a/n: this started from a dumb tumblr post I made and it turned it a two part fic woo! Lana (high-seas-swan on tumblr) saved this from being a mess and is just generally the best. part two should be up in a few days, please leave me your thoughts and feelings ily.

(title from 'crush' by yuna.)

The giggling isn't new, but he will say he hasn't heard it in a while. On this Monday morning, however, the soft echoes of laughter follow him from the parking lot and through the corridors.

He's being paranoid, he thinks. Until he turns around just before he reaches his classroom and watches a group of girls disperse, eyes shifting down quickly to their phones, their mouths quivering with restraint.

Killian knows restraint, and he definitely knows when something feels off.

Still, he's a professional. So he straightens his back and puts as much bounce in his step as one might need to convince seventeen year olds that Shakespeare is fun. It works, most days.

But today-

His first class is uncharacteristically quiet, most of them fidgeting, thinking twice before raising hands to ask questions. His second is filled with students who can barely get through reading the first scene of the second act of Othello without laughing. (Which, with all the deceit and plotting, Killian should think to be problematic.)

And, well. Killian can tell today isn't going to be like most days.

-/-

It's after his free period, fifteen minutes before his next class is due to start, that Violet fills him in.

She walks into class early, her phone in her hand and all but shoves it into his face with an expression that's equal parts embarrassment and anticipation.

"What is this?" he asks, even though he knows what it is. It's a photo of him, sitting on his own in what he knows for certain is the teacher's lounge, his nose buried in his well-worn leather-bound copy of Hamlet that Liam gifted him years ago.

"It's you," Violet replies, unhelpfully.

"Yes, but why am I on," he squints to make out the letters and adds unsurely, "hotdudesreading?" He doesn't know what this is, but it makes him want to scratch the back of his neck, his bloody nervous tic.

"Someone submitted your photo onto this public Instagram page. It's pictures of guys who look good while they're reading something. See?" She pulls back to the main page and scrolls down to show him the different photos; some on the subway, some in cafes, some in parks. His is the latest, the first one on the page. A page that he notes has close to a million followers.

He reaches out and taps disbelievingly on his photo once more.

"Fifty-three thousand likes?" he croaks out.

"And counting."

Bloody hell.

"Who took this?" It makes him uncomfortable. He knows he's attractive, but it's one thing to be told that by a woman at a bar and it's another to have strangers commenting with tongue out emojis and a litany of indecencies he definitely doesn't want his students associating with him.

Violet, perhaps noting his discomfort, shrugs with a sheepish smile. He's always liked her, is glad his seniors have a friendlier relationship with him. Friendly enough to disclose why the majority of the student body has been stealing secret looks at him all day. "It's anonymous submissions."

He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair.

"Thank you for showing me."

She nods and goes to her seat just as the other students enter the class.

Perhaps it won't last too long. Isn't the internet producing new things to talk about by the second, anyway? He puts it out of his mind and takes a second to grasp at the memory of his lesson plan.

"So, Mr. Jones," Felix calls out from the back, "read anything interesting lately?"

The others do a valiant job at hiding their laughter behind their hands but he still hears it loud as a cannon blast, a ringing sensation in his ears following after.

He forces a smile and prays to some deity listening that this dies out by the end of the day.

-/-

His lunch break feels as though it arrives after eons. He takes reprieve in not being surrounded by giggling girls and boys, and thinks that even though Felix was the only one to make a comment, it still felt like one comment too many.

Killian doesn't know what to do with all this and he refuses to open his own app and obsessively check the comments section of the photo. He considers composing a request to the account to take it down, but everyone's already seen it. If he knows how this generation works, there must already be thousands of screenshots floating around in group chats. It's useless. It will do him no good.

Doing what he knows, instead, he grabs his packed sandwich, dispenses two cappuccinos from the lounge's coffee machine and makes his way down the hall. He knocks on the ajar door before entering, his stomach doing a little flip at the sight of his colleague as she looks up at him through her lashes, her thick frames sliding down her nose.

