#I only realised this because someone referred to running up that hill as RUTH

[morganee]

WAIT A FUCKING SECOND

Nancy chose Ruth as her fake name to go to Pennhurst. Ruth is literally the acronym of Running Up That Hill.

am I the last to realise this or

[donteattheappleshook]

AU Prompt: Emma pushed Killian away when he confessed his feelings to her. He’s finally returned home, a bit broken by the world. Will she finally have the guts to tell him what she always regretted not saying? (Can be smutty or not)

Sorry this took a few weeks but here it is! Thank you for my first ever prompt! I don’t know if this is what you wanted but this is what it turned into... nearly 10000 words of friends to lovers angst.

You can read it on Ao3

Send me your prompts!

Emma met Killian Jones when she was seventeen years old and she hadn’t liked him one bit. From the moment he’d first said hello to her she’d read him as a cocky, smooth talking broody type who probably liked to win over girls with his accent and his Edward Cullen like aloofness. She had not been a fan. She’d let him know too, on multiple occasions. 

She’d spent most of her time avoiding him for the first month of the semester and she was doing a pretty good job of it actually. That is, until she got detention. For being late. How unfair was that? It wasn’t her fault that Ruth’s car wouldn’t start in the morning and so she and David had had to walk to school. David got away with it, he always did. He was sweet and friendly and he could charm teachers like it was nobody’s business. 

Emma had scowled and defended her innocence and had ended up with detention. She loved the guy, really. Ever since he and Ruth had taken her in a year ago she was nothing but grateful for their kindness and love. She’d even started referring to him as her brother. She just hated how much better he was at being a person than she was sometimes. 

That was the second time she met Killian Jones. She was shocked to find him there. Despite her first impression she had managed to discover that he was, at his core, a nerd. He may dress like the love interest in a teen movie but he spent most of his time in the library or sitting under trees reading or doing homework. He even wore glasses sometimes, these big, awful square things that took over half his face. So what was he doing in detention?

“Afternoon, Swan,” he said when she walked in. He was immediately shushed by the teacher who had gotten the unfortunate role of supervising them. “I’m just being friendly,” she heard him mutter under his breath. 

They were the only two in there today. They had to stay for an hour after school. She guessed the punishment for being late to class was being late to dinner. They were told to sit silently and to either do homework or read. Emma figured she might as well try to get through some of her English homework. She was crap at it and it was the one subject that David couldn’t help her with. She’d rather do it here then at home. 

She started working through the questions for Act 1. Why the hell did they still study Shakespeare? The guy was dead four hundred years now. Give it up already - let him rest in peace. She was working on the third question - guessing the answer to the third question was more like it - when she heard a small cough beside her. She looked up to find Killian leaning over in his seat, his own homework in front of him.

“That’s the wrong answer,” he said quietly and she raised a brow at him.

“What?”

“Your answer, Mercutio isn’t Romeo’s cousin. Benvolio is. Mercutio is just his friend.” Her eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t being condescending or self-righteous. He was just… letting her know. Trying to help her, she realised. He looked nervous as he glanced at her and then back at his book. 

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I’m in your English class,” he said, looking down, ears turning red. Right. And she was a jerk. She felt bad, he looked a little dejected and it was her fault. She hadn’t seen him hanging around with many people, he was usually alone. Like her. She wondered then, a bit sadly, if maybe he wasn’t alone because he wanted to be. Maybe he was alone because he didn’t have anyone - like her. 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile and he gave her a small one in return. “Um, do you know who the hell Tybalt is?” 

His smile widened and he nodded as he leaned over to help her. The teacher told them to knock it off but he insisted that they were trying to help each other complete the same homework. He even argued that it was more character building than just sitting in silence. He was damn lucky that he seemed to have some of that same charm that David had when it came to teachers. The teacher waved them away, letting them continue to work together. 

She finished her homework a lot faster than she would have without him. And she understood the story a little better than she had coming in to detention. She was reminded then that that was where they were and as she looked at Killian, with his red ears and his shy smile and hunched shoulders and his dumb glasses, she had to ask. 

“What did you do to get in here?” His smile faltered just a tad. He scratched behind his ear nervously. 

“I, um, I punched Eric.”

“You what?” she demanded, loud enough that the teacher glared. Of all the things she’d expected - that was not one of them. 

“He was picking on Belle. He threw her book in the snow and made fun of her for liking to read - I mean, who the hell makes fun of someone for reading?” 

Emma felt her lips curling up a bit at his incredulous tone. “What, is Belle your girlfriend or something,” she teased. He frowned at her, looking confused.

“No,” he said. “She’s with that strange Scottish exchange student who’s name I can’t pronounce. But she’s a person and she’s sweet and Eric is an asshole and well, Belle is only about yea big,” he said, bringing his thumb and index finger close together. “I couldn’t do nothing,” he insisted. Emma laughed. 

