Thank you so much to everyone for giving this story a chance. Thanks for your kudos, likes, reblogs and for your comments, they mean the world to me.
I'd like to express my gratitude, as always, to my beta, Amy. I'm aware that you have had to deal with a monster of more than 100k words and besides English is not my mother tongue, so I value your effort even more.
Go visit Kate's blog and enjoy her amazing art. The art that accompanies this chapter is the first piece, but not the last one, related to Instagram that Kate has created. She has done a wonderful job. Also, I'm in love with the banner.
CHAPTER 2
David Nolan. A hospital in a nameless town under an armed conflict. Two years ago.
David had had enough time to think about Killian's condition, but, to be honest, the urgency of the preparations for the trip and his emotional farewell to Mary Margaret had distracted him for a while. The flight was another story though - too many hours ahead while uncertainty and guilt dug a hole deeper and deeper into his stomach and into his heart.
That sense of failure increased the moment he entered the hospital room, his breath caught in his throat as he witnessed for the first time the precarious situation of his friend. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable in that bed, his face marred by multiple small lacerations, surrounded by machines and wires everywhere. He had to repress a gasp when his eyes traveled to his left arm, the place where his hand should be, now covered in bandages, hiding the absence of his limb.
At least he is not conscious at the moment, David thought, as he squeezed his eyes closed with his fingers. That gave him some time to figure out how to bring the subject to Killian the moment he woke up.
It's so unfair ... David swallowed hard, a bitter feeling tugged at his stomach, as he felt impotence and frustration washing over him. It was as if Killian was condemned from the beginning. As if someone were exercising a perpetual punishment on him without him committing any crime. How many losses could a person endure before finally giving up? If Killian was already walking on the precipice before, David did not even want to consider what would become of him when he was aware that, not only had he lost a hand but also probably the opportunity and escape that his work and photography had offered so far.
He can still take pictures. Luckily, he has not lost his dominant hand. And there are very advanced prostheses, and ... David tried to convince himself, but knowing Killian's perfectionism about his passion, he knew in advance that it would be a losing battle.
A deep sigh escaped his lips as he sat on the chair beside Killian's bed and buried his head in his hands. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the rush of memories pouring into his mind, hitting him hard. Still, he could not help the corners of his lips rising slightly as he remembered that first time he had met Killian, when he was just a boy. A lifetime had passed since that first encounter, but he remembered it as if it had happened yesterday instead of seventeen years ago.
Killian was thirteen years old when David first met him. He was a rangy boy, with an abundant mop of hair always disheveled, intense blue eyes and a camera hanging around his neck, his eternal companion.
That was also the first time David met Liam Jones, who was twenty-one years old when he started doing an internship for the same newspaper as David. They connected immediately, perhaps because they had similar personalities, or perhaps because each one found support in the other.
David had arrived in London two years ago along with his girlfriend, Mary Margaret, fleeing from a town that hid too many painful memories. They were still getting acclimated to their new life in a different country when Liam appeared, accompanied by his brother. The Joneses had come to the city in an attempt to forge a future and a better life for both Liam and Killian. The arrival of the two brothers was the opportunity to build up the first true friendship since they left the States.
From that moment, an unbreakable bond formed between them, including Killian, the constant shadow of his brother. Killian felt such devotion for Liam - to the point that he followed all his steps. It was not unusual to see him in the newspaper office, after school, being a pain in the ass for some of his colleagues, due to his incessant questions and insatiable curiosity. Others, like David himself, and, above all, Mary Margaret, irremediably fell under his charm, seduced by his liveliness, and also (though they would be slow to recognize it) because Killian's presence in their lives had allowed them to channel into him that innate paternal instinct that had been torn up by the roots so many years ago.