It's a familiar sensation, one that he often feels in the presence of Emma Swan. One he feels even more so when he's not expecting to see her. Ever since he'd been introduced to her on his first day teaching at Storybrooke High a year and a half ago, and she'd shaken his hand warily, keeping their conversation curt, he's been captivated. It was her beauty that had struck him then, but as she'd slightly loosened her grip on her formalities, her wit and intelligence and the sound of her laughter bewitched him further. Not to mention her walls, the bits of her past that he's pieced together mirroring some of his own experiences. He sees some part of himself in her.

He's a little pathetic. He knows.

They're not really friends. A little more than acquaintances, perhaps. Her being the school counsellor, Killian doesn't see her as much as he sees his other colleagues (to his misfortune). He's spoken to her on multiple occasions regarding matters that don't concern learning patterns and lesson plans. He initiates lunch invites, which she more often than not turns down. But she doesn't get up and take another seat when he sits next to her during staff meetings and there are days where they banter like they've known each other for years; he holds on to the little victories. There's a distance between them that he wants so desperately to bridge. He never quite knows where he stands in her eyes.

He's a literature major with an indispensable vocabulary, but he still hasn't been able to find the right word to describe just what his relationship with Emma Swan is.

"I was looking for Belle?" It comes out like a question.

"She just went out to print something."

"I see. I'll just-" He nods his head out to the corridor, a little disarmed by the way she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then decides better and takes them off.

"Killian!" Belle chooses that moment to nearly ram into his back. He shakes his head, putting down the coffees on the table and rushing back to take the stack of papers from her hands. "Thank you," she says with a smile.

"Always here to serve, love."

Belle swats his arm as she passes him on her way to her desk. His eyes dart to Emma once more.

"I brought coffee but you're busy so I'll just-"

"I think I'll leave you both to-"

Emma and Killian begin at the same time, cutting off to look at each other. Emma's half out of her seat and Killian scratches behind his ear, feeling a little like a schoolboy.

"Both of you, sit," Belle commands, armed with her Teacher Voice that he knows she uses to get students in line.

"Are you-"

"Sit."

He does.

The desk is a little crowded with three people using it but they manage, if a little awkwardly. Killian slides Belle's coffee over to her and his own over to Emma, which she accepts after a second of hesitation.

He often pops in to have lunch with Belle, to discuss and debate over the books they're currently reading, the assignments they're thinking of handing out, and how they're doing in general. Belle's the only one on campus whom he's discussed his infatuation with Emma Swan with. Which is why he shoots her a narrow-eyed look as he unwraps his sandwich. She simply smiles at him in mock innocence.

It's always the quiet ones, Killian thinks.

"Behind on paperwork?" he asks Emma after a while, noting her alternating between her salad and a small stack of papers.

"A little."

"Emma had a busy weekend," Belle adds, her tone instructing Emma to participate more. Emma's following sigh would be funny if it weren't seeping in annoyance.

"Ruby had a bachelorette party that kind of went on for a day longer than it was supposed to."

Killian knows Ruby in passing; she's the head waitress at Granny's, the most popular establishment in town. He doesn't even remember how he heard of Ruby's engagement or upcoming wedding but it was probably the small town rumour mill finding its way to him. Killian can't escape it even if he tries. "Please tell me there are videos somewhere of you doing drunk karaoke."

Emma raises an eyebrow. "Everyone knows I'm not above homicide."

"You give yourself too little credit, Swan." It's a small step, his graduating from calling her Ms. Swan, to the dropping of the prefix. He understood the significance the day he'd referred to her by her last name and had not received a complaint from her. (Has he mentioned that he's pathetic?)

"What about you? Fun weekend?" Belle asks, sipping her coffee.

"Uneventful," he replies. "My Monday, however, has been an ongoing...adventure."