Two things changed that day. One, Emma understood Shakespeare for the first (and last) time in her life. And two, she decided to make Killian Jones her friend. 

They were inseparable after that. At school  they spent almost all of their time together. In class they sat next to each other, they chatted in the halls between bells, they ate lunch together, and Killian ate dinner at their house regularly. Emma learned fairly quickly that his own home wasn’t a place he liked to be when he could avoid it. 

His mother had died when he was young and his father had raised him and his brother for a few years but finally decided that he couldn’t handle raising his sons on his own so when Killian’s brother went off to university, he had sent him to live with his aunt Cora in Boston. She was, in Killian’s own words, not a very nice woman. 

It was then that Emma realised how similar she and Killian were. They’d both been abandoned and left behind by the people who were supposed to care about them more than anyone. His father had sent him away. Her parents had abandoned her by the side of the road. Both their parents had chosen to give them up. And so she invited him for dinner, because Ruth and David were the best thing that had ever happened to her and she thought he could use a little bit of the Nolans in his life. 

He and David got along like a house on fire. She was surprised considering how David was such a jock, and Killian revealed dorkier and dorkier interests with every day that she knew him. But they were similar, she could see that, in their friendliness and openness and their humor. Killian told her that David reminded him of his brother and that made him miss him less. 

David also quickly became the bane of her existence, insisting that she and Killian were secretly in love with each other and getting on her case to just admit it already so that they could get married and have lots of babies like they both clearly wanted. Emma usually punched him for that. 

She and Killian were friends. That was all. She’d had few real friends in her life and she wasn’t going to screw this one up by developing feelings for him. No matter how cute he looked when his hair fell onto his forehead despite his best efforts to push it back. No matter how much he made her laugh or how much she enjoyed when they watched a movie late on the weekend and he let her fall asleep with her head in his lap. No matter how she thought he looked kind of hot when he got mad every time she beat him at Scrabble - which was all the time. They were friends. 

Emma had tried love once. She was sixteen, just when Ruth and David had first taken her in. There had been a guy. He had been in one of her group homes a while back, before he aged out and they had stayed in touch. They’d reunited when they found themselves both in the same city. 

He was older but she didn’t think that mattered. What was five years when they’d lived so many of the same experiences? Ruth hadn’t approved of the situation but she’d stayed mostly quiet about it - their relationship not strong enough for her to impose her views yet. 

She’d thought Neal was the love of her life. But then, she’d had a pregnancy scare and he’d run away faster than a bat outta hell. She’d never heard from him since. She hadn’t been pregnant, thank god. She was not ready to be a mother. But to see how little she meant to him, how despite all his pretty words and promises he had left her so easily the second he was faced with her being in his life forever… it had hurt. It had destroyed her, really. So she figured love wasn’t really worth it in the end. 

She’d met Killian less than a year later and at first she’d hated him because that easy charisma and confidence and air of a damaged soul had reminded her so strongly of Neal that she’d headed for the hills. But after she’d gotten to know him she realised how different they were, and so she did love him - not in that way, maybe in that way- but in the way she loved David. She trusted him and liked being around him. 

He was her friend - even if she had had that weird dream about him one time… several times… too many times. It wasn’t her fault that she thought about him when she woke up and before she went to sleep. He was usually texting her at that time - what else could she think about? They were friends. He was her best friend and he had been for nearly a year when everything changed. 

“I um, I got in,” he told her when they were sitting at the kitchen table one weekend near the end of their senior year. They’d decided to open their letters together. Emma had applied to a few colleges nearby and the local community college. She had her sights set on becoming a police officer or a social worker. She wasn’t sure which yet. Killian wanted to be an English professor. He’d told her so one of the first days they’d hung out. She’d called him a nerd but gave him credit for at least finding a way to make money off of it. 

“Got in where?” she asked. She’d missed which envelope he’d opened. He had a lot - they were all the big envelopes too. 

“Oxford,” he said, his eyes wide in disbelief and amazement. 

“Holy shit, Killian!” she shouted, standing up and throwing her arms around him, nearly knocking him right off his chair. “That’s amazing! Isn’t that where your brother studies? That’s an amazing school! Oh my god, professor Jones here you come!” 

She was beaming, so proud of him, so happy for him. She knew this was his dream school. But there was something off. He didn’t look as thrilled as she expected him to. Maybe it was just shock but she thought he could at least smile about it. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. “I thought this was what you wanted?” 

“It is - sort of. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s in England,” he said and for the first time since he’d opened that letter it hit her. Oh. Oh. That meant… that meant he’d be leaving. Moving hundreds of miles away. 

“I don’t have to go there,” he said, giving her an awkward, embarrassed smile. “I got into Harvard too.” 

