Thieving Love
aswanthief
In ten years, the only time she had heard those words directed to her was when talking to Henry, so obviously it gave her pause - and made her feel happy, warm, terrified, confused, unworthy, hopeful - and after a moment thinking that she could afford caring for him now that she had nothing left to lose, and that she had no choice but to accept that he cared for her too because he was her friend even if he knew she’d die, and that she had to stop having weird thoughts about the different meanings of those words, she opened her mouth to speak and then hesitated again. Because she couldn’t stop the weird, unwanted thoughts about the word love coming from him even if she had just ordered herself to push them away and she knew she wouldn’t even later unless she asked about it to him directly. "We are… still speaking… in a friendly fashion, correct?"
The words had slipped out. He'd been enjoying his rum a little too much that night, but she didn't need to know that. The words were still truth. Ever since the incident in the cave where she nearly died and he came to the realization that he was in love with the thief, he was only waiting to see how long he could go before he slipped up.
Less than a week, apparently.
"I do love you as a friend," Killian started, leaning against the helm as stormy blues stared at the blonde. "But that isn't what I meant. I love you, Swan. I don't expect you to return the feelings, but, alas, I've fallen for the thieving lady."