Chapter Ten

Name's August

Killian Jones breathed heavily as he walked along the small, quiet streets of Storybrooke. He had stormed. . . well, stormed is a bit of exaggeration for a man whose leg was injured; more as if he limped furiously. . . out of David's apartment as fast as he could, the worry of what he feared was going to happen getting the best of him. It was a stark contrast to the day he had had earlier. It had been a truly awesome day and night, so good that Killian had admitted he was gay and had kissed David without thinking about it. The heat of the moment, the rush that had developed inside of him, had overtaken his reason and it had gotten the best of him.

It hadn't been the first time, though it was the first time he had kissed someone without warning. Even as a child, Killian had been careful to ask the few girls, and definitely guys, he had been with if he could kiss them.

But, it seemed like everything with David was different. A good different.

He just had had to get out of there. The feeling that had bubbled up inside him from kissing David had been too much for him. In a good way, of course. Kissing David had set off bombs of passion and pleasure inside Killian, and he was sure that his body would certainly erupt and combust if his lips remained against the other man's for too much longer. The warmth of David alone would've been enough to set him off, but the taste. Oh, that taste, David's taste, a mixture of salty and sweet, had been the best thing to cross Killian's tongue in his entire life.

He would, surely, kill to experience that taste again. The taste of David's mouth alone had been like experiencing a fantastic orgasm for Killian, and he definitely wanted to feel that again.

But no, it wasn't the taste that forced Killian to leave David's apartment. It was fear.

Killian had been confident that he would be able to face David's rejection. He'd been rejected by other guys, before, so it wasn't something completely new to him. But, Killian had imagined David's taste to be that like it had come straight from Heaven, something which he was most certainly thought to be not true. But, despite being sure that David's kiss wouldn't be that amazing, Killian still couldn't get it out of his mind. Even with his best effort, he couldn't get past it. The thought was preventing him from being able to do anything else. So, he had decided that all he had to do was kiss David Nolan, realize David was just like every other guy, get it out of his mind that his life would crash without him, and then he would be able to handle a rejection from David.

But, the problem was, David was just like, if not better than, what Killian had imagined him to be. In their brief two seconds together, a feeling shad spiked up inside Killian. One that told him he wouldn't be able to survive if he couldn't be with David. David rejecting him, he was certain, would be the death of him.

Killian didn't want to risk hearing David say that, so he had to get out of there. That's why he rushed out abruptly. That's why he was now walking down Main Street of Storybrooke. Alone. He didn't want to be hurt by David's rejection, so he was escaping until he was ready to face it.

He breathed on his hands and rubbed them together, trying to stimulate some warmth. It was freezing outside, and the jacket he had grabbed before he left did little to protect him from the brutal, New England winter weather he was trekking through. Though he was from Ireland and had lived in Boston for a time, he had always hated the cold. You'd think it was something he was used to after spending most of his life in cold places, but no. He did not like wintery, low-temperature weather.

"Blasted cold," he murmured to himself, very much wishing he had also put on gloves and a scarf before marching out of David's warm, heated, cozy apartment.

A breeze rolled through, sending an even more chilling shiver through his body. I've got to get indoors. . . somewhere where it's bloody heated, he thought to himself.

He looked around. Killian hadn't noticed it before, when he'd first started walking along the street, but he was the only person out that night. Everyone else had, apparently, been smarter than he was and was staying indoors, because there wasn't a single other person besides himself walking on the streets that night.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the flashing, brights lights of a lit sign. He looked at it and read the sign: Granny's Diner.

Killian was actually shocked that any business was open at that hour - it was around one o'clock in the morning - though it was a welcome surprise. That looks like a place I can go, he thought to himself as he quickly crossed the street and walked into the diner.

He looked around the room: it was a small, though spacious, room with a bar on one side and several booths and individual tables on the other. Several people were there, seated at one or the other, each talking in chattery voices, though Killian didn't mind. There were free spaces around for him to sit, and that was all he needed.

Most importantly, it was heated.

"Welcome," chirped a warm voice that seemed to be moving closer and closer to him.

Killian turned to see a tall, pretty brunette walking towards him with a wide grin on her face. She was probably in her early twenties, and clearly worked there - based on the menus she was carrying in her arms, and the white, name-tagged uniform she wore, despite how incredibly revealing it was.

"Bar or booth?" she asked him cheerily, directing her hands to the bar at the right of the room, and then to the booths. "We've got available spots at both."

"Uh. . . bar."

She nodded and led him to the bar, showing him to a barstool and handing him the menu in her hand.

"Uh, can I just get a beer, mate?" Killian muttered to her, setting the menu down.

"Of course," she grinned back at him, "I'll be out with it shortly. My name's Ruby, by the way, and I'll be your waiter." She hurried off into the back of the diner, disappearing behind a door into the backroom.

Killian merely sighed and planted his face into his hands, rubbing his forehead carefully, an obvious sign he had something on his mind: David Nolan.

For the past hour, since he'd left the apartment, David had been all Killian could think about. How was he reacting to what had happened between them? Was he already clearing Killian's stuff out? Was he mad? Was he. . . was he. . . was he?

Killian just didn't know what to do.

