Boston
Another day, another skip chased and caught, another meager dollar in his bank account. Killian Jones sighed as he ran his hand through his hair, fumbling slightly with his key before he finally unlocked the door and entered his apartment. He usually loved his place - or at least was quite content with what he'd been able to accomplish in the past decade - but tonight, it felt cold and lugubrious. The silence, the solitude, the generic furniture and lack of personal mementos weighed on him, making his flat resemble a pit stop and not actually a home.
His night hadn't started on good terms - he had to chase the asshole who was scamming his family and making online dates on the side - and not even the prospect of a glass of rum and a one night stand in a random stranger's bed would help chase away the ghosts of his past tonight. So he'd given up on the idea of hitting the bar and headed back home, stopping at an open bakery on his way.
He sighed, kicking off his shoes by the entrance and heading towards the kitchen counter. Placing the brown bag on the kitchen island, he reached to grab a beer from the fridge, opened the bottle and took a long drag of the malt brew. Once he'd swallowed, he put it on the island, a little more forcefully than intended and grabbed the paper bag. Killian took the small cupcake out, carefully put the blue star candle on top of it, and reached for his lighter - yes, he still smoked from time to time and he kept a pack and a lighter nearby - to lite the candle. The small flame on top of it flickered for a second and he felt himself transported to another place, another time, to the memories he tried to keep chained and hidden in the dungeons of his mind and yet always found a way to emerge. Especially on days like today.
"Come on, Hook! We have to celebrate." she said, her blonde hair up in a ponytail, black rimmed glasses sitting almost at the top of her nose, green eyes shining with promises of a better time to come. "18, Killian. 18!" She all but bounced on the spot.
"It's just a number, love." He shrugged away the attention, a small hint of embarrassment visible in the way the tip of his ears turned pink. He reached to hug her, his arms circling her waist, head bending down so his eyes could still be in contact with hers. "You'll be that in a few months too."
She reached to move a rebellious strand of hair off of his forehead, her voice soft and full of hope. "And then we'll both be free to do whatever. To stop running, to do anything." She pulled away from him and he felt the cold instantly, his body leaning to chase her warmth. But she had turned around and reached for a paper brown bag on the backseat of the car.
"What's that?" He asked curiously but she kept silent, her hand pulling him towards the hood. He followed -of course he followed her - and witnessed how she took a small cupcake out of the bag and placed a star candle on top it.
She turned around, a self-aware smile coming to her face, "I know you don't have any memories or any traditions for your birthday. But I thought it was time to start some. Our traditions." She reached for his front pocket and he raised an eyebrow mischievously at her. She rolled her eyes as she removed her hand, her fingers playing with his lighter. "Later, birthday boy," she promised in a husky voice.
She flicked the lighter, cursing a few times when the flame blew out in the open air, before she finally lit the candle. She turned around and beamed at him.
"Make a wish, Killian."
He closed his eyes and made his wish, feeling himself invincible, the entire world at his reach.
Little did he know, life had decided to show him just how hopeless wishing was for someone like him.
He opened his eyes, bringing himself back from the painful memories that were still haunting him after a decade. He fought against the silent tear that wanted to escape his eye, and he was able to reign himself in. He took a deep breath and he closed his eyes forcefully again and made the same wish he'd made each year.
Wherever you are, I hope you are ok. Come back to me, Swan.
He blew out the candle, a small sigh coming to his lips. He was taking off the candle and reaching for a cigarette - his actual birthday indulgence more than the cupcake - when a knock on his door stopped him. Killian frowned, placing his pack and lighter on the counter. Padding his way to the door, he slung it open and had to lower his gaze to see who was there.
A little boy stood there. He couldn't be more than nine or ten years old. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, a curious and hopeful look harboring in them.
"Can I help you, lad?" Killian asked, wondering skeptically what a kid like this could be doing alone, knocking on an adult man's door at such hour.
"Are you Killian Jones?" The boy asked, the hint of a smile coming to his face, a soft hint of excitement and apprehension visible in his voice.
Killian nodded, his throat suddenly dry and a strange feeling coming to the pit of his stomach, a sensation that he couldn't pinpoint.
The boy all but beamed at him, unable to hide his joy, his eyes shining in an oddly familiar way.
"My name is Henry, I'm your son."