“You what?” she practically screamed. She punched his arm. “You weren’t supposed to open letters without me!” 

“It was Harvard, Emma,” he deadpanned and she couldn’t really be mad at him. She wouldn’t have been able to wait either. 

“Where do you want to go?” she asked and he looked at her hesitantly. She tried not to think about the way her heart was racing in her chest. Or about how blue his eyes were. Or about how she might not get to see them every day if he went to Oxford. 

“I don’t know,” he started and she knew he was lying. 

“Yes you do.” He looked away, not meeting her eye. “Killian, I know you hate it here,” he opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “I know you like me and David and Belle and some of the others but… I know you miss home. I know you miss your brother. I also know it’s the better program because you’ve told me so. Multiple times.” She held her breath for a moment, surprised at how much it hurt to encourage him to follow his dream. “Oxford is everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything,” he said and she tried to meet his eye. He wouldn’t look at her. 

“What do you mean? What’s missing.” 

“You,” he answered, finally looking at her and her breath caught in her throat. Not just at his words, but at the way he was looking at her, like he’d been holding something back a long time and now the floodgates had opened and it was rushing out, plain on his face. “Oxford doesn’t have you,” he said. 

“If I stay here,” he continued, “we could go to school in the same city. We could keep hanging out between classes and on the weekends - we could even get a flat together!” he said a little excitedly and Emma’s chest hurt because she wanted all of those things, so badly. But she couldn’t have them. She couldn’t let him choose her over his future. They were friends. They were seventeen. He would regret it and resent her for the rest of his life. 

“But Oxford is your dream, everything you said you wanted,” she reminded him. “Oxford is where your family is, your brother and your old friends.” Her argument sounded weak to her own ears. 

“Maybe I have other dreams, other things I want more,” he said, looking at her that way again. It scared her. 

“What dreams,” she asked, barely whispering. 

“Emma,” he said, taking her hand and her heart started racing. “Emma you have to know, there’s no way you couldn’t. The whole school knows, your brother knows.” Her breath was coming quickly now, all of her senses on high alert and her blood rushing in her ears as he leaned in.

He pressed his lips to hers, tentatively, nervously, but with a passion that Killian always had for anything he did, anything he cared about. She shouldn’t let him kiss her, she thought. She couldn’t. She couldn’t because she wanted him to and if she wanted that then she had to admit to everything she wanted, to how much she wanted him. 

Of course she knew. She’d always known and… he knew too. But this was his life. His future. She couldn't let him throw it away for her. She loved him, regardless of which way, and so she had to let him go. So she did let him kiss her, for a moment, let her lips slide over his own, let herself enjoy how natural it felt, how right it felt - because she knew she’d never get to again. She pulled away first. 

“Killian -” she started and he must have heard it in her voice because he raised his hand, cupped her cheek.

“No,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. His words were frantic, desperate, like he was trying to hold on to something he knew was slipping away. “I love you, Emma. Ask me not to go. Ask me to stay.” 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t ask him that. It was selfish and she couldn’t let him give up his dreams for her. She wasn’t worth it. She knew he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let her convince him to leave just like that. She’d have to hurt him - for his own sake. And it would hurt her just as much. 

“I can’t,” she said and she felt his hand tighten slightly in her hair. She pulled back. “Killian. Don’t stay for me. Whatever it is you feel for me… I don’t,” she lied. “I’m sorry. But you can’t stay in Boston for me. Not if you’re staying because you hope something will happen because… it’s never going to happen.”

She felt him tense. His hand still in her hair, her hand still clasped in his. Then he pulled back all at once, looked down, and then back at her. He was hurt, but there was guilt there too. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Emma, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine.”

“Will you still be my friend?” he asked. “Even after…”

“Yes,” she promised. 

“You really want me to go?” he asked. She nodded, hoped he didn’t see the tears she was struggling to hold off. 

“Yeah. I really want you to go,” she said. 

When Killian went home that night, earlier than usual, Emma let herself cry. 

Killian left in the summer. Their goodbye was awkward, as had most of their interactions been since his confession. They’d tried not to make it awkward, to go back to how they’d been but now he had this huge vulnerability hanging between them and she had this huge lie hanging between them. It tore at the fabric that made them what they were, that made their friendship what it had been. It stained it. 

“Keep in touch,” she said as she hugged him outside his aunt’s house, the cab waiting behind them. 

“Aye,” he promised. He got in the cab and David’s arm was around her suddenly. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” she lied again. She was getting good at it. 

***

They were still sort of friends, for the first year they kept in touch - really made an effort. Killian told her about the residence and the people he had met and his professors and Emma told him about her forensics courses. She’d decided on becoming a police officer - but she wanted to be a detective. David was in the same program. It was nice to do it with someone else. 

