Another Saturday night in my room. I'm trying to bully my brain into writing a paper but my thoughts keep straying. David is having another party, probably right this second, and maybe I want to go. But, annoyingly, it's not because I want to see David or Mary Margaret.

I drag my cell across my desk, thumbing the home button and bringing up my contacts. I scroll through the relatively short list and stop, finger hovering over Killian Jones.

I'm not gonna call him. I'm not. Just cuz he was kind of sweet a few times doesn't mean I'm calling him.

Are u gonna need more calc help this week? -Emma

Well I didn't call him. Bzzzz

Can't wait to see me again, love?

I can practically hear his self satisfied smirk.

I'm just trying to plan my tutoring schedules for the week.

Bzzzz

Sure, love, you tell yourself that. But yes, does Wednesday at 7 work for you?

Yup, I'll see you then

Bzzzz. I'm embarrassed at how quickly i opened the message.

I look forward to it.

Okay, there, you talked to him, Emma, now get back to work.

I stare at my half written essay, absently tapping my phone's screen. This essay isn't even due for two more weeks. I could still go to the party. it's only 9:30. Standing up uncertainly, I toy with my phone, flipping it over and over in my hand, debating.

Are you at David's thing?

I move to my closet, rifling through clothes until I feel the buzz of his reply.

I'm not. I'm actually taking a leaf out of your book and doing homework. Calculus is a bit much for me.

I sink onto my bed, my plans of going out vanishing. I keep things light even though I'm a little bummed.

On a Saturday night?

Bzzzz

Don't be too shocked, Swan, I do occasionally do work. I'm just about done though. They're probably all wrong.

Send it to me, I'll check them.

I stare at my phone, waiting for his reply. It doesn't come. I huff, refusing to wait around for Killian Jones. I pick up the latest addition to my cheesy romance novel obsession; one that dates back to my early teen years. This current one is about a pirate and a princess.

Maybe 20 minutes later my phone buzzes again.

Come let me in. I'm outside.

Quickly, I throw on a zip up hoodie and smooth my hair in the mirror. Then i get angry for caring what i look like around Killian at all and storm out, guessing he'll be at the stairwell closest to my room.

He slips his phone in his pocket and smiles as I open the door.

"What are you doing here?"

Killian starts climbing the stairs, looking back at me, "you said you'd check my homework."

"I meant- you could have just sent a picture," I laugh, following behind him. Fine I'll admit it, I check out his ass. What can I say, his library note got me wondering. And he can fill out a pair of jeans nicely.

"i was in the neighborhood. Level three, was it, love?" He hesitates on the landing.

I nod, brushing past him to lead him down to my room. Only after I pass an open door, do I think about what having him here looks like. Bringing the biggest player on campus to my dorm room? There'll be talk if anyone sees him. I hurry him down the hall and close the door.

He raises an eyebrow, looking between me and the door, but doesn't say anything, just shrugs out of his leather jacket. He pushes the sleeves of his (black) sweater up to his elbows. Doesn't he ever wear another color? Dropping onto my futon, he digs through his bag, presenting me with his calc book, a notebook stuffed somewhere in the middle. "There you are. Be gentle, I didn't have you to help me through it." He grins playfully as i take the book from him.

Milah

That's what the tattoo says that I saw before on his arm. Now I see it extends up the inside of his forearm; a heart with the name inside it.

"Who's Milah?" I ask, nodding at his arm as i sit at the desk next to the futon, "that tattoo?"

His smile drops, his features closed off, as he shakes his sleeve down his arm. He won't meet my eyes. "Someone from long ago." All teasing and fun gone from his voice.

I can't help asking, "where is she?"

"She's gone," he taps the calc book. Now who's avoiding? But I don't push him.

Instead, I open his book and scan the problems. "really it's not too bad. Only these last six are wrong." He angles his body toward the desk and I walk him through two of the problems. "See, easy. Now try the next couple."

He pulls the book closer to him, hunching over the paper with a slight furrow to his brow. I lean back in my chair, studying him. He is cute when he's not being all smug and arrogant.

"Thank you, for helping me. I know it's Saturday night and you could have had other plans in mind." He smiles at me across his work.

I look down at my yoga pants and sweatshirt and back at him, "oh yeah, I'm forgoing lots of hot dates tonight for you."

He gives a small chuckle. "Well you do look ravishing."

Which makes heat creep up the back of my neck. Stupid. He ducks his head down to his work again. To keep myself from feeling embarrassed, I say the first thing that pops in my head. "I think I've got my old calc notes if you wanna read through them. Maybe they'd help you. Let me just go look."

It takes me a while to sort through my drawer of old class stuff. I dump old binders on my bed and eventually I find the red notebook with calculus scrawled across the cover. "here we are," I turn, holding it up for him to see and find him standing right next to me, my pirate novel in his hand.

