Prompten: this person has a huge crush on another person and he/she doodles on their notebooks about their crush and one day, the person's crush accidentally takes their notebook instead of their own
I have no idea how American universities are so this is completely based on how things work at my university. (Thursday is the day everyone goes out because a lot of the students return home for the weekend)
Who on earth believed it was all right to schedule one of the most complex and difficult courses on a Friday, at 8.30 in the morning, no less. Because Killian could have a serious talk with that person. Students are not fresh, nor eager to learn at that time; they are tired, their minds still hazed by alcohol and lack of sleep. And having those people sit through a three hour lecture by a professor who has never heard of the word intonation, is basically spurring them to fail.
But every week again, at 8.15 sharp Killian walks into the lecture hall, a trace of darkness under his eyes and the thought that he can't miss this class in his head.
The black seats are mainly still empty, only a few eager students have already claimed one as theirs. It is not difficult to spot her, the chestnut strands perfectly braided and her face bright, as if she hadn't been out and about with Killian and the rest of their friends only a couple of hours ago. Belle waves to signal that the place next to her is reserved for him.
"Good morning," she chirps, making Killian wonder how she is in such a good mood after barely four hours of sleep.
"Morning," he replies, a little less happy. "How do you do it?"
Belle immediately picks up as to what he is referring and snickers softly.
"The powers of tea, Killian. Never underestimate them."
Killian unfolds the desk and sets his backpack on the ground. Trying to move around in the tight space, he retrieves the 500 page syllabus (how is that considered a summary?) out of it. When he sits back up, a tall, white cup is standing on the corner of the table.
"Coincidentally," Belle resumes, "I brought you some."
"Thank you, Belle."
Killian's hands curl around the container, absorbing the warmth it's transferring. The signs that winter is arriving become more evident every day; when Killian leaves in the morning the sun is only beginning to ascend. A cold wind turns his hands and the tips of his ears red and seems more at home in the North Pole than in the USA. It won't take long until the snow starts to fall; exams will follow suit, winter really isn't that fun.
Sipping the hot liquid, Killian leafs through the book in front of him in search of the page the lesson ended last week. The professor was discussing the influence of the media on history and while that is quite an interesting topic, Killian spent more time on his phone texting with Robin and Liam than he did listening. He finds the page and lightly presses down to keep it in place. Students keep trickling in, taking their seat and as the clock's time shifts, the lecture starts.
There are some certainties in life; the sky is blue, the world is round, hours go more slowly in class and the blond girl is always twenty minutes late.
At first Killian didn't notice her, how could he in an auditorium with hundreds of people, but the third week she entered, they were being shown a video in dimmed light and her presence literally illuminated the room. Hastily, she sought out one of the empty seats on the first row, trying to limit the attention towards her.
As the year progresses, the others get used to her being late, they don't look up anymore when she enters at 8:50, but Killian does. Every time.
He sees her blond hair. He sees her red leather jacket, which clings to her figure so wonderfully, her high boots, her backpack carelessly thrown over her shoulder. He sees her, but doesn't know her, doesn't even know her name. They only have one class together as far as Killian knows, one the whole faculty has and he hasn't seen her anywhere on campus.
If he did, maybe he would actually have a shot to talk to her, to attach a face and name to the silhouette. Maybe it would become less weird to be practically in love with someone he has only seen from a long distance.
"Why is she always late?" Killian asks himself in a quiet whisper.
Belle's head turns with a questioning look, telling Killian it wasn't that quiet. She bows closer.
"Who are you talking about?"
Killian tips his chin towards the blonde and Belle follows his direction.
"Oh, Emma," she says.
His eyes grow larger first before he turns his head to Belle with such velocity that there's a crack coming from his neck. Did he hear that right?
"Sorry?" says Killian coyly, trying to gain more information from his friend.
"That's Emma," Belle repeats and when there is still no spark of recognition in Killian's eyes, she continues. "You know Mary Margaret, right? David's girlfriend?"
Of course Killian knows her. He has met Mary Margaret a couple of times when they were having a big party with all of their friends present and they spoke a few times. Mary Margaret seems great and David is absolutely smitten with her. For good reason, those two are perfect as a couple. There are no kinder, more generous souls walking on campus and those two souls belong together.
"Yeah."
"Emma Swan-" Belle points at the first row seat where the blonde is sitting. "- is Mary Margaret's roommate. They're friends even though Emma is a little secluded sometimes."