They lived happy years from that moment. The four of them became the closest thing to a family, sharing meals, vacations and traditions. Killian, who, at sixteen, already offered a glimpse of the young man full of charm he would become a few years later, was David's best man at his wedding with Mary Margaret. Liam was chosen to walk her down the aisle. The three of them also had witnessed, with their hearts full of pride, Killian's graduation and the beginning of his studies to become a journalist and follow in the footsteps of both his brother and David himself.
In retrospect, David should have suspected that, even though those were the happiest years for Killian, he already carried several demons from the past. At least those demons seemed to have subsided during those years, and maybe they would not have resurfaced had tragedy not decided to hit them hard.
Ten years after they met, David lost his best friend, Mary Margaret lost her confidant and Killian - oh, Killian - lost everything. That was the moment when his demons began to attack him with ferocity, threatening to tear him to pieces.
David did not even have time to mourn Liam's death. He put the responsibility on his back — Liam would have wanted it as his brother had always been his priority, so he could not fail him — swallowing his immense pain and the emptiness in his heart and acting as support for his wife and Killian. It was an arduous task that led him to hide on occasions while drowning his cries of helplessness for not being able to help Killian when he began his escalation of suffering and despair.
Killian blamed the injustice of the world for his brother's death, who had fallen covering a story in a lost town involved in a war that nobody wanted to hear of. His spiral of self-destruction had begun there, although at first tentatively, showing his jaws in the form of the tempting alcohol, his refuge in those days of despair.
David did not give up, though. Both he and Mary Margaret managed to bring back the essence of that curious child they had known for the first time. They were not alone in this battle either since, three years after Liam's death, Killian met Milah. She brought with her what Killian needed most besides love - hope.
That mirage of happiness lasted only two years. Milah died abruptly in a car accident, without time for farewells or to assimilate the news. A minute before she had been full of life, with her adventurous eagerness and her desire to conquer the world. The next minute, she lay lifeless in a hospital bed. That accident not only took Milah's life but also left Mary Margaret without a great friend, and ripped out Killian's heart, snatching away the promising future they had begun to build together. David had to carry himself again with the responsibility of caring for and protecting his loved ones.
This time, it was a battle almost lost, though. Killian's eyes, once full of vivacity and curiosity, were now a reflection of the emptiness he felt - two blue stones that looked at the world with coldness at times, and on other occasions, they were charged with a storm of determination in the fight against injustice. The spiral of self-destruction became more pronounced, leading Killian to accept the most dangerous covers, traveling to countries of eternal wars. "I have nothing to lose and someone has to be the voice of these people" became his mantra when David tried to convince him to abandon those suicide missions. His attitude left David and Mary Margaret with a continuous sorrow, with a terrible fear that one day, the phone would bring them the news they feared so much - that they would have lost him forever.
A sound coming from Killian's bed brought David back to reality. David raised his head, looking towards his friend, who had begun to move uneasily, perhaps as a prelude to his awakening. Anxious and worried, he moved even closer to his side, while his heart hammered against his ribcage. Still, a new sensation, a fierce determination, settled in his chest. Killian was a survivor, and no matter how much it cost, they were going to get ahead. Together.
Killian Jones. Storybrooke. November 5, 2017
Given the history of losses that Killian had suffered throughout his life, it was strange to find a constant, a thread that kept him tied to reality, a restraint that prevented him from losing himself completely. And those were his friends, David and Mary Margaret. It did not matter how much he'd tried to push them in the past, get away from them. He always ended up coming back. And most importantly, they always accepted him.
Even in his worst moments, when he had hit rock bottom, they came to his rescue again by offering him the opportunity for a new beginning, following their footsteps into their homeland in an almost desperate attempt to leave behind his demons from the past.
He had obviously not managed to get rid of them, but at least those lingering demons had stayed under the surface during the four weeks he had been in Storybrooke. Keeping busy while adjusting to his new life had been very helpful.
In addition, staying close to the Nolans also meant maintaining long-established routines, which had always served as a small distraction and as a balm that managed to appease his turbulent feelings at least for a while. Sunday lunch was one of those traditions.
