a/n: this was for a writing meme thing on tumblr, the prompt being "two miserable people meeting at a wedding au"

hello, is it me you're looking for?

She slouched down as far as she could in her chair and started picking of the petals of the closest flower, throwing them on the table. She had already finished her champagne that they offered to the appetizer's (which had been pigs in blanket no matter what anyone else claimed; when Emma had said it, one the other ladies standing close by had laughed at her so hard she spilled some of her drink) and hadn't brought enough money to buy booze from the bar. Who the hell could afford those ridiculous prizes anyway? Unless money fell from your ass that is. So now she had to sit and wait oh so patiently for the main course to arrive along with the much awaited alcohol.

Time stood absolutely still.

If not for the fact that it was Emma's closest friend Ruby that got married, she wouldn't even be in this place. She hated weddings. There was the socializing that was required, because apparently it wasn't accepted to stand still in a corner, just drinking your champagne and ignoring everyone as best as you could. Then there were the ridiculously long speeches everyone held, the next one trying to bring more tears than the one before. Her own speech to Ruby and Victor had been the best inside joke they'd ever had (involving an unsuccessful band, two concerts and too much tequila) and were exactly two words long: rock on. Ruby and Victor had laughed until they cried but the rest of the guests had just stared at Emma like she were the biggest idiot to ever attend a wedding. Well, she had caught the smirk of one of Victor's friends she didn't know the name of, but she figured he was just being sympathetic. And anyway, all she cared about was that Ruby and Victor was happy, it was their day, not anyone else's.

But if the socializing and the speeches weren't enough, there were always at least three people looking at Emma with a head tilt and a careful smile, actually pitying her for not having a date. Come on people, it's the twentieth first century, she wanted to shout at them.

But she didn't. She knew some manners.

(And Emma didn't even think about how Ruby had beamed when her father had given her away, or the pain in her own chest as he did, watching what she'd never had and never would have.)

She stole another glance at her golden wrist watch and stifled a groan when she saw only five minutes had passed. She questioned her best friend's planning a bit – who the hell had all the speeches before even serving the main course? Or at least lots and lots of alcohol.

"Rum?" said a voice suddenly very close to her ear, and she jumped, hand over her chest. She turned her head and saw Victor's friend that had grinned at her speech, and now he was grinning again. "Sorry, lass. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Then don't be so chipper about it," she muttered, sinking back into her chair. Her brain suddenly traced back to what he'd said first, and she looked up at him again. "Did you say rum?"

He shook a small metal bottle in his hand. "Always carry a little with me."

"Rum is the solution to everything, isn't it?"

He laughed. "Just about." He started to leave toward the exit, and Emma was left frowning after him until he turned around. "Coming?"

Her eyebrows shot up but she followed nonetheless, since she weren't even allowed to drink what he had if the staff saw it.

When she caught up with him, he was already sitting on the floor of the cloakroom, back against the wall. He had tilted his head up as well to lean against the hard surface, and his eyes were closed.

He looked – haunted?

He lifted the flask to his lips and took a giant gulp; Emma watched as he swallowed as if in a trance, and she wondered if maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

"Any left for me?" she asked before she could regret it. She plopped down next to him and accepted the bottle, taking a small sip at first just to make sure it was rum.

"It's rum, I promise," he chuckled beside her as if he could read her mind.

She shrugged, and drank some more in the silence that followed. A couple of minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"I'm Killian." He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it.

"Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, and she had to hold back a shiver at the way he said her name; like a prayer, or the answer to a question he'd never asked but always wanted an answer to.

And then they talked. And laughed.

"So, why are you feeling sorry for yourself tonight?" she asked when they'd been silent for a while, and she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Thankfully, he smiled. It was one-sided, and not wholeheartedly, but it was better than nothing. "Can't stand weddings. And ever since the accident," he gestured by lifting his left arm that Emma hadn't noticed was being held up by some cloth – how had she not noticed? Talk about embarrassing. "I haven't exactly been in the mood for parties."

Emma stared at his arm. "What happened?" she whispered, unable to help herself.

There was a flicker of pain in his eyes before he managed to smile. "Water under the bridge."

She leaned forward a bit, glad the rum was in her system. "You know, Killian, I have this - well - some might call it a superpower. I can always tell when someone is lying, and that my dear rum drinking friend was a lie."

He frowned. "Aye." He ran his hand over his face. "But my story is a story not suited for something as cheerful as a wedding I'm afraid."

She nodded in agreement, and grinned. "Next time then."

He lit up, smirking. "Next time?"

She took a large gulp of the rum and handed him the flask again before getting up from the floor, not speaking. She left the room with a smile over her shoulder and only saw glimpses of him during the rest of the reception; she was relieved when she saw he seemed to have trouble hiding a smile too.

(When she came home a few hours later she laughed when she found a napkin in the pocket of her jacket with his number and name scribbled on it in neat writing. She laughed because she had done the exact same thing.)