Emma runs her finger down the strap of her messenger bag as she approaches door to Truman Hall, the student union. She can feel butterflies in her stomach and she's not sure why. It's just a boy. It's just hanging out.
Nothing will happen at a public radio station.
But what is this is a date? She's not dressed for anything to happen either – leggings, boots, and an oversized sweatshirt that her dorm was selling that has the university logo and her floor name (HILTON HOTTIES!). She wonders if she should have dressed nicer. Her mother would have at least told her to put on a pair of pants or a nicer shirt, but Ariel always wears something like this when she's hanging out with Eric, and Eric seems to like her well enough…
(She keeps thinking of the feel of his hand in her hair, the movement of his lips against hers, and her breath catches in her throat.)
Oh God, please let this not be a date. There is no way that she is mentally prepared for that.
Now or never, Emma tells herself as she walks through the doors of the student union, following the directions that Killian texted this morning. The radio station is located in the basement, but it takes some time to find the stairs that takes her there (Killian told her WOUT was tucked away but she's surprised it's this tucked away).
The stairs end at the radio station, where a large window allows her to peer into the dj booth. She can see Killian inside, head bobbing along to the music. She stops for a second and watches as he stacks CDs near turntables (who still uses them?), messing around with the computer, singing along to the music. Seeing him makes her feel lots of things at once, and when he turns around and catches her staring, she blushes and he smiles.
He points to his left, which is where the door must be so Emma heads towards it, finally stepping into the dim studio. She can hear the music that he was playing now, strumming guitars and a drum beat and some melancholy lyrics repeating 'hang it up now or never' over and over again. She doesn't know much about music, usually listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel is playing in the suite, and so all of this is new and exciting and terrifying all at once.
What if her taste in music is a turn-off? What if, in the end, he's only interested in the fact that she's royalty? The open window of the booth makes her nervous – what if this is a set up to take pictures? She's been lucky so far because they've kept her being here low-key, out of the press, and it's not like she's ever caused a scandal – save for Prince William's wedding, she hasn't exactly been in the spotlight (Princess Madeleine is still pissed at her for missing her wedding in Sweden last June but she's promised to make it up when the baby is born). Her mother has kept her appearances minimal, has fed the press stories of her interest in different universities abroad but not this once, in its small college town.
(Back home it was always the rich boys and sons of minor noble houses who wanted their name linked with hers in the papers, boys she avoided because she wants more than just to be loved because she is the Crown Princess, more than jewels and tiaras and land. She wants to be loved because of who she is than what title she will inherit, and she's sure there is no man in her kingdom who could ever see her as just Emma.)
It's a good thing that Killian is not from her kingdom, because Emma thinks he can see past the fancy titles and silliness and can see her. Or, at least, she hopes. Even if Emma may have generic taste in music and pretty much just listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel play in the suite. She does like Lorde a lot, though, so maybe he does too? Everyone likes Lorde, right?
"Lately Emma someone calls you on the telephone," Killian sings at her as she enters the dj booth, "you want to be by yourself and all alone…" He winks at her, and she can't stop blushing.
She is such a dork but she's never felt this way before, which is the only way she can justify this ridiculous behavior.
"You look lovely when you're embarrassed, princess," he tells her, hands moving to his headphones. "I just need to do a station announcement and I'll be right with you."
Emma nods, looking away from him bashfully. Her fingers turn to the cd shelves that line the walls, fingers tracing the spines. She doesn't know half of these bands, suddenly feels very self-aware in this small room which is clearly Killian's space (it even smells a bit like him, something spicy and faint which makes her heart pound in her chest)
She barely knows him but the connection she felt Saturday night was immediate and intense. Her parents fell in love at first sight, and while Emma's doesn't believe in that sort of nonsense, she is starting to come around to the idea that it's possible to meet someone and instantly feel a magnetic pull.
The music ends, his voice comes on, and she doesn't breathe, so scared the microphone will pick it up (because complaining about the Minster from Luxembourg smelling of cheese when she was five and having everyone hear it will be something she never lives down, not with her father at least).
"This is WOUT your university radio station, broadcasting from the basement of your student union. Comments, questions, and remonstrance's - as well as requests - are welcome; you know the drill. Next up is some alt-J, by request."