Behind her external appearance of a sweet and somewhat fragile person, Mary Margaret hid a fierce determination that led her to achieve almost everything she set out to do. So it did not matter how beaten Killian felt, how in need he was of drowning his sorrows in alcohol locked up in his apartment, if he was in town, he always felt obliged to make an appearance at those Sunday lunches. It wasn't going to be any different in Storybrooke, not when, despite the fact that they had been living far away for twenty-one years, they felt at home.
For that reason, on the Sunday after his first class, he was sitting in one of the booths of the Nolans' favorite cafe, with the couple sitting in front of him, both of them giving him expectant glances.
"So..." It was Mary Margaret the one who spoke first, "how was your first class?"
He was waiting for the question and, of course, he also had the answer ready. He was aware that his friends cared for him, but their constant vigilance and scrutiny sometimes made him feel uncomfortable. Past experiences had made him improve in the practice of hiding his true feelings. "It wasn't bad - the usual in these cases. It was an introductory class, basically." Killian commented in a nonchalant tone while shrugging.
"Any glimpse of hidden talent?" David asked, well aware that this was one of his priorities when teaching.
"It's still early for that, we'll see." As he spoke, the image of two green eyes with a defiant brightness crossed his mind. No. He shook his head subtly in an attempt to redirect his thoughts to another place. It was still early to assess whether Emma Swan had the talent he was looking for.
"At least, did you have a good time?" Mary Margaret gave him a warm smile as her hand reached for his and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "That's the only thing that really matters to us."
"It was interesting, and I'm fine, love, I promise." Killian assured, plastering on a tight smile. Then, his gaze focused on the menu as he tried to ignore the knot formed in the pit of his stomach and the hole in his heart. It did not matter how much his friends showed him both with their actions and their words that they really cared about him. He would always have a sense of almost constant failure, of not fulfilling the expectations deposited in him. But what burdened him the most was undoubtedly the feeling that they acted like this with him, possibly forced in a certain way by the legacy of his brother. While pretending to choose between the dishes on the menu he wondered if he would ever be able to shed that burden.
As strange as it seemed in a town as quiet as Storybrooke, the week went by relatively quickly and, before he knew it, Saturday had come and with it, a new class and the possibility of continuing to discover more about the enigmatic Emma Swan.
When he arrived in the classroom that day, all the students, including Emma herself, were already there, waiting for him. Killian could not help but glance at her as he raised one of his eyebrows in appreciation. Her lips drew a small smile in response as she held his gaze. If he felt a warm sensation running through his body he completely ignored it. Instead, he put on his swagger armor and his charming mask. He had work to do.
He had thought on a different approach for this second class. Since most of the students seemed to have little or no experience with complex cameras, he decided to dedicate the first hour of the class to chat with them in order to unravel what was really motivating them to be there, how they really felt in relation to the world of photography. Only from that knowledge could he offer them what they were looking for.
"Good morning, everyone." He greeted them using a friendly tone, getting some smiles and nods. "I thought it would be interesting for you to express yourself again during the first hour of class, to tell me what you really think about photography."
"Wasn't that what we did last week?" One of the men, Leroy, he thought, interrupted him abruptly, implying with both his sharp tone and his sullen expression, that he was not going to make it easy. Oh, but Killian liked a challenge.
"If I remember correctly, last week you told me why you decided to join the course. Today, my question is different, and since you were the first to express yourself, we'll start with you..." Killian looked at the tablet where he had the list of names while letting a tense silence hover over them. "...Mr. Grump." After another short pause in which he looked at the rest of the students to make sure he had their attention, he continued. "What do you think of photography, Leroy? Art or media? Or both?"
"Does that matter?" Leroy snorted as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat with a bored gesture.
He pressed his lips together into a thin line, in an attempt to hold back a retort. Thinking it over, he decided that, for the sake of the class, it was better if he slowed down Leroy's attempts to sabotage the classes before it was too late."Of course, it matters. Maybe you just signed up because you didn't have anything better to do on Saturday mornings, but..."
