Killian

They strolled through the city as a group, some laughing about old school stories. She walked slightly behind, trying to keep up, but every step sent a throbbing pain through her heel. The new sneakers were a real trap—beautiful, but merciless.

"Damn," she hisses softly, shifting her weight to her other leg. "I think I rubbed my skin raw."

Killian, walking beside her, doesn't comment. He simply slows, his gaze briefly dropping to her feet, and then he wordlessly unslung the strap of her bag from her shoulder, throwing it over his own. She wants to tell her it's not necessary, but she doesn't have the time.

The next second, he's already crouches down, grabbing her under the hips, and lifting her into his arms as calmly and naturally as if he does this every day. She's momentarily speechless, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

"Killian!" she breathes, feeling her cheeks flush. The whole group turns around, some whistling, others clicking their tongues in delight. "Put me down, I can walk just fine!"

"You've been whining for five minutes," his voice is even, almost indifferent, but his fingers on her waist tighten a little. "Go if you want. But your legs still hurt."

She opens her mouth to object, but falls silent. Because it's true. And because his shoulder is so familiar, his hands so reliable. Thirteen years of friendship, she knew he would always lend a shoulder, but she never expected it to be like this—literally.

“Is it heavy?” she asks quietly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Killian looks straight ahead, but the corner of his lips twitches upward.

• Normal.

The group had already moved on, leaving them behind, and now they were moving slowly, at their own pace. She nuzzled his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume, and thought that perhaps there was meaning in this—being with someone who didn't even ask, who just did it. Because he knew. Because he'd always known.

“You could have at least warned me,” she mutters into his collar.

“Then you would have said ‘no’,” he replies.

They strolled through the city as a group, some laughing about old school stories. She walked slightly behind, trying to keep up, but every step sent a throbbing pain through her heel. The new sneakers were a real trap—beautiful, but merciless.

"Damn," she hisses softly, shifting her weight to her other leg. "I think I rubbed my skin raw."

Killian, walking beside her, doesn't comment. He simply slows, his gaze briefly dropping to her feet, and then he wordlessly unslung the strap of her bag from her shoulder, throwing it over his own. She wants to tell her it's not necessary, but she doesn't have the time.

The next second, he's already crouches down, grabbing her under the hips, and lifting her into his arms as calmly and naturally as if he does this every day. She's momentarily speechless, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

"Killian!" she breathes, feeling her cheeks flush. The whole group turns around, some whistling, others clicking their tongues in delight. "Put me down, I can walk just fine!"

"You've been whining for five minutes," his voice is even, almost indifferent, but his fingers on her waist tighten a little. "Go if you want. But your legs still hurt."

She opens her mouth to object, but falls silent. Because it's true. And because his shoulder is so familiar, his hands so reliable. Thirteen years of friendship, she knew he would always lend a shoulder, but she never expected it to be like this—literally.

“Is it heavy?” she asks quietly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Killian looks straight ahead, but the corner of his lips twitches upward.

• Normal.

The group had already moved on, leaving them behind, and now they were moving slowly, at their own pace. She nuzzled his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume, and thought that perhaps there was meaning in this—being with someone who didn't even ask, who just did it. Because he knew. Because he'd always known.

“You could have at least warned me,” she mutters into his collar.

“Then you would have said ‘no’,” he replies.