limerence
(n.) an involuntary state of mind which seems to result from a romantic attraction to another person combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one's feelings reciprocated.
Chapter 9: Limerence
Killian's gaze fixates on the ceiling, his eyes veiled in a distant reverie. He hasn't drawn the blinds entirely shut; he savors the subdued lamplight that sneaks through the crevices, conjuring delicate shadows on the walls. He would prefer to sit outside, but Swan is still sleeping on the couch, and he doesn't want to disturb her. Yet a suspicion lingers – a suspicion that she may not be asleep at all. She came to him in the middle of the night the day before yesterday, and she was still awake when he went to the bathroom yesterday. On both occasions, they talked almost until dawn, and Killian believes it's not a good thing at all.
Their nights are an inadvertent union, a shared secret, formed in the absence of a deliberate plan. Killian supposes that Swan, in rejecting Wendy's offer to lodge in her room, harbors a covert intention to cultivate these nocturnal symphonies of conversation. She's assured everyone that she doesn't want to take undue advantage of their hospitality, deeming the couch entirely suitable. In some measure, this is indeed the truth, but Killian intuits that it's these hushed conversations that ignite her the most, just as he has become enamored with them.
It's a perilous liaison, not merely because his fondness for Swan deepens with each exchange, but primarily because he unburdens himself, revealing facets of his soul he's never unveiled to another. In the daylight hours, they engage in playful banter, yet in the shadowy realms of the night, it's as though their spirits cast aside the veil of reticence.
Killian has bared his soul to Swan: the emotions that surge while crafting music, the captivating world of the theater, but also the simple pleasures – stargazing, meandering through sultry summer nights, and his early morning jogs whenever he musters the resolve to rise. He's confided in her his decision to forgo family life, for he believes that every woman deserves to be someone's foremost priority. Yet, for him, music has always held that preeminent place. He's convinced he would make an ineffectual husband and father, particularly as his own father failed to set a worthy example.
He grapples with the enigma of how Swan manages to elicit his innermost thoughts. Perhaps it's the artful nature of her questions, her rapt gaze filled with unfeigned curiosity or an alchemical blend of both. He disdains self-indulgence and sees little to deem himself captivating or enthralling. Yet Swan gazes at him, capturing his words with a spell as if no one else in the world possesses the same magnetic allure.
She has awakened in him the audacious idea of sharing his knowledge by teaching music. Though he may have relinquished his own musical career, the wisdom, and experience accrued over the years remain unscathed, a reservoir of knowledge that could enrich a music school or serve as a private tutor.
It's a strange metamorphosis: Killian now peers into the future with a less pessimistic gaze, having reconciled himself to the potential permanence of his estrangement from music. He's discovered that life teems with treasures far more profound than mere melodies, and, in this revelation, he attributes a debt to Swan. Their conversations have unveiled the tapestry of life, demonstrating that music, though irreplaceable, is but one thread in the vast weave. Swan's ceaseless quest for new experiences and novelties has fanned the flames of yearning within him – a desire to contribute more than surrender to the void that once engulfed his soul. She poignantly noted last night that emptiness, at its core, leaves room for the birth of new wonders.
Being with her serves as a double-edged sword, simultaneously electrifying and unnerving. Her nascent identity casts a spell, while her presence keeps him in a constant state of alertness. He yearns for her intensely, to the extent that there are moments when he feels powerless to restrain his impulses. More perplexing still is the notion that Swan likely shares in this desire, perhaps as ardently as he does. Their dynamic evokes the image of two tightrope walkers, balanced precariously on a slender strand, teetering on the brink of a fall.
A faint smile graces his lips. He once ventured into the world of a circus troupe, an anecdote he regaled Swan with last night. Her eyes widened in astonishment as she absorbed his tales, and she playfully declared that she could envision herself as part of the circus, even jesting about a future as a clown, believing it would be thoroughly amusing.