"Actually, he's here hiding from his brothers." Another man, —Will?—interrupted him, turning to Leroy with an amused expression.
"Shut up, Scarlet." Leroy growled. "We all know why you are here." He continued while smirking at him and pointing towards the door.
Just when he was going to intervene to put peace between the two men, someone got ahead of him. "Both." His gaze shifted to the direction of the sound to find Emma, who was giving him an intense look. Killian cocked his head and nodded slightly, in a silent invitation to continue. She seemed to catch the hint, because, after clearing her throat, she straightened in her seat and continued. "I mean, I consider photography both an art and a means of communication. You can think of photography as a channel to express an idea or tell a story or as a means of spreading information. I am interested in both."
To say that her little speech had left him impressed was the understatement of the century. His eyes widened slightly as he held her gaze, a strange feeling pulling at his stomach. It seemed increasingly clear that his first impression of Emma wasn't wrong. He sensed that those enigmatic green eyes hid behind an enormous potential and he was eager to begin to discover it.
His admiration was not only due to her words or her way of expressing herself (with a hint of the passion he also felt) but also because she had managed to capture the attention of the others - something he could not be more grateful for. A hum of agreement spread through the classroom as some heads turned toward her. He took the opportunity to encourage the rest to participate.
"Thanks for your input, Miss Swan." His lips drew a smile of appreciation. "It's always a pleasure to meet someone with as much passion for photography as myself." To his delight, her cheeks colored with a faint pink hue as she averted her gaze. "Does anyone else agree with her?"
From that moment on, an interesting debate began where everyone decided to participate by contributing with their point of view about the subject in question. He was a silent witness for a few minutes, clearly pleased by the way some of the students defended their positions, with fervor and determination, especially Emma, who seemed totally devoted to the cause, as if she wanted to prove something, either to herself or to him. He still was not sure about her intention, but if it was the latter, there was no doubt that she was getting it.
"Oh come on! Photography is just a trick. It only gives you a partial view of what really happens." Even Leroy had decided to participate despite his initial refusal. His comment caused an idea to pop into Killian's head. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out a folder that contained some photographs. He searched among them until he found the one he was looking for. A pang of guilt and frustration washed over him at that moment, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to park those thoughts for another moment, later on when he was accompanied by the loneliness of his apartment and his best bottle of rum.
"Of course it offers a partial vision, like all means of communication." It was Emma who cut Leroy off as she rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. "Everything depends on the professionalism of the photographer, the veracity of the newspaper and the reader's capacity for understanding."
That was the moment he needed to approach the new subject. "Apologies for interrupting your eloquent speech, lass, but I'd like to contribute with something that may allow you to continue the debate." He passed the photograph to the closest person, Elsa. "I would like you to express what this photograph transmits to you."
After observing the picture for a few seconds, she commented in a soft voice, "The photo is beautiful, but overwhelming and bittersweet in a way." She then passed the picture to her sister.
"What a pretty girl! But what is that behind her? A ruined building? The girl is smiling, she is fine, isn't she?" Anna asked in a worried tone as she handed the picture to Archie.
The photo was passed from hand to hand while all the students expressed their opinion about it. There seemed to be a general agreement, valuing the bittersweet beauty of the image as everyone wondered what the real context of the picture was. Everyone except Leroy, who seemed to have a clear answer.
"I think that photo is just a failed attempt at manipulation. It's obvious that the photographer asked the girl to smile to show the world that what was happening behind her was not so serious." He snapped through a smug grin causing a sudden anger which crept up over Killian's body, prickling at the back of his neck as his patience threatened to leave him indefinitely. Luckily, Emma came again to his rescue.
"Seriously, what's wrong with you, buddy?" Emma gave Leroy a reproachful look as she shook her head. "I think the little girl is smiling despite the destruction behind her." She held his gaze then, with an expectant expression, as if she was waiting for some kind of confirmation.
