AN: A little something inspired by the Rumbelle war. What can I say, the combination of real life and OUAT got the creative juices flowing?

Day by Day

It starts every morning the moment he wakes up. The smell of clean linens. The blue sky outside his kitchen window. The warmth of sunlight from curtain-less dining room windows. The shelves in his study, dusty and filled with books. The feeling of the roses' petals between his fingers; red roses growing outside his front porch.

Before opening shop, there's a stop at the diner for coffee, black as possible. Always to go. He will do everything in his power to come in before 7 AM or after 7:50 AM. If he cannot, he will bring a newspaper, book, or fiddle with his phone until he can leave. Which is immediately.

When he flips the store sign from 'close' to 'open' in the morning, he takes a shaky deep breath. He allows himself a moment to look at a Wedgewood teaset he acquired many years ago. Bone white porcelain with delicate blue flowers. Always in the store window. It's never for sale. He hopes he will not see her. He hopes that he will see her, too.

During business hours, it's not so bad. There are deals to make, debts to collect, the store to manage. But down times are the worst. He does his best to avoid the wall safe hidden behind a large oil painting hanging from the store walls. The painting is not that good; an American prarie landscape. But sometimes he touches the oak frame of the painting with reverent shaking fingers. And on rare occassions, he opens the safe behind it. Rarely.

He does his best to avoid Main Street in the afternoons, especially on Tuesday, Saturday, and Sunday and Vale Avenue in the evenings between 6 and 8 PM. If he cannot adhere to this schedule, he will do everything he can to walk briskly or drive quickly by the area.

Once the books are balanced, the day's purchases and pawns are accounted for, and he has used up every excuse to remain in the shop, he flips the store sign from 'open' to 'close'. If Granny's Diner is still open, he will first walk past the large windows and assess the identities of the customers inside before stepping inside to grab a bite to eat. Another black coffee to go. He limps home slowly, relieved by the blessed anonymity of a night sky. He enters his empty, dark home. These are easier days to bear.

But there are days when he sees wisp of her hair, a flash of her eyes, smells of her-roses and clean linens-brushing past him at the diner, on the street, in his store, anywhere in Storybrooke, or hears the precise rhythm of her walk on the pavement.

Every encounter is a blow to a constant ache of loneliness, remembering everything about her when she remembers nothing at all. Every day, taking it day by day.