Treat and Killian

Killian leaned against the window, looking out into the street, looking at the lights, the fog. Things just weren't bright like they had been.

Treat's arms came around him, his lover's body covering his back like a well-loved blanket.

"I miss him." Still.

"I know, Kil." Treat pressed a soft kiss to the skin just below his ear. "Close your eyes."

He nodded, eyes falling shut. "'kay."

"You remember how he smelled?"

He opened his lips to answer, but his throat was too tight to speak, so he just nodded. Their boy had been sweet. So sweet.

"Can you smell him now? Smell that sugar and caramel scent of him?"

Killian couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stand there, tears streaking his cheeks.

"He's right here with us, Kil. As long as you remember him, he's still here."

"Promise me I'll die first, that you won't leave me here." It was selfish, but it was Christmas.

"I promise not to leave you, Kil. And Peter will be waiting for you when you go." Treat bit his earlobe. "But you have to promise you won't leave me too soon."

"I swear. I swear, baby. Not until we're old."

"We're good, then." Treat kissed him again. "We're good and we have each other and he's right here." Treat's hand slid over his chest, rested over his heart. "He hasn't left us."

"I hope not."

"He hasn't, Kil. He won't. He's still ours."

He squeezed Treat's hand, eyes on the lights, and tried to believe.