The memory of that day, the moment he took the picture, came to his mind hitting him hard, while he wondered if it had been a good idea to risk his feelings being exposed to strangers in such a raw way. He swallowed hard in an attempt to drag away that feeling of continuous uneasiness that always accompanied him. After clearing his throat, he offered them the explanation they were waiting for.
"The photographer was covering a war conflict when he took that picture." He hoped his voice didn't shake. "Minutes after the sirens announced the end of the attack, he left the bomb shelter to take pictures and show the world its effects."
He paused for a moment to make sure he still held the attention of the audience. In fact, everyone was looking at him, their expressions a mixture of concern, interest and awe. "When the photographer found the girl, he asked her if he could take a picture. The girl nodded as she positioned herself in front of what he supposed had been her house - now just a pile of rubble. She smiled." His lips lifted slightly as he remembered that overwhelming moment, when he saw that genuine smile through the lens of his camera. "Surprised, the photographer asked her the reason for that smile. The girl just shrugged, ' I'm happy because the end of the attack means one more day for us', she said simply, before leaving and meeting with the rest of her family, all joining in a group hug."
After his explanation, a tense silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed moved by the story, Killian even detected some furtive tears sliding down some of the faces. Grouchy Leroy also showed a contrite expression. "The picture won some awards, being valued as the image of hope against destruction." He finished, while he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.
Surprisingly, his veiled confession, far from digging a hole even deeper in his heart, had had a liberating effect on him. He felt for the first time in a long time how, despite the suffering and despair that always accompanied him, there would always be a ray of hope in the form of the pure and innocent smile of a little girl in the middle of nowhere.
"Can you teach us how to make those kinds of photos?" Ariel asked, clearly overwhelmed by the story, while the rest murmured in agreement.
"Of course, lass, that's what we're here for." Killian affirmed, while his heart hammered hard in his chest. That was what all he needed, the possibility of offering all his knowledge and putting them at the service of other people. Beyond the talent, if he managed to give them something, however minimal, everything would have been worth it.
The small talk served to break the ice, since from that moment and during the next hour of practice, everyone was more participatory than in the previous class, asking aspects about the best way to hold the camera or how they could make the necessary adjustments to improve the image. He was so involved with the students, that the last hour flew by. When he realized it, they were all picking up their things and saying goodbye until the following week. All except one person.
Emma waited until everyone else had left the room to approach his desk with hesitant steps. "That photographer in your story... it was you, right?" She asked, a shy smile tugging up the corner of her lips.
Killian raised an eyebrow at her as he tilted his head slightly. "You're quite perceptive, Swan, aren't you?"
"Well, you seemed to know the story too well." Emma teased back. Before continuing, she bit her lower lip, as if doubting what she would say next. "By the way, it's an impressive job, the light, the contrast, the message... Everything. Although I suppose that you already know, with all the awards and such."
"Believe me, any flattery about my work is well received." He winked at her — really?— causing her cheeks to turn pink. If his stomach started fluttering he ignored it completely. "Anyway, I'm glad the class was useful for you. You gave us quite the speech there, Swan." He wasn't flirting, was he? He was just being attentive, that was it. The fact that he was unable to tear his gaze away from her green eyes had nothing to do with it. Not at all. What kind of spell had this woman thrown at him?
"That guy, Leroy, was driving me crazy."
"But you handled him all too well, love."
"It's not the first time I've dealt with him. It's usual for him to burst into the town hall to pose various complaints or requirements of the utmost importance." She made the gesture of quoting with both hands as she uttered the last two words and rolled her eyes, causing a chuckle to bubble up inside his chest.
"I'm fortunate then to have a savior in my class who will come to my rescue if I ever need it."
She snorted. "I think you can handle yourself well there."
After a pause, in which both held each other's eyes, Emma let out a deep sigh, breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over them. "I should go. It's getting late." She did not move, though, her gaze remained pensive for a few seconds until she decided to speak again.
