She doesn't see much of him for the following two days – just a glance around the corner and the flash of a smile during lunch break – and Emma isn't sure she wants to be relieved. Sure, their little tete-a-tete in the library, for all intents, didn't leave the walls of the library, but Emma doesn't know if they're already dating or – whatever the hell she's supposed to label this mess.
Truth is, she didn't expect him to go with it. Not after the way he'd rejected her on that first day. She'd already been ready to tell Ruby she had won, embarrassed with the idea of even wanting to use someone like that, but he had taken her by surprise and accepted.
Truth is, she doesn't know how to act around him, and is glad for that short break away from him. All her boyfriends – or whatever passes as a boyfriend these days – had been too busy going to second base with her to really care about anything else.
But Killian is one of the smart ones, and she's out of her depth with him. Not that it matters much to her. But, hell, if he's going to spend at least the next four months stuck by her side, she doesn't want him bored out of his mind. She's not enough of a bitch for that.
So while she's racking her brains over how to girlfriend, she's happy to just wave at him from one side of the hallway to another. People haven't caught up on things yet, so she enjoys it while it lasts.
She's in the middle of a French class when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Emma elects for ignoring it at first, but curiosity always killed the cat.
Hopper is making a fuss over the Cold War like there's no tomorrow. Please, get me out of there.
Unknown number. She frowns.
Jones?
The reply arrives a few seconds later: The one and only.
i should have known. no1 else would use proper syntax in their texts
Now you wound me, love.
But seriously, no dashing rescue to get me out of this misery?
She bites back a smile – gosh, she will not smile for this idiot who may or may not be her boyfriend – before texting back.
ur on ur own buddy
He only sends her a broken heart emoji and – yep, she's definitely smiling.
"Emma." Miss Belle's voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she looks up at the teacher with wide eyes, cheeks turning pink with the shame of getting caught. "You know the rules. No texting."
Miss Belle isn't cruel enough to take the phone away though, and Emma slips it back in her pocket.
…
They agree on 9pm the following day, and Emma's clever (or stupid) enough not to ask why so late.
She doesn't go too crazy over the outfit and make-up – it's only the first date and it's not even real so why bother – which means she's ready way too early and has no idea what to do in the meanwhile. (She finds herself watch cat videos on YouTube because, well…) The doorbell still manages to startle her, though, and she checks her reflexion in the mirror one last time before going downstairs.
Her foot is on the last step when she hears him say, "Good evening, Mister Booth." There is a pause, before he adds, "Yeah, I know…" and Emma has to bite back a laugh just imagining Marco's face.
Poor him, he's too old for that kind of thing.
That's of course the moment August chooses to appear in the doorframe of the kitchen, still wiping a plate and definitely frowning. "Why does it look like Killian Jones is picking you up?"
She offers him a half-hearted shrug. "'Cause he is."
She misses August's hilariously astonished face as she finally makes her way to the front door, grabbing her jacket along the way. Killian smiles when he sees her. (He wears jeans and a simple t-shirt, and she suddenly feels overdressed in her skirt and heels – but oh well, it will have to do.)
She kisses Marco's cheek and says, "I'll be back for midnight."
"Eleven thirty," he replies – it's so obvious he's out of his league, because she doesn't usually ask for a curfew, just comes and goes as she pleases. It doesn't stop Killian from nodding politely though, just as lost as Marco in that moment.
Emma follows Killian down the lane – his hands are in his pockets, like he doesn't know what to do with them, and it's cute – only to gape when she sees his car. Or, rather, his pickup, black and huge and rusty. Whatever she expected, it wasn't this.
"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," he says with some kind of breathless laugh as he opens the door for her. Emma doesn't know what alarms her the most – the car naming or the chivalrous attitude. "It's my brother's but, well, it'll do the job tonight."
She doesn't ask, she specifically doesn't ask the hundred questions crossing her mind just then – instead she thinks you've made your bed, Swan. Even more so when they drive out of town, ruling out all the theories she had about their date and instead wondering if he has lost it and is now planning to murder her in the woods. But he stops at the edge of old Zelena's field – Emma wonders if the hag will throw her twelve cats after them if they dare trespassing – and gets out of the car, and so she follows.
"Will you finally tell me what we're doing there?"
That's when she notices all the pillow filling the truck, as well as a few blankets, and Killian doesn't particularly replies but nods towards the sky. The sun isn't quiet set yet, the sky turning into shades of purples and navy blues, but a few starts are already peeking out, shining bright despite the dusk.
A smile curves up her lips.
"You're such a nerd," she says, nudging his shoulder playfully, and it doesn't sound like an insult.
He grins back. "I also have hot chocolate and cookies, if you want."
Stargazing and breakfast for dinner. That may be the cutest date ever, if she's honest with herself. So she agrees and climbs on the truck only to find a comfortable place among the pillows and to drape a blanket over her legs. (The skirt was such a bad idea.)
They nibble on some cookies and tell each other about their week. Killian even makes her laugh in his retelling of the infamous history class of the previous day. His American accent is the worst, which adds to the hilarity of the whole thing, and she chokes on her hot chocolate at his impersonation of Professor Hopper – it surprises her in how easy the whole thing is, like they've been friends for years and it's natural to speak about school with him in the middle of an empty field.
