on screen [CS&COLIFER]

iii. knowing [captain swan]

[or the one in which elle can't fucking decide on a description]

it is silent. eerily.

a blonde wisp, a hurricane, storms through the hallways of storybrooke high, seeking havoc, craving destruction. she is a catastrophic sight as she waltzes, quite literally, into the dull room, a flame, damn bright, illuminating it.

she prances to furlorn's desk, a wicked smirk gracing her pale features.

"you're late," he hisses.

"it happens, h." she drawls absentmindedly, as she twirls a strand of blonde hair.

"a day and seventeen minutes late," he snaps.

she shrugs. he sighs and tugs harshly at his caramel hair, as he stands.

"class, emma swan. emma swan, class." he says exasperated, as he takes a seat again. emma waves.

swan. swan. swan.

"swan!" a flash of a sound resonates.

he blinks and it's faded.

she has not. and as she passes killian, her forest eyes flash, her eyebrows furrow, and it smells of cinnamon.

cinnamon.

forest.

"who are you?" she says, and it's an oddly phrased question, hushed and tumbling from her lips before she has thought of it. her usual suavé is nowhere to be found and her eyebrows furrow further.

"hook," and then, as an afterthought because it is imporant, "or as few call me, jones."

her eyes widen and goddamn he knows those eyes.

she smiles, and it's fake. "huh."

she sits and goddamn he knows about cinnamon.

he knows about golden tresses.

he knows about pink lips.

he knows about freckles.

he knows about a red leather jacket.

he knows about a lost girl.

he knows about his lost girl.

he whips around in his seat, "swan." he resents the way his voice cracks.

"hey, killian."

[a/n:

oh, look, a random excerpt !]