"You know, whenever I upload a photo to my Instagram account, I wonder if the lighting and the focus are right or if people will catch the meaning I intend to convey, so I hope these classes will help me improve."
"Food or landscapes?" The words slipped from his mouth without him even having time to assess what he was saying. But the mention of Instagram triggered something in him and he felt unable to stop himself.
"What?" Emma's eyebrows went together in an expression of confusion.
"Or maybe they're selfies showing how perfect your life is." His mouth decided to continue acting on its own, printing his words with a tone perhaps harsher than he intended. He was aware that his dislike towards Instagram was irrational, based merely on his personal circumstances and his own prejudices. But the mere idea of seeing those photos of perfect food, perfect landscapes and perfect smiles masked with hundreds of filters to hide mediocrity was almost nauseating.
Emma's features hardened, the glow in her eyes faded to give way to an unusual coldness. The utter disappointment was written all over her face. "You know what? Maybe it was a mistake to come here after all." Her voice charged with reproach caused Killian's stomach to twist in regret as he realized the terrible mistake he had inadvertently made.
"I... I don't ..." He tried to apologize, but was interrupted by Emma.
"No. Just don't." She held up a hand in warning. "I have to go."
Emma left the class without even giving him time to react, leaving him with a growing sense of guilt gripping his stomach. "Bloody hell..." He mumbled, letting out a heavy breath, as he dragged his hand down his face and rubbed at the scruff on his jaw.
Suddenly, the idea of Emma never coming back to classes seemed impossible to cope with, especially if the reason was his stupid comment based only upon his prejudices. It was evident that he had hit a nerve, that for some reason, she had been affected by his words.
After the initial shock, a pull of determination made him react, instigating him to do something - to try to fix it before it was too late. He hurried to collect all his belongings and left in the direction of the reception desk, trusting perhaps that Belle, the librarian and improvised secretary, could help him.
"Hey, Killian, how was your second class?" The librarian smiled when she saw him, while he took advantage of the moment to unfold all his charm.
"All good, love. I'd like to ask you a small favor, taking advantage of your kindness." The corners of his lips rose, drawing his trademark smile, while he paused for a moment, making sure he caught her attention.
"Sure, what can I do for you?" Belle offered through a friendly expression, showing her willingness to help. Before answering, he made a mental note to compensate her in some way.
"You wouldn't know by chance the name of Miss Swan's Instagram account, would you? She said something about it but I forgot to ask her."
Apparently, Belle didn't detect any meaning hidden under his request, because she answered normally, keeping her smile. "Sure, everyone knows her here." While talking, she reached for a notebook and began to write. "She's kind of a little celebrity in Storybrooke." Her words did nothing to lessen the pang of guilt that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He had to exercise a lot of self-control to stop himself from ripping the paper from her hands. Instead, he waited patiently for her to hand him the piece of paper while planting a fake smile on his face. TheladySwan. He suppressed a laugh at the obvious. It couldn't be otherwise.
"Thank you very much, Lady Belle." He bowed in acknowledgment. Before leaving, he remembered the files that the librarian kept, which contained the basic information of all the students. "One last thing, would you mind getting me the student files? I have to check some stuff."
When Killian left the building, he did so with a folder full of files under one arm and the piece of paper that contained the name of Emma's Instagram account burning inside his pocket. And a need to get to his apartment as soon as possible and discover a new piece in the enigma that was Emma Swan.
"Bloody hell, she's good. " The first thing Killian had done as soon as he got to his apartment was to turn on the laptop and search until he found her Instagram account. He came across multiple photographs. But not only photographs. She had the ability to transform each image into a small story full of sensitivity and delicacy, sensations that increased with the brief text that accompanied each picture.
