There were many reasons Emma Swan didn't like people. These reasons made a list too long to go into detail, but right now reason number 67 was really getting on her nerves.

They have no sense as to when I want to curl up in a ball and die

That particular sentiment appeared twice today; the first was when she was asked last-minute to chase and bring in a skip because Tim was ill. Goddammit Tim. Thankfully, the guy was all too easy to bring in, not needing to track him down or doll up for a date, so Emma was back in her empty apartment before 7:30, cupcake in hand. With tears brewing, she lit a candle and made a wish. Sure, it felt like cheating because it wasn't her birthday, but it was a wish she needed to make all the same.

Let him be ok

Once the candle was out, she wrapped herself up on the sofa and shoved in the nearest Disney movie: Toy Story. As the film began, Emma let her mind wander, as she allowed once a year, to another life – other possibilities.

Toy Story 3 had just started when the banging began. This was the second instance that reason 67 came into play.

People were clearly moving repeatedly to and from the elevator, leading Emma to realise something: New Neighbours.

Thankfully, Emma had never had to interact with her neighbours; (the old neighbours of 7C moved out a couple of months after she moved to Philadelphia, Mr. J. Wilkies of 7A was a grumpy hermit that only came out at night if you walked to loudly, and Martha (no surname was ever given) of 7D was a nosy bitch she never had to talk to due to her nocturnal schedule) but these new people seemed to be begging for attention.

Seriously, who moves in at 10pm?

Emma sighed, brushing it off – traffic was probably just bad – hopefully, once they were settled in, she would never have to hear them again.

Then the singing started.

Now fully enraged at the interruption of her self-loathing, Emma paused the film and stormed to her front door, opening it to yell at the creator of the noise.

Let's just say she was not ready for the sight that greeted her; or the story that began the second blue eyes snapped to hers.

He really should've set off earlier. It's not like he knew that the traffic would be that bad, but then again he's never been out of Storybrooke before.

He thinks.

Honestly, he was probably stalling to get in the van (the driver was pleased about that – along with how difficult it was to find the little town) as he was reluctant to leave on this particular day. But he had to; he knew that. He needed to leave, to find some kind of identity outside of the ridiculously vague memories of the townsfolk. He needed to find the place that felt like home – not the place that was expected to be his home. Sure he made some friends there, but he couldn't help but feel like something was missing; it wasn't something he'd find in Storybrooke.

So, Killian Jones packed his bags and moved to a random location by the water: the only thing that seemed to ground him.

To dull his sour mood and tiredness, he stuck a gift he got for his birthday (an e-pod? Ipop?) into his ear and listened to what had quickly become some of his favourite songs. He honestly didn't realise he was singing – kind of a subconscious habit – but winced as even through the song he heard a bang from the final box. He shrugged - he probably hadn't disturbed anyone; it wasn't exactly a family area or place for the elderly – and began to move his meagre few possessions out of the hallway and into his new flat.

And then the door across the hall slammed open.

The raging blonde stared at him, and he admits to staring back as he took in his clearly annoyed new neighbour: golden hair tied back; short pyjama bottoms that showed off her legs; a defensive stance, seemingly ready for a fight; storming green eyes, rimmed with red. She was bloody gorgeous; he was hit with a stab of guilt – she'd probably been crying and he'd been making a racket. Wait: he wasn't singing was he? Great first impression for the neighbours, really well done Jones.

He opened his mouth to apologise but his movement seemed to snap her out of her reverie-

to yell at him.

The blue eyes were the first thing that caught her attention. Then it was the dark hair that fell into said eyes. He was staring at her, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't momentarily distracted by his handsome good looks. She was stood there for a solid minute, forgetting why she'd come out here in the first place, then he moved, opening his mouth, and she remembered;

"What the hell? It's ten o'clock! I get that traffic might be bad; but that's no excuse to start singing when some of us are trying to sleep!" She wasn't trying to sleep, but he didn't need to know that.

"Apologies, love," he began. He had an accent too? Jesus Christ.

"Don't call me that. Who the hell makes that racket and then starts singing – off key, may I add – at this time you inconsiderate ass?"

"Well, love," the bastard smirked, "I'm sorry about your beauty sleep – not that you seem to need it – but I assure you, my vocal skills are not that bad, especially when engaging in...more enjoyable activities."

Great, she was living next door to a flirty, accented, leather-wearing, obnoxious attractive douchebag. Perfect.

Killian wasn't sure why he did it. Sure, he usually flirted with women, but not one this pissed off with him, and he didn't really want his neighbour to hate him. For some reason he needed to see a reaction out of her – and a reaction he got.

"Seriously? Do those lines actually work? Or are you just a dick who likes to piss people off? Do me, and Mr. Wilkies, and Martha, a favour and shut the fuck up."

And with that she turned around and slammed the door to 7B shut.

Oh he was going to enjoy this.

A/N: I'm excited! This has been in the works for a while now and I'm glad to finally get it out. I aim to get it done before hiatus is over but...we'll see.

Please let me know what you think!

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