bookstoreromantic asked for "Captain Swan late night secret sharing of the small/silly variety, either canon or high school au or something else that floats your boat.", which turned a little more feelsy than silly because I wrote it after 5.08.

She's pretty efficient at climbing out of windows and not making a lot of noise – or breaking her legs – at this point in her life.

Emma's not sure she's ever snuck out before. Run away? Plenty of times. But that was before Ingrid. This time, at least, she's planning on coming back.

She lands a little harder than she meant to, right in a pile of leaves, and winces at the noise. To her, it sounds like the whole school orchestra started warming up at once. She waits, still as a gargoyle, waiting for any sound that Ingrid's awake and looking for her. Five minutes pass and Emma breathes a sigh of relief; she starts jogging down the street to where she knows he's waiting.

She never expected to have a best friend before, let alone a boy, and never thinking he might be her dweeby lab partner. (She's been in six high schools in two and a half years, she never expects to form any relationships at all, never finding anywhere that feels like home.) But she likes Killian, color-organized notes and study sheets and all. And dweeb he might be – seriously, his brother couldn't afford to buy Killian new glasses, so they were held together with Scotch tape – but their school is small enough that there aren't too many cliques. It's not like other schools she's been in, big schools where you have your lane and you stay in it or else. There weren't really lanes here, just lots of kids trying to fill out their extracurriculars for their college apps so they can all get out of this tiny Minnesotan town. For instance, Killian's on the swim team and debate club and student council, because if anyone is an overachiever its Killian Jones.

It's all his fault she's on the indoor track team and registered for the English Festival and on the yearbook staff. It helped that she'd been placed with Ingrid in the summer, so she was there when school started and clubs were forming.

It's Killian's fault she feels like she might belong somewhere.

But they both have a little rebellious streak too, which is why they're meeting on the soccer field after midnight. Because there's a meteor shower and Killian promised to bring hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's.

He's got a blanket laid out on the grass and a big, thick quilt to wrap themselves in and a thermos full of the promised hot cocoa. She teases him about the lack of telescope but he scoffs. "They're too quick to bother," he tells her as she sits next to him and they huddle under the quilt.

The problem with meteor showers is that when there aren't actual meteors, it's pretty boring. And it's November so it's cold. And they get through the spiked cocoa pretty fast.

"Two truths and a lie," Emma says after they decided to lay down, the quilt cocooning them from most of the chill.

Killian sighs, but she knows he's not annoyed. "I didn't learn to swim until I was ten years old. I'm afraid of moths. I'm afraid I won't get into Northern."

Emma turns her head so she can look at him. "You aren't afraid of moths."

He chuckles. "Oh aye, Swan, I am indeed. It's like an evil butterfly."

"Killian, be serious."

"I am."

She blinks at him and he glances at her. Her eyes have adjusted and she can make his face out quite well in the moon- and starlight. "Killian, how are you afraid of getting into Northern?" she asks quietly. "You're going to be valedictorian next year."

"You're supposed to pick the lie."

"You're on the swim team, there's no way you learned to swim so late."

"If you knew that was false why did you picked the moths first?"

Emma rolls over on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "You're avoiding. How are you afraid you won't get in your first choice?"

Killian sighs, staring at the sky. "There's a lot of valedictorians applying. I'm not the only one. Someone always has a higher GPA, more extracurriculars, more service time, better reference letters. And what if I can't get the scholarships I need? Liam… Liam can only help out so much. I just… I want to prove that I can do it, that I can get out of here and see a bit of the world. And I want Liam to be proud that I'm his brother."

Emma's chest tightens. She knows how much he hates living in this little town, this little speck on a map that no one cares about outside its borders.

She knows and it hurts to know that he can get out while he still can.

Because she's going to get stuck. Maybe not here, but somewhere. No one ever let Emma Swan believe she'd ever amount to anything.

"I want a tattoo. I hate flying. I'm afraid of being trapped," she says softly.

Killian looks up at her, his glasses slid down his nose and making him look a lot older than sixteen. "You told me you've never been on a plane. Who says you're going to be trapped?" he asks quietly.

Emma looks away, towards the tree line on the other side of the field. It's going to start frosting at night soon, the evergreens are going to look pretty with the white tips. "What if Ingrid sends me away? And I age out of the system and I have… nothing? No one. Just me and some stupid waitressing job for the rest of my life."

"Emma." He sounds so serious that she can't help but look at him again. "Ingrid won't send you away. She loves you like her own child, you have to know that. And even if she did, I'd come find you. I wouldn't let you face it alone."

Her eyes widen. "Killian."

He grins, his teeth white in the moonlight. "What do you say, Swan? You and me against the world?"

He means it too, bastard, she thinks, unable to think of anything to say in response. He's right, she knows: Ingrid does love her and if Emma said she wanted to go to community college or even U of M, Ingrid would do everything she could to make sure Emma finished school.

Old habits, old ways of thinking, they're hard to drop.

Instead of answering, Emma scoots closer to him on the blanket and moves his arm away from his chest. She leans on his shoulder, tucking her body next to his, angling herself so she could see the stars. She can feel him hesitate before his arm wraps around her, holding her close. "Tell me about Orion," she says softly, the three stars of his belt catching her eye.

"Swan?"

"While we wait for more falling stars," she says. "Tell me about the ones that stay."

His voice is soft and she giggles when he forgets names and has to look them up on his phone, the light of his screen blinding them and making it harder to make out the smaller meteors. But he's a good storyteller. And he's warm.

And Emma starts to feel a little more at home.