I listen to her explain the game, how to play and I'm intrigued. We get turns to ask each other 10 questions and we answer, truthfully and honestly. Seems simple enough, except I know what she's burning to ask.

"I'll start easy." She faces me, left knee resting on the sofa, the mug resting on the sofa between her left leg and right thigh. "What's your favorite food?" She beams at me, full grin, teasing me.

I can't help but chuckle. "I think it has to be pizza."

"What kind?" She questions.

"Pepperoni," I answer, both of us smiling. "Eight questions left."

She raises one eyebrow. "What? No! That was an extension of the firs-"

I shake my head, tutting. "Now-now Swan, cheating is my game." I tease. "You asked about my favorite food and then the specific type," I raise my hand, using my fingers to demonstrate two. She responds by scoffing at me, playfully. "My turn, love… What's your favorite drink?"

"Wow, what a… interesting, thoughtful question that no one has ever asked anyone else before?"

"Really? Okay, question 3," She pauses, thinking. I drink more of the coffee, wondering what she wants to ask next. "Who do you look up to and why? Two-part." She smiles, clearly proud of herself for pointing that out.

Emma's POV

I watch the corners of his lips curve upwards and his eyes soften. "Liam, my brother. He's one of the bravest, smartest and most honorable people I've met, even out of grown men. Liam is like no other, he teaches me how to act honorable and fair, how to gain respect and not expect it. Even with people we're told to respect because they are in a good position or because they are older than ourselves, he does not respect them until they do something worthwhile. He will not be rude but he will not just blindly follow them. And, despite everything in our childhood, he's always stayed positive, wanting a better life for us." He looks down, his face turning sorrowful. "I would do anything for him."

I feel for him. I've never had someone, that deserves that much dedication, or someone who has even loved me really. "Why did you come here but he didn't?" The words escape my lips before I realize. I mentally curse myself for not having a better filter. I watch his facial expression change from sorrowful to uncomfortable in a second. Fuck. "You don't have to answer that. Foster kids know not to ask about another's past." I say apologetically

He doesn't say anything. He just takes a sip of his coffee, something that doesn't seem too pleasurable. I look down into my cup, watching the cream slowly melt in the chocolate, neither of us saying a word. A part of me is glad that the game isn't continuing, especially now. I wouldn't want him asking about my past… I don't want anyone to know about it. But I'm also upset. Killian isn't the typical foster brother I've had. Usually they are either bullies or… or they want something. And they won't ask permission to take what they want, no matter what it is. He's… nice. He has his issues sure, but he isn't… He isn't like anyone I've ever met.

"It wasn't possible." His voice breaks my train of thought. I look up and his eyes are down, and glazed. Every few seconds, he blinks, clearly attempting to not let the tears fall – I know because I've done, too many times. "Liam and I live… lived, with some other boys our age and some men, on a ship. Um…" He pauses, clearly not sure how to continue. What does he mean he lived with men? What happened to him? I should tell him not to say anything but I don't. Apart of me wants to know more, know what's happened in his life but then a bigger part doesn't. I have a feeling that it isn't going to be anything good… "Me, Liam and another lad, we went to this island with the first mate because the captain hadn't come back in hours. The other lad and I ended up here, in Queens alone. I don't know what happened to Liam." He scoffs, sniffling. He quickly smiles, looking past me in the corner, trying to pretend its okay but his smile fails him. He's just hiding the pain. "Next question."

"I'm sorry." A whisper comes out of my mouth. "But he's okay, right? I'm sure he's trying to get back to you too." He just shrugs and plays with his mug. "We don't have to play Killian."

He smiles a little more truthfully. "Nonsense. It's my turn. How did you end up in New York?"

I shrug. My turn to not want to answer. "When I was a baby, I was adopted. They moved me from Boston to the Midwest. But I always wanted to be in a busy city, one that never sleeps. Thought 'why not the big apple?'" I answer as nonchalant as possible. "So I skipped town, and hitchhiked here."

"Hitchhiked? What does that mean?"

What? "You don't know? It's like when you go to a gas station or truck stop and ask for a ride to wherever."

"Oh." He responses.

My brow furrows. "What does that mean?"

He opens his mouth but closes it before saying anything. "I'm just… It doesn't seem very safe. Especially for a young lady, like yourself."

Wow. "Are you my knight in shining armor now?" I reply sarcastically.

"Well," He starts, with a smirk. Here comes the charm. "I did save you with hot cocoa with cinnamon."

I smile, looking down at my drink. "My hero." I comment dryly. "My turn?" He nods.

I bite my lip. "Why did you follow me?" I question. "Aren't you worried about Michael and Marie's reactions? And about graduating and all that?"

