Bloody reporters that pick at his love life is a pain in the arse. Really.
Killian: How public would you like for me to speak out on our relationship?
Emma: That can be up to you. Just don't announce big declarations yet?
Killian: Of course. Just checking in, love…and I love you.
Emma: Moron. Love you, too.
He sighs happily, locking his phone and sticking it into his pocket before running a hand through his hair to brush it away from his face, waiting for Robin to return from the restroom so they can get on with the interview.
Will shakes his head and Killian bumps his shoulders. "What?"
"Nothing, ya just seem happier than any time I've seen you happy since I've known ya."
"You know the reason for that, mate."
Will just nods, a smile on his face. "That I do."
Despite how Will is sometimes a troublemaker, he is nothing but a loyal friend who's always up for some beer or rum and TV. Or simply just heading out. He's been friend with him since college, rooming together and all. Robin came later when Will introduced him, and soon enough, they combined together their musical talents and became a band which is flying off the charts.
Absolutely not something they thought that would happen.
When Robin returns, the crew hustles to get everything ready. He's squeezed between Will and Robin, well, not exactly squeezed, but sitting between them on a comfy leather couch. (Leather couches are simply the worst during summer time, though.)
The cameras start to roll and the interviewer asks them how they all are, and of course they all answer that with ease. Interviews and attention like this, the promoting, hasn't ever been the best part. It's the touring; the amount of places they get to visit, the faces of so many people they get to meet. It's the stories he hears of how their music helps someone get through their day.
After all, if it wasn't for the touring, he would have never met Emma, probably. (Unless David or Mary Margaret had intentions of introducing her back then.)
"So, Killian, things seem serious between you and your girlfriend."
It sounds more like a statement than a question, but he still nods to it and smiles, just thinking of her. "Aye, we're quite serious. I'm very lucky I got the chance to meet her, also thankful she let me get to know her. She's a wonderful lass; she's a beautiful woman, inside out." He knows better than to say I love her at the moment. That will likely draw too much media back on them, even though he does love her.
Then the questions continue on from his relationship to the album and their own thoughts. "Think you guys can describe the album in one word?"
All Killian manages to muster up is: "Soulful."
.~.
The tabloids are pasting Emma's little trip back to Ireland all over. It's photos of the both holding hands while he drags her suitcase, a stupid smile on the both of their faces. If she hates this attention, he'd really be willing to give it all up to make sure she's happy and comfortable. Fame is one thing, but love is a complete other, and he really would give it up for the right woman. And everything in the world is telling him Emma Swan is the right woman.
Sure they spend weeks to months away from each other with nothing but some technology connecting them, sure he's traveling all over America and other major countries without bringing her along, but god, all of that is going to change very soon.
The more he thinks about it, the more he just wants to have a home with her. He wants to be able to come home and wrap his arms around her and kiss her until they're sweaty and sated; he wants to be able to come home and see her grabbing herself a cheap beer from the fridge to sit down in front of the TV; he wants to be able to come home and draw a warm bath which the both of them can sink in; he wants to come home to her. If his home is a person, then he doesn't ever want them to leave, because what if that person is gone?
Killian Jones is a big dreamer, ambitious nowadays ever since Emma barged into his life, because her support makes him feel like he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to.
The house has essentially been the same thing for the months she's been gone and in Boston. Long distance really turns the difficulty a notch up, but it's so satisfying to see her smile when she drags her suitcase into his - their - room, ignoring the guest bedroom she first stayed in. Just from that, he tackles her onto the bed in gleeful laughter, bouncing from the drop of their bodies onto the mattress while she's pinned below him.
"Bloody hell, I've missed you so much, Emma."
"I've missed you, too," she says, smiling up at him.
Her smile lights up his entire day, and he isn't ever exaggerating that fact. It's like she's his angel, his saviour, and he's damn well enamored by this woman. She is both his weakness and his strength, the day to his night, and the stars to his entire universe.
(Cliché, but merely the truth.)
"So how was your flight?"
"Exhausting, as usual. I get why Robin and Will are always tired now, I don't blame them." She chuckles, her fingers running through his hair. "I don't get it, how do you do it?"
"Flight after flight." He grins, loving the way her fingers thread through his hair, a common gesture she actively exhibits when she's around him. It's essentially a habit. "Just for you, love."
He's gotten to know her so well, he knows she's not usually one for anything sappy or gooey like romantic movies are or the true love between David and Mary Margaret, but he can't help it sometimes. Killian never blames her for what she likes and prefers since he knows where she comes from, where she's still a little guarded and a little terrified of some aspects in their relationship.
"Dork."
Killian lifts an eyebrow at her acclamation, promptly shaking his head a little and kissing her nose. "I see that you're trying to stay awake, but you should know you're miserably failing."
"Hey, the flight was tiring, okay?"
"Of course, Swan." He manages to push himself off from her with a light bounce. "Of course."
She frowns, all childlike and playfully. "You sound far too unconvinced," she grumbles.
