"This is boring. I'm bored."

Skirt hiking up her tights and tank top folded up to reveal her flat stomach, Ruby looks the perfect cheerleader cliché as she lies on top of the picnic table and basks in the September sun. Emma looks above her shoulder to share an amused glance and an eye roll with Mary Margaret over the brunette's body, before leaning against the table once more, hard wood biting her back as she crosses her legs and looks around her.

First lunch break of the school year and nothing has happened yet. No wonder Ruby is bored out of her mind. Even as the brunette works on her tan while waiting for the cheerleader tryouts, she keeps complaining about how quiet the school is, reminding them of all the events of the previous year – David and Kathryn breaking up, Victor sneaking in the chemistry labs, Gold's hilarious speech when he's started stuttering at the sight of Miss Belle, the French teacher.

"And now," she adds, with a hand gesture for emphasis. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Mary Margaret humours her with a "Poor you" that has Emma snicker – how much sarcasm the petite girl can pour in only two words is just impressive. Little does she know, that sound out of her lips is all Ruby needs to latch onto her, grabbing her arm and tugging like a damn five year old. (Ruby is a five year old all right, and Emma will never understand how she was deemed trustworthy and responsible enough to be offered the title of cheerleader captain.)

"Emmaaaaa. I'm bored. Do something."

"What, I'm your dancing monkey now?"

She doesn't need an answer to that question, but Ruby gives an obvious "Well, yes" anyway that has the blonde roll her eyes once more. She has to admit Ruby has a point, though, this day has been uneventful so far, so unlike any other year – Storybrooke, Maine: peaceful town, crazy high school. Everything is quiet now that one Nolan twin is dating Mary Margaret and the other gone to military school, and even Victor has fallen on the right side of the law since he started being – whatever he and Ruby are, Emma doesn't want to know the details. And yes, this is boring to Emma, who feels like the third wheel with both her best friends.

(She doesn't want to think about Neal. She won't think about Neal.)

As if privy of her thoughts, Ruby suddenly forgets her sunbathing moment to sit next to Emma, all sparkling eyes and wolfish grins. "We need to find a new toy boy for you."

"Ruby…" she starts, just as Mary Margaret says, "Ruby, leave Emma alone."

But Ruby, unsurprisingly, has none of it, already scanning the crowd in front of them in search of her new victim. There is nothing new about that – her desperate trying to find the man of Emma's dreams, or whatever – but Emma doesn't really feel like humouring her right now, not when the wounds of her summer are still very much opened and raw, when the tears are still itching at the corners of her eyes when her mind wanders a little too far for a little too long. She just wants to stay single long enough to lick her wounds – too much to ask, apparently.

"Ahah! Him!"

Ruby points someone excitingly, and Emma already dreads the worst (read, football team) as her eyes travel from Ruby's finger to where the finger is pointing.

She blinks.

There, next to the lockers, stands no other than Killian Jones in all his nerdy unkempt glory (no). Not exactly facing the wall of lockers, probably to see if someone is coming, he stuffs his books in his locker with a speed that makes Emma sad – one that all the bookworms share, one that screams bullied. She has never really understood why, because he looks quite the handsome type if you forget the geeky shirts and big glasses. He could be one of the popular guys in school if he felt like it – which he doesn't, and Emma doesn't get it because why wouldn't you want to be popular? People like you, and are nice to you and smile at you in the corridors and say all those nice things about you.

Or maybe it's just her.

"Jones? You want me to date Jones?"

Ruby raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her, smug proud on her lips and arrogance in her voice as she replies, "What? Not up to the challenge the virgin king has to offer?"

("Now you're just being mean," dixit Mary Margaret.)

This is stupid. They haven't played that game in ages, especially not sober and especially not with misfits minding their own business. But Ruby smiles at Emma that way, the one that brings out her competitive side (or her bitch princess side, depending of the point of view). Because, yes, Killian Jones is pretty much the ultimate challenge in town – he has never dated anyone, never even kissed anyone if the rumours are to be true, hence the beautiful (awful) nickname – and Emma finds herself curious and a little drawn to him.

(He might be just the distraction she needs.)

"Okay," she says, ignoring Mary Margaret's complains and Ruby's cheers as she stands up and ruffles her hair. "Okay, let's do this."

