"Bloody hell," Killian chuckled, swinging his legs around to stand up - but first he transfigured the coffee mug - it was no longer a mug, but a cup of iced dark brew; there weren't many places to get coffee in Storybrooke, a few bakeries and one actual Storybrooke Coffee Company, but he'd had the stuff cold before and liked it. This meant he also slurped on it to leave just enough at the bottom so it wouldn't replenish.
Then he sat on the bed next to Stan - or sprawled on it, rather, making himself comfortable there too. "We'd been sailing for awhile, at sea for weeks," he began. "We stopped in a little port town in Misthaven - that's where I'm from, you see - and in the tavern where my crew and I were enjoying our ale, I met a woman. We hit it off right away, though it could be that she was just looking for an out - she was trapped in a terrible marriage, wanted me to take her with me. So I agreed - she left her husband, left her son. We sailed off together, fell in love which was unheard of. I had never loved anyone before - and she was one of the fiercest pirate I've ever known. Only she wasn't completely happy at sea - she wanted to go back for her son, and I said we could."
The scrawled ink on his arm, Milah, with the dagger through a heart - the tattoo seemed to burn the more he talked about this, which was why he never did. Usually.