So all this time, all the time spent wondering who she was and thinking about her, mystery blonde girl and Killian were only separated by two connections, David and Mary Margaret. Well, he doesn't have to call her mystery girl anymore, it's Emma Swan. How good it feels to have such a substantial piece of her character. It suits her.
"Huh, I did not know that." Killian takes a nonchalant sip of his tea, ending their talk and focusing on Professor Monotonous again.
His attention doesn't stay long on the balding man, but shifts to a little nook of white, textless space in the syllabus. Grabbing his pencil, he starts sketching a beak and a curvy neck. Feathers form on the page and adorn the body. Killian leans back a bit, gazing at his drawn swan. Perfect.
-/-
It was a bad idea to go out last night and it was an even worse idea to forget to set his alarm clock. It was Belle's phone call at 8:25 that took over his alarm's job and scared Killian awake.
He can never be on time, not when he still needs to get dressed and his books are scattered in a mess on his desk. Killian also can't miss this class because what the professor says, how lifeless it may be, is worth so much on the exam.
Breathlessly, Killian slowly pushes one of the double doors open, peaking inside before he walks in. With a couple of quick steps and his eyes directed to the ground, he reaches an empty first row chair. There's a buzz in his pocket and Killian takes out his phone.
Belle: Well, good morning sleepyhead
Killian: Shhhh, did I miss much?
Belle: Nope, only a 10 minute introduction
Killian: Great, I'll join you after the break
Their conversation ends there, Killian not feeling comfortable with texting right under the professor's nose. There really isn't much to do except for dedicating his full concentration to the lecture.
"Is this seat empty?"
Killian breaks his attention away and turns to the source of the whisper. He forgets how to move for a moment; her beauty too overwhelming for his slightly still hungover and four hours of sleep self to comprehend. Besides, this is the first time Killian has had the honor to behold Emma Swan from up close. He definitely wasn't ready for this.
"Um, yeah," he whispers back, his throat suddenly way drier than it had been before.
Emma sits down next to him, flicking her blonde hair aside to take off her red jacket. Killian tries not to stare, he tries to force his eyes to leave her and listen to the lesson, but they just keep drifting back. Back to her. Back to Emma Swan.
This isn't good. Before she was simply a stranger, a random person his mind had turned into this perfect girl, but now… Killian knows for certain that her eyes are green and that she smells like cinnamon and that he's completely fucked. There's no way he will ever be able to stop thinking about her. And he can't come across like an obsessed freak (where did his dashing side go and how can he get it back)
After fifty minutes, the first break of two comes around and Killian decides to take action. He should at least have one conversation with her, to make him seem less like a stalker and more like a striking fellow student.
Those mossy eyes of hers are glued to a bright mobile screen while her thumb swipes over the glass.
"I'm Killian," he says.
"Emma." Her reply is accompanied by a small, courteous smile.
Her gaze falls on her phone again, thinking that there is no need for further interaction besides their introduction.
"What do you study?"
Emma's fingers pause above her screen, being watched by her and as the seconds tick away, Killian becomes afraid that she'll simply start typing again and ignore him and his question altogether. It is a relief when Emma seems intrigued enough by him to lock her mobile and stuff it away in the pocket of her jeans.
"Moral sciences." Emma adapts her position in the cramped seat and faces him. "You?" she asks in return.
"History."
It makes Emma laugh and Killian smiles along, even if he doesn't really understand her amusement; he feels her laughter resonate inside.
"I really don't get why people would voluntarily study history," she says boldly.
It should offend Killian, but he's grown used to the comments. So many people just don't see the use of someone studying the past, they see it as a waste of time and a future without prospects or prosperity. He doesn't mind. They can say whatever they would like. Killian loves seeing the customs throughout history. He loves reading about things that have taken place. His soul is an old one.
"I could say the same about moral sciences," Killian retorts. "Besides, I get to write essays about piracy in history and I don't think you get to do that."
This time the reason Emma laughs is very clear. Because of him.
"No, I guess I don't," Emma concedes with a small roll of her eyes.
"I take it you're not a big fan of Historical Criticism."
"How did you guess?" Emma teases.
Killian raises his shoulders pretending to gloat.
"There's a reason I always arrive late. I don't like this course and I don't like getting up early on a Friday for this."