He clicks a button and pushes back from the microphone. Emma knows this song – it's Belle's ring tone (does she listen to WOUT? She'll have to ask.)
"So you came," he says, removing his headphones.
Emma nods her head, and Killian motions her closer.
"Welcome to WOUT. It's not that big, as you can see," he says, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. "Want a tour?"
He shows her the soundboard, the cd decks and the turntables, the extensive room with more cds and vinyl records, the computer that hooks up and places MP3s and digital files. "We stream live on the web too, so you can listen from wherever," he tells her with a smile. His hand is resting on her back (when did he put it there and how did she not notice? Is it because she wanted him to touch her and that it's so natural when he does, fingers brushing softly against her spine)and she can feel it through her sweatshirt, heat radiating through her, making her feel flushed.
Killian does things to her that both embarrass her and make her feel more alive than she's ever felt and when she looks up at him, catching him looking at her in return, she can tell the feeling is mutual. He clears his throat and looks away, removing his hand, and Emma takes a deep breath and a step back.
"How long have you worked here?" she asks, easing onto a nearby stool.
"Since I got here – met my roommate working here, met the drummer of our band…it's been good," he tells her. She cocks her head to the side and smiles, and he looks at her and smiles back.
"I'm really glad you came," Killian says.
"Me too." Emma lets out a small laugh, looking away from him. "Oh my god, I am easily the most awkward person ever."
"Is that so, your highness?" he teases, and she ducks her head down, hiding her face with her hair.
"I can't stop blushing around you," she responds with a groan. She hears him laugh, hears his chair roll closer. He brings his hands up to her hair, pushes it back behind her ears.
"I thought you're supposed to be a cool, confident hottie," he tells her and she looks up, realizing how ridiculously close their faces are. She doesn't mind it but it puts her in the difficult position of wanting to kiss him and not wanting to do it in front of that damned window.
"What?" she asks, startled by his words, and he laughs.
"Your sweatshirt says you're a hottie, so…" he trails off and she groans, rolling her eyes which makes him laugh. She likes it when he laughs – it's a nice sound.
"It's from my res hall." She shakes her head. "Was that some sort of attempt to cheer me up?"
"Possibly – and to show you that you're not the most awkward person in the room." Killian rolls his chair back, starts to fiddle with something on the computer. He keeps talking to her, not looking at her. "So I'm starting to think that two such awkward individuals such as ourselves should spend more time together being awkward, as we are probably not fit for anyone else's company."
His words send a jolt through Emma and suddenly she's not flushed and flustered, she's cold as ice, stomach dropping as his words sink in. She can barely response with, "Maybe," before her heart jumps to her throat in anticipation.
Killian spins his chair back around to her as a new song begins to play. "Dinner this Friday, then?" There is a faint grin on his lips.
Emma smiles nervously. "Like a date?"
"Nothing fancy – do you like Chinese food?"
Emma nods her head, and the grin on his face widens until he's looking like a total goof.
"Fantastic. Dinner it is."
She can't help but feel giddy at the prospect of a date with him. She doesn't know what it is but it just feels...amazing, being around him. She feels alive, she feels ridiculous, she feels happy, because for the first time in her life someone wants to be with Emma, not the princess.
"Killian, I – " a girl with short dark hair and violent red highlights enters the studio. She glances at Killian, then at Emma, and raises a perfect eyebrow. Her gaze makes Emma shift in her seat, makes her worry for a moment because Emma swears a flash of recognition crosses the other woman's face before it is gone, features carefully schooled to look intrigued but indifferent
"Regina, this is Emma," Killian says. "Emma, this is Regina. She's the general manager of the radio station."
Regina turns to face Emma, examining her from kohl-rimmed eyes. Regina looks incredibly fierce – black studded t-shirt, ratty jeans, high-heeled black boots, multiple piercings in her ear and one in her nose. She looks Emma up and down (she's feeling totally underdressed compared to this other girl) before extending her right hand.
"Nice to meet you," she says. Emma nods before Regina turns back to Killian.
"I need the spring programming schedule by Monday – can you do that?" she asks.