David was pacing around his apartment, his arms crossed, a look of worry etched into his handsome face. He ran his hands through his short hair nervously, as his eyes remained fixated on the floor. Occasionally, however, with even the slightest sound from outside, they would dart to his front door, a look of hope - and also of relief - reflecting off of them, before they would zip back down to the ground, realizing it wasn't what he thought it was. Realizing that the noise wasn't him.

He hoped very much that at any moment Killian Jones would come walking through that door.

He regretted not stopping Killian, that he hadn't tried harder to bring him back, and not telling him how he felt the instant it had happened. Not telling him that the same attraction Killian felt for him, David surely felt a hundred times more for him.

David worried that he would never see Killian again. That the man had left and was never coming back to him. That it was too late for anything to ever happen between them. That David had missed an opportunity to find happiness with someone (he was absolutely sure that he would find it with Killian).

He wished that it wasn't too late. He wished that Killian would come back.

Those thoughts swirled in his mind, though they were met with the equally strong affects his body was having after Killian's kiss. It had been an hour since Killian had kissed him, but David still couldn't shake the desensitizing-pleasure his body was experiencing from it. Not that he wanted to, anyway, but it certainly didn't help the thoughts he was having of Killian leaving him forever.

Would this be the only time he would ever be able to feel this amazing sensation that was a kiss from Killian Jones?

David desperately hoped not.

"Bad night?"

Killian sat, slumped, with his hand holding up his head, on the bar at Granny's Diner, the bottle of beer he had ordered resting against the palm of his other hand, taking slurps of his drink every now and then and giving off a general atmosphere of depression. He was so deep into this state that he could barely hear the words that had been spoken to him.

"What?" he mumbled, turning to the man who had suddenly appeared in the seat next to him. Killian hadn't noticed him take a seat, too caught up in his thoughts.

"You don't look like you're having the greatest night," the man spoke again, a warm smile now formed from his lips and protruding from his scruffy, scraggly beard stubble. He talked easily, smoothly, as if he was speaking to an old friend. Killian wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He looked at him for a moment. It seemed as if the man had just taken a seat, since he was still wearing a blue leather coat, with a bright-colored scarf and gloves, and didn't yet have a drink in front of him. He was slipping off the gloves over his hands as he spoke to Killian.

"I'm not, mate," Killian agreed, his unhappiness clear in his voice, and he turned back to his drink. However, taking a sip, he realized that his beer was now empty. He grumbled. "Damn."

The man scooted closer to him. "Can I get two more beers over here," he said to Ruby, who was behind the counter washing bottles, pointing to himself and Killian. "This man needs a refill, and I need a drink." Ruby nodded, and pulled out two, fresh, bottles of beer and placed one in front of August and the other in front of Killian.

Killian smirked. "Thanks, mate." The man's generosity cheered him up slightly.

"Name's August," the man greeted, turning to Killian and offering his hand. "August W. Booth."

Killian shook August's hand gently, unsure of what to make of the man. It was very soft, though not as soft as David's hands. "Killian. Killian Jones," he said with a smile. However, his grin soon turned flattened out as he remembered what had happened to him just a mere hour ago between him and David.

August didn't seem to notice, or, if he did, it didn't affect him.

"Nice to meet you Killian," he continued. The man sounded cheery.

"And you as well, August."

The two sat in silence for awhile, with Killian's eyes focused on his beer, thinking back to how he had left things with David, and August looking nonchalantly at him. Killian tried to act like he didn't notice August looking at him, though he was pretty sure the man knew already.

"So," August spoke after awhile, "How badly did they break your heart?" he leaned back slightly, waiting for an answer from Killian.

Killian eyed him, slack-jawed and a confused look on his face. Eyebrows arched, his pretty blue eyes focused on August, wondering very much how August could've guessed that.

Was it that obvious?

"What? How do you-"

"I'm a writer," August stopped him before he could finish, "Which means I have to be able to identify emotions - to make my characters more realistic - and to describe them. I know the signs, and you're showing all of them," he paused briefly, letting Killian take in his words, before continuing, "besides, I've had my heart broken once or twice before. I can tell when someone's fatally lovestruck, because I myself have been before."

Internally, Killian analyzed his behavior briefly. Signs? He was showing signs? What did that mean? What was he doing? Had anyone else noticed? Surely others did notice if this complete stranger had.

"Am I obvious?" Killian asked, half-jokingly and half-not.

"Kind of," the man admitted with a smile, before patting Killian on the back. "It must've been pretty bad, based on how you're acting, though," he added, "You've been practically staring a hole through that beer bottle the entire time I've been here."

Killian, looked down, realizing what he had been doing. He nodded, though without much thought. "It was. Bad."

"Do you want to talk about it?" August asked, taking a sip of the beer in front of him. "I've got two functioning ears that are ready to listen and an tab at the bar waiting to be spent."

Killian wasn't exactly sure that he wanted to share all his problems with someone he had met a few minutes before, but, then again, why not? He didn't have anything else to lose - David was all that he valued at that moment, and Killian had no idea what to do about it. The beer had numbed away the worry inside him, though the thoughts still made it through.

Maybe this man could help him? Or maybe he could just be someone there for Killian to talk to? Either way, Killian couldn't see a negative reason why not to talk to the man.

"Sure," Killian conceded, with a sigh, before sipping his beer. "Let's talk."