when he is asleep next to you, his bare chest providing the best pillow you've ever slept on.
Groaning, you realise you'll need to move the damn thing if you want any sleep tonight. Is this a common problem for him? Is that why he's sleeping through it? Can you get used to the annoyance of being able to see something even when it's pitch black?
When you slip out of bed, he makes a noise of discontent. Smirking to yourself, you pick the hook up and gently poke him with the sharp end of it, surprising him enough to make him open his eyes up.
"What the hell?"
"I'm going to throw this away someday soon," you inform him, shoving it in a drawer and getting back into bed.
"You would never," he says sleepily, pulling you close. "You love the hook."
"Debateable."
"Well, you love me."
"Also debateable."
morning, his place, burnt toast, sunday
you keep his shirt, he keeps his word
A burning smell is what wakes you one weekend morning, disturbing your cosy sleep in the hotel room which has become your second home.
You blink a few times, and he turns round to you, cracks a joke about your appearance, which you ignore. You're more concerned about the smoke that's curling from behind him at the other end of the room.
All of a sudden you realise what happened, and you start laughing.
Your pirate is trying to make toast, but he's only just grasped the concept of a cell phone.
He is annoyed at the enjoyment you are having at his expense, but he cannot help smiling at your laughter. Sheepishly asking for your assistance, you point out that you've run out of clean clothes here, your usual stash depleted. His reply is that he is happy for you to walk around as you are, and you're sure he is, but this window opens out onto the main street, and you're pretty sure half the town don't want to see you undressed.
Conceding that you have a point, he motions to a shirt draped over the chair, which you gladly slip on.
There's just so much material though.
"Why are all your shirts so puffy?"
"I'm a pirate. The puffier the shirt, the better."
"Well that needs to change. Starting with me keeping this one, so you can't wear it anymore."
"If you want to pretend that's why you're keeping the shirt..."
Wandering over to his side, you retrieve the blackened bread and throw it away, opening the window and waving a blanket around to try and get rid of the smell.
You're still laughing, and he's still glaring, because all he wanted to do was make breakfast in bed for you. Everything only gets funnier when he reveals he nearly electrocuted himself when his hook made contact with the toaster.
Trying to make the best of the situation, he promises that he'll make you breakfast in bed one day, and you tell him that you're holding him to that. Your one suggestion is that he try cereal next time round.
That morning, you educate him on how to use a toaster, what not to stick in a toaster - knives, forks, hooks - and he learns what a smoke alarm sounds like.
When the whole sorry affair is over, you fall back into bed together, for the first time in a long time just feeling happy, and it doesn't even scare you.
and for once you let go, of your fears and your ghosts
one step, not much, but it said enough
You know what he's about to say before he says it, and you stop him right there and then.
He warns you that he's about to say something, and you laugh it off, but inside your stomach lurches because you know what is coming. You appreciate the warning, but it doesn't make it any easier.
He's going to tell you that he loves you.
And he's warning you because he knows you're a difficult person, and that love isn't something you take lightly at all, and he's doing it out here in the street, in the dark, so that no one else is around and there is no pressure, and he's ticking all the boxes but you still don't want to hear him say it.
The plan for tonight was dinner then a movie then your bed. That was the plan. No deep conversation about your relationship was scheduled for any point.
He asks you to stop, so you do, and so does he, but then you take a few steps away anyway, because distance feels like a good thing right now. You're turned away from him, and you feel cruel because this probably isn't how he imagined things to go, but you just need to sort your head out for a second.
As you ponder everything, he never stops talking, and you smile in spite of yourself. He wasn't one to give up easily, that much had always remained true.
The thing you're struggling with is that you love him too.
You have some trouble just thinking it aloud though. He has an answer for that too, as you hear him say that he doesn't need to hear it back, yet, he just wants you to know. Wants you to know that he's felt like this for a long time now, since that damned island maybe.
He has an answer for everything.
You frown. You have already filled him in on your fears of losing him. In much the same way, you are also afraid of opening up to him. You have found love before, but it has always been unkind, and you are wary of being so open about it still.
Finally you turn to him when he mentions that he went to your father for advice. You can't help yourself. The thought amuses you.
The relief that spreads over his face when you do is endearing.
He is still talking, talking more than you think you've ever known him to do, which is interesting. When he talks about you, his eyes light up, when he talks about the two of you, even more so. You never had any intention of shutting love out of your life together; you just resolved yourself to be more careful with the words.
As you study him though, you realise that you're going to have to take a leap of faith.
He is patient, and you have every reason to be wary, but one day he is going to tire of always investing more into this relationship than you. And that is why you need to prove to him that you might be in this for the long haul too.