Killian nods. "Will do, darling," he says. "It will be in your inbox by Monday."
"Fabulous. I will send you the new hires list and you can fit them in. Robin's going to schedule training so make sure to forward the schedule to him as well. She looks over at Emma one final time and says, "Nice to meet you, Emma," before leaving the room.
There is silence in the room as the track ends and another begins, and Emma shifts on the stool, re-crossing her legs.
"She seems nice," Emma offers, and Killian laughs.
"She's fine," he tells her. "Better GM than others we've had, so I'm not complaining.
Emma smiles, settles back onto the stool as Killian looks back towards the stack of cds on the counter.
"So play me your favorite tracks," she asks, enjoying how his eyes light up.
"You are in for a lovely afternoon, princess," he promises, and Emma finds that when he calls her 'princess', she actually likes it.
…
Killian returns home late from band practice, exhausted already at the prospect of 8am class tomorrow but with adrenalin coursing through his veins. He walks to the fridge, grabs a beer, and heads to his room, trying to ignore the sound of Robin's extracurricular activities coming from across the hall. He checks his phone, checks his email, checks his Facebook, tries to figure out how to wind down. The band is physically tiring but he's mentally awake thinking of new song lyrics and of Emma. Since Saturday, Emma has been on his mind constantly.
His thoughts drift back to earlier that evening, walking Emma to the stairwell. The way that she told him that she'd have to walk up alone or else someone might see, and so he kissed her there, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close against him.
He wants to write songs about her beauty, the way that her hair catches the harsh track lighting in the studio and glows gold, the perfect angles of her face and the taste of her lips. He wants to write symphonies about the way that her eyes look at him like she understands everything that he is, bruised and broken. When she is with him, he feels whole for the first time in forever.
But she is a princess, and even if he doesn't care about her title or crown, it is impossible to ignore.
"Did she show up?"
Killian looks up from his laptop, then looks away, holding up an arm to block the view. "I'm glad you're wearing something, mate, but still."
Robin laughs, crossing the room and flopping onto Killian's bed in just his boxers. "Did she show up? Inquiring minds want to know."
"She did," Killian says, spinning his chair to face Robin. "We have a date on Friday."
"Good for you," Robin tells him. "I'm proud of you – you're usually the one night stand type of guy."
"I think you're mistaking me with you," Killian points out.
"Probably," a familiar voice says, and Killian glances up to see Regina, wearing one of Robin's plaid shirts, leaning against the doorway. "So Robin said you were head-over-heels for some girl?"
Killian raises his eyes. He wasn't expecting the girl that Robin had over to be Regina, but then again he only knows Regina through WOUT and while she's technically their boss (as much as student volunteers can have bosses), she's been a fair one. And, whenever there were station functions, Regina was actually fun to hang out with. Still - Robin is all plaid flannel and forestry classes; he listens to Mumford and Sons, for god's sake, and the Kings of Leon are on constant repeat whenever a new album comes out. Regina is all black eyeliner and hard edges, her taste in music obscure and complex, her show shifting from deep cuts of electronica to post-rock and the occasional Sub Pop band (probably added for the sake of irony, he thinks).
He checks to make sure his mouth isn't totally agape.
"Very much so," Robin confirms, and Regina smiles slowly.
"The one you were with in the studio today? Did you forget we have a security camera in there?"
"That no one knows how to operate and is only used when we think someone is stealing from us?" Killian points out, feeling bad that he totally forgot about the camera (what would Emma think? He wonders. She'd probably be upset. He would, if he was royalty and was being filmed secretly). "And don't they just record over the tape every seventy-two hours anyway?"
"Details, details," Regina says with a shrug. "But I guess if your girlfriend's royalty…"
"Excuse me?" Killian asks.
"You know she's a princess, right?" Regina asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"She's not my girlfriend," Killian protests just as Robin smacks the back of Killian's chair and yells, "Princess?!"
"Crown Princess, if People Magazine was right." Regina looks at Killian. Her eyes narrow, and she nods. "Of course you knew. Are you from her kingdom? I bet you are – you're certainly not from around here. Shit, Killian."
"And how do you know this?" Killian asks Regina, as Robin curses under his breath.