Killian's lack of surprise stems from her innate openness to exploring diverse vocations, and her eagerness to sample each facet of life. On the day before yesterday, when they found themselves alone after Wendy's departure, Swan demonstrated her utter unsuitability as a model. She paraded about the room, her visage devoid of expression. Just as Killian found himself captivated by her graceful and refined movements, she intentionally stumbled, executing a comical and dramatic fall. Laughter, a rare occurrence for Killian, erupted from deep within, usually leading to nothing more than a self-conscious and occasionally contrived half-smile. She gazed up in astonishment, then continued her meandering path with an unsteady gait, as though the fall had been a mere illusion.
Swan's infectious spirit, the very essence of her capricious playfulness, is irresistible. She's always primed for play, naturally inclined to embrace the role of the moment, regardless of its character. Killian, for these reasons, harbors concerns about Swan's restored memories. His earlier declarations have taken on a more pronounced conviction over the past few days, deepening his apprehension that the old Swan might struggle to harmonize with the new.
Last night, while Swan bathed, Killian confided in his brother, wondering if her memories might remain forever ensnared in the labyrinth of oblivion.
"To this day, the enigma of the brain remains largely unsolved. While it's possible, given the constant flickering images in her mind, I find it rather improbable."
Yes, Swan keeps remembering, but anything that surfaces in her thoughts is just as murky and tangled as what she recounted before.
"Brother... I think she will be deeply affected when she remembers."
Killian is uncertain why he shared this sentiment; perhaps he sought his brother's reassurance to dispel his own doubts.
"I understand. But if she's willing, we will aid her in making the transition easier."
"You know she won't allow it. You see what I do."
In response, his brother remained silent, which Killian interpreted as agreement, which confirmed that his concerns were not mere figments of his imagination. At times, Swan seems to momentarily dissociate from the present. Her features harden during these episodes, her gaze turns icy, and her entire demeanor becomes distant and elusive. Yet, with closer observation, one can discern the anguish in her eyes – a profound, vivid, dark, and bitter pain. It's a kind of pain that Killian is all too acquainted with.
Despite his reluctance, Killian increasingly contemplates Swan's true identity. No one has sought her, but this cannot continue indefinitely. If nothing else, she has a job, and her absence will inevitably raise concerns among her superiors – it's actually surprising that it hasn't already.
When this topic came up one evening, Liam suggested that Swan might be a schoolteacher. If that were the case, the winter break might not have been a universal starting point for the teaching term, which could explain why her absence has gone unnoticed.
Swan was enthusiastic about this notion. She relished the idea of being a teacher and, naturally, she had to immediately experiment with the role – leaving Killian unable to suppress his smile.
"You would make a sexy teacher; the students would find it hard not to be captivated," he quipped when Swan lifted his brother's glasses and regarded him sternly.
Yes, she was indeed very alluring.
"Killian, such impudent remarks are not tolerated in my classroom. Please surrender your grade book!"
"Do I also receive detention, miss?"
Even now, Killian can't help but chuckle at the stern glance Swan cast in response to that question.
"I believe a written reprimand won't suffice; a more severe punishment will be required," and Swan smiled as if harboring particularly mischievous thoughts. Killian genuinely regrets that the cheerful laughter of his brother and Wendy interrupted the moment.
Is Swan just as playful and daring in bed?
No, he shouldn't allow his mind to wander down that path again, unless he desires to push himself closer to the precipice of madness, a destination that seems to draw nearer with each passing day. Fortunately, they haven't remained at home all day yesterday or today. Had they done so, he might have long surrendered to the tempest of his desires. Yesterday, they paid a visit to Granny, and in the afternoon, Wendy's arrival kept the girls engaged in a photoshoot (though it was equally captivating for Killian, for Wendy outfitted Swan in ensembles and applied makeup in a way that made it impossible not to cast admiring glances in her direction). Today, they ventured into town on Liam's suggestion, thinking that familiar places might awaken Swan's lost memories. Despite the chill, Swan reveled in her wanderings, yet nothing succeeded in evoking her past recollections, not even the faintest hint of recognition.
Killian refrained from inquiring whether she felt disappointment, a decision he now deeply laments. What if she's weighed down by melancholy? What if her restless mind prevents her from slumbering as she grapples with the enigma of her own identity and the cruel mystery of her forgotten past? Swan may not be inclined towards self-torment, but the thought still nags at him. Perhaps he should check if she's asleep. If she is, he might return to his room, and if she's awake, he could lift her spirits by resuming their conversations.