"Hey, I'm just joking around." He drops the jokes, smiling down at her before adjusting his gaze over toward the clock on the nightstand. It's not very late at the moment, but her flight was quite early from her timezone. "Would you fancy a nap while I go make us dinner?"
Emma has already dug herself into the bed and below the covers, mumbling something incoherent that sounds something among the okay, thanks, except he can't hear or really see her anymore, and from what he can tell, she must really like this bed. (Or she's really as tired as she says she is.)
(Nah, he'll stick to the first excuse.)
Usually, he never eats anything in bed since he's a usual neat freak, not enjoying things lying around freely, or having crumbs of food litter his couch or his bed, but he makes an exception by the time he's done cooking. Emma hasn't even made a peep of a noise since she'd been given reign over the bed to take a nap, and it's just hit the one hour mark.
There's some baked chicken, fried rice, and a soup he'd actually just been playing with for most of the time. He's never really changed any of his soup recipes, but tonight, with a little extra flavour and spices, he'd been able to conjure up something he likes for sure.
Sorting food out onto a platter, he knocks on the bedroom door before entering. "Room service."
Her groan is the one she always elicits when woken up from deep sleep in the mornings, the exact same replica this time around. It's a little past 8 now, but this is a meal necessary.
He knows she despises airplane food, so she needs to eat.
"Come on, Swan, you've got to settle your hunger tonight."
"No, I don't."
"Emma Swan, don't you try to bloody lie when I know how much you dislike the food they serve on planes." He sets the platter on the desk in the corner of his room and moves back to drag the comforter off of her, stifling laughter at how stubborn she is tonight. She's never been this stubborn before. "Up and at 'em, there's baked chicken, fried rice, and soup. Home baked and cooked, all for you."
"So you ate without me?" Emma asks, no actual drop of hurt in her voice.
"Ate before I picked you up, darling." He watches her sit up in bed and rub her eyes, before blinking the sleep out of them and smiling lazily. "You can sleep all you want later, though. Just eat. But perhaps not too much sleep, otherwise I can't have my time with you."
"Sleeping with me counts, doesn't it?"
Unbelievable - his Swan. Shaking his head, he brings the platter over to her and lets her balance it out in front of herself.
.~.
It is essentially impossible to avoid any paparazzi now that their relationship is so...public.
But, he makes himself sure that they have some form of privacy, even if it means having all the curtains and blinds drawn in darkness while they busy themselves in front of the fireplace or back in bed, because lord knows how desperate someone can get for a photo to shove onto tabloids.
One night, he finds himself with Emma encompassed by his arms in the backyard patio, her feet splashing about in the water while she leans into his back. He's simply content to have an arm tucked against her middle, breathing in her scent from behind.
"You're like my human heater."
"That sounds awfully horrible in some ways, love."
She elbows him gently in the stomach and he snickers, pulling her tighter against him while his other hand rests on her thigh.
"Couldn't take that for a compliment, could you?" she asks.
He grins, pressing his nose against the side of her neck. "Mmmm." He sighs softly and eventually says, "I'm flattered and beyond honoured to be your human heater."
They fall back into the comfortable silence as it is enjoying the beautiful weather (free from rain, finally). The small moments, like these, make the best memories - at least in his mind.
"As much as I'd love to stay out here, your brother and Elsa have invited us to dinner," she mumbles, leaning her head back to look up at him. "I don't think they'd be happy if we ditched out on them the first time we finally get to have that dinner."
He grumbles something incoherent before he nods. "Aye," he agrees quietly, pushing himself back before offering her a hand to be pulled up. "Interested in handling a little boy?"
"I already deal with a little boy every day, I think your nephew will be no problem."
"Oi, Swan!"
.~.
If he could describe exactly how he feels, it's...actually, that's hard. Everything is perfect.
Michael likes Emma better than he likes his own Uncle Killy, so whatever that means for him...well, he can't be mad at his nephew for liking her. How can someone not like her?
Liam and Elsa love her.
"Have you thought about it yet?"
"What?" Killian asks, raising an eyebrow.
"You know," Liam says, "marriage." His voice drops on that last bit.
Frankly, Killian has considered it - they've been together for several months now, almost an entire year, but he's not...he doesn't...he doesn't know, know.
"Definitely a thought that's crossed my mind before," he admits quietly, watching Emma and Elsa coddle up with little Michael. "But we haven't discussed any of that yet, considering I've only just pounced on her with the one month visit here."
"You let your lady set the pace, don't you?"
"Aye." Killian grins just at the sight before turning to face Liam. "You did too."
"You're right about that."
The pat on his back causes him to bend forward, and Liam laughs at him. Killian scowls at his brother before Michael's up and running at him, colliding with his legs, and that's when he falls backwards, falling on his ass on the carpet.
At least his tailbone is intact.
"Ow, Michael!"
"Sorry, Uncle Killy!" Michael quickly apologizes, kneeling next to him.
"Killian, you okay?"
He looks to Emma who's wearing a worried expression on her face while she's offering a hand to him (which he gladly accepts). "Aye, I'm alright," he says, standing up and stretching himself out. "Or so I think, at least."
