AN: Title taken from the song Crazy by Shawn Mendes.

Morning light trickles in through the lonely window of her bedroom, bathing everything in a soft, orange glow. It takes its time, crawling lazily across her floorboards till it touches the pads of his feet, the backs of his thighs then to where the rest of him disappears beneath the sheets. It doesn't stop the warm rays from trying to wrap themselves around him, his face covered in shadow but his jet-black hair burning golden auburn in the light, and she would laugh at how nearly everything and everyone seems to be so drawn to him were she not one of them to begin with.

She can hardly blame them and by extension, herself. She thinks about him, of how much of his heart he puts into his music, how much of his soul he bares in his every performance, and the inevitability, because of these things.

He does not hide who he is, and she knows for a fact that that is why no one can help but fall in love with him.

And oh, how she loves him. She loves every part of him, from curve of his mouth when he smiles to the furrow between his brows when he concentrates or the flare of his nostrils when he gets angry, and she loves every facet of him – the brother, the friend, the performer.

But she's quite certain that this is the side of him she loves the most, if only because it is the side no one else is privy to but her.

The boyfriend.

She sighs happily at that thought, stirring the hair – devoid of all that gel – that's fallen across his forehead in his sleep.

Even now, after a year together, she doesn't know how she managed to capture his attention, only that she did and she's forever grateful.

Because she tried to run from it, from him, in the beginning; no matter how much she connected with him and his songs or her friends rallied for her to take a chance a million other women all over the world would absolutely kill for.

And that's what scared her, so much that she bottled her feelings, like she was wont to do, and almost missed her chance – the prospect of dating someone famous, all the pressure and expectation and backlash that would entail.

Then there was that word, celebrity.

Emma was no gossip but in a world ruled by social media and the internet, it was difficult to turn a blind eye to his reputation, or at least, to the way the media painted him – Hook, they would headline, Bad Boy of the Music Industry, The Biggest Flirt You'll Ever Meet, Playboy.

Her gut told her that this was all a front, but she had had enough of being hurt by love to want anything to do with that again coupled with her insecurities gnawing at her and so she fought him, despite her instincts telling her he was different.

(Because she'd been wrong before, so, so, wrong, and it took a year in prison for her to see that)

But being who he was, he fought too, with her and for her, for her to take a leap of faith, despite the hardships they would irrevocably face. To see beyond the lights, beyond the tabloids and beyond the exterior and see him, truly see him.

And, finally, she did.

Finally recognized the kindred spirit in him, saw, not Hook from the biggest band to ever hit the records but Killian Jones, the man who wrote and sang those songs about being burned by love before and just wanting to find a home and she wonders why she didn't make the connection before and almost slaps herself for taking so long.

So when it was her turn to fight for him, she did and they fell into each other, like waves cresting onto a shore. Something in her clicked, and suddenly, being with him was just like breathing.

But make no mistake; it was still hard. Like, really, really hard.

At her request, they kept their relationship a secret and at first he protested, I'm not ashamed of us, he exclaimed until suddenly the vehemence from his features faded, to be replaced with something vulnerable and sad and softly, he asked, are you?

She almost broke then.

With haste, she assured him that it wasn't like that, god, no, she thought, cause she didn't have the courage to say it out loud at the time, I'm in love with you, so in love, but she was also, not naïve. She was aware of the passion with which many fans, female,fans react when their celebrity crush was rumored to be taken, what more when they were officially in a relationship?

She just wasn't ready for that kind of fallout yet is what she said and, with a large dose of reality, she agreed with his manager when she mentioned how good it was for his career to be single, and if it was truly unavoidable, to at least appear to be single.

Reluctantly, he agreed, on the condition that the relationship remains secret only till the length of his band's latest world tour. After that, all bets were off and he was, taking you out on a proper date, Swan, champagne and everything.

Then, of course, there was the touring.

She'd never been in a long-distance relationship before, never even imagined she would be in one and yet, here she was. They had endured Skype dates, missed calls, time-zone differences and, on his part, exhausting back and forth flights; it didn't help that her job as a bail bondsperson meant working odd hours for stake-outs and going on dates, no matter how fake, to lure in her perps. She could tell that it hurt him, her dressing up for someone else despite it being her job, no matter how much he tried to hide it and she was sure he could tell by how sullen her tone was that she, too, would be pissed when he'd get linked to another woman or be seen with his arm wrapped around a fan for a photo, despite it being his job and her suggestion to keep their relationship hidden. Then there were times she wanted to call it quits, not because she didn't want him, but because she could see the toll it was taking on him.

But then she'd see him – the way the smile on his face would bring out the laugh lines in his eyes, and she'd feel him – the way the muscles in his arms would ripple as he held her in his arms and lifted her off the ground in a spin because he was just that happy, then she'd kiss him – his lips between her lips and his tongue curling gloriously around her own.

