Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or Once Upon A Time - the trolls Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz do. If I did, I'd make them canon faster than lighting.


Killian nearly knocked over a couple of nuns who turned to him, completely scandalized, as he made a ridiculous twirl to shout over his shoulder his apologies and continued his frantic pace to Milah's place. He had promised himself he wouldn't go, but hell, had he listened to anything his conscience or his fucking common sense had warned him since Emma Swan moved into his girlfriend's apartment? Not at all. He really shouldn't go either way, in fact he was sure it was the stupidest idea he had had in a long time. Though that last time he had seen Emma ranked quite high in the list, to be completely honest.

Stupid... and painful. And perfect. And conflicting. And everything he wanted but at the same time shouldn't have.

What was the point in showing up there, really? She had made it pretty clear she was leaving, and she didn't want to see him again, and he, if anything, was a gentleman, and should consider her wishes...

But he couldn't just let her leave without saying goodbye, now, could he? That wasn't very gentlemanly.

The sudden realization that she was really, really leaving nearly knocked him down to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk, halting him to a stop.

Emma was leaving.

He would not see her again, at least not in Milah's apartment. In fact, if she had any say in the matter, he guessed she'd make everything in her power not to cross paths with him ever again.

If those weeks of not talking and ignoring him had been painful enough, he didn't even want to imagine how it would be after she left now. Especially after what had happened the last time they had been together alone. No more popcorn shared while watching movies, or knocking on her door to check out if she wanted anything from the store, or candy shared at ungodly hours of the morning while both of them were still awake finishing something work related.

Not even a miserable goodbye kiss.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind of thoughts of that day, he set his jaw and resumed his running, Milah's street now a couple of blocks away. He rounded the corner and a flash of bright yellow caught his eye: Emma's bug was parked by the sidewalk, some bags on the ground waiting to be put away in the trunk. Milah and Emma stood amongst them, and he approached them, studying Milah's expression as he did, as Emma's back was to him. She looked sad - and she was, she had been really put out by the idea of her roommate leaving, especially after bonding with her so much during the year, even if Emma had fought so hard to keep everybody at arm's length since she had moved in.

"You got everything?" Milah was asking her, fiddling with her hands nervously. Killian bit his lip, still striding in their direction, now carefully, trying not to interrupt them.

"Yeah, Billy just called - he drove everything to my new place," Emma answered, and her head tilted to the side, letting out a tiny groan. "Don't look at me like that, please."

"I'll just miss you."

Emma sighed, hurriedly hiding her hands inside her jean pockets. "I'll miss you too. I'm so sorry this is so sudden, I hate leaving you now with the mess of looking for someone else with such short notice..."

Milah didn't even let her finish the sentence, coming to stand right before her and putting her hands on Emma's shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. "Don't worry about it. Just... try to drop off here and there, please?"

Now just a couple of feet away from them, Killian couldn't help but observe Emma's face, how she tried to mask her features into a hopeful and reassuring façade for Milah's sake, when he all but knew that she wouldn't get any calls from her anytime soon.

"I'll try," she finally said. Killian chose that moment to step in, clearing his throat. Milah dropped her hands from Emma and came to stand beside him, hooking an arm around his middle. "Hey. Just on time."

He looked down at her, trying to smile despite the frozen-feeling of his facial muscles as he did. It actually hurt to fake it. "You can call me out on anything except my punctuality." She punched him lightly on the arm and shook her head, amused, and he chuckled in return. Lifting his gaze from her, he finally let himself stare at Emma, who had retreated a couple of steps from them and closer to her car, like she felt some sort of comfort from it, like it was a constant in her life. It probably was. "You're all packed," he acknowledged, lifting a brow and scanning briefly the bags surrounding them.

She crossed her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes in his direction. "Moving out does have that effect."

He had imagined in his head how their next encounter after their last one would go, but he definitely hadn't expected that. Before he could come up with anything to retort with, Milah's gasp stopped him, choosing to stare worriedly at her. "Wait - I forgot. I have some cookies I baked for you."

Emma groaned again, even stomping her feet on the ground like a little girl. "Milah..."

"I'll be back in a second! Just for the ride. Or for a few days. Just so you feel like you're at home," Milah explained, her voice dropping at the end and letting her eyes fall to her feet, now shining in the morning sun. Killian wanted nothing more than to kick himself in that moment - if he hadn't let himself fall for Emma, kiss her and everything that came after that, she wouldn't be leaving, and his girlfriend wouldn't be devastated because of losing a roommate. And a friend.

A beautiful, broken friend.

Sensing her former roommate's possible breakdown, Emma sighed, dropping her shoulders and giving her consent. "Okay." Milah nodded, and twirled around, going back inside the building to fetch her parting treat, leaving them alone on the sidewalk. He shuffled on his feet, mimicking her previous actions and putting his hands inside his pockets, and mustering all his courage to look her in the eye.

"So."

"So."

He stepped closer to her, turning to stare at her car for a moment and returning back to her the next. "Are you sure you have to do this?"

Sighing defeatedly, she tugged at a loose curl that had escaped her bun. She dropped her eyes to the bags at her feet. "Don't start."

"I can't believe you're leaving," he stated. And he really couldn't. He couldn't wrap it around his head, that she would be gone, maybe in question of minutes. His feet had unconsciously brought him closer to her, and he found himself right in front of her, her scent momentarily making him dizzy, bringing him images and ghost sensations from that day.

"We've talked about this...," she tried to argue, not daring to meet his eyes.