No, it doesn't seem right, which is precisely why he hasn't stirred from his place. He's reluctant to extend their time together, hesitant to grant her deeper access to his world, unwilling... unwilling to mourn her absence when she inevitably returns to her own life because, sooner or later, that day will come. It's ludicrous – he once dreaded Swan becoming too attached to him due to him saving her, yet now he's afraid he'll be the one left suffering when she departs. How is it conceivable that she has managed to burrow so deeply beneath his skin in such a short span of time?
Hesitant, uncertain, and an almost inaudible tap interrupts Killian's train of thought.
"Yes," he responds in a muffled voice.
The doorknob turns, the door whispers open, and Swan cautiously peeks inside. Her tousled blonde locks frame her face in an endearing disarray, but she doesn't resemble someone roused from slumber. Instead, she exudes an air of someone who has endeavored to rest but has failed in their pursuit.
"Can I come in?"
"I'm not sure if that's a wise idea, Swan," Killian retorts, his voice husky. Yes, this is the problem. Whenever he finds himself alone with the lass, it becomes increasingly difficult to contain his desires – and now his own voice has betrayed him.
Swan chuckles, dismissing his words, and slips into the room. She closes the door behind her and approaches the bed situated against the wall. Gracefully, she kneels and sits on her heels.
"Swan…"
"Close your eyes, Killian," she interjects, softly resting her hand on his arm, preventing him from rising.
This simple touch sends Killian's blood racing at a dizzying pace, perhaps the reason why he abstains from asking questions; he simply complies and shuts his eyes. What could be her intentions? Maybe she's grown weary of their delicate dance, deciding to seize the reins. To be honest, he isn't sure if he can hold himself back to just a solitary kiss.
He listens to Swan's measured breaths, feeling her gaze upon his face. With each passing moment, he remains uncertain of what to expect, but no matter how intense the temptation, he refrains from parting his eyelids.
"It could be a song, a rhythm or a sound, a lonely voice or a sign all around."*
Killian's breath catches in his throat. Swan sings to him, her voice is soft with intermittent tremors, yet extraordinarily clear.
"The music's what we need, so we won't lose our lead, to make sure we succeed."
Despite having worked in numerous theaters and having heard many highly skilled actresses sing, he's never encountered a voice quite like hers.
"'Cause good and bad, just words they are, sometimes near, sometimes far. But a voice that's known, it remains, you'll feel secure in life's domains. The song's a place that maintains."
She was seemingly born to sing. Her voice is as ethereal as moonlight, and her rich tones are as comforting as the night itself. It's as if her voice embodies pure music.
"Music's what we crave, in its arms, our hearts we save. With enough heart, we won't give in, In the music of life, together we'll win."
After enduring months of silence and the weighty emptiness, Killian feels something stir within him for the first time. He's no longer afflicted by the excruciating void he once bore; something is awakening inside him. Excitement courses through his veins, and deep within the long-forgotten depths, indistinct yet resonating notes come alive.
"Among us, every soul unique, with habits different, what we seek. But when night falls and dreams ignite, till the dawn, we share the same light, in this unity, everything feels right."
He must see her; it's imperative that he watch her now. Killian cautiously props himself up, yearning to get closer, to capture every tiny nuance, every subtle quiver. He gently rests on his elbows, and Swan doesn't appear to notice.
"Some watch, while others speak, and helping those, they're never meek. In every soul, strength comes alive, but some have only an orphaned drive."
Her voice trembles again when she sings the word "orphaned," and a momentary flash of anguish crosses her countenance. Nevertheless, she continues singing, her eyes remaining shut.
"What's important is the diversity we contrive, it's in our hearts, the music helps us thrive…"
A hush of reverent silence blankets the room as Swan abruptly ceases her song. Perhaps the lyrics have slipped her mind or she believes she's sung enough, but Killian, in contrast, would willingly listen to her for eternity without growing tired.