He's sticking his timetable to the door of the locker by the time she comes near him, and so she leans against another locker, arms folded against her chest, and watches him do. His body stiffens in acknowledgement of her presence, but he doesn't look at her, instead focuses on the task ahead. Emma almost wants to roll her eyes, because no one, ever, simply ignores her for the sake of it, but she forces a smile on her lips and in her voice, almost too cheerful.

"Hey, Killian!"

That makes him glance at her, eyebrow rising in surprise. "You know my name," and it sounds neither like a question nor a fact.

"Of course I do. We've been in the same class since kindergarten."

"And you've been ignoring my existence since kindergarten."

Well, that stings, because surely they must have talked at least once, like that one time when – she doesn't manage to come up with anything. Which, weird okay, because she's certain she's always been nice to everyone in her class and she doesn't like her memory failing her, even if it's just a smile at a borrowed pencil or a 'thanks' at being given a book. But no, nothing, and it upsets her more than it should because how can you spend that many years with someone without speak to them, not even once?

You can't, that's it.

"Well, I'm not ignoring you now, so…"

He (finally) stares at her for a couple of seconds, blue eyes hard yet confused, then looks at the table where Ruby and Mary Margaret are still sitting, not so subtlety staring back, then stares at her again with a frown.

"Not interested."

And he goes back to whatever he's doing in his locker, leaving Emma gaping and burning holes in his neck. Her cheeks burn red with embarrassment – she just got snubbed by a nerd, the absolute disgrace. "Seriously?"

He chuckles, dark and hollow, as he shoves a book in his bag and throws it over his shoulder before closing his locker a little too forcefully. When he faces her again, she notices how tall he actually is – he slouches, apparently on purpose – as she has to look up if she wants to meet his eyes.

"Listen, Swan, you seem nice enough if the rumours are anything to go by. But I see there's a bet of some sort going on with Lucas right now. So I'll save us both some time by saying I'm not interested. I'm not interested in being made the butt monkey of the school, or being some social experiment where you're trying to have me elected prom king or what have you, until we realise we've been falling in love all along and have our first kiss on an Adele song. Not interested. Savvy?"

She blinks up at him, stunned into silence. "I – I'm not planning to fall in love with you."

"Good. Neither am I." He tightens his hold on the strap of his bag. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a World of Warcraft tournament to attend."

It takes Emma long seconds after he's gone to realise he was opening mocking her.

(Well, at least she thinks he was.)

…

"Dude, are you fucking kidding me?"

Liam points at him with his bottle of beer before taking a long swing, and Killian can only groan in reply, dramatically letting his forehead fall on the cold granite of the kitchen island. (He mouths a "ow" because he managed to hurt himself in the process, he's just a moron that way.)

"Like, seriously, bro, you were in love with the girl before you even knew what love was." His brother, the poet. "And now that she's taking an interest in you, you'd rather reject her than bang her. The fuck?"

His brother. The poet.

"She's not interested in me. She's interested in that stupid bet with Lucas. It could have been that Anton guy and it would have been the same for her."

What Killian doesn't say: he's been in love with Emma Swan since he was seven, the way you love the sun. Beautiful and perfect from afar, but he wouldn't venture too close because he'd rather stay alive, thank you very much. He doesn't feel like been some sort of modern fucked-up Icarus, burning his wings for a girl who will never love him back, who will never see past the geeky persona through the tinted sunglasses of her own privileges.

Nothing about him is worthy of the princess anyway, not his reputation and definitely not his bank account (or rather, lack of one). She's at the top of the social food chain, and he's so at the bottom he's planning to dig a tunnel to China at that point. And he's right in what he told her: life isn't a romantic comedy she watches with her girl friends during slumber parties, and it'd be stupid of him to believe otherwise.

"Yeah, I get that," Liam replies before taking another swing of his beer. "But isn't spending time with her because of a bet better than nothing at all? The way I see it, it allows her to know you better and to see the real you. And maybe then she'll want to spend time with you for you, not because Miss Cheerleader told her too."

Yeah, he hadn't thought about it that way.

"Liam, when did you become so clever?"

"Just trying to get you laid, bro."