His hand leapt out without his consent, taking her wrist right before she tried to pull back from him. "Actually no, you talked and decided for the two of us."

And she had in fact. After she had closed her bedroom door in his face, he had stayed in there, head plopping against it in complete despair as he fought the urge to scream and pray for a miracle, a sign, something to help him get through this. What was he supposed to do then? Emma had made it clear that she was not even going to try to fight for him, for them. Should he tell Milah? But that would go against everything that Emma was doing then, right? She was supposedly leaving so he could stay happily ever after with his relationship.

Everything had become so fucked up in such a short time.

Who was he kidding, everything was still fucked up.

Emma yanked her wrist from his grip in an unexpected move, making him stumble on his feet and looking up at her. "I'm not fighting with you before I leave, okay, so if you want to start a row, I'm not in the mood." She massaged her temples in a tired manner, turning her head towards her car and hauling a couple of her bags and rounding the bug to put them away inside the trunk. He took the rest in his hands, following her and ignoring her grimace when she saw him helping her. He stood beside her, settling her things along with the rest and, when he was done, he set his hands on the yellow surface of the car, not daring to look at her as he asked her something that he was dreading to find out.

"Will I see you again?"

She froze at his side, her hands clenching into fists next to his. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

She let out a dark chuckle, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe she had to explain herself. Well, tough luck, blondie: he really needed to know. "The leaving thing is to avoid you, you know," she said, rounding the car again and leaning against the side, facing the door of the building that led to her former apartment.

Her former home.

He followed her steps, but setting himself in front of her, blocking her view so she wouldn't be able to avoid his gaze. "No it's not. It's because you're running."

He wasn't sure if he was more glad to see that spark in her eyes once more or afraid of it. He was more than used to Emma's rage, and it didn't usually end well when he met that side of her. Though their emotions were such a whirlwind lately, he didn't know what to expect anymore.

Squaring her shoulders, she set him with a hard look, not tearing her eyes from his. "You should be a little more grateful. I'm leaving you a clear path for you to keep being happy and not interfering in your life and here you are, being a douche about it."

He felt himself growing angrier at her words, and felt tempted to grab her once again, but thought better of it and stayed put, opting for glaring at her instead. He finally managed in between clenched teeth, "Don't play martyr with me when I have never asked you to do this. Have you wondered that I may want you to interfere in my life? To actually stay in it?"

He hated the fact that he was pretty close to falling to his knees and begging her to stay. Which was completely ridiculous and out of line, but he just couldn't help himself. He didn't want her to go. But he didn't want her to hurt, and if she stayed, she would get hurt. And so would he.

In conclusion, he didn't have a fucking clue of what he felt. Or what he wanted. Or anything.

"Jones...," she nearly whimpered, clenching her eyes shut and letting her head fall back against the car.

"Emma," he mimicked, trying to convey his desperation in that one word. A word he had yelled, he had screamed, he had whispered, he had repeated reverently in her ear against that wall.

He stepped up once more towards her so that they were face to face, his nose nearly brushing hers. He could see her pulse jumping furiously at the side of her pale neck, and he wished he could kiss it, bite it. He shook his head, fuzzy thoughts mingling in a fog clouding his mind and judgement.

He knew he shouldn't be standing this close to her.

He knew it was dangerous.

And hell, did he know he wouldn't be able to stop himself if she let herself go with him.

Unless she stopped it all. Which she did.

"...can't you just hug me goodbye and leave it be?," she managed in a voice barely above a whisper, and they were standing so close that he breathed in her words, filling him and warming his insides. Until he realized what they meant.

Goodbye.

He pulled back a hair, staring down intensely at those sea-green eyes, now open, vulnerable and lost seeking his. "Is it what you really want? What will make you happy?"

He dreaded her answer. He knew what she was going to say, but it made him flinch either way. Like ripping out a band aid and expecting the pain that you know is coming - but it hurts either way.

"Yes."

It felt like a whip coming down to slap his skin brutally, leaving a horrendous bruise and mark in its wake and an unbearable pain to nurse behind. Yet here, facing her and knowing that she meant her words, those scars were invisible to the eye. Even if he wanted to scream the same as if they had been inflicting such torture upon him.

Widening his arms, he enveloped her in them, crushing her small, fragile body against him. "Then by all means, who am I to deny you anything." I've never been. What's different this time, he thought to himself sarcastically. He felt her head leaning against his shoulder, and he dropped a soft kiss at the top of her hair, inhaling her scent maybe for a last time, attempting to memorize it. He didn't even know how to describe it; jasmine, roses or all those signature smells failing him in his attempt.

How would a hidden smile smell? That would be Emma's scent.

They stayed like that for a moment, and Killian felt himself wishing not to let go, wishing for her not to let him go.

But they did, of course. He wasn't even aware of her arms slipping from his body, or of Milah coming out of the building with her bag full of cookies, or of Emma hugging her goodbye, or of the tears in her eyes that she carefully tried to hide as she set herself behind the wheel, waving one final time before driving away, calling a sad "I'll miss you guys" behind her. He felt like he was in some kind of limbo, a daze in which Emma was gone.

That was impossible, right? How would she leave?

He didn't come out of it until he heard Milah calling at the yellow flash now disappearing out of sight "We'll miss you too! Don't forget to call!". She tightened her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder, and the sudden flash of déjà vu of blonde curls pressed against the same spot not minutes ago felt like a slap to his face. He closed his eyes, so tight until he could see brilliant colors and strange forms dancing in his mind, like he used to do when he was a kid to try to stop himself from doing or saying something stupid.