But slowly, unavoidably, life got in the way. The phone calls were few and farther between, he didn’t have the money to go to Boston for Thanksgiving and she didn’t have the money to go to England for Christmas. Plans were broken, texts went unanswered, new friends were made, new interests developed and slowly, they drifted. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just one of those sad, unavoidable realities of life. Only, he and David still talked, still texted and emailed and spoke on the phone. So maybe it wasn’t so unavoidable. Maybe they’d both needed it. 

She still had him on Facebook, still checked in on his profile despite the years that passed, trying to stay aware of the things that were happening in his life. She learned about his brother’s death from David. She sent him a card with her condolences but she didn’t go to the funeral. It had been three years since he left, two since they’d spoken. He probably wouldn’t have wanted her there anyway. He hadn’t come down for David and Mary Margaret’s wedding a year later, despite having known both of them since high school. He’d had exams and had sent his apologies and a gift by mail. 

She saw online that he was in a long-term relationship, someone called Milah, a pretty dark haired woman who looked a few years older than him, a professor at his school she discovered after a little bit of snooping. He was with her for two years during which Emma was accosted with pictures of the two of them, until finally, one day they just stopped. She wondered what had happened there. 

She smiled when she learned that he got his PhD. He’d posted a picture of himself with a beer in one hand and his diploma in the other. He’d captioned it ‘that’s DOCTOR Killian Jones to you’. She hit the like button. He changed his job status to ‘employed’ at one of the smaller nearby colleges shortly after and she was proud of him. He’d done it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. It had taken ten years, but he was exactly who he’d hoped to be. 

So was she. She had made detective a few years ago, alongside David. They were even allowed to be partners since technically they weren’t related. She was happy, she had a job she loved, a nice apartment that was all her own, good friends, family… but she still checked his Facebook. She still spent evenings sometimes with a glass of wine looking up the boy who had told her he loved her when she was seventeen. 

She and David were sitting in their patrol car, staking out a coffee shop of all places that they’d been told their perp liked to use to make his drops, when he told her Killian was moving back. 

“What?” she demanded, her voice practically squeaking. 

“He got a job at Harvard,” David said dismissively, as though he hadn’t just turned her world upside down. “He’s got a one year teaching contract. I guess they liked the idea of a Brit teaching British lit,” he smirked a little at his own joke. 

Emma was reeling. She wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t know how to handle the guy that she’d loved in high school and then stalked on Facebook for ten years suddenly coming back into her life. 

“You okay?” David asked, looking at her strangely. 

“Fine,” she said quickly and he rolled his eyes, not buying it. 

“Whatever,” he said, picking his battles. “We’re having a party at our house to welcome him home,” he told her. “You should come.” Emma forgot sometimes that David and Killian were still friends, even after all these years. He and Mary Margaret had even taken the time to visit him when they’d gone to Europe for their anniversary last year.

“Maybe,” she said dismissively. 

“He still asks about you, you know,” David said after a moment. Emma stayed silent, pretending to look through her binoculars at the front door of the cafe. Pretending her heart wasn’t racing in her chest at the idea of seeing the man whose heart she’d broken a decade ago. 

She’d debated not going to the party. Had walked to her front door and back into her kitchen a few times, had hesitated at her car, but she’d finally told herself to snap out of it. It had been ten years ago. They’d been teenagers. He was surely over it by now and she should be too. So she went. 

She hadn’t been prepared. She thought she was but when she walked in and saw him standing with David and Mary Margaret, smiling at something one of them was saying… it was brutal. It was brutal because he was different. She’d expected him to be different of course, but not like this. 

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sadder and older. He held himself more confidently than he had in high school, but something about it told her it was a facade. Maybe she just knew him, she thought. But she didn’t anymore, did she, she was reminded. Her heart stopped when he looked over, met her eyes. He smiled a little but it wasn’t the easy smile she’d loved so much. He raised his bottle at her and she gave an awkward wave. 

“Long time no see, stranger,��� he said later, coming up behind her to say hello and honestly scaring the absolute shit out of her.

“Jesus, Killian,” she said, hand to her chest. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a cop like that?”

He smiled, that teasing smile she remembered. “I think I could take David if we’re honest.” She laughed. “I heard you made detective,” he said. “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks. I hear you’re finally Professor Jones.”

“Aye. It seems we both got what we wanted in the end,” he said and there was a bit of sadness in the way he said it, the kind that she could tell was unintentional. 

“So,” she started awkwardly when the silence dragged on. “How have you been?”

“Good, good,” he said. “You?” This was brutal. They continued the small talk for a while. She missed how easy things used to be between them. She missed all the stupid, fun things they did when they were kids and they didn’t have all this baggage hanging between them. 

“You know what I miss?” she said out loud and he raised a brow at her. 

“No, Swan, what do you miss?” 

