I own nothing but my fangirling heart :)

"Belle and Prof. Gold staying late after class, going over her latest paper, which he finds wonderful and has pulled her aside to talk to her about it. They share jokes, and laughter, and at the end, a wonderful kiss on the lips. Congrats on the follower milestone! You're awesome and I love you! :D"

He hated the esteemed Cora Mills Essay. Absolutely hated it with every fiber of his being. The bloody woman was still alive and yet she decided they needed to have a yearly essay dedicated to her for existing. The prompt was always ridiculous and the papers that were turned in for him to judge always left him with the urge to slam his pen into his temple. Each year, one person won a cash prize, each year, Cora's little daughter, Regina, would win that prize, even when he didn't recommend the prude.

And this year, a certain Belle French had asked him to check over her paper with the wide eyed hope of winning. She was the unnoticed goddess of the halls, her brilliantly blue eyes always meek as she observed passing students. Her rare smiles sent his heart racing off like a whippet chasing after a fleeing rabbit. She had few friends she spoke to, none she really trusted. He wanted her to trust him, he wanted her to throw herself into his arms without a single word.

And here he was, hating this damned paper and wanting to hold his own student in his arms. "What was the prompt this year, Miss French?" he dryly asked, lifting his gaze from observing the way she wrote her name to see that the girl was right by his side, her arms folded on his desk. She was so close that he could smell the vanilla shampoo she used.

"Guess," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

He was her favorite teacher. The title was close holiness, in his opinion. He gave a long sigh, pretending that it was a strenuous task to decide. "Let's see here…it involves women, yes?" he questioned.

She nodded, a grin forming on her lips.

"Yes, yes, easy. It is asking to you write about a woman with power?" Cora was obsessed with proving that feminine characters could hold power. Gold would've liked to see how powerful she would be after a good whack with his cane. Belle had more power than she. A single smile would have him on the ground, begging for her.

Belle nodded, resting her chin on her hand as she peered over at him. "Yes, I used Lady Macbeth," she informed. "She used her femininity and deftness at lying to control Macbeth and make herself appear to be the victim, whereas she actually was the one holding all the chess pieces."

"Good," he praised. She shivered beside him, Shivered. Was she pleased that he was pleased? "Let's look at this then, shall we?" he read her rough draft there, fixing a few minor grammar mistakes here and there, but overall being completely pleased with the end result. "That was one of the best essays I've read, Miss French. In my entire career I've never seen such…personality. It was as if you'd just sat down for a cuppa with Lady Macbeth and relayed her words to you on paper."

Belle flushed, her eyes wide. "Really, Mr. Gold?" she squeaked, her smile blustering.

He could've kissed her right there. "Yes," he answered, watching her blissful joy with a deep happiness filling his chest. He had to know. He had to. He hated himself for the quip, but he had to know. "I suppose you could say Lady Macbeth and my ex wife had much in common," he smirked.

She faltered at the statement. Faltered. He wanted to sob. He wanted to throw his desk. He wanted to kiss away her sudden hesitation and show him how much he ached for her. He deserved the pain he felt for being so foolish. Of course she cared for him. She always was glued to him during class, always asked questions, always smiled at him in the hall.

Gold ran his fingers through his hair, unsure how he could ever expect forgiveness. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she stood, gently tugging her rough draft from the table. He didn't even bother looking at her as she walked around his desk. The disappointment in her eyes would kill him.

"Mr. Gold?" he jerked his head up, surprised to see her smiling as if he'd never said a word.

"Yes, Miss French?"

"Thank you," she repeated.

"No, Belle, thank you." the blush on her cheeks was evident. Thank you for filling my night with dreams that compare to miracles. Thank you for taking your time as you walk by me each day. Thank you for reserving your lip biting for when I'm in front of your desk.

A week later, the winner had been decided. Regina Mills. He remained in his office when he wasn't teaching. He couldn't bear to see his Belle, forlorn and defeated as she walked the halls. Even in class, he avoided looking at her. When he did, he saw the emptiness in her eyes, the disappointment.

And yet the girl came to him. She came to him at the end of the day as he graded his quiz from that day. She came to his side, resting her buttocks against his desk as she gazed off at his display case behind his desk. "I lost," she spoke softly, her voice miserable.

"Belle," he looked up to her, his eyes showing deep concern. "She wins each year, the essay is dedicated to her mother. You deserved that reward."

Belle could've used the cash for something useful, for some new books, clothes. Regina Mills was already spoiled beyond belief.

Belle took a deep breath, nodding. "You're right, I guess…I didn't stand much of a chance," she admitted.

He stood, ignoring his cane as it fell to the side. He moved to grasp her arms in his hands, facing her towards him. "If I could burn Ms. Mill's essay and steal that prize for you, I would," he informed her, her blue eyes smouldering a hole into his heart.

"But…"

"'But' nothing, Belle. You may have lost according to them, but in there…" his finger gently prodded her chest. "You won."

She dampened her lips with her tongue and he found his eyes glued to them, his heart rate soaring at the sight.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," she leaned up, pressing those damp little lips to his.

He gripped her shoulders even tighter at the contact, fervently returning her chaste little kiss. He pulled back, eyes boring into hers. "Come home with me after school," he rasped. "We can celebrate with a drink."

"But Mr. Gold…"

"I won't take no as an answer, Miss French."

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