Something like she's gone.


"How's it going?" Milah came behind him while he sat on her couch, his laptop balanced over his legs while he furiously typed at a nearly diabolical speed, his eyes never leaving the screen before him, now becoming blurry and full of nonsense - urging him to select the whole paragraph and erase it.

Setting back against the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning the side of his face to pout at her. "I'm blocked. You know those days when words just don't flow? This paper is killing me." He cocked an eyebrow as an obnoxious singing came from the bathroom at the end of the hall, and they both suppressed a grin, even if he was more than ready to get up and strangle the opera singer amateur in the shower Psycho-style. "And your new roommate's singing isn't helping."

"She's not that bad," Milah protested, now openly grinning at him. Of course she'd say that. To be fairly honest, Tamara wasn't that bad: she was a hottie, as his mates had assured him when they met her on one of their nights out and Milah had invited her to come along - even though he didn't quite see it. Sure, she was pretty, but she lacked... something. He didn't really want to go further into why a girl who would have been quite the bombshell a year ago now seemed plain in his eyes. She was quite fun to be around, and really smart; she worked for some weird company which designed really cool high tech products. She also had a boyfriend, some guy named Greg - he had met him once or twice, and though they hadn't talked much, Killian hadn't gotten a good vibe about him.

He despised people who made fun of his slang before actually knowing them.

"Whatever you say," he claimed, rolling his eyes and going back to his paper, kissing her good night before she padded silently to her room. He continued his typing, raking his brain for words to fill the nearly-blinding whiteness of the pages in front of him when a voice behind the couch startled him. He took off his earphones and turned back to look at the door leading to the living room, and found Tamara standing there, biting her bottom lip worriedly as she mimicked knocking on the wall at her side to call for his attention. "Hey... guys?"

"It's only me, Milah is in her bedroom," he told her, jerking his chin in the direction of Milah's room to further proof his point, absently wondering what she could possibly want at that hour.

"Oh." She worried her hands with something she was holding in her hands, not meeting his eyes as she stood on her spot.

"What is it?" It wasn't very Tamara-ish, from what he had come to know of her, to act this weirded out or shy.

She sighed, approaching him silently in those confident strides of hers. She held out her hand to him, offering him what she had been fiddling with earlier in the doorway. "Just - I found this in my bedroom. I guess the girl who lived in here before forgot it or something? Emma, was it?" He took it from her and inspected it closely, confused. They hadn't checked Emma's room when she had left - he hadn't wanted to go close to that room since then, and had promised himself he would never set foot in it again. A sudden wave of recognition crashed over him and he inhaled sharply when he realized it was a robe.

The robe. The fucking robe.

And oh, how would Victor love that play of words if he knew.

"Yeah. Emma," he muttered in an strangled voice, and promptly cleared his throat to mask the tightness he felt constricting not only his vocal chords, but his heart at the sight of the piece of clothing. He couldn't help the light caress of his fingers over the material, as if he could in a sick way ghost them over Emma's skin just by using it as some kind of voodoo doll.

He didn't know - or care, at that point, - if Tamara was examining him, but he guessed she really wasn't, as she went on like nothing had happened. "I just thought, you know, like you guys are friends with her and all, could give it back to her. Or, I don't know. I didn't think it'd be okay to just throw it away before consulting it with you."

He clenched his hands around the robe protectively at the thought of throwing it away, and silently considered that it had been a nice gesture of her to go to them first.

To go to him first, even if she of course didn't know how the fact that he was holding the last memento of Emma's presence in that apartment affected him.

He nodded to her, giving her a small smile full of gratitude. "Of course. Thank you. I'll make sure she gets it back."

"Great," she said, shrugging lightly and waving back a soft good night as she retreated back to her room, leaving him sitting there, clutching the robe in his lap, all notions of actually finishing that paper in time flying out of the window. He knew if he tried to set to write something in that moment, he'd end up typing a furious letter to Emma or something equally pathetic.

Not as pathetic as bringing the robe to his nose and inhale, the sudden realization that the hidden smile scent he had come to associate with her was gone, now replaced by the one from Milah's soap.


"I can't believe it is over." Milah kept staring ahead of her, sitting right at his side and yet Killian felt like she was miles away from him. It was an odd feeling, considering they had been together for so long, and she had always been the person he had felt the closest to ever since he could remember.

It was also heartbreaking.

"I know."

She kept talking like she was addressing an invisible audience sitting in front of them instead of him. "But I love you."

He dropped his face on his open palms, rubbing it tiredly as he tried to explain to her what was, sadly, the ugly truth. The one that they had been too cowardly, too stubborn, too comfortable to admit for so long. "But you're not in love with me."

She finally acknowledged him, turning tearful eyes in his direction, and the sight sent a pang of guilt and despair through him. He hated seeing her cry, and knowing that it was because of him made him want to make it up to her in any way he could. But he knew he couldn't. Sniffing softly, she uttered quietly, "How do you know that?"

He tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, letting out a long sigh. God, he needed a drink after this. He mustered all of his courage to explain what he had been telling himself for weeks now, when he had finally seen what was going on between them. "I just do. And, as much as it hurts to say it aloud, I - I am not in love with you either anymore." He stared at her, a plea in his eyes and voice. "Should we keep going like this, knowing that this is the most we will get from each other? Wouldn't you rather find what we used to have - or even more - with someone else?"

She seemed to falter in her response, shaking fingers tugging at her hair. "I-I don't know."

"Milah..."