“I miss when we used to steal Ruth’s whiskey and climb up onto the roof and drink it there,” she smiled, remembering how many long, slightly drunken conversations they’d had as kids on the roof of Ruth’s house. 

Killian smiled, fondly and then a little mischievously. He leaned in a little and Emma couldn’t help but notice the way his face had changed. His jaw was sharper, some of the roundness of his cheeks having faded with age, and he’d grown into his nose. He was sporting a short beard now too, something he’d always wanted to complete his professor look but hadn’t been able to grow. He dressed better too, no more jeans and band tshirts. Now he wore… well, jeans and a tshirt but nicer ones with a jacket and boots instead of converse. It was pretty unfair, Emma thought, that he'd gotten better looking with age. He’d been good-looking enough to begin with. 

“I think I spy a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen there,” he hinted and Emma smirked. 

“This place does have a roof,” she said, matching his tone. 

“I’ll get the bottle, you distract Dave,” he said, winking - well, trying to. He’d never mastered that one and it made her smile a bit to see that some things hadn’t changed. 

They successfully managed to steal the bottle and hurry their way up to the guest room that Emma knew had a window they could walk out onto the roof from. They sat there, knees pulled up, passing the bottle between them as they looked out at the slowly darkening sky. Emma let the liquor warm her, let it make her a little looser, a little braver. 

“How are you really, Killian?” she asked eventually. He sighed, reaching for the bottle and taking a sip. 

“Tired,” he said. “It’s been a rough few years.” 

“I saw, about your brother,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

He nodded. “Thank you. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“There was a woman too,” she said, not quick enough to catch the words before they slipped out. He raised an eyebrow at her teasingly.

“Been stalking my facebook, have you, Swan?”

She shrugged, deciding to be honest. “Only a little.” He looked surprised at her confession, a small smile breaking out on his face. 

“Aye, there was a woman,” he said and she wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that he sounded like some old dandy poet, lamenting over a lost love. “Milah. She went back to her husband.” Emma’s eyes shot up to her hairline. Husband? Wow. That was not what she’d expected. “There was a child involved,” he said, not turning to see her surprised look. “It was for the best.” 

He didn’t sound like he totally believed what he said, but he sounded like he’d made peace with it. Emma felt for him. His life had continued on the way it had been when they met. He’d lost more people, been left behind by more people he cared about, loved. She’d managed to avoid that. But she hadn’t let herself love anyone new. Not since him. 

“And what about you?” he asked, turning to hand her back the bottle. “What great loves have you lived and lost? Or is there a great love now?” he asked with a cheeky smile. She laughed.

“Nah, not for me,” she said. “My love affairs usually only last until the next morning.” He huffed out a laugh as she took another drink from the bottle. 

“Ah, you’ll find it someday,” he said. “One day there will be a man that you can’t dream of living without and that one will last a long time.”

“Two nights?” she joked and he laughed again. His laugh was the same, she thought with a small smile. 

“Aye, two nights.” 

They sat in silence for a while, continuing to share the bottle and Emma decided to blame that for what she said next. “I’ve missed you,” she told him and he turned his head to face her, away from the stars they’d been gazing up at. 

“I’ve missed you too, Swan,” he told her. He lay back, stretched his arm out and she took the invitation, snuggled up next to him like they had when they were teenagers watching scary movies and she lay her head on his shoulder. 

They stayed out there for another hour before David came to find them, scolding Killian for sneaking out of his own party. But he smiled at them as they climbed back through the window and Emma knew he was happy they’d found their way back to each other - that they were finding their way back to the friendship she’d once valued more than anything.

The next night, Emma invited him out for a drink with her and some of her friends from college. He’d made a comment about going out two nights in a row and she’d mocked him for being an old man - ‘I’m sorry, has it been ten years or fifty since we last saw each other?’ - and he agreed to join her. 

Emma was surprised, tough not really, at how well he fit in with her friends. They all loved him, loved his stories from teaching and the fact that he had dirt on Emma from before any of them knew her. He and Will and Robin hit it off immediately and she figured it was probably a brit thing. They spent over an hour talking about soccer. 

He fit in well here. Emma tried not to think about the fact that he fit so well into her life. Or about how much she liked that he fit there, how much she’d missed having him there. She also, really tried to ignore the way that his shirt clung to his biceps. He hadn’t had those in high school. It was difficult when Ruby seemed so intent on pointing it out. Ruby was being herself, pretending to be more salacious than she really was for a laugh, making comments about how she could just spread him on a cracker, when she looked at Emma and her face changed. 

“Oh,” she said and Emma didn’t like the knowing tone of her voice.

“What?” Emma asked, realising that her arms were crossed over her chest. She let them fall, tried to strike a more casual pose. 

“I didn’t realise… you like him,” she said with a sly smile. Emma scoffed.

“We’re friends,” she said flatly. 