"Just because I seem like a callous bitch doesn't mean I don't have layers," Regina says with a smirk. "I read the Royal Wedding issues of People AND Time Magazine cover to cover. Your girlfriend was there hanging out with the other Crown Princes and Princesses."
"And why are you reading about royal weddings?" Killian asks while Robin lets out a deep chuckle
Regina cocks her head to the side. "Because I do, and that's all you need to know. Besides, that Kate Middleton may dress like a soccer mom but you have to admire a McQueen by Sarah Burton wedding dress – even if I'm not sure I agree with all of her sartorial choices with the label these days."
Behind him, Robin stands up, wraps his arms around Regina's waist, and pulls her towards him.
"That was actually really sexy," he tells her, "the way that you totally owned him," and Killian groans.
"Get out, you idiots," Killian says, "and close the door behind you."
"Last I checked, you hated all royalty – especially from there." Killian risks a glance up at Robin, looking away when he sees Regina sucking on his neck. He concentrates on the laptop screen.
"I hate the politics, not the royalty. It's a constitutional monarchy so it's the governing body that's corrupt and deplorable, not the Queen and not her daughter."
Robin chuckles again. "I'm not one to judge, mate – but does she know how you feel?"
Regina adds, "Does she even know you're from the same place?"
When Killian stays silent, Robin shakes his head and Regina mumbles, "lovesick puppy" under her breath. Robin grabs Killian's doorknob and pulls the door shut behind them, leaving Killian alone to his thoughts.
They're right: Emma doesn't know that he's from there. Looking back, at no point did he ever tell her that he was from the same country, nor did she ever tell him where she was from. Maybe she assumes he Googled her name? He hasn't, in any case, because he doesn't need to – he knows everything all too well. Queen Mary-Margaret, Prince Consort David, and Crown Princess Emma. He remembers when King Leopold died and when his daughter assumed the throne – he was maybe seven, remembers waving flags in the streets, being carried on Liam's shoulders, while the royal family drove by in their motorcade. Emma was five then, he guesses, just a child overwhelmed by the splendor of the day.
The day still stands out to him not because of the royal family but because it was a day off from school and he was in the care of his brother Liam, seven years older, already planning a career in the military. Liam took him to the docks to watch the royal family on their barge, took him to watch the fireworks, took him everywhere. It was one of the few times that Killian had Liam all to himself, when his brother didn't have work or family obligations.
It was one of the happiest days of Killian's life.
Emma doesn't know the contempt he has for the government – the things he knows, what he has inadvertently done in pursuit of justice for his brother. He's not sure that Emma has much knowledge about the inner workings of the government, or any concept of the lives ruined by the majority leader of Parliament, Rumpel Cassidy, or "Mr. Gold" as the soldiers called him for his ability to silence all those who dissented against his party, usually by way of a cash bribe.
Or in some cases, the wrong end of a gun.
For the first time in a long time he thinks of Milah, her lifeless eyes, and he shudders.
He needs to tell Emma because the longer he doesn't, the more it will weigh on his heart and mind that he is keeping a secret from her and he doesn't know much about relationships but he knows that hiding the truth isn't a good way to start one. But telling her everything about himself… he doesn't know how. How can he tell her about all that he has done – all that has led him here? He doesn't want to lie, but his past is a shadow over the new life he made for himself here.
Killian refreshes Facebook. At the very least, he may as well tell her they're from the same country. It's not that big, but it wouldn't be a lie.
He'll figure it out by Friday, he thinks, taking another swig from his beer. He'll have to. He needs to.
He takes another drink.
…
Emma glances at the clock in Lieutenant Humbert's– no, here she calls him Graham - room. Its quarter to four, and her daily check-in with security is almost done. Lieut - Graham (it's still so strange to call him by his first name),is at his desk, filling out the report, which she assumes will be emailed to Leroy and then on to her mother. It's a tedious task, these daily check-ins, but if it keeps her mother off her back then Emma is all for it.
"Do you wish you had a bigger room?" she asks Graham and he shrugs.
"It's bigger than the one I had at the barracks," he says. "Any evening plans?"