He's wrapping up his speech and you take your chance, a chance.
"Emma-"
"I love you too, Killian."
you kiss on sidewalks, you fight and you talk
one night he wakes, strange look on his face
A strangled noise wakes you in the dead of night and you feel sick to your stomach.
Immediately your thoughts fly to your son, your brother, your parents, before remembering that you're in a hotel room with only one other person. Turning to him, you notice he is still sleeping, tortured look on his face.
Contemplating whether to try and sleep again, another yell from him confirms that it probably isn't an option.
You shake him gently, not wanting to startle him but needing him awake.
When his eyes snap open, fear and fury glitter for a second, before he realises where he is and begins to relax. You run a hand through his hair, and he catches it as you bring it back down his chest, holding it tight.
Part of you wants to ask him what he was dreaming about, while another part of you wonders if you can ever even begin to imagine some of the horrors he's probably seen. You don't know if you want to imagine.
"I lost you," he whispers, helpfully supplying the answer to her unspoken question. "You were gone."
He's looking at you but he's not really seeing you. His mind's eye is still watching the rest of the nightmare, re-living it even as it fragments, and begins to drift from memory.
"I'm right here," you reply softly, chasing the rest of the nightmare away with your words.
His gaze flicks back to you, the real you this time, and now all you see is relief.
"Good."
You watch each other for a few more minutes, and then you roll over, ready to go back to sleep, satisfied that he's happy again. He pulls you close to him this time - usually you just fall asleep with his arm draped loosely round your shoulders, but now he holds you, holds you tight.
Surprised at the intensity, and thankful he doesn't do this every night, you give him a quick kiss on the arm before closing your eyes. The sun is rising before you manage to fall asleep again, your thoughts distracted by how him losing you has now become his worst nightmare.
pauses, then says, you're my best friend
and you knew what it was, he is in love
Friends are not your thing. They never have been.
You didn't have many as a kid, and the ones you thought were too good to be true usually were. You were always the one that lost out. Even now, you don't really consider anyone in this town to be your close friend, not really. You have acquaintances that you can go for a drink with, and you had your mother before you found out she was your mother and it all got a bit strange.
Never had a proper friend though.
You've had boyfriends, but love and friendship can be quite different. Love can be tempestuous, painful, all-consuming and wonderful. Friendship is having someone there for you, always. Always.
Once you thought you'd found both, but you were wrong. He left you to take the fall, and the eleven years you spent not knowing the truth did irreparable damage.
You get the feeling that your pirate has a similar past, because the two of you are constant rivals for most tragic backstory. He has never mentioned a friend, never mentioned anyone noteworthy in his past save his brother and his first love.
One day though, he turns to you, that look he gets in his eyes before he's about to remind you that he loves you.
"There's something different about you," he begins, surprising you.
"Haven't cut my hair or anything recently," you offer, confused.
"Not the way you look," he dismisses you, distracted. "Just, you. You and me."
"And what would that be?"
The two of you are currently curled up on the couch, watching rain fall outside. You feel cosy, comfortable, content.
"You're not a woman I love-"
You nudge him.
"No, no, I don't just love you, is what I mean. Of course I love you, but there's something more. Lovers come and go, but it feels like you're sticking around. It's like you're my... my-"
"Best friend," you finish for him, pleased that he cannot see the smile you are wearing.
Always.
and so it goes, you two are dancing in a snowglobe round and round
The two of you are laughing despite your fear.
Snowflakes whirl around you, because something, or someone, has spooked a certain ice queen, and you cannot see a thing.
All you can see is what is right in front of you - him.
The two of you hold onto each other for dear life, right there in the middle of the main road through town, afraid to move in case you lose each other.
You should be terrified. You are freezing, and everything is white, and the storm shows no sign of easing up anytime soon, but instead you're smiling.
The way you are holding one another reminds you of a time you danced together, hands on shoulders, arms round waists. Still holding on to him for dear life because you have no idea what you are doing. Different storms, same anchor. Different fears, same guidance.
Red leather jacket, hair flying around you, smudged mascara from the melting flakes on your eyelids, but he looks at you as he did in that castle, that ballroom where you could have danced with him until sunrise, where you realised for the first time that perhaps you were in too deep with this man to go back now.
As the snowflakes fall faster, thicker, you press yourself closer to him, tucking your head in as his arms shield you. His arms provide something very few places have ever offered you; safety.
and he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown
At this point, you're ready to invite your son to join in on the sheriff thing as an afterschool club, because it seems to be a family business.