The stress, the fear, the worries, the tiredness, all the difficulty, it would all melt away and god, it was worth it.

He was worth it.

His tour had reached its end, just last night and the fact that it was in Boston where she lived was, without a doubt, not a coincidence. Having been to his concerts before (where they'd met in the first place when Ruby and Mary Margaret had dragged her along cause they won three Fan Meet and Greet passes), she had opted to just wait to see him the next day once he was rested, which was why she wasn't there to witness him end his tour in a blaze of glory by breaking millions of women's hearts.

He just had to dedicate the last song to her, a new one even she hadn't known about.

Regina (his manager) had sent her the video with a straight-faced emoji, an eye-roll emoji and a cat emoji which she didn't really understand till she watched the video and Regina had followed it with the text, cat's out of the bag.

She wanted to be upset that he hadn't told her he'd be revealing his non-single status tonight, she really did. But even through the screen she could see the elation on his face in the way his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled and god, seriously? Was that really the title he was going with?

He was such an idiot but he was hers and she agreed after all, the moment the tour ends, Swan, and just… the look on his face, the pure, nearly-childlike glee and the pride, she just couldn't be upset.

I wrote the album Neverland cause I was in a really bad place, he said as he switched guitars and started strumming the first few notes, so bad that I wanted an escape much like, well, Neverland, here he laughs and the audience laughs with him because surely by now, they all know about his obsession with all things Peter Pan – the name of his band is The Jolly Roger and his stage name is Hook after all, the songs are either angry or sad and they all come from a place of heartbreak which I'm sure you've all gathered, he stops strumming them and gives the crowd a look of pure intensity, it's enough for them to simmer down without prompt, till a hush falls over them and he continues, but this next song is entirely different in that it's about saying goodbye to old hurts and welcoming a new beginning, he takes a deep breath, so I dedicate this one to my beautiful girlfriend, with whom I have found my home, you can hear a collective gasp and the crowd goes absolutely wild. It's been a very happy year for me, and Killian, he just smiles, that beatific, mischievous smile of his, I hope you guys like this one, then he cues the band with a nod, the drummer starts his count and just before he strums he says, this one is called Swan Song.

He's an idiot, and she tells him as much when he barges through her door that night, but she doesn't truly mind that much, especially when he starts taking his clothes off and kissing her like she's the only source of water in an endless mile of desert, and her mind goes numb.

That's how he ends up staying at her small and cramped place despite his penthouse of an apartment (he whispers about how he loves her place and at her skepticism, he recounts how it reminds him of his own small flat in England, back when nobody knew his name cause he was just starting out, taking odd jobs here and there just to pay the bills and make rent and the familiarity of it, gives him peace in a way his new lifestyle doesn't allow him to reclaim), fresh from his concert and still smelling like clean sweat and leather and the two fingers of the rum she knows he traditionally has before every performance just to loosen up.

She breaths him in now, loving the way her sheets and her skin already smell like him, how he fills her up just by existing.

Unable to help herself, she lightly traces a finger to his features, starting with the arch of his brow, down the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek and finally, the bow of his bottom lip and she can't believe that he's here and they're together.

The warmth of his breath touches her thumb and lets her know he's awake.

Bleary, blue eyes lock with hers and she wants to tell him how adorable he looks like this, his guyliner smudged and his face tracked with sleep lines, but knowing the man's ego, she's sure he'll be affronted and protest the words, perish the thought, he might say, or, I think you mean dashing rapscallion, so she bites her lip though she's sure her amusement bleeds through her eyes.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hello, beautiful," he breathes right back and for a moment, all they do is stare at each other with matching, goofy grins and she's never felt so light, she never wants this moment to break, wishes so badly she could be Harry Potter right now so that she could bottle up this memory and relive it in her pensive any time she wants.

Speaking in undertones, he seemingly aware of the fragility of the circumstances and unwilling to break it, he asks, "what time is it?"

"Early."

"Oh?"

She nods.

"Why are you up?" He rasps, his voice probably tired from his concert the previous night. His movements are sluggish with sleep as he tries to curl into her by tangling their legs and tugging at her waist, she has no choice to give up her position of being propped on her elbow to watch him sleep.

She chuckles when he nuzzles at her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair and contemplates ignoring his question because of how silly she feels about her answer. But then she remembers the video, his dedication, and changes her mind.

He put himself out there. In front of millions. Now it was her turn and Killian wasn't millions but this was still a big deal for her and so, she takes a breath.

"I just… I had to make sure…"

She trails off, unsure how to explain herself and half-fearing he had fallen back to sleep when he sucks at the skin between her neck and shoulder, no doubt leaving a purple mark.