Emma glances at him and Belle quirks up an eyebrow in question. He brought this upon himself, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the photo on the page. He slides it across the desk and is grateful neither of them are looking directly at him.

When she registers what it is she's looking at, Emma coughs. Hard and long enough that he rips open the third drawer where he knows Belle keeps an extra water bottle and hands it to her. He rubs his palm up and down her back, until she's recovered and become rigid under his touch.

Slowly, he pulls his hand away, a feeling of pins crawling up to his elbow as he does.

He wants to make a joke about it not being the first time he's left a woman speechless, but suddenly he's embarrassed by the photo. He doesn't understand it, but he wishes she hadn't seen it. Perhaps he doesn't like the idea that she would not care at all.

Emma looks at it again, exhales.

"Wow," Belle comments.

He can only assume she's talking about the steady rise of the likes. "Yeah."

"I guess it makes sense why Aurora and August were whispering about you. Well, they thought they were whispering." Belle huffs.

"The teachers too?" He groans, swiftly lands his forehead on her desk.

After a while, Emma says, "Aren't you used to the attention?"

Killian turns to her, resting on his cheek. "Perhaps in a personal setting, not a professional one."

"Please, what about your first week here?" she scoffs. "Kids were following you around like ducks."

"That was simply because I was new. Now it's because I'm on the internet for being hot."

She still looks confused, but she also looks sympathetic. He'll take it.

Emma clears her throat and smiles tightly, even for her. "I'm sure it'll blow over soon."

"Until then, get used to being followed around again?" Belle provides, an unhelpful shrug following.

Killian steals a crouton off Emma's salad and pops it in his mouth. "Quack."

-/-

Soon must definitely mean after the week is over.

It's as though he's teaching a group of Cheshire cats, their grins nearly splitting their faces.

On Wednesday afternoon during his lunch, someone slips a printed out version of the page with his photo under his classroom door.

Killian scrunches it up and shoves it in his bottom drawer. Perhaps if he were still in college, he'd appreciate being the centre of attention like this. But he's past that, past focusing on the superficial; he's rebuilt himself up from the death of his fiancée, and since then, has focused only on the things that genuinely matter in his life.

Maybe he's making a bigger deal out of this than he needs to. Maybe it's just that it's strange to have Ms. De Vil wink at him as he passes her in the hallway.

Thursday evening, while he's buying groceries, Walter's fixated on watching him from behind the checkout counter, even his perpetual sneezing from his year-round allergies halted for the purpose.

"I take it you saw the photo," Killian says.

"Who hasn't?" Walter replies.

Some part of him, he will admit, is definitely amused. He's hardly a man to be starstruck over. And yet, Walter gives him a five dollar discount and a coupon for half off at Any Given Sundae. There are some things he just can't complain about.

-/-

"Apparently I'm in the presence of a celebrity. Congratulations, mate."

"Sod off, Robin."

"All I'm saying is you better not forget us little folk."

If he were anywhere but on school grounds, Killian would definitely flip him off.

-/-

Elsa sent an image

Elsa: ! ! !

Liam: Brother, is that you?

Killian: Gods, not you guys too

Elsa: Someone at work showed it to me, they recognised you from the photo on my desk

Killian: Wonderful

Killian: I'm statewide

Elsa: Technically, international

Elsa: At least it's a nice photo

Liam: Don't think your ego needs a couple thousand people more telling you you look good

Elsa: You should hire this person as your personal photographer

Liam: They do have a knack for composition

Killian: I'm muting this chat

Liam: Has your Ms. Swan seen it yet?

Liam: Maybe she's interested in celebrities and it'll help you win her over

Killian: Goodbye

-/-

It's as though the whole town has caught a virus where they're incapable of speaking of anything else. Killian pinches himself a few times during the day just to make sure he isn't stuck in some elaborate dream that stretches the realm of science fiction and tragic humor.