"Then why do you still attend?" Killian questions.
"Well..." Emma comes closer, as if she is just about the share a valuable secret that is only meant for his ears. "Rumor has it that only two out of ten students pass this course and I'd still like some chance to be one of those."
"Hold on, two out of ten?" he repeats unbelievingly.
Killian knew that HC was indeed very difficult, but he had never heard that things were that bad. He does a mental count.
"That's like 120 people out of this room."
"I know."
"Bloody hell."
The rustle over the intercom starts anew, announcing the reprise of the lesson and ending the conversation between Emma and Killian.
It's a wonder when Killian manages to focus and note what is being said and everything improves even more when the professor shows several clips of footage to support his words.
The second break arrives fast and Killian wants to continue his chat with Emma, but she stands up, lifting the foldable desk and announcing she has to go to the bathroom. She awkwardly holds her syllabus and papers in hand, looking for a spot to put it. Before she can duck down to take her backpack, Killian, the gentleman that he is, offers to place it on her desk. With a thank you, Emma leaves the row.
"Do not worry, your book and notes shan't come into danger and will remain in my safe keep," he calls, immediately cringing at his own words.
Emma lightly shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. A good sign Killian hopes. A sign she doesn't think he's a complete nerd.
"And I thought you were coming to me after the break, but I see you've already found a replacement for me."
Right, Belle. Killian promised to go sit with her after the first break and he completely forgot. Or the thought was blocked by Emma's presence.
"I'm sorry, Belle," he apologizes.
Belle plunks down on the chair next to him.
"Don't worry about it." She elbows him with a grin. "How's Emma?"
"Nice. And amazing," he adds.
"Maybe you should be late more often."
Belle winks at him and Killian feels the blood rush to his face. Apparently his crush on Emma was a bit more obvious than he thought.
"Haha." Killian says, not a trace of humor in his voice.
"Alright, I'm going back to my seat. You'd better get her number after class, Killian Jones. Otherwise, you're back to another week of yearning looks and pining."
Belle stands up and Killian doesn't even attempt to convince her he doesn't yearn. He knows for a fact that he does.
Killian's pen rolls off the desk, falling dangerously close to the hole between the row and the floor. He dives after it, but as he straightens his back slightly too soon, the back of his head hits the desk. Growling in pain, Killian rubs over the aching spot. He fetches the books and notepads that had fallen in his moment of grace from the ground, grabs his mobile and pretends like nothing ever happened.
Especially when Emma enters the auditorium again. Killian continues to casually scroll through Facebook's contents.
"Thanks," Emma says as she returns to sit next to him. She takes the top syllabus and her block of paper underneath and hunches over the table. They both flip to the page where they had last added something to their scribbles.
The lesson ends with the professor explaining some reading they will have to do for next week's session and Emma hurriedly begins to pack her bag.
"I have another class in ten minutes so I have to hurry," she explains.
"I thought you didn't mind being late?"
"I don't. But only to the boring classes of course." Her backpack is swung on her shoulder and Emma folds her leather jacket around her arm. "See you next week, Killian."
"Bye," he responds, watching the blonde hair vanish again.
Shoving his stuff into his backpack, he stands up to let the other people pass. When he arrives at the entrance, Belle is waiting for him.
"Did you ask her?" Belle asks him hopefully.
Killian furrows his brow.
"Ask her what?"
"Killian." Her small hand gives him a light swat against the shoulder. "Her number," she clarifies.
Killian shakes his head.
"I forgot, but I'll do it next time."
In truth, Killian didn't forget. The thought crossed his mind several times. There is just something about her that makes him feel all bashful and insecure. Every time he tried to form the words, they got stuck somewhere in his throat.
"Okay." Belle's tone sounds unconvinced. "I have to go, I have my English literature class in 15 minutes. I'll see you on Monday."
-/-
The advantage of studying history is that there is not one class taught on Wednesday, which gives Killian a handy, midweek break from university. He sleeps in, classifies his documents and works for school.
The text they were supposed to read for Historical Criticism is long and filled with difficult, extended sentences that fill up one page according to Belle so he should better get that out of the way. Starting at the front, Killian searches the index for the topic the professor assigned.
There is something written in a fast scrawl that is clearly not his tidy handwriting.
Property of Emma Swan
Their books must have accidentally gotten swapped as they fell on the ground. He guesses he'll hand her her book back on Friday in class. It's a convenient excuse to talk to Emma again.
