Chapter 2: Killian

"Alright.We're about to release you all into the manor." The showrunner stood poised in front of Killian with a clipboard, an earpiece, and a vaguely-British attitude to rival the size of this house. He kinda frightened him, if Killian were being totally honest. He felt like he should be standing at attention, ready to offer the other man a salute once he finished doling out instructions. "But we're going to send you to your suites first. We want you to stay in these rooms, check them out. Point out some features you're excited about for the cameras. Then, after a little while, we'll send in the contestants the public has decided to pair you with.

"We've elected to not have you interact with the other contestants the first night, other than your partner, so please remain in your rooms until the morning. I'm thinking we'll have everyone do a diary entry later tomorrow, so we can get your reactions to your partner and the others all at once."

Killian nodded along. This was simple enough and Carter looked like he'd already said all of this—likely to the other guys and probably ten more times in the mirror.

"Great." Carter took another glance at his clipboard like it was his bible. "Robin already went over the code of conduct with you?"

"Sure did."

"See that you stick to it."

It wasn't unkind, necessarily. Not a guardian keeping their kid in line. No, Killian thought his order felt more like a plea. So he clapped Carter on the back—a misstep, admittedly—and asked where he was needed.

Once the showrunner wiped the grimace off his face, he consulted that clipboard again. "Killian Todd," he read aloud, simultaneously rifling through the bag slung across his shoulder and producing an oversized key. "Room Five."

When Killian said oversized, it wasn't really an exaggeration. The key was as big as his face, the head of it shaped like a heart and his name printed down the side in a flowing script. It wasn't metal, either. More like a giant hotel keycard.

It was cute.

Gesturing to the key, Carter said, "Once you've unlocked your door, this key is going to stay hanging on the hook outside of your room. They're more symbolic than anything. Something for the cameras to hone in on when showing who's sharing rooms with whom. You shouldn't need it but, for Christ's sake, please don't lose it."

Killian reached his hand out and grinned. "Sure thing, Boss."

Carter quirked an eyebrow at the moniker and sighed. "Alright. We'll drive you over and then you can head on in."

And when Carter made good on his promise and stalled the car in the circular drive, Killian could only blink. The manor wouldn't be a surprise to the viewers. He was sure they'd already gotten teasers of the site, as well as teasers of all the contestants, but the production team had taken away Killian's phone and social media earlier in the week. Every bit of it was a surprise to him.

The location hadn't been what he'd expected. They'd told him tropical and he'd planned accordingly. And, to be fair, they had flown him to an island. But the sprawling structure reminded him more of a country estate than a beachside one. The grounds were lush and green, surrounding the manor for at least a mile on every side he could see. They'd trimmed all the vegetation into little hearts, even.

Killian dragged his bag up the curved front steps, appreciating the expanse of windows and the support columns for the tiny balcony above the thick wooden door.

And like he couldn't turn it off, he decided this would make a great place for a wedding.

The door swung wide when Killian pressed his hand to it and he couldn't help but note that it didn't have the creak that might give away its age. Did they commandeer and renovate this space or had they built it specifically for filming?

Whatever his thoughts, Killian did not shirk his order of hamming up his reactions. He thought he brought a little of that fish-mouthed awe Carter was looking for and, quite frankly, couldn't wait for the pat on the back for it later.

He would not be risking his gold star by wandering around the manor, though. There was a variety of signage sprinkled throughout the entryway, pointing him in the direction of the honeymoon suites. Briefly, Killian wondered if production would find it entertaining of him to pretend to go into the wrong room but the risk there was certainly higher than the reward.

Dutifully, he found Room Five, the last room down the hall of the western wing.

For privacy?

Damn, he was excited to be here.

Killian had stayed in nice places before. Hell, he ran a nice place. But apparently, he wasn't immune to the lavish accommodations he found inside Honeymoon Manor. He wouldn't say that the room screamed romance, necessarily. It wasn't covered in hearts like the exterior. He didn't trip on any candles or crush any rose petals under his feet. But he couldn't deny that there was an air to it. He wondered if they'd gotten some sort of psychologist in here to help them decorate. Someone to tell the set designers exactly which colors to use to tease the right emotions out of their contestants and their viewers.