Your father has taken command of the desk you sat at when you first started, although you frequently find your mother sat behind it too. Someone is always hovering around your own office, be it your parents or anyone really. Still seems that in this town, everyone can do your job.
Even your other half has taken to spending most of his day in the station with you, and you kind of want to suggest to him that he look for another job until one day you walk into a store cupboard no one ever uses and find it is no longer a cupboard, but an office.
Entirely without your knowledge, the rubbish that was in here has been cleared, the filing cabinets pushed up against the walls properly, and enough room has been created for a small desk and a chair.
You wonder who on earth set this up, until you glance at the desk.
It is sparse, mostly covered in pieces of paper with a familiar scrawl across them, but in the corner is a photoframe, and it houses a candid of you and him laughing at one another, seemingly in the diner.
You know who is responsible for the photograph at least, your wayward son stealing your mother's camera, but you are curious about the frame. It isn't one you recognise, so he hasn't swiped it from your apartment. Perhaps he bought one?
The door slams open while you are still stood in there, and you jump.
He stands there, surprised to find you in his little corner of the station, a little corner he thought you were oblivious to.
"Hello," he begins.
"Hey," you reply slowly. "What- what is this?"
"I didn't want to get in your way anymore," he tells you with a grin.
"Okay, but what are these?" you ask, motioning to the paper.
"Case notes. I'm helping your father out."
"Of course you are."
You pause before your next enquiry, wondering if it'll embarrass him when he so far seems quite proud of his setup.
"Any other questions?"
"Yeah, what's this?"
You reach for the photoframe and present it to him with a smirk. To his credit, he tries to save face throughout the whole thing, stumbling through his explanation that it was your son's idea, and you thought it would be sweet, and why the hell are you intruding on his private space anyway?
Cutting him off mid-sentence, you reassure him that it is sweet. And then you set the photoframe carefully on the chair, check the door is closed, and kiss him in a way you would if your own desk wasn't in full view of your father's.
and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars
Sometimes you've watched your parents, and wondered how anyone could possibly love one another that much.
Stolen looks, secret smiles, the way your father just places his hand on her shoulder sometimes, or when your mother runs back into the apartment because she forgot to kiss him goodbye.
You admire them, but you've never for a moment believed you could have that. And when you hear of everything they've been through, you begin to understand why. You would have given up a long time ago, and you can readily admit it. Self-preservation is what gets you through life; you'd never risk it all for someone you'd known for a matter of moments.
One day though, one day, it all changes.
Everyone is gathered at your apartment, literally everyone it seems, the place is rammed, and someone makes an offhand comment about a certain film series you borrowed a name from once. Immediately you glance at your fiancé and smile, remembering the adventure you had for a few days in the past.
And suddenly it all clicks into place.
You would risk everything for him.
You like the way he smiles at you like that, only you, and you cannot bear the idea of losing it. The physical agony that your parents seem to go through when they think of the twenty-eight years they spent separated, you finally begin to get it. You would feel that way if you lost him.
The sudden feelings that rush through you prompt you to kiss him on the cheek, and if he is surprised in any way, he doesn't show it. He just puts his hand on your shoulder, and you lean against him, happy.
and why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words
You catch sight of a certain book lying on your son's desk one day, and you can't help yourself. You run over to it, checking to make sure no one is watching.
Remembering a time when you would refuse to even open it, you delve in, flicking through to the pages where you can see yourself, red dress, red lips. You grin. It was such a wonderful adventure. And now you're in that book, and that makes you happier than it really should.
Somewhere distant, unbeknownst to you, I am writing another book, like the one I wrote before, the one you are holding in your hands right now.
It is still a book of fairytales, of sorts, but very different. Where the main characters are not a princess and a shepherd, but an orphan and a pirate. Where the forests are cities, trees are skyscrapers, but magic still exists the same way it does in every story; in love.
A/N: And thus, my first 1989 songfic is complete. I hope I've successfully ruined this song for you as far as CS goes. All credit to rough-water for the 'you can see it with the lights out' idea - pure genius. Hopefully all the mini scenes fit the lyrics that preceded them. The last bit is a tad pretentious, but I didn't want to ignore the final lyric and I figured it was a neat way of linking it into a storyline they have going on right now. Also if you spot any mistakes, send 'em my way; I've been working on this so long now I just wanted to post it. Anyway, rambling over, let me know if you liked this! And if you did, feel free to head on over to my newest story Saviour which will be a CS multi-chapter. And finally... if you post lots of OUAT-goodness on tumblr/twitter, holla at me so I can follow you. Cheers for reading! :)