She slowly opens her eyes, her gaze veiled by a gentle haze. Even in the muted twilight, the anxious lines etched across her face are apparent. Uncertain, she tentatively touches her lips as though to confirm that those exquisite sounds had truly emanated from her.
Killian yearns to offer words of solace, to express his gratitude, but he's still awash in Swan's voice, struggling to unearth his own.
"I don't know what this is; it just came to me," she shrugs with hesitation. "I promised to sing for you, and I did know the song you shared, but it didn't feel right. So, I thought that perhaps with this, I could still keep my prom - "
Killian's patience wears thin, unable to endure the sight of her lips in motion. Being in such close proximity to her has become unbearable.
In a decisive move, he closes the gap that separates them, bridging the distance that remains, and claims her lips as his own. The kiss is anything but tender or delicate; it's an impassioned and untamed act. His mouth clings to hers with a fervor as though he seeks redemption through it. He devours her lips with a hunger that sets his blood ablaze and sends his heart into a frenetic race.
It's perhaps in this heated moment that he realizes Swan's lips have remained motionless against his as if frozen in time. He contemplates pulling away, but a surge of frustration courses through him, a sense of primal wildness. Then, her hand finds its place at the nape of his neck, halting his hesitant retreat. This time, Killian's touch upon her lips is softer, caressing, and tender. Swan's lips still refuse to budge, as if surrendering entirely, savoring every nuanced sensation of his touch. Killian doesn't mind this, though when her lips finally stir with uncertainty, it feels as though the world itself might crumble.
Her bashful audacity tantalizes Killian's senses. He must summon all his restraint not to plunge into her once more. Swan explores his mouth as ardently as he did earlier, with soft and gentle caresses, akin to a gentle breeze of warmth.
As her tongue glides sensuously across his lips, Killian's composure disintegrates. He guides his hand to Swan's neck, gently drawing her closer. Without breaking the kiss, she willingly retreats under the blanket.
Killian gently guides her onto her back and deepens the kiss. Their tongues engage in an ardent dance, a wild and unyielding exploration, yet a tender touch still remains. He embarks on a journey of discovery, his hand tracing her neck, and collarbone, lightly grazing her breast before sliding down to her waist, pulling her closer. His rigid manhood presses against her, but he doesn't mind, for he wants Swan to feel the intensity of his desire.
Her delicate hand slips onto his chest, and she impatiently tugs at his hair, pulling him even closer, their bodies becoming one. Killian revels in Swan's equal eagerness. Neither can satiate their longing for the other, both consumed by the feeling of losing themselves in the depths of passion.
Within Killian, a wildfire of passion rages, desire demanding more and more. His hand moves, and when he finally caresses Swan's breast, feeling her hardened nipple against his skin, an involuntary groan escapes his lips—a sound heavy with dark and heated possession, met by her sigh of pure surrender.
Sensing that he must pull away, Killian gathers his resolve and breaks the kiss. He lacks the strength to withdraw his hand from Swan's breast, compelled to place a delicate kiss on the corner of her mouth.
She gasps for breath, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of their connection. Killian can't resist trailing his lips along the curves of her jaw and neck, inhaling deeply, savoring her unique and sensual scent, a fragrance that defies comparison. This scent is, quite simply, Swan herself.
Gently, he nuzzles his nose against her skin, then props himself up on his elbow. Swan's eyes remain closed, a contented smile gracing her lips. Killian tenderly squeezes her breast, the sensation excruciating, before slowly sliding his hand back to her waist.
She sighs and opens her eyes, her gaze heavy with desire, and beneath the surface, a simmering passion still lingers.
"What was that for?" she whispers with a trembling, fatigue-laden voice.
Killian's lips curl into a knowing smile.
"Because you sang to me. Because you're extraordinary. Because I needed to silence you, and, suddenly, it felt like the best course of action. And because I couldn't endure it any longer."
She grins widely, her fingers delicately find their way to his face, and her palm rests gently on his cheek. Her unwavering gaze upon him sends an exquisite shiver down his spine.
"If I had known that, I would have mustered the courage to sing earlier."
Killian's chuckle is a soft echo, bearing the lingering embers of passion within.
"It might be wiser if you returned to the living room now."