Our eyes lock again, like they did yesterday. I feel uncomfortable, like he's reading me but I'm reading him in the same way. I'm the first to break away, swallowing hard. There's a silence while he stares at me. "As I said, there's something about you."

'Something about me?' What does that even mean? I find myself slightly irritated by this response and by this general phrase he keeps using about me. There is nothing about me, I'm just like any other street kid. "That doesn't answer the question."

"I can't explain it, Swan." He sounds exasperated. "I've been trying to figure you out since the moment you arrived. You aren't like other lasses I've met. You're special…" His accent gets deeper as he tries to explain.

I scoff. Special about me? "I think you have me confused with someone else."

"I would never confuse you with anyone else." His remark catches me off guard. I look up and he's being genuine and sincere. "And to be honest, I wasn't thinking about Michael or Marie, and I'm still not. What's the worst they can do?-"

"Beat the shit out of you?" I interrupt.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Is that it?" His change in attitude makes me nervous. "My turn?" He changes the subject. "Why did you run?"

I'm still thrown by his attitude, so it takes me a moment to really answer, but I do honestly. He hasn't lied to me so I'm not going to start now. Why am I running? "I have my reasons. I always have my reasons, Killian." I explain that I was nervous and that I don't want to stay anywhere for too long. No attachments, no pain. "I've learnt that when you feel comfortable or even a tiny bit happy, you're either moved or something bad happens. Someone pulls the rug out from under my feet." He nods, clearly understanding what I mean. The Emma Swan trilogy of pain. I shake my head. Fuck it. I clench my jaw. After a while, I feel the mug start to get colder and he reminds me it's my turn. Should I ask the question I've been dying to ask? What's he going to come up with for me? Do I trust him not to ask me things I don't want to answer? His words come flooding back to me from 'No, you're afraid. Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself but trust me.' I exhale, loudly. I can hear myself screaming not to do this, not to continue, not to trust him. Yet, the words still come out. "Before, you said you were on an island and then you ended up in Queens… Where was the Island? It couldn't have been Manhattan, anyone would recognize it, from a miles away and Queens isn't really an island."

He stiffens, and moves his right foot, clearly uncomfortable. "Did anyone ever tell you, you should be a sheriff?" He says sarcastically.

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm, not that I don't like it. "You didn't answer my question." I quip back.

"I was driven to Queens from somewhere else and left."

What? "Why are you lying to me?" My voice lets on to how hurt I am by this.

He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply and releasing slowly. "I'm sorry. But you wouldn't believe me, even if I did." I responds, not missing a beat.

Now it's my turn to scoff. "You once told me to trust you, to reveal myself to you. Doesn't that go both ways?" I question.

His brow knits slightly. "You're right, love." He pauses, nervously playing with his cup. "Ask me again, tonight, and I'll tell you the truth."

"What if I don't stay?" I ask.

"Then you'll never know." He smiles but it's a sad smile.

Is he sad because I might leave? Why would he be sad because of that? I'm nothing special. Although he doesn't believe that. "Since you won't answer that question, I'll ask another. You've mentioned your brother, but what about your parents? Why aren't you with them?"

His eyebrows fur up, at the sudden change in our conversation. "My mother left shortly after I was born. I have no memories of her, nor do I know why she left. My father is a liar, a basted who sold his sons into a life of suffering." His jaw moves slightly and I can tell he's grinding his teeth. "I hope he's dead." A flash of anger mixed with hatred and pain comes out, not something I've seen before from him.

I look down. "My parents…" I feel an aggravating need to share back. Maybe due to my guilt of forcing so much out of him, I'm not sure. "They left me at the side of a road when I was only hours old. They didn't even care enough to drop me at a hospital or even a stupid café like this. They left me to the wolves. Literally." I scoff, smiling bitterly.

"Maybe they had a good reason?" I look up and see him looking at me. I can't make the look on his face.

"Did your father have a good reason?" My voice is cold. "I'm done with my questions." I take a sip of my now at best lukewarm cocoa.

He nods but no words are exchanged. He stares at me, his sea-blue eyes burning into me, into my soul. I'm the first to break eye contact, once again, uncomfortable with him reading me as if I'm a bestselling novel. I'm vaguely aware that someone is walking in, due to the cold breeze that comes from the door opening. He's looking at me again, reading me. We sit there for a long time in silence, while everyone around us seems loud, louder than before. People talking, a few people typing on their laptops, or on their cell phones. The barista making multiple coffees, as the 9 to 5 workers rush in for their last coffees of the day, hopefully.

"Let's get the subway back home." He murmurs, clearly deep in thought.

I wish I could tell what he's thinking. "It's not my home."

His eyes move up, meeting mine. "It's not mine either… Come on Emma." He stands, waiting for me.