The first (real, weather-induced) snowfall of the year, a puffer jacket with a fur hood, and an insistent pirate. Fluff ahead, folks.

A different kind of magic.

There are plenty of things she would rather be doing than standing huddled in the middle of the street in front of her house, Killian staring steadfast at the sky with intense concentration while she shivers uncontrollably in the sweater he forced her into before shoving her right out the front door. It's still dark, a brisk wind blowing in off the bay, and she would much rather be buried in her heap of blankets and pillows, a pirate pressed tight to her back, blissfully asleep.

She crosses her arms tighter across her chest, fisting the arms of her sweater (it's his sweater, but she tends to wear it more than he does and she can be a pirate too when she spies some booty worth looting and this sweater is waffle knit) over her hands as she shifts back and forth to get the blood moving. She looks around them at the empty street, noting that even the wildlife has deemed it too early to rise, and sighs, poking him lightly in the chest.

"Where are the bodies?"

His head snaps down from his perusal of the sky, dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

She rocks back and forth on her heels, resisting the urge to start doing jumping jacks because it's cold. "I assume the reason you brought me out of my warm bed and into the cold street is because there is an emergency and yet – I see no carnage."

He huffs out a laugh, a small cloud of white in the space between them. "Your optimism is thrilling, love." One eyebrow arches high on his forehead as he takes in her shivering form and he unzips his jacket without hesitation, hauling her forward and pressing her forcibly against his chest – another efficient zip closing her in against him. It's ridiculous and cramped, but he is warm so she wraps her arms around his waist and presses her face into his neck, choosing to ignore the fact that they are standing in the middle of the street at 4:38 am on a Tuesday, zipped together in his jacket like some bizarre burrito.

"This jacket is stupid." She mutters against his skin and she doesn't have to see his face to know he's indignant.

"It is no such thing." His voice takes on the same tone as why are you wearing that and she muffles a snicker in the collar of his t-shirt. "Do you know how useful such a garment would have been on the Jolly? Bloody magnificent, it is. I hardly feel a chill."

She snorts and squirms closer, her feet pressed between his. "Oh yeah, real fearsome pirate captain you'd be, with your fur hood and puffer jacket."

She imagines it for a second – Killian on the deck of his ship, blue eyes fierce and intense – swaddled in his favorite bright green puffer jacket, fur hood snug around his windswept hair. She can't muffle the laugh this time.

"You are less than pleasant when I rouse you from sleep."

"Then don't rouse me from sleep." She presses a silent apology against the hollow of his throat with her lips and he sighs, resting his head against hers. "Seriously, though. Why are we out here?"

He's quiet for a beat and when she pulls back, his eyes are back to scanning the skies, boyish grin lighting his face. It makes her stomach flip when he smiles like that – eye shining and dimples flashing deep in his cheeks.

(It makes her stomach flip when he does a lot of things – but she keeps that to herself, most of the time.)

"It's going to snow." He whispers and she rolls her eyes, groaning and burying her face back in his neck. His laughter shakes her against him and she nips at his skin with her teeth.

"We haven't had enough snow and ice in our lifetime?"

His fingers press against the small of her back between the thick material of his coat, running up her spine and back down again. His lips brush against her forehead and she can practically feel his smile, sending a flash of warmth from the place where his lips are to the tips of her toes.

"Oh no, my love." That sends another pulse of heat through her and she smiles to herself, gripping him to her a bit harder. "This is a different sort of magic entirely."

"And it won't be here in a couple hours? You know, like a normal time?"

He heaves a bone weary sigh – the same kind of noise he makes when she makes a crack about his age, or when David makes a snickering remark about his eyeliner. One gloved hand works its way between them and then he's tilting her chin up to meet his gaze, blue eyes serious and leaning just a bit towards annoyed.

"Perhaps I just wanted to kiss you in the first snowfall of the year. Perhaps, love – " His head dips down low and his nose bumps against hers, his breath spicy and sweet against her lips. "Perhaps I wanted to know what you taste like – with snowflakes in your hair and the stars in your eyes." He presses the softest of kisses against her lips, pulling away before she can haul him (more) forcibly against her. "Perhaps I wanted to give you a good memory of the snow and ice."

"Oh." She feels just a bit breathless at that, happy for the close quarters so he doesn't notice the literal weak in the knees that little speech has given her. But she's sure he feels the way her heart is pounding a staccato against her ribcage, pressed together the way they are.

"Hmm, yes. Oh." His smug smile assures her that yes, he's very much aware. "Now if you're quite done, the snow has begun and I wish to kiss you."

He doesn't give her the opportunity to respond this time, just tips her head back with his gloved hand in her hair and presses his lips to hers – sweet and soft with just a touch of the hunger that always seems to simmer beneath the surface. She sways into him and matches the tilt of his head with one of her own, deepening the kiss with a whimper and sigh as little pinpricks of cold land on her cheeks – the first (real, non-magical) snowfall of the year in Storybrooke.

He pulls back and lingers in her space, nose brushing her cheek as his hand curves around her neck. "Shall we head back inside?"

She shakes her head, pulling him back down to her with her fingers tangled around his necklace.

"Not yet."