"About what?" He prompts, once he pulls away to look at her.

Words were never her forte and she doesn't know how to explain that she had to make sure that he was real, that this wasn't just some sick dream despite how good it is and if it is a dream, she never wants to wake up. It sounds silly in her head, so she settles with, "You… you stayed," and hoping he gets it.

Judging by the way he's suddenly on top of her, ravishing her mouth with a hunger and desperation that she certainly understands, he does.

"Emma," he murmurs, kissing at her forehead, "Emma, love" her eyelids, her cheeks, "Emma, Emma, Emma," and finally, the corner of her mouth, "I'm staying," he sighs against her lips, "You are home."

"Home," she echoes, recalling the words from the video, recalling the article that details how she was left, abandoned on the side of a freeway with nothing but a blanket, the name 'Emma' stitched onto it, the first and last things her parents ever gave her, remembering the Swans who had promised her the same thing only to return her when they had a child of their own cause it was just that easy for them to let her go, all the foster families that took her only to discard her when things got rough, and she wonders what that is. "I've never had that before."

"Neither have I," he licks his lips, "maybe we could build one together."

"Together."

"Aye," he whispers, all bravado gone in the place of this openness and this raw, vulnerable emotion, and she thinks that maybe this is home – it's the promise in his voice, the tightness of his grasp and the love in his eyes.

Suddenly, there's a lump in her throat that she doesn't know how it got there and her eyes are wet and her voice feels garbled but she says the words anyway.

"I'd… I'd really like that." She does. She absolutely does. In fact, she more than likes it, she loves it, she loves–

"I love you."

She can literally feel his breath hitch at the way his chest moves on top of hers. His pupils dilate, his cheeks redden and his jaw drops in astonishment.

She understands why. She's only ever said the words once, and only when he couldn't say it back. It was during one of their last moments together, in person, before his world tour. She could tell that he'd been itching to say the words if his intense looks were anything to go by, but she had a feeling he was waiting for her to say them first because he was patient and wonderful like that, always allowing her to set the pace. She had accompanied him to the airport on the same car but never getting out of it. But she was wracked with irrational fear that on this tour, he'd find someone new, or fall in love with one of his crew or god forbid, a fan (cause if it happened once, it could happen again, right?), and that he wouldn't come back that as he got off the car, just before his bodyguard closed the door and with Regina hackling at his ear about schedules and dates, she'd blurted it out.

The door closed before he could reply but by the stricken look on his face, he'd heard her.

She'd never said them again even if he did, though not often, and she knew it was because he was biding his time to say it properly. Knowing him and how old-fashioned he was, he probably didn't appreciate having to tell her through a screen or through the phone. That's why she understands when he responds with, "Usually, I have to say those words first."

She grins crookedly, "Yeah, well–"

But whatever she was about to say (to which she had no clue), is drowned in his searing kiss and briefly, the thought enters her head that maybe, the boyfriend facet of him isn't the one she loves the most after all.

Emma had never known where to grow some roots, never thought she would, bouncing from one place to another like she does. But here, wrapped up in Killian's arms, sitting with him and his guitar as he fleshes out his new album, him trying to cook her breakfast or her clearing a drawer for him, him and her doing the laundry and facing whatever challenges life deems fit to throw their way (there is still the press to deal with, the hordes of angry fan mail from hundreds of weeping, hormonal fans, their schedules, the worry that his second album won't be as big as his debut) and conquering them, together… she thinks that by his side is a damn good place to plant her feet.

Home, she sighs, the facet of his that she loves the most is him as her home.

Regina, the perpetual cynic that she is, rolls her eyes and nearly gags when Killian tells her that the title of his next album is, Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust.

Then, in her own way, she worries about how well it will do. It's too happy, she snarls.

Her worries become unfounded when his first two singles, Swan Song being one of them, reaches number one within their first three days of release.

The album reaches gold after a week.

His record company is pleasantly surprised but Killian isn't and when he is asked why, he gives them a look like it should be obvious, and his answer is simple.

She's in every song.

AN: Don't laugh ok but this started out as a Shawn Mendes fanfic in which Killian, obviously, is Shawn Mendes and I am Emma cause I am completely in love with the man and his songs. I have made it my life mission to be his wife – now that you really can't laugh at because it's truly become my goal XD.

Ugh, I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH.

Of course when I started writing out the fanfic I was like, what the fuck are you doing? Because I don't write personal fantasies out. Because I do not live alone and we use macs and I'm still not completely sure how the cloud works and I WILL NOT RISK IT OK and this fantasy was like, really fluffy but also reeeaally smutty and I've seen Sex Tape so yeah, nope, NOT A CHANCE HAHA. So I transformed it into a cs fanfic teehee, so sorry if the celebrity au seems random, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! :)