“Mhm,” Ruby smirked. “You don’t look at me like that,” she pointed out. “Or Will, or Robin, or even Graham.” 

“Shut up,” Emma said, crossing her arms again as Killian looked over and she accidentally, automatically smiled at him. Ruby only laughed. 

They were friends. They’d only just started being friends again. She wasn’t going to ruin it now. She’d been the one to ensure that they would always, only be friends. ‘It’s never going to happen’, she’d told him. She’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it - alone. 

She still couldn’t help wondering though if he still kissed the same way. She’d only kissed him once but she’d had yet to have another that lived up to it. And he’d been a teenager then, she was pretty sure she was the second girl he’d ever kissed. She wondered what it would be like now. 

She pushed the thought away. She’d thrown that possibility out the window a long time ago. She’d done it for his own good. And look who he was now, a professor, he had a goddamn PhD. He’d gotten everything he wanted. So why did he look so sad most of the time? Why was she so sad most of the time? She hadn’t noticed that she was before - it had only been since he came back and she had become aware of the gaping hole where something had been missing from her life. 

Having him back helped a bit. Like a bandaid over an open wound. She just hoped that the awkwardness would fade and they would find their way back to the friendship she had mourned for so long, had never really gotten over. She hoped he would let her earn it back. She looked at him laughing at something Robin said and she realised that regardless of time, her life was a little better with him in it. 

The awkwardness did fade. It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t necessarily easy - there was a lot between them, a lot of years and disappointments and broken trust, but soon, they found their way back to what they’d had as kids. It wasn’t long before they were spending evenings in each other's apartments, curling up on the couch and watching bad movies. She found herself smiling a lot throughout the day when he would text her a funny message or a stupid meme.

He was there for Christmas, only the second they’d gotten to celebrate together. They’d both spent the night at David and Mary Margaret’s and Emma had only been disappointed for a second that there were two guest rooms. She’d been looking forward to staying up late talking with him and laughing… and flirting. She’d noticed that there had been a bit more flirting, more than there used to be. On second thought, having to share a bed might not have been a good thing. Not if she wanted to keep him as a friend. She bought him a tweed jacket with leather patches on the shoulders that year. It was meant to be a joke but he’d worn it every day for a month. 

He was there for New Years and Emma felt her heart skip a beat when he kissed her at midnight. It was a small thing, a peck on the lips, barely a second, and he’d smiled at her in a way that made her feel that she shouldn’t read into it - no matter how much she wanted to. It was just a European thing, she insisted, weird boundaries. 

There had been a moment, once, when they’d been sitting on her couch in her apartment, watching another terrible movie. Nothing had happened, nothing specifically, but suddenly she found herself looking at him and he was watching her too, something heavy hanging in the air between them. 

Their hands were close and he moved his little finger, brushed it over hers and it made her breath stop. It was ridiculous, considering her legs were thrown over his and they were already sitting so close, but her breath stopped anyway. It was the way he was looking at her, the uncertainty and the affection and just a tiny bit of longing - there was no other word for it. She recognized it because she’d felt it every day since he’d come home - every day since he’d left ten years ago. 

His fingers had continued, collecting more of hers and slowly intertwining them. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. She was pretty sure that he would for a moment. He held their hands up between them, looked at them and then at her, pulled her a little closer. And then a loud noise had come from the TV and he’d jumped, dropping her hands and scratching at his ear. They didn’t bring it up again. 

He was there for St Patty’s Day and Easter and the Fourth of July and birthdays, and before she knew it a year had passed. Well, nearly a year, eleven months to be exact. She knew that because it was August and he was complaining about having to go back to teaching the ‘little entitled shit’s’ as he called them. 

“Weren't you one of those students a few years ago?” she reminded him, flicking at his ear as she walked around him into her kitchen to grab them a snack. He was sitting on her sofa a few feet away. Her apartment was small, but it was cozy.

“I was a little shit,” he allowed, batting at her hand. “But I was never entitled. It’s the entiledness that really gets to me.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” she taunted, as she put the popcorn in the microwave and turned it on. 

He turned, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder at her. “You really want to question an English Literature professor?” 

“Being a professor doesn’t mean you get to make up words,” she told him. “Besides, I still beat you in Scrabble so I’m pretty sure I’m the expert.” 

He scoffed, hopping over the back of the couch and joining her in the kitchen. “Scrabble is a game of luck, nothing more,” he told her. “You can’t make words if you don’t get the right letters.” 

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” she shrugged. He looked at her in shock and Emma saw the glint in his eye a second before he moved. “Don’t,” she tried to warn him but he was too fast. He grabbed her and the idiot started tickling her, actually tickling her like he was seven years old. 

“Admit I have a superior mastery of the English language,” he demanded. She shrieked as she laughed, her sides burning, cursing him. He had her trapped against his body, his arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her back to his chest.