He knew Carter had called this a suite but that was mostly generous. All there was to it was one decently-sized living-area-slash-bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. And the bathroom, while having nice, modern finishes, wasn't really anything to write home about. There was a standing, frosted glass shower. A bathtub. A toilet closet, complete with a bidet attachment. A double vanity. Killian noted the cameras above the mirror, angled precisely to capture every inch of the room save for the shower. They evidently didn't want to miss out on a single moment.

Killian leisurely sifted through the drawers, pleased to find a plethora of hygiene products already stocked. He'd been apprehensive when they told him he wouldn't need to bring much with him so he'd packed extras at the bottom of his suitcase. At this revelation, though, he decided to see what other treasures may be hidden in the suite, making his way to the modular, mirrored wardrobe and eventually to the nightstands on either side of the massive bed.

He'd felt certain that he'd signed something claiming the network wouldn't be airing anything akin to pornography but anyone might be mistrusting of that, had they found what Killian had. The largest pack of condoms he'd ever seen. A bucket of lube to rival the bathtub. Fluffy handcuffs and costume whips. He imagined it was meant to be titillating. A suggestion of what the contestants might get up to. Or perhaps it was simply meant to be some sort of bonding exercise for him and his roommate. A way to get them comfortable and laughing.

While it was fun to wonder what all went into this, Killian knew that he wouldn't enjoy himself as much if he got bogged down into the meta of it all. He decided to clear his mind of the cameras and the ham-fisted manipulation and take this experience for what it was: a chance to fall in love.

Though, he wasn't sure it would be in his best interest to be holding lube when his partner finally came.

And like he'd thought it into existence, Killian heard the mechanical whir of the lock disengaging. Panicked, he threw the lube back into the nightstand. Slammed the drawer hard enough to shake the wall behind it and send the art above the bed teetering. He channeled every shitty sitcom he'd ever seen as he placed his hands on his hips and spun towards the door, sure his face had colored significantly.

The specimen that greeted his pink cheeks only had him blushing harder. The girl was stunning. Scorching brown eyes stared at him, full, pillowy lips curving into a smirk that told him he'd been caught. She flipped back dark hair of some indiscriminate color, drawing his attention to her collarbone and then to her cleavage—of which there was a fair bit.

Remembering his manners, though, Killian did not let his gaze trail the curving length of her.

"Am I interrupting something?" she finally asked, breaking the silence between them.

His humiliation, mostly.

Killian brushed back his own hair and lurched forward. "No! Not interrupting anything. I was just…exploring." He held out a hand for her to shake. "Killian."

She nodded. "I know." At his confusion, she added, "Your key was outside. Willow."

"Willow," he repeated. She still hadn't taken his outstretched hand so Killian reached for her bag instead. "Can I get that for you?"

"Sure. Thanks." Once he had her bag hidden away in the wardrobe, Willow placed her hands on her hips. "So, explorer, give me the grand tour."

He gave her a tour. Maybe not a grand one, considering he didn't open the sex drawer. But one he thought the production team could use, if they needed. Unfortunately, it turned out Willow wasn't exactly sated by his PG version of an introduction to their room and went to inspect the drawer herself, commenting absently about the brand of one of the products, claiming she'd used it before and knew it to be utter shit.

"What's this?" she asked, continuing her digging.

Killian prayed she wouldn't ask him what any of the toys did. He wasn't averse to sex, by any means. In fact, he was an enthusiastic partaker in it. He wasn't even afraid to flirt. He felt like here, though, immediately jumping from exchanging names to exchanging their preferred sex positions felt a little too wrong.

If all he wanted was to get laid, he wouldn't have gone through this whole process. Wouldn't have signed up to be filmed every second of every day.