"Try not to fall next time," she whispers later in his ear during the dinner, hand squeezing his thigh. "I want you in one piece."
If he nearly spits out his food and chokes, that's entirely his fault.
.~.
They both stumble back into the house late that night, no effort to properly align their shoes by the side of the door like how he usually insists. Sock-clad feet slide on the hardwood floors, both of them trudging into the bedroom before changing and heading into the washroom to get themselves cleaned up for the night.
Killian watches her from the bed as she removes one last earring before climbing into bed with him. He smiles at her. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"
"Yeah. Your family is great."
"You know my family is yours," he says genuinely, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Elsa and Liam absolutely adore you, and there's no need to discuss the likes of my nephew. His fingers are wrapped around you more than myself."
While her eyes may roll dramatically, she knows it's simply the truth. "He's a good kid." Emma shrug casually, pulling the covers over her shoulders before pressing her face to his shoulder. "I like good kids."
"You like most kids," Killian retorts.
"No, I don't."
"Are we really going to discuss this?"
"No," she said, "not tonight, at least. Michael wore me out - that kid is like a battery that never runs out." Conveniently, she yawns right then, muffled by his shoulder. "Now, can we sleep?"
Killian chuckles, his hand finding one of hers beneath the covers as he tangles their fingers together, loosely holding onto her hand. "Aye," he murmurs, "we can sleep."
He's also recognized from the times before when she's asleep, when she's faking her sleep, and when she isn't at all and she's awake and staring at nothing. He finds that Emma falls into slumber quickly, faster than ever before, and he smiles to himself, knowing that Michael must have really killed off all the energy she originally had in the first place. That kid is like a never-ending motor though, constantly running until the last second when he passes out.
It feels like the night passes by so quickly, that the amount of hours they sleep don't even feel like hours. Surprisingly, he wakes up to an empty bed; he reaches over, patting the vacant spot on the bed, realizing it's still somewhat warm and not entirely cold.
But then, he hears the water running and he's aware she's showering. So, while she showers, he'll cook up a breakfast. As soon as he's out of the bed, of course, but that may take a while considering he's still half-asleep and daydreaming about the family he could have that could fill up this home or another house. Long distance doesn't work easily, but Killian is fully dedicated to this relationship, meaning he'd give up anything - the fame and the money - to have a regular, typical life full of love with Emma.
What he doesn't expect as of yet is for Emma to feel the same way as him. For someone like her, he thinks she may be hesitant on the idea of children. He knows there is probably no way in the world she would give up her jobs and friends back in Boston for a life here with him in Ireland. Putting it that way, it may seem like a one-sided relationship, but she isn't as fortunate as he is with the flexibility to do whatever. He has all the money in the world that could last him for a handful of years if he spends it wisely, he has a brother, sister-in-law and a nephew that's living their life wonderfully without any concerns.
But Emma has concerns - she has to worry about making it day to day with her rent. She has to deal with asshole customers at the bar while she's singing. She has to deal with the kids who need her just as much as she needed someone when she was a kid.
Killian doesn't expect her to give up everything as easily as he can.
(It doesn't mean the thought of children and a domestic life with her flees his mind completely.)
He wakes from those thoughts, eyes blinking open and adjusting to the light as he stares at the white ceiling above him.
Despite Emma being a few feet away from him in the washroom taking a shower, the bed already feels ten times emptier and colder - someone is missing, and that's his Swan. She may not be far away, but he misses her anyways. Killian can be considered a sappy, hopeless romantic, to be honest. Not that he'll ever admit that. Killian prefers the term 'gentleman.'
After ten more minutes in bed, he finally manages to drag his arse out of bed, and that's just when he hears the water from the shower shut off. It's probably stupid, but a smile is on his face as he moves out the master bedroom and down the hall toward the open kitchen, flicking the lights on since all the windows have been covered with blinds since the previous night before leaving for dinner. It is too dark, and even if someone catches a photo through the window by the front door, so be it.
He goes to pull open a majority of the curtains and blinds, the sunlight streaming in and providing more natural light, just as he turns the lights off. "Better," he huffs to himself, the warmth on his skin from the sunlight.
"My boyfriend talking to himself?"
He turns around to see Emma in a fresh set of clothes, her hair still somewhat damp. He grins. "Only a little."
Emma chuckles, walking up to him as his arms automatically encompass around her. They don't speak further except for a mumbled "good morning" and then kiss.
This is the exact kind of thing he's been dreaming of constantly, a quiet life with her that can compare to no other. Or perhaps not so quiet if a baby goes off wailing in the other room and both of them rush off.
He wants that life with her and her only.
"I was going to make breakfast," he says, "though I got out of bed a little later than I intended to."
"You know you pride yourself with being a sailor all the time, yet you cannot even wake up early without complaining."
"I don't complain," he mutters in insistence, shaking his head as he starts to move toward the fridge to pull out some eggs. "I'm just...stubborn in my own ways," he supplies in replacement for complaining. It's probably not the most convincing he's ever been, but it should do.
Emma scoffs and he turns to look at her incredulously.
If every morning is like this, he'll ask for an infinity more.