“Never!” she saw her opportunity and she took it. She grabbed his arm and spun him around, managed to pin him against the fridge, her arm braced against his chest, holding one of his wrists, she held the other down at his side. 

“Woah,” he said, eyes wide. 

“I keep telling you not to mess with cops,” she pointed out. 

“That was kind of hot,” he admitted, looking more impressed than turned on really. But that was enough for Emma to realise that she had him pushed up against the fridge, her whole body pressed to his. She could feel her face warming, could feel all of her skin warming where she touched his. Oh. She saw it in his eyes when he noticed too. 

She let him go, moved to step back but he caught her, putting his hand on her lower back and pulling her back in. Her heart rate picked up as he pressed her against him, that look in his eyes he’d had that night on her couch back again. He licked his bottom lip and Emma’s eyes darted down to it immediately. 

She saw the way his expression changed a little when she did, curiosity there as he cocked his head, looking her over. He seemed unable to settle on a single part of her face until he stopped at her lips. His own parted, his chin tilting slightly, drawing closer and she couldn’t think of anything except the heat of him against her and her heart running a marathon in her chest. She could feel his breath on her face and that he looked so damn handsome and she just really, really wanted him to kiss her. 

The microwave beeped and Emma cursed the shitty timing that seemed to keep ripping them apart anytime she was given the smallest bit of hope that there could be something more, that they could be something more. Because that was what she wanted. She’d stopped denying it that night on her couch. 

She wanted Killian. She loved Killian. She had since she was seventeen years old. She’d thought it would go away, had almost believed it had at one point. But then he’d come back into her life and that part of her that had been on mute, on pause but never truly gone had reared its head, made sure she knew that she was still, completely and hopelessly in love with the boy she’d met in detention. 

Killian released her, cleared his throat and she stepped back. She held back her sigh, her disappointment. She couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not after all they went through, not now that they were back to who they’d been. She’d turned him down ten years ago. She’d broken his heart. To tell him now that she loved him, that she’d always loved him... She feared his reaction, feared his rejection. 

“I have to tell you something.” He said to her back. She was pouring popcorn into a bowl. 

“If it’s that you don’t want Milkduds in your popcorn you’re shit outta luck,” she said, trying to lighten the heavy mood between them. 

“No, well, yes, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” She turned around, recognizing the serious tone of his voice. She leaned back against the counter, waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say. “I’ve been offered a job,” he told her. 

“Killian that’s amazing!” she started but he stopped her. 

“It’s at Oxford.” She felt her heart drop into her stomach. No. Not again. She’d only just gotten him back. “A former professor of mine, Nemo, he pulled some strings when one of the faculty announced her retirement. He says the job is mine if I can get there for the fall semester.” 

It took Emma a moment to speak, trying to process what he was saying, trying to cope with the way it was ripping out her heart. “What about Harvard?” she asked, a little hopefully. 

He scratched that spot behind his ear like he always did when he was nervous. “That position is still up in the air. They’re still reviewing my candidacy.” 

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. She couldn’t think of what to say. She felt like she was seventeen again, having the exact same conversation they’d had then. Please don’t go, she wanted to beg. Don’t leave. Stay here with me. Be with me. Choose me. But he’d chosen her once before. He’d chosen her and she’d practically thrown it back in his face. 

“It’s a pretty great opportunity,” he continued. “Rare too. It usually takes years to get a position like that.” She could hear him speaking, was aware that he was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thoughts that were rolling around in her head. She couldn’t lose him again. Not like last time. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. 

“The English program there is renowned and-”

“Don’t go.” 

He froze. “What?” 

Shit. Shit, she’d said it out loud. He was looking at her with disbelief and shock and maybe a tiny bit of hope, but maybe she’d imagined that. Well, it was too late now to take it back. 

“Don’t go,” she repeated, stronger this time. She watched the emotions playing over his face, so many that she couldn’t track all of them. But the last one was anger, a desperate kind. 

“What do you mean don’t go?” he reeled on her. “How - How can you ask me that? After all these years?” 

“I know,” she said, hanging her head. “I’m sorry but I just,” she took a deep breath. “I let you leave once and it was the worst mistake I ever made. I was in love with you and when you left I lost you and... Don’t go.” His eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping. If this moment hadn’t been so serious it would have been almost comical.

“You were in love with me?” he demanded, disbelief clear in his voice. He stepped forward. “Why didn’t you tell me that ten years ago? Why did you push me away?” His voice cracked a little. “I was in love with you, Emma. I’d have done anything for you and you - You broke my heart.” 

“I know,” she could feel tears burning her eyes. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that if you stayed you’d resent me, that you’d hate me eventually. I wanted you to get everything you wanted.”

