Just a friendly reminder that while this isn't a sequel to With Affection (since it takes place from a different POV during the same time frame), I really, really, really, really, very much, highly suggest/insist you read WA first before this one. It changes a lot.

The alarm was an unwelcome sound, the most obnoxious ringtone the phone had to offer. Killian was an early riser by nature, almost never requiring anything besides his internal clock to rouse him whenever he planned to wake each and every morning. It was rare for him to sleep to the point where the alarm sounded. On workdays, the alarm was an emergency measure to ensure he wouldn't be late to the office, and on weekends, it was a never-used fail safe just in case he'd had too much to drink the evening before and slept the day away.

Never-used, that is, until today. Lack of sleep left him feeling foggy and congested, and the fact that it was nearly ten in the morning (a solid hour later than he ever preferred to sleep on a weekend) wasn't enough to rouse him entirely. Feeling sorry for himself, and justifying the action due to his sleepless night, he shut off his alarm and attempted to fall back asleep.

He wasn't sure how long he slept before his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are you free on the eleventh?" It was Graham.

"Um, I don't know. I'll check my calendar and get back to you."

"Wait, did you just wake up?"

"No."

"Shit, I'm sorry." The lie clearly didn't take. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a shit night; I'm not feeling terribly well. What's on the eleventh exactly?"

He could hear Graham turning red, if such a thing were possible. "Uh, well, there's a movie coming out that Merida's been looking forward to. Opens on the eleventh. She suggested that I invite you guys. She wants to meet you."

"Bloody hell, that's fantastic."

"Don't get too excited. Anyway, let me know if you can make it."

"Will do. Later, mate."

He was appalled at how late it was when he ended the call and finally looked at the clock on his phone. It was nearly noon; he hadn't slept so late in over a decade. And now he recalled why: he was absurdly groggy, and his head was pounding. Sleeping late made him feel quite shitty. He stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, fumbling blindly with the coffee maker until he recognized the sounds it made while producing coffee. In the meantime, a shower would be necessary to return him to the realm of the living.

As the water hit his chest, still a tad cold, he groaned, remembering just why he'd slept so poorly.

Swan.

Perhaps he should stop worrying so much and take her letter purely at face value: she was satisfied for now, just not forever. Of course. After all, this wasn't a forever-style arrangement, and he'd never intended it to be one. It was temporary, just until he could be sure of his feelings. How much longer would that take?

Best not to think about it.

His coffee, sweetened with a little too much half-and-half, helped clear his head, and he took stock of his flat. In his despondency over Swan's absence, he'd permitted himself some sloppiness, leaving out dishes and shucking some of his clothes in the living room instead of the hamper. He quickly straightened up, and as he did so, he realized that if he was going to get laundry done over the weekend, today was his best shot. Hopefully, enough people would still be traveling for the holiday, or hosting their families, leaving the laundry room free—or free enough that he could at least find one available machine. He quickly grabbed his laundry basket and detergent and kicked on his house slippers before making his way to the laundry room.

He pushed open the door to find the room entirely deserted, save for one person.

Swan.

And she was shaking her hips back and forth as she loaded a washer; even in sweatpants, her arse was lovely.

She turned around when she heard the door, and her face immediately flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry," she said quickly. "It's just, this room is never empty."

"That's true." He wasn't sure what else to say; his heart was pounding in his ears. A conversation, possibly? This was certainly the most she'd ever spoken to him. But as he carried his laundry to a free machine, he realized she was swiping her card in the machines and leaving.

"Actually, do you have a second?"

The words were out of his mouth before he'd had time to consider them. What was he doing? What was he planning to even say to her? Hello, love, it's me, your Captain, and I'm still not ready to move things off paper but I figured I'd ruin everything by introducing myself? Why hello, stranger, will you talk to me for a few minutes about nothing so I can bask in your presence? Please talk to me so I can gauge our in-person chemistry more accurately, with no ulterior motive whatsoever of course?

"Uh, sure."

He'd never felt so acutely aware of his tongue in his life. "This might be a little forward," he began. Was he really about to do this? "But I've seen you around the building, and I was wondering if you might want to go out sometime."

What on earth was wrong with this him weekend? First, he'd gone ahead and knocked on her bloody door, and now he was asking her on a date? It was what she'd wanted, to be fair. But he wasn't ready for any of this; what was wrong with him?

She was frowning, and he realized he hadn't introduced himself. A year of living in this building with her, and he'd been dying for the opportunity: introduce himself and learn her name. "I'm Killian, by the way." He reached out his hand. Introduce himself and ...

She took it. "Emma." … learn her name.

Emma. Finally. His Princess was Emma. Emma Swan.

He remembered that he'd introduced himself while in the midst of an entirely different conversation. "So, would you like to?" She gave him a blank stare, one that made it clear that she hadn't remembered what he had said before. "Go out sometime, that is. I'm free for drinks tonight if you're up for it."

So, there it was. He was asking Swan—Emma, her name was Emma—on an official, in person date.

He was not ready. But he was a man of honor. If she accepted his invitation, he would go. And he wouldn't deceive her either: the date would mean their written relationship would become a thing of the past. He'd have to reveal himself, ready or not. He held his breath.

"I …" She hesitated; his stomach dropped as he was convinced, for a moment, that she would accept. "I'm so sorry, but I'm actually seeing someone. But, uh, it's really nice to finally meet you."