Suffice it to say, Killian was relieved when Willow only pulled out a thick envelope with their names scrawled across the front. She folded herself onto the bed, her little yellow dress sliding up her thighs, and broke the wax seal. Killian joined her, his weight dipping the bed to bring her closer to him, though there was no helping it.

Willow, for her part, was oblivious to Killian's strain to be gentlemanly and turned her attention to their mystery, reading aloud. "‘Killian and Willow,'" she began, stopping almost as suddenly with her own interjection. "Our names don't sound very good together, do they? Anyway. ‘Killian and Willow, welcome to Honeymoon Manor. By now, you have met the contestant the public believes you would pair best with, based on your introductions. Please take this evening to get to know one another to see if the public was onto something—there might even be something in it for you. How does an extra ten thousand dollars sound?

"‘If both members of your couple decide to stay with one another for the whole five weeks, you will be eligible to win these additional funds, provided the public still stands by their match and votes for you as their favorite Honeymooners.'"

Killian felt the way Willow tensed as she read the words and he cursed whoever had written them. Now, any effort he made to get to know her would be shadowed by the looming promise of cash. He wished they'd waited longer to find it, wished they'd had time to develop even the slightest bit of rapport before having this pressure thrust upon them.

When she recovered, though, Willow only huffed and placed the letter on the mattress between them. "What if the others aren't as curious as you?" she mused. "Who's to say they'll all find the letter?"

Carefully ambiguous, Killian said, "I'm sure they'll be…encouraged…in some way or another."

She gave another huff, this time in agreement, and turned to face him. "Well, I guess we should give the people what they want, huh?"

"Huh?" he echoed.

"We get to know each other?" she clarified with a laugh. "Like the Powers That Be intended."

And maybe that was all he needed. The assurance that she wanted to keep going with him, at least for now.

Killian grinned. "Alright. You first. Tell me your favorite pie flavor."

"Wow, we're really getting into the deep stuff right away."

"Indeed," he answered solemnly.

"Who the hell has a favorite pie flavor?"

"Literally everyone."

Willow shook her head. "Favorite cake? Sure. Favorite ice cream? Even better. No one goes around contemplating what their favorite pie is."

"I do."

"Okay, then what is it?"

Killian barely let her get her question out before he said, "Banana Cream."

"Hmm." She contemplated that for a moment, studying his flopping hair and his legs crossed casually at the foot of the bed. "That makes sense."

"Told you we were getting into the deep stuff."

"Well, hang on. I said it makes sense. Doesn't necessarily tell me anything about you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm about to be sharing a bed with you but I don't know you at all. You're still a stranger."

"You know my favorite pie!" Killian protested. "Strangers don't know each other's favorite pies."

Willow raised a challenging brow but he swore he saw her fighting off a laugh. "Then what's my favorite?"

"Pumpkin."

She blinked. "How'd you come up with that? Did you just guess?"

"Ah-ha! So that means I was right." Killian shrugged, dusting off his shoulders. "It's kinda like my superpower."

"Your superpower is being able to guess people's favorite pie?"

"Not guessing," he corrected. "I can just tell."

"There really aren't that many pie flavors out there, Killian. You're probably just getting lucky."

"Nah, I know what getting lucky feels like. This ain't it."

Willow's jaw dropped but Killian was pretty sure her surprise was fake. "Was that sex joke?"

Shit, had he made a sex joke?

Killian had gotten so caught up in the bantering that it had just slipped out. He was starved for attention and conversation, having been in isolation for so long before coming on the show. His family often referred to him as their overgrown golden retriever.

Loyal. Easily excitable. Thrilled to be alive.

Now that he had someone to share that energy with—or, at least, direct it towards—he was hardly in control of what came out of his mouth. But how did he backtrack?

Seeing his distress, Willow reached out to place a hand on his arm. "Relax," she soothed. "I'm not going to run screaming if you drop the s-word."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her childproofing. Still, a little fearfully, he asked, "What are you going to do?"

Willow winked.