Her arms came up, waving them a little too frantically, and he was afraid for a moment that she'd have some kind of panic attack or something. But that was not Milah: she was passionate and emotional, but she also knew when it was wise to fight her battles.

And he knew she was aware of the outcome of this battle in particular. It was a losing one.

She was just afraid of the consequences of this dreadful situation they were in, and, as much as he hated it and it pained him, they had to face it. Together.

Pushing a rebel lock of hair out of her eyes, she exclaimed, "I just don't know how to process all of this. I knew it was coming, but I am afraid."

He took her face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing patterns on her cheeks. "I am too. I am bloody terrified, believe me."

"You've been a part of my life for nearly eleven years, since I was practically a girl. I cannot see my future, anything, what I am going to do without you."

He let his forehead fall against hers softly. "But you will still have me. Just... not in that way."

She closed her eyes, a silent tear falling down her cheek. He waited for her breathing to return to its normal pace, until he finally asked softly, hands still caressing her skin tenderly, "Will you be okay?"

"Honestly? I expect I won't at first. Will you?"

He laughed mirthlessly. How could she think he would be okay? Even if he had been the one to approach this conversation, he was by no means happy about it. Was he supposed to be running around, cheering for his new single life or something? Because that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. He would mourn the death of this relationship; they had been together since they were practically kids. Ten years of anniversaries, Christmases, trips, nights shared together, fights. And he wouldn't be forgetting them in a matter of days. Nor weeks. Not even months. "Definitely not," he assured her, shaking his head. "But you know what? We'll get there."

She peered at him, her eyes red and watery. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Letting out a sob, she finally broke down, and as he had been since they had started dating, he was there to catch her. She laid on the couch, resting her head on his lap, hands over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her quiet sobs. She hated crying, he knew that. Always had. She hated appearing weak in front of anybody and, despite him being privy to more of her than she may let on to the rest, it was something she wasn't really comfortable with even in front of him. When her crying calmed down, he heard her whispering in between sniffles, "I love you, you know."

His hand acted on its own accord, going to her chin and tilting it up so she'd meet his eyes. "And I love you. I'd do anything for you."

"Even staying with me?"

He bit his lip until he nearly drew blood, the metallic taste clearing his thoughts while he gazed down at her with a serious expression. "Everything but that. If I knew that'd make you happy and not just extend the comfort-zone hiatus thing our relationship has become, I would, I swear. But this?," he said, waving a finger pointing first at him and then at her, "This is not what we deserve. We deserve more. I wouldn't change anything of our relationship, anything you've given me. Anything. But we both know this is not like when we started."

There was a pause, in which only their breathing and quiet sniffing from Milah was heard. "Why do people fall out of love?," she wondered aloud, her voice catching at the end. He clenched his eyes shut, fighting the urge to hold her to him and promise her his undying love. But that was it - they had been lying to themselves for too long. Of course they loved each other, but along the way, he had forgotten what it felt like to be in love with each other.

And he had had to be reminded the hard way: by falling for another woman.

How fucked up was that.

He shook his head, not really knowing how to answer her. "I don't know. I guess it's just... life."

"Well, life's a big fat bitch," she deadpanned, burying her nose against his chest, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her tone, a mixture of defeat and indignation, kind of like what a child would use while whining about something.

Passing his fingers through her hair as he had done countless times during their relationship, he confided in a whisper, "I agree." He inclined his head to leave a kiss on her hairline, his breath moving stray dark curls from her face. She closed her eyes, a lone tear escaping them and running down her cheek, and she turned to stare up at him. He was more than surprised to see a glint of hope in her expression.

"Do you think we will find someone who will make us feel like we did when we met?"

He could only smile at her. The familiarity between them, the hundredths of times they had been in the same position and she had said something that made him grin at her was screaming at him to bend again and kiss her lips, but he stopped himself, his body nearly jerking in the process. He nodded in the end, grinning lightly at her. "I'm sure you will."

She smiled in return, settling herself more comfortably in his lap. "What about you?"

What about him, indeed.

He was afraid that he had already found that person and had let her go, that was about it. Or that she would never give him the chance to prove how much he wanted to try to be that person for her again.

Shrugging and feeling completely exhausted, he rested his head against the armrest of the couch, where he could stare at her easily, thoughts of stormy eyes glistening with tears just like the ones in front of him haunting him. "I don't know. Maybe."


"Give it back."

"Not a chance."

"Come on, dude. You always choose what we're watching."

Killian groaned loudly while he shuffled the cards in his hands. "It's poker night. Would you two idiots knock it off?" His friends just ignored him, still bickering back and forth between them for the remote. A knock in the door made him forget for a moment about his idiotic roommates and he made his way to the front door, where he was met with Jefferson and Graham, the rest of the group for the night they usually enjoyed together between cans of beers and red and black chips.

"Hey, boys," Graham saluted mockingly at them, shaking hands and bumping fists as they settled themselves around the table, the cards and chips fixed before them and organized for the players to take as soon as they started. Killian walked to the kitchen, bringing a pack of beers under his arm and settling it under his chair - just for supervision in case Victor got a little wild - and took out a couple of them, giving one to Graham and opening one for himself. Clinking his can with his, he went to take a swig. "What's up?"

Graham drank from his, leaving it back on the table with a soft thud. "Nothing much. Busy with training and all. Pretty chaotic." His face darkened a bit, and he leaned in closer towards him. "By the way, so sorry to hear about you and Milah."

He nodded somberly. He had been perfecting this kind of gracious answer since he and Milah had broken it off. It was kind of funny, it felt like someone had died and people were giving him their condolences. Although it was true that something had died: his relationship. "It's fine. It had to happen, sooner or later."

