They Should Write About Us

by drawingonmyhands
I'm still not used to reaching for a hand and finding a hook in its place. I mean, he's always had it. I'm just not used to dating men with only one hand. He keeps promising he'll trade the hook out for his prosthetic, and I know he has one, but I think there's a part of him that would feel lesser without the hook. I can't pretend to understand what it's like for him, but I've had my fair share of losses. Sometimes you need a daily reminder. Not to make you angry or sad or to grieve, but because losses shape you as a person. You don't want to lose sight of who you are and what made you that way. So I've stopped pestering him to swap out the hook, just as he knew not to ask me to let go of the keychain from Neal. It'll always be on my ring of keys.

As we sauntered down the main drag of town, keeping close in the frosty winter air, I linked my arm with his and stole a glance up at his scruff. His mouth perked up at the edges. He knew I was looking at him, but as per usual, he was too nervous to acknowledge it. I had recently started a game of unabashedly staring at him to watch his response. I loved the way his brow arched upwards, and the small sigh under his breath. Come on, Killian. Make eye contact with me. I was so busy admiring the strong jut of his jaw that I hadn't noticed we had walked right past Granny's already.

"Uhm.. Killian? Where are we going?"

He chuckled to himself, a small cloud of fog erupting from his lips. "You'll see soon, love."

As we neared the edge of town and started towards the forest, Killian slid his flask out from his jacket pocket and took a swig. I had always admired how generous his swigs were, and how effortlessly he swallowed them. The rum he drank was enough to make my hair curl, and I've never been a light weight. He tipped the flask towards me, offering a drink, and I took a cautious sip. Yes, there it is. The pungent, searing sensation in my mouth and throat, but it warmed me well in the chilled air. Now out of sight from the town, Killian led us to the nearest fallen tree and sat us down.

"Swan, I've been wanting to ask you something." He cleared his throat and ran his fingers across the smooth metal surface of his hook.

"Sure, shoot."

"Just recently I found that my whole life was written in a book. Everything I've ever done and ever said can be found on those pages."

He paused, taking another long, deep swig from the flask. I watched him sigh, and another cloud of fog drifted out from in between his lips, mingling in the night air and slowly disappearing. His presence was intoxicating.

"Killian, what's your point?"

He slowly turned his head in my direction, dark brown eyes looking straight into mine. His eyebrows furrowed in a sort of subtle desperation.

"Do.. do you think they'll ever write about us, Swan?"

My body was hit with a surge of warmth, my heart fluttering like a bird in a cage. God, I wanted to kiss him, but I knew he was just as scared as I was of getting too close. I took the flask from him and took a long, slow drink.

"Hook, we'd have a hell of a story to tell."
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