Emma stares at the red markings on her paper in horror – there are so many of them, she can hardly see her own text below. Any other paper, or any other teacher, she would probably already be having an argument and telling her professor how many ways she is right and why her grade should be higher than a D minus and how she did not go back to college at 27 to fail.
She sinks lower in her chair now, though, because this isn't just any teacher and it certainly isn't just any paper; turns out she accidentally turned in the wrong one, so she can't really blame him for questioning what the hell she's doing.
The thing is, she had been working on her paper for two days straight and was staying awake simply by the ridiculous amount of caffeine in her blood stream. During one of her study breaks she thought it would be a glorious idea to write something else, just to make her brain relax enough to be able to squeeze out the last 500 words for her paper, and so she wrote whatever came to mind first; less than an hour later she had 2500 words on why one of her professors, Killian Jones, was nothing but pure perfection.
The problem? Well, she seems to have handed in that one instead of her actual paper – and her professor in this particular class just happens to be no other than Killian Jones.
Safe to say, she wants to crawl into a hole in the ground and die.
(Beside her, Ruby is laughing so hard she can't breathe properly, and Emma wants to see the fun in this, she really does, but she's too mortified to do anything but blush).
She quickly flip through the pages (trying to remember when she had used the words 'Eyes bluer than an ocean I want nothing more than to drown in') when she sees the end notes he has left for her about coming to talk to him. Of course he would want to see her after class. Perhaps to tell her she is creepy and that she's not allowed to participate in his classes any longer because it makes him uncomfortable. Or maybe he has already called the police, accusing her of being a stalker?
She freaks out, and doesn't hear a word in his lecture until everyone starts packing their things and leaving the room. She takes her arm and drags it across her desk, holding out her bag underneath to catch all of her things – she'll have to sort it all out later. Right now her priority is getting the hell out of there (before he notices) and to never return again.
Because her life hates her sometimes, she hardly gets a foot outside the door before she hears a voice behind her. "Swan, could you please stay behind? I need to talk to you."
She freezes at the spot, not sure if she should make a run for it or do as he wants. Being who she is (afraid to get the final grade of D in his class), she slowly turns around and waits for the last students to leave. She keeps her head down, terrified to meet his gaze.
"Are you planning on examining your feet for our entire conversation?" He sounds – well, amused – and it shocks her enough to look up. Sure enough, there's a smile on his (perfect) lips and her heart breaks a little. She expected a reprimand, or suspension for inappropriate behavior, but she didn't actually think he would openly mock her about it.
"What did you want?" She tries not to grit her teeth, but her irritation is stronger.
"Did you have an actual paper for me to grade?"
She frowns. "Well, yeah, but I – "
"Fine, email it to me this afternoon."
Her frown deepens. "That's – that's all you wanted to see me about?"
"Why, did you want to discuss my dimples shaped like a smile from the sun?" He smirks as he quotes her own words to her, and she can't help but roll her eyes.
"I'm over it." She shrugs and starts to leave, hoping she looks very casual about it and not as if she is freaking out. (Her heart beats twice as fast when she understands that he read her paper enough to remember what she wrote by heart).
"Too bad, I was thinking perhaps dinner and a movie next week."
She turns her head fast enough to get a whiplash, and meets his gaze, searching for mockery. "What?"
He smiles again. "You heard me."
"But – "
He cuts her off, already knowing what she's about to ask. "My last class is this Friday, and since I couldn't find your name on my list for next semester, it doesn't appear as any conflict will arise. Of course, if you do not want to go on a date with me, that's your choice." He says it easily, in a bit of a rush, and she can't help her own smile.
"You checked for my name?"
His cheeks turn red. "I do that for every semester, I really do. It was solely for professional reasons." He scratches himself behind his ear, before letting out a breath. "I'm busted, aren't I?"
She laughs, and scrambles through her bag for an old business card and hands it to him. "Friday next week. Call me."
His accepts it with great delicacy, and tucks it carefully in his chest pocket. "I will."