"But do tell him about the wonders of single life, Humbert! Now we're a hungry pack going out, like the old days!," Victor cheered, coming up behind him and stealing a beer for himself. The rest of them followed and soon they were all sitting around the table, dealing the cards and first round of betting about to start.

"But isn't Humbert lusting after Milah's ex roommate? Swan, was it?"

Killian froze for a moment, and tried to appear unaffected as he kept the tabs on the game while his friends discussed the girl he had been thinking about for months since he had seen her last.

A year and a half. He hadn't heard of her or seen her for a fucking year and a half.

Graham blinked, completely taken by surprise. "What are you talking about? I never even kissed her! I haven't seen her in a lifetime!"

Killian let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. After that whole spat with Emma about her flirting-non-flirting-whatever-that-had-been with his friend, he hadn't given much thought to her and Humber together, but to be honest, sometimes the thought had filled him with an unadulterated rage and jealousy. He had felt himself nearly go mad at the possibility of them being together while he was still waiting to find out where in hell had she gone since she had disappeared from his life.

Not daring to meet his eyes, opting to stare intently at the cards in his hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, "I thought you two got along?"

Graham sighed, reclining further into his seat and stretching his long legs under the table. "I thought so too, but after she moved out, I lost track of her. In fact, I think she was kind of avoiding me."

"Awww, poor Humbert. Not every girl is mooning after you," Victor quipped, patting him on the back in between chuckles. What a dick.

"Shut it."

Jefferson cocked his head to the side, like he was contemplating something, and finally shared, "I ran into her not long ago. Apparently she has been out of town, working on some stuff for a big client, but now she's back."

Woah, wait. He had seen Emma and he hadn't said anything? What the hell?

Well, of course he wasn't supposed to know anything concerning him and Emma. For him - and for everybody - Emma and he were just friends. Acquaintances. Ex-quasi-roommates, considering the time he used to spend at Milah's. But nothing else, nothing more.

The truth, really. There was nothing else going on there. Not since she had left.

August cocked an eyebrow, interested. Killian remembered he had quite liked Emma when they had met, so it was no surprise he would be willing to find out what had been of her since then. "Really? Where did you see her?"

"That bar where her friend used to bartend sometimes? The Lone Wolf? She was keeping her company," Jefferson explained. Huh. He remembered that bar, Ruby had asked them to go once or twice to see her work. Or, better phrased, to give them free drinks as she laughed at them with Emma, Milah and Aurora.

It had been fun.

"No boyfriend in tow?," Victor asked, and his head snapped up in alert so fast, he could hear his neck crack.

Jefferson shrugged, and Killian had to will himself to stay put and not blow off his cover by shaking him to share whatever he had seen when he had run into her. "I didn't ask. Though now that you mention it, there was a guy with her... and she was pretty hot, not gonna lie. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't spend the night alone."

His hand clenched in a fist as the words escaped his friend's mouth, and he promptly hid it under the table, but not fast enough to avoid August's eyes, who followed his movements interestedly. He tried to act nonchalant, and they all continued playing for a minute until August let out a sigh. He knocked one of his chips against his glass, the tickling noise bringing Killian out of his dark thoughts as his friend resumed the earlier conversation. "She was cool. It'd be fun to see her again," he commented, looking straight at him.

He stared at his can in return, tracing with his finger the smooth metal and ignoring the piercing gaze of his friend and trying not to start the never ending game of imagining the countless scenarios in which he could run into Emma. "Yeah, definitely."


Killian cautiously took a sip from his glass, scanning briefly the nearly packed room, small groups gathered here and there entranced in most assuredly intellectual conversations he'd understand a handful of words of. That was why he stayed by Victor's side, silently gauging everybody's reactions around them and quietly commenting his impressions with him. "This is too fancy."

"It is not. It is cool, because we get to drink and act like pompous asses for free," Victor refuted, and Killian contemplated how much his friend had had to drink since they had arrived. It was August's first book's presentation, and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand why Victor would feel the need to drink himself into oblivion in such a posh place surrounded by the literary circles elite. He cocked an eyebrow at him, shaking his head in desperation.

"You are such an idiot, I cannot believe I am actually talking to you."

Victor merely grinned mischievously at him, raising his glass with a mock wave. "And yet you live with me."

"Aye, that I do."

The man could cook, that was all he had for him or he would have kicked him out of his apartment long ago. No one needed to find out so much about a roommate's anatomy as he had from Victor since they had started living together.

August chose that moment to go back to their side, letting his relaxed pose and cool mask slip as he approached them. Killian passed him a glass he snatched from a table nearby, offering it to him as soon as he came. "Hey, the man himself. How is it going?"

August wiped a bead of sweat gathered on his brow, and Killian noticed, momentarily amused, how it was trembling slightly. It was quite strange to see his mate so flustered; he usually was the collected and reasonable one from the whole group. "Have I collapsed already? This whole things is making me dizzy."

"Perks of being a published, coveted author," he jested, a rueful smile curling at his lips at the sight of his friend tugging nervously at his tie. Poor guy. He fought once more with it until Killian had to assist him, and August seemed to deflate to a small extent under his care.

"Yeah, yeah. I guess you know I'm far more used to being alone writing, not all of… this," he confessed, waving a hand around him motioning towards the tastefully decorated room and full of people they were in.

Victor nodded gravely, raising his glass once more, and for once Killian thought he'd be serious about what he was about to add. "We know. We are far more used to being pressed up against hotties in clubs and bars rather than in art galleries discussing your prose, but hey, here we are."