Emma sighs. "Dinner near campus with a friend from class at seven. I'm meeting them at the clock tower and we'll walk together." This is what she told her roommates about her date, and it's the easiest way to make sure that neither Leroy nor Graham will follow her to check on her.
Graham raises an eyebrow. "Curfew?"
"Eleven."
"You're going to be at dinner until eleven?" Graham asks.
"You know us girls and how chatty we can get," Emma says with a smile. Graham shakes his head, but she can see the small grin on his face (he's such a softy).
"Do I need to ask more details about the classmate in question?" he asks her, but she just smiles wider.
"Oh, you know me. I am the least likely out of all my roommates to get into trouble. I'm a good little princess who doesn't want to cause any problems," she tells him and it's the truth: none of the other girls have the fear of cameras or the fear of their mother's disapproval to keep them from being reckless. If Emma is reckless, it will end up on the news, she knows it.
Plus, Leroy is always super-grumpy and his lectures on responsibility were tedious to endure and Emma will do anything to avoid that.
"What about Belle?" Graham points out.
"Overdue book fees." Emma winks at him, and he smiles.
"All right, then, your highness. I trust that you will text me when you return to your quarters this evening."
Emma mock-salutes him. "Yes sir," she says, as she heads out the door and upstairs to her room.
She's got three hours to kill until her date with Killian, and her only plan is to try on every outfit in her closet to find the right one – one that says "I'm into you" and "I want to make out with your face" while still being respectable.
She's never done this before – never gone on a casual date, is used to wearing modest dresses or formal gowns, and even though her wardrobe here is less formal than her wardrobe at home, she's struggling to determine what would look cute. As a result, it takes a significant amount of time, and some help from Belle, who she discreetly tells about her date with the promise that she won't tell Graham (Belle sincerely crosses her heart before helping Emma braid her hair back from her face, which is a sweet gesture and incredibly cute).
"You look lovely," Belle tells her, smiling shyly, and Emma grins.
"But not too much, right?" she asks, looking down at her clothes. They kept it simple but cute for dinner at a Chinese restaurant – chambray shirt, dark green skinny jeans, brown riding boots. Emma wraps a patterned scarf from her mother around her neck, checks herself in the mirror.
"No – it's just dinner, after all," Belle points out. "And it's just Jade Garden, so it's not that fancy. I mean, they let you use your meal card there."
"So what would be fancy?" Emma asks. Belle shrugs.
"Somewhere downtown and not near campus – that sushi place? Or maybe the new gastropub? Anywhere they don't take meal cards."
"True," Emma says. She checks her makeup one last time before glancing at the clock. Fifteen minutes until seven. There are butterflies in her stomach at the thought.
"If you're not back at eleven…" Belle asks, because she knows about Emma's curfew. Emma shrugs.
"I'll tell Graham we're getting coffee too. I'll be home by twelve," she says. "Thanks for your help." She hugs Belle.
"It was a pleasure, your – Emma," Belle says.
Emma grabs her purse. "Wish me luck!"
Her heart hammers the entire walk to the clock tower, her thoughts on her date with Killian. They've been texting rather frequently in the past few days and she's gotten to the point where a new text from him makes her super freaking excited. As a result, the anticipation has been slowly building to the point where, when she sees him waiting in a dark blue button-down and a pair of jeans, she can't help but grin like an idiot.
"Hey," she says, and she extends her arms almost automatically, letting him hug her. She's surprised to notice that there is nothing weird about the fact that this is their first official date. But then again she's already kissed him three times and there's something between them that makes intimacy not so startling.
Also, he smells really freaking good.
"You look amazing, princess," he tells her, letting go of her and scratching the bad of his neck with his hand (a nervous tic, she decides, maybe he's as nervous as she is), and she responds, "you don't look so bad yourself."
"Well," Killian says, running his hand through his hair, "Ready to get some Chinese?"
Emma smiles. "That sounds fantastic."
And as they walk towards the main street, where all the restaurants near campus are located, she slips her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his palm pressed against her own, enjoying the way that it felt to be near him. She's never felt like this before, and every new and novel sensation is exciting to her.
She never wants this feeling to go away.
She squeezes his hand, thrilled when he squeezes back.