Killian sifts through the book; he feels amazed by how blank the pages are, void of any notes or doodles. His syllabus is quite the contrary, filled with little blue and black drawings made in class or fluorescent ones made while studying.
Suddenly, Killian opens his eyes widely, a gasp following fast and his lips separating in a nearly comical expression. If Emma has his book, she will see the additions he made to it. The swan that he has drawn repeatedly on nearly every page. Perhaps she could think that's a coincidence, but the drawing of her could definitely not be.
She must recognize the hair and the jacket and why is he such an idiot? He can't even face her anymore to return her book if she has seen what is in his. There is a small chance, a nearly impossible, microscopically tiny chance that Emma won't bother to read the text. Her distaste for the subject might make her skip opening the syllabus entirely. Killian spends the next few minutes wishing fervently, asking the universe for this small favor.
-/-
The red, digital letters indicate that it is 8:20, ten full minutes until the lecture starts and Killian has to blink several times to check if he's not hallucinating when he sees Emma walk in. She's on time.
For the first time in over two months Emma Swan is on time for Historical Criticism. What an extraordinary day to witness.
There aren't many people seated yet which leaves a wide array of empty seats for Emma to choose from. And of course, because that's how the world works, Emma picks the empty place on his left.
"Good morning!" She drops her bag on the floor and opens the chair.
"Morning," he answers. "Look at you, on time for a change." Killian shoots her an impressed look.
"My roommate's alarm went off anyway so I thought I might get up as well." Emma shrugs coolly.
"Do you mean Mary Margaret?" Belle asks, leaning forward past Killian.
"Yeah." Emma smiles. "You know her?"
"I do, we both do. She's a friend of mine. I'm Belle by the way."
"Emma."
The two girls shake hands in front of Killian, forcing him to awkwardly recline to avoid interrupting their moment. He waits until they're finished to bring up the matter of the switched books.
"That reminds me," he begins. "Emma, we accidentally traded books. I have yours and you have mine."
Emma's blonde brow rises and she takes out said handbook.
"Oh really?"
Killian can barely suppress the sigh of relief. It is a good sign; Emma hadn't noticed yet.
"Didn't you do our homework?" Killian carefully inquires, trading the books that looked identical on the outside but couldn't be more different inside.
"Three hours of HC during the week is already enough, I'm not about to spend my free time on it as well."
Killian quickly removes the syllabus, safely hiding it in his backpack. He is going to do everything necessary to prevent ever having to endure a situation like this again.
The lights in the room dim slightly and the PowerPoint slides come up onto the screen. The lesson is about to start.
The breaks mainly consist of Emma and Belle discussing Mary Margaret and getting to know one another. Killian feels like he's acting like an inconvenient barrier between them and gets up at one point to "stretch his legs". There's nothing wrong with Emma and Belle becoming friends; it's even great and amazing, but he simply feels a bit redundant.
As he returns, the blonde and brunette stop chatting instantly and only confirm that feeling. Killian shakes it off, taking notice of all the different ways a source can be transmitted over the years and decades.
The second the lesson stops, Emma jumps on her feet and leaves directly, but not before making a small joke about Killian needing to check if it was truly his syllabus. He doesn't act on it, however, just says bye and follows her to the door with his eyes.
Ready to go as well, Killian zips up his backpack and finds Belle staring at him intently.
"What?" he questions, frowning.
"Check. Your. Book."
Belle doesn't say anything else, her eyes keep urging him to do so, like she is aware of something Killian isn't.
So, Killian unzips his backpack, takes out the book and opens the front. There, in that same hurried font, he finds Emma scribbled and beneath it a mobile number.
"It's a good thing Emma took the lead on this one because I wasn't about to witness a 'will they, won't they' situation for months," his friend mutters, mostly to herself.
Killian laughs in disbelief, a wide grin on his face. Emma knew that it wasn't her book she took home. She did open it to do the assigned homework and she did see his drawings. And something tells Killian she didn't mind one bit.
Killian has reconsidered, Historical Criticism is totally worth getting up for.
Fun fact: I actually submitted this fic as a task for my English writing course. Just like Belle, I'm studying English (and Swedish) language and literature and I talk out of experience when I say that historical criticism kind of sucks. And it's actually taught on Friday at 8:30 in the morning.