He had been wrong, of course.

August looked back at Killian, a sad acceptance in his expression as he regarded his friend. "Is he drunk already?"

"Don't look at me," he protested, ignoring Victor's outraged 'hey!' as they discussed his not so tolerant alcohol policy. They were interrupted then by a clearly excited voice that made them turn around, facing a stunning brunette in a red dress who walked towards them in long strides, heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as she got to their small clique and hugged each one of them tightly. "Ruby?"

She offered them a brilliant smile, all white teeth framed by perfectly painted red lips. "It's been forever since I last saw you. How is it going?"

Killian grinned down at her, cocking his head to the side to signal his friend. "Not as good as August, I assure you."

She turned to him, gasping loudly. "I know! He invited us the other day. He ran into us when we were out shopping, we had met with Aurora after months of not seeing her. Such a cutie," she gushed, putting a hand over August's chest and smiling at him gratefully. Instead of laughing at his friend's flushed face at the brunette's oblivious flirting, something caught Killian's attention from her words. His heart started hammering almost painfully against his ribcage, silently fighting the small dash of hope that had ignited inside of him. "Wait, you and..."

"Emma!" Victor had swiveled around and practically flung himself against a considerably smaller body, a blonde braid the only thing he could see as his friend whirled her around in a circle, laughing like a kid as he made her spin. When he finally put her down, Emma used his arm for support for a moment, petting it with more force than necessary while she looked up at him with flushed cheeks. "Hey yourself Whale. You are definitely not drunk, aren't you?"

Not dwelling on her obvious sarcasm, he grinned, ecstatic, "Not at all! Thank you for noticing. You look stunning, by the way," he added, stepping back from her to examine her from head to toe.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, and Killian had to mask his sudden desire to laugh by coughing into his fist. "Why, thank you," she told Victor. As soon as he fled to talk to Ruby once more - who kept discussing August's book with him in a combination of squeals and gasps, - Emma finally let herself acknowledge he was there, biting her lip worriedly and sighing before caving in. She walked in slow steps, meeting his eyes, until she came to stand in front of him. "Hey."

"Hi." He tilted his head to the side, inspecting her closely and trying to control his voice, not daring to betray the complete panic he could feel about to consume him. "What are you doing here?"

If it was possible, her blush spread even more. "That's a warm welcome," she murmured, staring down at the heels strapped to her feet. He recalled how she had hated those things when they had visited that club so long ago, and the nostalgia filled his senses for a moment, the easiness of it all and how everything had changed in the course of two years.

Snapping back his attention to the girl standing in front of him, he frowned, confused. What was she really doing here? "You know what I mean. I thought you wanted to avoid me until the end of time."

Tearing her gaze from him, she turned to stare at their friends, who had been joined by Philip and Aurora and now were discussing something apparently really funny, as they were all in stitches and had even gotten the attention of some of the other attendants. "That was the plan. In fact, I had no alibi to try to get out of this. Ruby kind of forced me. You know how she is," she explained, a soft smile on her lips as she talked about her friend.

"I remember, yeah," he said, too many evenings spent along with Ruby using every trick she knew to try to convince her to do whatever it was she wanted from her. He let his gaze rake her body from head to toe, taking in the dark dress, the thin straps, the braid, the pale skin exposed to his hungry eyes. "Victor is right, you know. You look stunning."

If he didn't know better, he'd swear even her hair was turning redder by the second, and he felt a sudden surge of pride for making her flush by complimenting her. It was difficult - or damn near impossible - to get Emma to show any reaction to words thrown her way, as she'd always wear those impenetrable walls around her deflecting any chance to make her feel something other than weariness against the world; so this could count like a victory for him. "Don't let your girlfriend hear you." She gulped and avoided his gaze, opting to stare back at their group of friends, clutching her flute of champagne so tight he could see her knuckles turning white.

Time for the truth.

"Don't have any girlfriend to hear anything," he declared offhandedly.

She nearly sputtered her champagne, awkwardly hiding her mouth behind her hand, only wide green eyes visible behind it staring up at him in utter shock. "What?"

Killian sighed. There we go. "Milah and I broke up quite a long time ago."

There was an awkward pause, and he battled with himself between observing her reaction to the news or staring ahead of him until she decided to talk again. He opted to drink from his glass, ignoring her for a moment and replaying in his head that day when Milah and he had decided it was time to quit forcing their relationship further. Emma's voice brought him out of his reverie not long later. "Please tell me it wasn't because..."

He stopped her, a hand coming up between them to halt her from further continuing with her train of thought. "No, it wasn't that."

Silence engulfed them for a moment, until her soft voice came up once again, a wondering and curious tone lacing her words. "Then what?"

He sighed, attempting not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt with what he was about to say. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, bringing himself back to a rational state of mind before he addressed her once more. "We realized we were holding onto something that had been gone for a long time. We were no longer the young couple who had fallen for each other. So we decided it was time to let go," he finally said gently, memories of Milah's tearful gaze sending a pang of sadness through him.

"I am so sorry," she declared in the same morose tone everybody had seemed to use when they had found out he had ended his relationship with his former girlfriend.

He shrugged lightly, sipping from his glass. "Don't be. We are still close, and check up on each other frequently. She's happy."

They used to call each other every now and then, and even if sometimes it left him feeling lost and unsure of what they had missed after they had broken up, he knew that they had done the right thing. Milah informed him about her plans for her future, her dreams, her travels, and he heard a passion and a fire in her voice that hadn't been in there for years. Maybe it had been him who had put out that fire, and that saddened him; so knowing that she had rekindled it after their separation reassured him of his decision.