Yes, right at this moment, while he can still muster the strength to let go.
"Are you sure?" she teases him playfully, her thumb brushing against his lips.
Killian concedes, "I'm far from certain, but if I were to kiss you again, I doubt I'd have the willpower to stop."
Swan regards him thoughtfully, then nods ever so slightly. He is unsurprised; they both understand that she's not yet ready for more, even in the wake of her body's fervent response earlier. He doubts she is a virgin, not merely due to her age, but predominantly because of the way she kissed him. Regardless, it doesn't change the fact that she's uncertain about taking that step and requires time. Despite her uncertainty, she desires him as intensely as he desires her.
"Can I stay with you?"
"Well, if you wish to keep me awake all night, I'd be delighted."
"Because of this?" Swan inquires, her body subtly pressing against his undeniable arousal.
"Yes, my dear. Because of this," Killian groans, his eyes closing momentarily, before composing himself and gazing at Swan. "As long as you're here, it shall remain like this."
"In that case, I shall refrain from tormenting you," she giggles as she tries - and fails - to mimic his voice, but as her laughter fades, a deeper, more serious look overtakes her gaze. "Thank you, Killian."
This time, it is Killian who tenderly caresses Swan's lips, feeling their softness and sensuous allure. He lets out a sigh and slowly withdraws his hand. In the dimly painted hues of the night, he locks his gaze with her eyes, which appear smudged with a muted shade of blue. The faint, amber light from a distant streetlamp seeping in bathes her face in a warm glow. In this moment, neither of them stirs, neither flinches; there's something eerily familiar about it.
His eyes narrow as he delves deeper into Swan's gaze
Could it really be?
"What were you discussing with Granny while I was outside shoveling snow?" he blurts out, envisioning Granny gazing at Swan as if already acquainted.
Tiny creases form on her forehead.
"We talked about the little girl and her legend, as well as the painter who relocated here because of her. Granny mentioned they would occasionally share tea. She even showed me a brochure for an exhibition dedicated to the legend of the girl. Did you know that in the painting titled 'The Return,' the girl wears a red coat? It's not entirely clear, due to the falling snow, but the color stands out."
Killian's heart quickens its pace.
"According to Granny, you are that little girl, aren't you?"
"She didn't explicitly say so."
"And you..."
"I don't know," she whispers, a trace of sadness shadowing her face. "If I am... why would I come back now, Killian? Twenty-four years have passed. Why now?"
"Perhaps in celebration of your thirtieth birthday," he suggests tentatively, though darker thoughts swirl in his mind. He is haunted by images of Swan falling, and pain etching onto her face.
She bites her lip.
"I don't think so," she murmurs. "Have you met her? The little girl?"
"Yes."
"And... does she remind you of me?"
"Yes, though I hadn't seen her until now. I had long given up hope of ever finding her again. But your eyes... they aren't an exact match, but there's something in them that resonates with hers. Perhaps it's just my imagination; it was a long time ago, and I was just a child."
"Granny wasn't a child, and she saw the little girl too."
A weighty silence descends upon them, threatening to smother them. Killian can barely fathom that Swan might truly be the little girl—the one who bestowed the music. The girl he yearned to find with such fervor. Can this be real? Could fate truly be so benevolent?
"What if I returned because..."
"No," Killian shakes his head, unwilling to let her voice such a thought. She couldn't have come back with intentions to end her life here. No. "The lake is the only place you must have visited. We should go there tomorrow."
"I know," she concedes with a sense of resignation. "I knew it yesterday too; I'm just so afraid. If my memories return, and I did come back for... well, for that reason, then maybe my feelings will change."
"I'll be by your side, Swan. If you wish, I'll stay with you even when you remember."
"Promise me, Killian. Promise me that even if I release you from your promise, you won't leave me." she nibbles on her lip, looking up at him with uncertainty.
"I promise," he declares firmly, and as if to seal their pact, Swan's lips meet his. When she draws him closer, he doesn't resist. He kisses her until he's certain that all her dark and weighty thoughts are nowhere to be found.
*These lyrics are from a Hungarian musical called "It Happened in Europe" from 1947