Relief flooded him. "Well, no harm in asking." He smiled at her, hoping to reassure her that there needn't be any awkwardness between them. "And at least I've finally introduced myself after living here for the past year. See you around, Emma."

Emma.

"See you around." She left quickly—so much for alleviating any potential awkwardness.

Emma.

It wasn't until he returned to his flat that he realized a detail he'd missed, distracted by his relief that she'd declined his ill-conceived invitation. She'd said she was seeing someone.

Was she?

If she was, it was terribly bad form for her to be engaging in a sexually explicit written relationship with him at the same time. But then again, was what they really had a relationship?

Frustrated, he realized that it was nearly mid-afternoon, and Swan—Emma—was likely expecting a letter from him at some point. He hadn't received one from her, but she'd left the last one; it was his turn. He quickly typed out one and left it under the mat while she was pulling her laundry from the dryer.

Dearest Swan,

I hope that you slept well. I apologize for the lateness of this message, but I slept poorly last night. And to be honest with you, for I find I must always be honest with you, I fear that I've upset you, and I'm not sure what to say to make amends. I find it to be bad form to pretend that a conflict never occurred, and while I have no desire to pick at a fresh scab, so to speak, I really want to make sure you're okay. And, well, that we're okay.

Still yours,
Your Captain

Although it was late enough for him to consider dinner (and he should be considering it, given that he needed to decide whether or not to order food or make a trip to the supermarket), he flopped on the couch noisily and let out a shaky sigh. He was too concerned with just how foolish he'd been over the past twenty-four hours. Perhaps he hadn't truly realized just how much he missed Swan until she'd been gone for a couple days, and the loneliness had driven him mad.

But it was more than just his frustrations with his own behavior.

Swan had declined his invitation for drinks, which was fine. He hadn't been ready, after all. But she was seeing someone, she said.

And that stirred up feelings that he didn't realize he had, and that he couldn't quite put words to.

He'd thought, at first, that he was simply a little curious as to whether or not she was in a relationship while carrying on their correspondence. Perhaps she was hiding the letters from her significant other, or things were casual and she simply hadn't said anything to this other person. Maybe he was being unkind to Swan and a bit old-fashioned: it was entirely possible that she was in a relationship in which her partner knew of her exchanges with the strange secret admirer and simply didn't care. Was she being honest with him?

Not that she truly owed him that. Who was he, after all? He was a nameless, faceless entity who left letters (and sometimes DVDs or novels) by her door and refused to show himself. What claim did he have on her affections?

None. And that, he found, felt quite terrible.

The thought of her smiling at someone else's messages, or sending silly selfies to someone else, or getting off while thinking of someone else, was unbearable.

He selfishly wanted all of that to himself. He didn't feel this way—whatever "this way" was—about anyone else. That she might feel this way towards more than one person made him feel more insignificant than he could ever care to admit.

And the worst part was that he couldn't reveal that he knew this information without letting her know that he and the Captain were one and the same.

Perhaps it was time to end this … whatever it was. At least he'd fulfilled Jefferson's terms: he'd asked her out on a proper date. The dare was now over.

When he spotted the yellow paper under the mat on his way to grab his washed and dried clothing, his stomach sank. He missed when her letters made him feel better, not worse. But he was a gentleman; he would read her letter and go from there.

My dear Captain,

I won't lie to you either. I am feeling a bit weird since our discussion last night. But it's just something I need to deal with. I know you're not ready to meet, and I know that it'll definitely ruin it for me if we meet when you're not ready. I'll be okay—I promise. Knowing that you do want to meet eventually is enough right now. I just need to stop pouting.

I should tell you: someone asked me out today. Another tenant in the building. I told him no. And I want to tell you why I told him no.

I told him no because I felt like I'd be cheating on you. I know this might sound ridiculous, but this feels like a relationship to me, and I want to call it that. But I have no idea what you're feeling about this. I mean, I could guess, but I've been wrong before so …

Your Princess (she hopes)

Him. She was seeing him.

He couldn't stop the bubble of laughter that escaped him. She'd chosen him.

A relationship.

Is that what this was?

He sank back down on his couch. Was he in a relationship? But how had it happened? This whole time, he'd assumed that nothing could happen so long as they hadn't met in person. And yet, here he was, stewing for a couple hours at the thought of Swan being with anyone else.

Jealousy. He'd been jealous. That his girlfriend might have affections for another.

He wasted no time in writing his reply; Swan would not—could not—believe for one moment longer that she wasn't his. Or that he wasn't hers.

My Princess—yes, mine,

I feel the same way. I know what you mean; it is rather odd. But I have no intention of seeing anyone else romantically or sexually. I just want you, love. Thank you for being patient with me.

I would not have been upset had you agreed to go out with that other tenant. Well, it would be more accurate to say that I would have been upset with myself; your actions would have been completely understandable. But I cannot even begin to find the words to express how it feels to know that you chose me.

Yes, love. I do see this as a relationship, however unconventional a one it might be.

Absolutely, totally, very much yours,
Your Captain

He waited until he'd delivered the note to pour himself a finger of his favorite scotch. They were just getting started. He had time.

He'd get there.

I hope that the way this chapter ended makes up for the way the previous one did! I would love to hear your thoughts.