And the tiny hope that he had spied that same fire in Emma's eyes when they had been together gave him strength to move forwards.

"And you?" Her sudden inquiry snapped him back to the conversation at hand, and he found Emma's gaze locked intently on his.

"Me what?"

"Are you happy?"

He didn't miss a beat, his expression open and willing so she'd read him with no problem. "No."

"Why?"

"Are you?" He fired back, knowing how it was entirely possible that she'd stomp on her feet and whine about how he only seemed to answer her questions with questions. But she didn't; she was silent for several moments, processing his words, and he waited with baited breath for her to finally respond him. "...No."

"How long have you not been happy?"

She chuckled humorlessly, sending him an incredulous look. "Do you really want me to answer that? Because we could start listing my life's low moments and we'd never end."

He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking of the best way to get her to share what he wanted to know. "Let me rephrase it. When was the last time you felt truly happy?"

Rising her eyes to meet his, she pointed a threatening finger at him, her voice turning cold and menacing. "I know what you are doing. You are trying to trick me into telling you how I've been yearning for you since that day, to lure me in."

She was too smart for her own good.

He closed the gap between them, coming to stand right in front of her as he had done only a handful of times since they had met - and both of those times had been charged moments, full of passion and feelings, declarations made and hearts beating and left broken. Hopefully this time those same hearts would start to mend. With any luck, together. "I'm not tricking you, I want you to admit it. The truth you've been denying yourself since it happened." He hesitated then, words seemingly leaving him at that point, until a sudden wave of emotion and rage of what they had been through brought him back to focus - and regained his speech once more, emotion spilling from every word he uttered. "You know, I resented you for so long after you left. But after what happened with Milah? I was relieved. I realized it was the best we could have done if there was any chance for us to work out. If I had pursued you then, you'd have been broken, and I'd have been tormented for what I'd done and we'd both resent each other. But now?"

Her voice came out in barely above a whisper. "Now what?"

"I know how I feel. I've made my peace with what we did - with what I did, selfishly, kissing you. Making love to you, when I shouldn't have, even if it was all I could think and breathe and just plain needed. I know where I stand now. I know what I feel for you. I know it's not something fleeting, something childish and brief. It wasn't just lust. I fell for you, hard, even without me noticing I did. And it hasn't stopped since you left. So yeah, I'll probably wait for however long you need to reconsider or solve in that blonde head of yours until you see that I am not just another guy in your life, Emma Swan. I am the man for you. I am the one. I am yours, just as much as you are mine."

He knew he had let this all drop over her shoulders and she'd be completely overwhelmed, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't have an answer or freaked out or something like that. After all, they hadn't seen each other in a very long time, they both had moved on from what had happened, - as much as you can move on after accepting you love that person, - they both had changed. She raised hesitant eyes towards him, hands clasping around her arms as she hugged herself, careful not to spill her flute as she did. "Jones, I..."

He shook his head, letting her know she shouldn't have to give him an answer then. It wouldn't be fair of him to ask her that. "Now, I won't bugger you anymore tonight about this. We'll drink, we'll be happy for August, we'll pretend we're having a nice chit-chat." He paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Or actually chit-chat, because I want to know all that's been going on in your life this whole time. But after this?" He stared right back at her, not giving her a chance to escape the intensity of his gaze as he tried to make her understand that he meant it, meant every word. "I want you to promise me you'll think about it. And when you're ready, you know where to find me." He stepped back, taking in her astounded expression. "Promise?"

A heartbeat, two, three. He didn't bother to keep count as they continued to hold each other's stares, mutually assessing the other, looking for whatever it was they needed, craved from the other. Lastly, she nodded imperceptibly. "Okay."

He had to breathe slowly through his nose to try to calm the sudden pick up of his heartbeat when she complied with his wishes. He made an effort to ignore the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and spin her around, kiss her, never let go of her - but it was too soon. Not yet. Not until she was on the same page as him. Not until she was ready to open up and let him in, even after what they'd been through. If he didn't wait for her, this would all be for nothing.

He gave her an impish grin, lowering his voice as he dipped his head towards her. "You have to say 'I promise'. It's like you had no childhood."

She made a face at him, and the sudden wave of memories of bad jokes thrown her way when they used to spend time together at her former apartment hit him like a ton of bricks - though this time, it didn't leave him hurting for a loss or grief, but with the possibility of hope in a future. Rolling her eyes at him, even if the corner of her lip threatened to curl into a tiny smile, she declared, "I promise."

He raised his glass, clinking it with hers, a promise to the future. "There's a good girl."


"Coming," he called as he padded through his apartment towards the front door, the doorbell ringing incessantly making him nearly wince. When it didn't stop, sounding even louder now and in shorter intervals of time, he repeated, annoyed, "Coming! Jesus." He finally got there, and after a quick fiddle with the locks, he opened it, ready to lash out at whomever had dared to interrupt him in such a rude fashion.

What he found instead, he hadn't been ready for. "Swan? You're drenched."

A completely head-to-toe wet Emma Swan stood on his threshold, lumps of golden hair sticking to her face and neck, boots making a squeaking noise as she moved imperceptibly towards him. "I know. But I needed to see you."

He cocked an eyebrow, completely taken aback at the turn of events. "And you couldn't call? Or, you know, wait for the rain to stop?"