He understood why she was considered a small celebrity in Storybrooke. Most of the photos were of the town, of its little corners, of the anonymous passers-by who walked through its streets, of the horizon that could be observed from the docks. She had achieved a style of her own, transforming simplicity into beauty. Like the photo of a small solitary flower standing out in the middle of a green field. Or a red balloon flying high free towards the blue sky. Or the one of a family taken from behind walking through the docks.
At the moment he saw one of her last photos, taken just before the beginning of the course, a twinge of guilt pricked his conscience. Almost without realizing it, he grabbed his phone and after a quick glance at Emma's file, he saved her number on his device and wrote a quick message while his heart hammered in his chest.
I'd like to apologize for my previous, inappropriate comment. It was out of place and for that I'm sorry. Don't let my impertinence cut the wings of your talent. Because if there's something I'm sure of now, it's of your talent, Emma. KJ
He pressed the send button before he had time to think about it better. After staring at the screen for a few seconds, he decided to add an additional text, in case he hadn't been clear enough in the previous one.
Just in case it wasn't clear, my previous text was only a poor attempt to ask you not to leave the classes. Not because of me. KJ
The answer did not come immediately. In fact, it did not come at all. As time passed, his patience gradually faded. He paced up and down his living room, then made an unsuccessful attempt to entertain himself with television and even went to the kitchen to prepare a light lunch, leaving the phone in the living room. When he returned the result was the same. Zero notifications.
He resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall and instead leaned against the back of the couch, letting out a deep sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. A sinking feeling settled low in his stomach while he cursed himself for his stupidity. If he didn't already have enough burden over his shoulders, he had decided to open his bloody mouth and offend a person he barely knew.
So much for a fresh start... He thought bitterly, while the feeling of failure caused his heart to tighten. Suddenly the bottle of rum hidden on one of the shelves in the kitchen seemed too tempting. He had to get out of there before letting himself be overcome and falling into his old, harmful habits.
That was how he ended up a few minutes later, with his eternal-companion backpack hanging from his shoulder, his steps leading him towards the docks to seek the calming effect that the sea had always brought him. He hadn't even bothered to grab his phone, to prevent himself from checking for notifications every two minutes.
He never made it to the docks, though. Just as he was approaching, something caught his attention, making his heart skip a beat. A blond mane dancing to the rhythm of the sea breeze, its movements causing a hypnotizing effect, keeping him stuck there, unable to react.
It could be anyone, he tried to convince himself, without success. The woman's head moved slightly in an attempt to remove one of the strands of hair from her face and causing him to have a better image of her profile. Emma Swan's profile, who seemed to have had his same idea and was leaning on the railing, her sight lost somewhere on the horizon.
Cautiously, he sought refuge in the shadow of a nearby building, sufficiently hidden so as not to be discovered but allowing him to observe her profile in relative proximity.
He remained enraptured for a while, captivated by the intriguing beauty she gave off. Her face left a glimpse of a thousand sensations, anger, hurt, disappointment. Her lips pressed together, her gaze to the front, her shoulders slumped. A thunderous expression darkened Emma's features, as if the ocean, which now moved calmly, had transferred its habitual agitation to her.
At some point, acting on instinct, he might have opened his backpack to take out the camera because when he realized it, he was watching her through the lens of his camera. A rush of adrenaline run through his veins as he clutched the device fiercely and began shooting with a single purpose - capturing the moment.
Only later, when he walked home, did he realize the implications of his act, leaving him with a tingling sensation running through his veins while his head was spinning. On the one hand, he had committed a very debatable act - taking photos like a stalker, without the other person being aware. Very bad form. On the other hand, this had been the first time he had handled his camera using his prosthesis. And he hadn't even been aware of it. He'd acted on instinct, in the same way he had done so many times before. A feeling of vertigo seized him then. Maybe not everything was lost after all.
Thanks for reading. Let me know what did you all think :)
What to expect in the next chapter? While Emma decides whether or not to continue with the classes, she does her own research regarding Killian and receives from him a new motivation to keep learning.
