SO, THIS IS MY SWANFIRE VERSION (YAY!) IT WON'T DIVERGE FOR A COUPLE CHAPTERS FROM THE OTHER VERSION, BUT I RECOMMEND READING THIS ONE BECAUSE THIS ONE WILL END SF.

Neal Cassidy was the most popular boy in school; which was why it was odd that his best friend was Killian Jones—the most unpopular boy in school.

Killian was the kid who sat in the back of the class, trying to look edgy with his black clothes and thick eyeliner, propping his feet up on the desk in front of him. When he spoke, he tried to sound mysterious and deep, spouting random quotes from pretentious writers and using words like, "fugue". Perhaps the most irritating thing about him was the way he stared at people, as though he knew all their secrets just by looking at them, and seemed to think it made him insightful.

It did not.

Neal, on the other hand, was the easygoing guy who managed to be friends with everyone. He could remember the little details about people's lives, and often checked in for updates. He was pretty smart, friendly, and really just a genuinely nice guy. And probably the best thing about Neal Cassidy was that he wasn't annoyingly perfect, and owned it.

Neal was definitely not the strongest writer; nor was he a particularly good artist; and the fact that his stepfather was the principal made things a bit tense, especially since he occasionally got sent down there accompanied by a certain Mr. Jones. But it seemed to endear him to everyone even more that he wasn't impossibly good.

Like Graham.

Graham Hunter. The boy all the other boys hated, and all the girls loved. He was ridiculously good-looking, with top marks across the board; involved in all sorts of charities and volunteer opportunities; head of Student Council, on the soccer team, first violin in the school orchestra (there was even a rumor going around that he was applying to Juliard). And worst of all, he was the nicest person in the world: he made Mary Poppins look like a cold-hearted, Nazi bitch.

That was really the reason why Killian had been forced to punch him in the cafeteria. See, he was doing that infuriating thing where he smiled and said, "Hey, Killian. How's your day going?", like he was actually interested in how his day was going, even though he couldn't possibly interested in his day, because Killian wasn't friends with Graham. A few sarcastic replies later, Killian was being escorted to Mr. Gold's office by a disgruntled Mr. Booth, his fist still throbbing from slamming it into Graham's jaw.

"I was starting to worry," Mr. Gold said dryly, as Killian took a seat across the desk. "I haven't seen you down here in a month, I thought something had happened to you."

"Graham Hunter is an insufferable little shit," Killian said without preamble.

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. "And how did he offend you, that he deserved a punch in the jaw? Because from what Mr. Booth told me—" he pretended to consult a piece of paper—"he politely greeted you, and attempted to engage in friendly conversation."

"Well, when you put it like that," Killian huffed, folding his arms.

"Do you have another way of putting it?"

"Yes, that was what I lead with: 'Graham Hunter is an insufferable little shit'."

Gold smiled humorlessly. "There's that razor-sharp wit."

"All right, look," Killian sighed, leaning forward to put his elbows on the desk. "The truth is…I'm having problems at home, and I'm acting out."

"And what problems would those be?"

Killian pretended to be overcome with emotion to give himself time to think. "My brother died," he said tearfully, drawing his finger (carefully) under his eyelinered eye. "Just last week."

Gold raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Liam?"

"Yes," he wept, hiding his face in his sleeve.

"Who just called me this morning, asking for a letter of recommendation?"

Killian froze. "Uh…"

"Look, Jones, the issues behind your pathological lying are between you and your therapist. All you need to know is, I'm not going to tolerate it or violence in my school." Gold fixed him with a stern look. "Do you understand?"

"No. Perhaps if you try it in French?" Killian's smile faded as Gold's frowned deepened. "Too soon?"

"Too soon."

"Hmm."

"Clearly, endless detention doesn't work with you," Gold said, moving papers around his desk importantly. "So, you're going to spend your otherwise useless detention hours doing something productive." He flashed him a sarcastic smile. "You get to help out the drama club."

"I can't act," Killian said quickly.

"You were pretty convincing in the role of 'Grieving Brother' a few minutes ago," Gold smirked. "But you misunderstand me, Jones. You will not be gracing the theater world with your presence. You're just helping out backstage."

"Oh." Killian shrugged. It could have been worse, he supposed. "And how long am I helping out backstage, exactly?"

"As long as they need," Gold said. "Apparently, the arts are very important," he added with an eye-roll.

And that was how Killian Jones, the most unpopular boy in school, found himself in the theater after school: holding a dripping paintbrush as Emma Swan lazily explained the secret inner workings of the Drama Club.