She shook her head, droplets of water hitting him as she did. Great, she was like a dog. He was about to tell her so in an attempt to lighten the sudden tension at the moment, when, in a breathless tone, she answered, "No, I couldn't wait."

"What..." any chance of responding was soon forgotten as she suddenly pressed her lips to his, pulling him into a fervent kiss. His head started buzzing and his veins filled with a consuming heat, his arms coming around her as hers looped around is neck. Her taste on his tongue filled his senses and sent a warm feeling of recognition, of longing, through him.

Like coming home.

They parted from each other gasping for air, completely breathless, but he didn't let go of her, not daring to let her escape him again. She tipped her forehead against his, speaking so fast her words blurred together, like they were too drenched in the rain along with her hair and her clothes, making it impossible for him to read them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for disappearing. I'm sorry for not picking up any of your calls or answering your texts. If you only knew how hard it was trying to forget you..."

He could feel the pain behind her words, and he brushed his nose against hers, ghosting a kiss over her lips. Leisurely, hungrily wishing for the moment where he'd be able to reassure her that it was okay. That now they were together. That they would make it work, no matter what. "You don't have to say sorry for anything, you hear me? If only, I should be the one asking for forgiveness here. I know I hurt you. I know." He pecked her once again softly, cupping her cheek in his hand and smiling as she leaned her face against it, seeking his warmth. "And I understand why you did it. But now you're here."

One of her hands let go of his hair and came up to trace his cheek, the scar beside his nose, the light scruff he failed to shave. "After the other night, I kept thinking this was a mistake. That if we had started it back then like a mistake, it'd only become a bigger one. But then I realized it didn't start there. It started way earlier, and that day was just... the breaking point. And we are not the same people that we were then. I know I am not, and from what you told me, you are not either." She shook her head, her eyes lingering on his face like she was afraid she'd forget something vital about it to bring with her when she left. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and he found himself matching it immediately. "Either way, it's like maths, right? We are both fucked up. We found each other in a really fucked up situation. We are both like a minus sign - and it becomes a plus when they are multiplied."

The feather-light touch of her fingers sent tingles up the back of his neck, yet all he could think about right then was how she could use such an inventive metaphor to describe them - and how her smile made his heart ache. He lived for those smiles of hers, he was sure now of how his sole purpose in life would always be to make sure she never stopped smiling. How could such a thing hold so much power? He was convinced it was magical.

Just like her.

"Shouldn't my minus and your minus be added? Because I'm pretty sure that becomes another minus," he wondered aloud, laughing at how her expression seemed to drop for a moment until she realized he was messing with her.

She shrugged in a way that he could only describe as adorable, a full on grin now lighting up her face as she looked up at him. "Well, then we are an even bigger fucked up mess." Her expression turned serious then, and a look of fierce determination replaced her former giddiness. "I am willing to try to tame it."

He couldn't help himself, he bent down to claim her lips with his once more, relishing in the way she instantly matched the frenzied pace of his nips and strokes of his tongue, thoughts of fighting him long forgotten behind her. The kiss then turned tender and soft, light as a whisper, and he finally managed to find the will to pull back from her, forehead resting against the top of her head as he exhaled loudly, attempting to catch his breath.

"I missed you," she murmured, nuzzling his neck as he tangled his fingers in her hair, not caring at all for the wet tresses leaving a trail of water in its wake.

He smiled at her confession, and soon found himself pressing a soft kiss against the tip of her nose, closely followed by another on her cheek, her forehead, the corner of her lips, and finally reaching home. "I missed you too," he whispered against them. Pulling back slightly from her, he ushered her inside, tugging on her hand and motioning for her to follow him, closing to door behind them. "Come in, I have something you can change into. And candy," he added with a playful wink over his shoulder.

"You had me at candy." She laughed then, the sound tinkling and magical bringing him back memories of how in Peter Pan they claimed that the first laugh of the first baby meant the beginning of the fairies.

Well, he would fight anyone who denied that every time Emma Swan laughed, a fairy was born somewhere.


So.

After the yelling, the cursing, the threats *cough*ADRIANE*cough* and nightmares/dreams/real-prophetic-dreams-guys about this stupid one shot, I guessed I should continue it to give it closure.

The thing is, I had always intended to leave it there because I seriously didn't know how it would go. There could be a lot of possible ways for those two to go, and as much as I want to give them a happy ending, we all know those aren't always the case.

Per popular request begging for one, I caved in, giving this one a go. I am seriously concerned at how many of you encouraged me to make Milah the 'bad guy' just so these two could be together - seriously. Guys. She's not a villain! It was a real treat to write just a happy, nice, good Milah, and the fact that you cannot hate her is another reason to find this whole situation heartbreaking in the first place. Anyway, the only possible way I'd consider them getting a happy ending was how this went: giving each other space, him breaking up with Milah FOR THEM, not only because of Emma, and them nursing their wounds for a while until being able to get together. Hope it was fine. I kinda liked it and found it realistic enough, which was the whole point of the story from the start.

Expect another possible way of this story ending, which of course, will NOT be a happy ending. It is nearly done, so... PAIN IS COMING. (Screw you Starks, it's pain, not winter).

Many thanks to Cee for being my poor guinea pig when I have hurtful ideas and for crying and yelling at me. And reminding me to take my dyslexia pills as I write gems like 'a brick of tones'. Bless you dear.

Love you all, even when you yell at me :) xoxo

PS: "Figure 8" by Ellie Goulding, "Lost and Found" by Katie Herzig and "Gold Lion" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs kinda inspired me. A lot. A looooooot.