Pinches himself again when he overhears Paige and Ava after class, discussing the likelihood of fictional characters being featured on said page.

("Which one do you think?"

"I mean, Romeo, for sure."

"That's obvious, though. What about Prospero?"

"Yeah, I could see it."

"Coriolanus reading war strategies."

"Bassanio reading a self-help book on how to get rich quick."

"Oh, what about Austen's men?"

"Darcy. A few more probably, but, Darcy."

A sigh. "Yeah. Darcy.")

At least they're paying attention in class, Killian thinks.

At least if he's stuck in a rut, he has an interesting discussion topic at hand. Shooting himself in the foot in the process, sure. But he has to admit, a lot of Austen's men would find themselves on there.

Great, now he's got the bloody virus too.

-/-

His own Instagram app is tucked away in a subfolder on his phone titled Extra. It's all the things he's downloaded and tried out but doesn't care for much when it comes to daily use. It's a private account with two posts and only a handful of followers, two of those being his family. In fact, he doesn't pay mind to social media in general.

Elsa thinks he's trying too hard to be "cool" by not doing what everyone else is doing. Hipster, Roland had once called him when he'd come to school in suspenders and forgone his contacts for his glasses.

Perhaps he's too much of an old soul caught in the body of someone living in the twenty-first century. He's got far more to discuss than what a hundred and forty characters would allow him to.

Still, he can appreciate the advancement that the internet has brought, a completely new language that it's created with acronyms and shorter words per sentences that deliver precisely the same meanings. Wherein I'm going to die ilysm and omg wtf this man and CRYING are all appropriately positive expressions, and apparently only the beginning of the comments under his photo.

"Some of these are actually funny, you should read- oh, not that one." Belle's been reading a few of them out, Robin jumping in ever so often as Killian shoves spoon after spoon of strawberry yogurt into his mouth. He doesn't know how this started, they were having a quiet enough lunch, but- Killian's thinking about giving the virus a name, no use of putting it on a leash, it's bound to follow him around regardless.

"Actually, that one's quite hilarious, too."

"Inappropriate," Belle chides.

"This was where it was taken, right?" Robin asks, looking around the room. "Who do you think did it?"

Killian's thought about it, and he can never pin one person down. He shrugs. "I am curious, though. It wasn't one of you, was it?"

"I didn't even know there was a site for this," Robin laughs while Belle shakes her head no. "But this could be fun. Power of elimination," Robin adds, sitting up. "Considering only we have access to this lounge and surely you or someone else would have noticed a student in here, it narrows it down to the staff."

"It's like a mystery novel," Belle chirps, excited.

Killian grins in amusement. "Even if we find this person, what makes you think they'll admit to doing it?"

"It's worth a try, right?" Belle replies. "I know you're curious. Besides, it might be fun."

"Perhaps."

"First thing's first, who would you consider the least likely suspect?" Robin asks.

Emma, is his first thought. Partly because she's standing behind Robin as she gets coffee and thus, is directly in his line of vision. And partly because, well, he's not wrong, is he? He is on friendly terms with every one of his colleagues, even Cruella. Born with enough charm for the both of us, Liam used to say when they were growing up. Emma is the only one who doesn't even bother with him outside of greetings most days.

"Merlin," he says instead, finding it easier to admit out loud.

Robin clicks his tongue. "You think the Principal doesn't fall for those dimples? You must be more of an idiot than I thought."

-/-

He thinks about tacking up a few photos on his whiteboard at home and tying up strings to connect them, making himself a makeshift murder board, but that might be a little too dramatic. Even for him.

He's terribly tempted. But he sticks to keeping his thoughts and observations to himself, lists down suspects in order of most to least likely.

It goes something like:

Cruella (only for the sake that she's incredibly talented at making him squirm in his own skin) Aurora (he was all too aware of the infatuation she harboured for him during his first month at Storybrooke High) Zelena (see Cruella, but a tad milder) August (not much reasoning, he's just shady)

And on and on, until he's running through reasonings and possibilities every time he passes by a colleague in the hallway. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind he shouldn't fixate too much on this because it has the capability to drive him mad.

