Standing In The Outfield (1/2) + A CS Fanfic
A two part fic about baseball, the friend zone, and what happens when your unresolved feelings bring you home after five years away. Inspired by the song ‘The Outfield’ by The Night Game.
Rating: T/M (pretty tame for now, but it gets steamy in the second part)
Word Count: 3.5K
Hello out there! I apologize that it’s taken me so long to write/post anything. The past couple of months have been insane (school starting, a death in the family, various other drama, blah blah blah) but I’m back! I have a few little stories like this that I’m hoping to post between updates of my multichapter stories. Here’s the first part of this one - also on FF.net and AO3.
To this day, Killian still couldn’t exactly figure out how they’d ended up in such a comfortable yet confusing relationship. Ugh, he hated that term - relationship. Well, it was Emma who really loathed that word. He’d just come to share the opinion because….well, because he liked sharing things with her.
Many things. Okay, all things.
Sharing was perhaps a vague way to put it though. She rarely asked for much and he’d always been all too willing to give her everything he could - several answers to the dozens of tests Mr. Gold administered in their junior high algebra class, the black windbreaker he tossed over the fence to her when she came to every single one of his baseball games, and even some really crappy dating advice when it came to who she should go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with. He should have asked her to be his date before the lead pitcher of the varsity team managed to, but he didn’t - and therefore, he’d had to support her choice to accompany Storybrooke High’s most eligibly overrated idiot to the decorated gym he was now sure as hell going to avoid come Friday night.
It wasn’t like he wanted to go anyway. With the first round of the playoff tournament scheduled for the following Monday, the batting cages were probably a much better place for him to be. After all, it wasn’t like Neal Cassidy was going to be throwing consistent strikes if he was out all weekend trying to score with the girl Killian had dropped the ball with for years now.
Sure, he loved America’s favorite pastime, but as thoughts of figurative “bases” crossed his mind, Killian realized how much he truly hated sports analogies.