They settle more comfortably among the pillows as time goes by, until lying next to each other. The sky is clear tonight, no a cloud to be seen, the stars visible by now. That's the thing about a little town in the middle of nowhere, Emma thinks almost gleefully – no pollution to speak of and the most breathtaking view one can get for that kind of activity.
"Okay. Impress me with your knowledge."
He laughs softly but humours her anyway. (As if they were there for another reason.) "You know the Big Dipper, of course. It's the easier one to find."
He guides her through each constellation, and associates a Greek myth to every one of them. His voice is soft and lilted, and Emma finds herself hanging to his every word. Killian is both passionate and interesting, which never hurts – she likes that about people, when they're so excited about their passion they're willing to share it easily.
(She has sat through too many a conversation about football to know how boring people can be, even with something they love. This right there is the exact opposite.)
"Do you see the six stars there, diamond-shaped like a kite?" Even as he points them out, it takes Emma a few minutes to find said stars, replying in a hum when she does. He goes on with a laugh stuck at the back of his throat. "That's Cygnus. The constellation of the swan."
She smiles – she's been doing that a lot tonight, and she refuses to dwell on it for even a second.
"And what's Cygnus' story?"
"I'm glad you asked!"
He goes on with the story of Phaeton, who couldn't control the reins of Helios' sun chariot so Zeus had to destroy it with a thunderstorm, which resulted in both chariot and man falling in the river. Cygnus, in his grief, dived into the river day after day to pick up the bones – the gods were so touched they turned him into a swan and placed him among the stars.
"Well, that sucks."
He laughs, the sound low and hoarse. "It really does."
Silence falls between them once Killian is done with his tale. One she's all too eager to break – it's too comfortable to her liking, the simple fact of enjoying each other's company without words to fill the space between them. She doesn't know how to do this, doesn't even want to learn. What would be the point anyway?
Not to mention there's been a question at the back of her mind all evening long, one that tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop the words.
"Did you choose that spot so we wouldn't meet anyone on purpose?"
There's a sigh that sounds like an "Aye" and, even in the darkness, she sees him scratching his neck nervously. "I didn't think you'd want to be seen in public with me."
Something shifts between them just then, almost palpable in the few inches separating their bodies. Her breath catches in her throat, heavy and bitter, and no amount of swallowing changes that. She barely dares looking at him, afraid of what she might read on his features, of what she might read about herself.
"You think I'm such a bitch…"
Emma doesn't want to care – hell, she isn't supposed to care – but it stings all the same. She's relied on people's opinions of her for way too long, needing their approval, needing to feel loved, that she's almost forgotten what it feels like not to be – the feelings buried deep down the moment she understood Marco wouldn't send her back in the system, all coming back to slap her in the face.
It's painful.
But she kind of deserves it, she guesses.
"Your and Lucas' hobbies are dubious to say the least but, no, you're not a bitch." Nice, but hardly believable. "I just understand why you wouldn't like to be seen with someone like me."
What a pair they make.
That thought alone is a whole other can of worms she doesn't want to open. Not if she's planning to survive those four months (and then some) unscathed, not if she only wants Killian Jones to be some kind of fucked-up rebound for the even more fucked-up summer she had. She can't afford this to be more than a distraction.
She can't afford to dwell on the fact that she's already establishing this – whatever this is – as more that just an agreement to spend time together just to upset Ruby a little.
"It's getting late…"
It's all she needs to say for him to nod and sit up, offering her his hand to do the same and then to jump off the trunk. The ride back home is spent in silence, Emma's forehead pressed against the cold window while the radio plays some soft country song. He pulls over in front of her house and, for a few seconds, none of them move – until she turns around to look at him.
"That was nice. Thank you."
"You don't have to –"
"It was. Walsh invited me to Granny's for our first date. Stargazing is better."
The street lamp around the corner doesn't provide much light, but is enough to notice the blush creeping on Killian's cheeks. When he finally looks at her, it's with a smile she can only mirror.
"I'll see you on Monday?" he asks, tentatively, voice soft and shy.
She nods.
(He waits until she's inside to turn on the ignition, which is always sweet.)
…
August is still in the living room, working on his thesis – it's not even midnight, after all – when she closes the front door behind her and kicks off her shoes. But only one lamp is on, Marco already asleep, so she tiptoes her way to the kitchen, silent as a mouse, and pours herself a glass of milk.
She isn't surprised that August follows her.
"No lecture tonight, please."
He folds his arms and leans against the fridge with a smug little grin. "Wasn't going to."
Emma quirks an eyebrow at him from above the rim of her glass, but doesn't glorify him with a comeback. She's known him long enough to expect the lecture anyway – he loves his role as a protective big brother too much not to.
"Interesting choice of date."
"Didn't ask for your opinion."
"Gave it anyway."
She rolls her eyes as she puts the glass in the sink. The last thing she wants is to have an argument in hushed tones, in the middle of the night, about her romantic life. Been here, done that, no desire to do it again.
"Goodnight, August."
"If he hurts you, I'll kick his ass," he replies in a laugh.
She rolls her eyes. Again. "Yeah, right."