He gives me a sly grin, one eyebrow raised, and gestures the book at me. "Romance novels? Now this is surprising. I didn't think you ever did anything for fun, let alone read books about," he turns the book over, reading the summary, "'a devilishly handsome pirate' and a 'lonely princess embarking on a forbidden romance for the ages'. You don't seem the type."

"And what," I snatch the book from him, face hot, stowing it on my bookcase, "is the type?"

"Usually middle aged women with unsatisfactory love lives or hopeless romantics. So which are you?" He waves a hand dismissively, "Obviously excluding the middle aged part."

My love life is unsatisfactory but I'm not about to tell him that. "Neither."

He hums a skeptical note in the back of his throat, "have you ever even been in love? "

My mind flashes back five years ago to a little apartment in Tallahassee. But that is not something I talk about with anyone, least of all a guy I've only known for a week. "No," I lie, "I have never been in love."

"Shame," he takes the calculus notebook from me, nodding his thanks. He sits on the futon again, tucking my notebook into his satchel.

"And you have? Been in love, I mean."

Another brow raised in my direction, "who do you think Milah was to me?" Right. People don't just get tattoos of people's names in hearts for no reason.

Was? All of a sudden I can see him as plainly as he sees me. "She died. She died and it hurt you beyond belief. That's why you jump from girl to girl. To dull the ache."

He gives me a surprised look that quickly turns hard. "For someone who's never been in love you're quite perceptive, aren't you?"

"Maybe i was in love. Once."

His face softens. "Yes, she died. I don't talk about it."

He and I do share some traits, just as he said. Like recognizes like. Seems we both run and put up walls and pretend everything is okay. I remember his words in the library 'I also know what it's like to have no one to talk to.' Does he not like to talk about it or does he have no one he can talk about it with?

"Do you," I start hesitantly, "do you want to talk about it? About her?" His answering look is somehow anxious and hopeful, like no one's ever asked him that before and he's not sure if he wants to answer.

As he's opening his mouth to reply, a soft knock on the door draws my attention. Again I worry about what it looks like, having him in my room late on a Saturday night. "Just stay there, don't move please," I whisper. His brows knit, confused. I open the door and then quickly pull it closed next to my body, enough to see who's there but angled enough to hide Killian. "Hi Abigail, what's up?"

Her eyes wander past me, I guess I'm being a bit obvious. "The shower on the far right stopped working again. Just wanted you to know."

"Okay thanks," my voice is too cheery. "I'll let maintenance know."

"You okay, Emma?"

"Yup! Just doing homework, you know me, always working."

She gives me an odd look, "alriiight. Well good night, Emma."

"Night, Abigail." I practically slam the door in her face.

Killian is standing up, watching me. "You didn't want her to know I'm here." A statement. "Are you ashamed to be seen around me?" Anger colors his words but he keeps his voice quiet. Somehow that makes it worse.

"It's just that we're in my room, at night, alone, and you're, you know, you. It looks... I mean, you have a..." I trail off, uncomfortable.

A look of hurt crosses his features before he sets his jaw angrily, steel in his eyes. "A reputation?" He finishes, jaw clenched tightly. "Of course. How dare i come here and tarnish your image. I should have considered that before coming over." He turns to the desk, shoving papers into his book. "I just thought that you," he shoves the book into his bag, "I thought we could be...," he violently tugs on his leather jacket. Finally he faces me, drawing in a deep breath. "Never mind. I guess I was wrong. I'll see myself out."

He seems so disgusted with me, I can't stand it. "You'd do the same, if things were reversed," I retaliate, trying to level the field.

"No, actually I wouldn't" He slings his satchel over his shoulder, marching to the door. Pausing, one hand on the knob, he speaks vehemently to the door, "don't worry, I won't let anyone see me leave."

"Wait, Killian, that's not-"

But he's gone, pulling the door shut behind him sharply.

I feel terrible. How could i have said that? How could I have done that? Was it really such a big deal to have him here? It's not like Abigail caught us having sex. We were just doing homework, having fun. Being friends.

'i thought we could be...'

Friends.

And I realize, I do want to be friends with him. Me, who makes excuses not to go to parties, who doesn't even see my own brother regularly, who only has three friends in the world. I want Killian Jones as a friend. We understand each other.

Ugh, the guilt caves in on me. I leap across the room and pull the door open, intent on finding him. When I don't see him in the hall, I rush to the stairwell. No sound of footsteps. I take the steps two at a time, barreling into the door at the bottom.

"Killian," I call out after I open it. "Killian, come back. I'm sorry."

But he's gone again. I scan the empty courtyard, crestfallen.

I trudge back upstairs slowly, suddenly very weary, and crawl into bed.

I'll fix this.