He's stirring cream into his coffee, his thoughts swirling around as he tries to get them under control. Midterms are around the corner and perhaps that's a better, more productive, use of his mental capacity.

"You doing okay, Jones?"

He looks up and his stomach does that flip that betrays him. "Pardon?"

Emma looks like she wants to roll her eyes, but she doesn't and it makes him smile. "You've been scowling at that cup for a while."

It's late afternoon, and the sun streams through the large lounge window and silhouettes the right side of Emma just perfectly. The one sunny day they've gotten in ages and it seeks her out; as if he needed more reasons to think she's ethereal.

"It's been a long day," he chuckles with a shake of his head. And it had, without including his constant rushing thoughts. He's simultaneously glad and not glad that it's just the two of them here; the former because he won't resent spending any time with Emma, the latter because he wants to not stare at her like an idiot but he doesn't know where else to look.

"How's Henry doing?" she asks after she's got her own drink in hand. He softens at the mention of the lad he's so fond of. Henry Mills, son of the mayor, went through a bit of a rough patch with his adoptive mother a few months ago, and it affected his results in school. It took a few meetings and plans between Emma and a few teachers to get him back on track.

"Better, much better. All thanks to you. You're that lad's bloody hero, Swan." He admires her for her determination in bettering these kids' lives. He's so far gone for her and that is most definitely one of the reasons why.

She shrugs, waving away his praise. "It takes a village. We've got a good team here." He knows she means the faculty, but for a split second he lives in the delusion that she means the two of them. She stares at the cup in her hand for a long second, shifting the weight between her feet. "I should get going," she finally says. It's disappointment that causes his shoulders to slump.

"Right. Yes. I, myself, should be heading out soon, just a few more papers left to grade." He grins through his weary sigh.

It makes her smile for some reason or the other. He isn't going to question it. "See you, Jones."

"Always a pleasure, Swan."

He watches her until she's out of his line of vision, then takes a whole two minutes to snap out of it before he gets up and goes back to work.

-/-

She sits with him the next time he's alone, having coffee and contemplating papers. He asks her to join him, bracing for disappointment, but to his utter surprise she takes the seat in front of him.

It's harder to concentrate on work after that.

The next time, he doesn't even ask. She simply slides into the empty chair with a silent nod in greeting and a barely-there smile.

He has a hard time piecing it all together, getting his brain to register that she's willingly spending time with him. Even if it is mostly in silence as they work. Even if her smiles are still not given freely and pulling a laugh out of her is a quest fit for a folktale.

Even then, it's as though he's dreaming.

-/-

It's a strange thing, becoming friends with Emma Swan. In the few weeks that it takes, he almost doesn't notice it happen, and yet he's hyperaware of every laugh she gives him, every text she sends that may be read as mildly flirtatious, every instance she lets him flop onto the soft leather couch in her office without an eye roll.

("I could sleep here for weeks," he murmurs into the cushion of the couch, his legs too long to fit so they dangle off the edge.

"You have a class in ten minutes."

"Don't ruin a good thing, Swan."

"Your job is a good thing that you'll ruin if you don't go to class."

He groans, but she lets him drink half her coffee before he has to leave.)

Maybe he'd miss their budding friendship if he blinked, he thinks. He isn't nitpicking, isn't over analyzing, and yet the gradual pace of it drives him a little bit insane. Because let's face it, at the end of the day, when he's lying down by himself in his bed, getting ready to sleep, all he can think about is how he really, truly, just wants to kiss her.

After months and months of acquaintanceship, Emma is finally his friend. And that is enough.

And yet-

Yet, when she swipes her tongue over her lips to catch a few stray drops of her coffee, he thinks that it is definitely not enough.