“You were what I wanted!” he practically shouted at her. She flinched a little. “I wanted to be with you but you turned me down. And then you cut me out of your life.”

“I didn’t-”

“You did, Emma. You stopped answering my calls, my texts, my emails. You didn’t come to the funeral…” She hung her head again. “And now, now we’re finally speaking again, finally back in each other’s lives, finally friends again and now you say you loved me? Now you ask me to stay?”

“Are you not anymore?” she asked and he looked at her in confusion. “In love with me," she clarified. She shouldn’t be asking him. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer. Just because her feelings hadn’t changed in ten years didn’t mean his wouldn’t. He tensed, stood up straighter.

“Are you?” he demanded. 

Emma bit her lip. She was. She was as in love with him now as she was at seventeen but it was different now. She was an adult, she understood the difference between love and infatuation, knew how they were different. Her love had grown from missing him for a decade, had grown more from being with him this last year. It was all consuming, all she thought about. All she wanted was him, if he turned her down now… she didn’t know if she’d recover. 

“Emma, how can you ask me to stay if you can’t even tell me how you feel? What are you asking me to stay for?” She didn’t have an answer. She just stared at her feet. He waited for a while, and she heard as his breath slowed and became a heavy sigh. “I should go,” he said, walking back over to the couch to grab his jacket. 

He was at the door when the panic seized her. The dread and the fear that he was leaving, that he was walking out of her life again, that it was her fault again, that she would surely lose him for good this time, overwhelmed her, reared its head and took over. What are you asking me to stay for? he’d asked. He hadn’t answered her question, hadn’t told her he didn’t love her. He’d just wanted a reason. She’d give him a reason if it meant he would stay. He’d been the one to put his heart on the line last time. Now it was her turn.

“Don’t go,” she said again and he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t go. Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t go back to England. Don’t leave again. Please,” she begged.

He didn’t turn around but she heard him speak. “Why not?” 

“Because I love you,” she nearly shouted at him. “Okay? I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen and I thought I could get over it but I can’t. I lost you once and I can’t lose you again so please,” she paused, a small sob leaving her. He turned around finally, walked back over to where she still stood against the counter. 

“Please just don’t go,” she said again, quieter this time. “I should have said it then but I’m saying it now. I’m being selfish and asking you to pass on your amazing opportunity. I’m asking you to choose me and be with me instead.”

He took her chin between his thumb and his finger dragged her gaze up from where it had been staring at her feet, met her eyes and her heart jumped at the softness there, the anger from earlier gone. “I’ll stay,” he said and she thought her knees would give out with the force of the relief, the hope hitting her all at once.

“What about your job?” she said hesitantly. Shut up, Emma. You got what you wanted. But she still cared - about his success and his dreams, even as she asked him to give them up.

“Fuck my job,” he said before his hand moved to her cheek and he slid his mouth over hers. Emma wanted to cry as she felt his lips move over her own. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, slanting his mouth over hers and she opened beneath him, let him explore her with lips and tongue, and his hands on her body. 

Her hands came up around his neck, tangling in his hair and dragging him closer, pressing herself against him until here was no room left between them at all. He backed her against the counter and she didn’t care even as she felt the hard ridge digging into her back. He groaned when she rolled her hips against the hard ridge digging into her belly. 

“Wait, wait,” he said, breath heavy and ragged as he pulled his lips away from hers.

“What?” she asked, suddenly nervous. That had been the best moment in her entire life and now she feared it would come crashing down, that he’d changed his mind. 

“I forgot to tell you that I love you too,” he said, sounding panicked. She looked at him in disbelief and in that moment he was exactly the boy she’d fallen in love with, awkward and sweet and nervous and just so stupid for such a smart person. “I love you,” he said. “I have for a decade. It never stopped for me either.” Whatever quip she had planned died on her tongue at the sincerity in his voice and on his face. 

She smiled before pulling his lips back to hers, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss him properly, the way she’d wanted to for ten years and hadn’t been able to. He kissed her back just as eagerly, lips and teeth and tongue driving her nearly as mad as his hands, which were everywhere at once, stoking the fire that had been burning inside of her since she’d pinned him against the fridge. 

“You’ve gotten better at this,” she teased when they pulled back a moment to catch their breath. He gave her a truly wicked grin. 

“I’ve gotten better at a great many things,” he promised, and she knew where he was going with it, was definitely on board with his plan… but she couldn’t help herself.

“Not Scrabble…” 

He bent down then, grabbing her around the knees and hoisting her up over his shoulder. She shrieked, laughing as he carried her the short distance to her bedroom, dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress. He was such a sore loser. 

He looked at her for a moment, standing at the edge of the bed before leaning down over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head, and lowering his face to hers so their lips nearly brushed as he spoke.

“Not Scrabble,” he conceded before that smile came back. “But a great many things.”