She's never seen them before, the wispy flakes dancing from the skies, dusting her green lawn a perfectly crisp hue of white. Reaching out, she splays her palm across the cold glass of her bedroom window and stares forward in awe.
Per the terms of the curse, time had stood still in Storybrooke, and while the slightest shift in seasons did occur, there had never been any snow.
But the curse is broken, now, and Regina watches mesmerized as the flurries begin to fall. She runs her fingertips over the tiny white specks that stick to the glass and catches a glimpse of their decorative patterns before they melt into the warmth of the pane. She's fascinated, absolutely engrossed.
"Hey." Emma's voice is soft and her hand is warm as it rests on the small of Regina's back.
Regina shivers at the combination of the icy touch of her own hand against the wind-chilled glass and the heat of Emma's breath on her shoulder. "It's snowing," she almost whispers, drawing a little circle over the frosted window.
"It is," Emma agrees, taking a step closer to peek out the window. "First snow of the season, it seems."
Regina shakes her head. "Storybrooke has never seen snow." She pauses and cranes her neck to see the snow accumulating on the streets. It twinkles beneath the glow of the street lights and she smiles softly.
The sound of Emma's laugh pierces through the quiet air of the room and Regina winces. She's almost offended that the blonde finds her excitement such a joke. Rarely showing moments of weakness and vulnerability, Emma's incessant giggling pierces through her and makes the hair on the back of her neck stand.
"This is Maine," Emma says with a chuckle. "What do you mean you've never seen snow?" She begins to rub the brunette's back in small circles.
Regina promptly recoils.
"The curse." It's all she says, and she waits with baited breath for Emma to ask questions, to ask for the details. Instead, the blonde tugs gently at her shoulder and turns her away from the window, looking down at her with a combination of love and disbelief.
"Do you, uh…do you wanna go see it?"
Regina opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Emma smiles. "Get your coat. I'll meet you outside."
She knows she should say no, but a childlike innocence courses through her at the prospect of seeing the delicate flakes for herself, grinning up at the sky and – dare she say – catching a few on her tongue as she's seen so many times in the movies.
Maybe once, if Emma isn't looking.
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Dressed in a long black peacoat and heeled boots, she opens the front door, her heart fluttering at the sight before her. Emma stands in the middle of the driveway, staring out toward the street with her head tilted up toward the sky. Her red jacket repels the snowflakes that fall and they collect on the surface of the leather, sliding down the material as they melt. The street lamps shine down and blonde hair glistens beneath their glow. The snow has picked up from its earlier dusting, and it falls steadily from above, peppering Emma's smooth skin and hair in white flakes.
Regina's heart races in her chest. Emma looks almost angelic, long golden curls blowing in the wind and the moon casting a long shadow down the drive.
Regina steps forward, the accumulating snow crunching beneath her feet. Her skin tingles at the feel of the delicate snow sticking to her skin and she can barely suppress an excited laugh.
At the sound of it, Emma turns and grins. "Snow!"
Regina moves close to Emma, her right shoulder almost brushing against the younger woman's left. She watches as the blonde reaches out and catches several flakes in the palm of her glove before closing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. "Try it!" Emma exclaims.
Crossing her arms over chest, Regina shakes her head, the snow that had accrued on it tickling her face. "Absolutely not."
"Come on, party pooper, do it," Emma teases, nudging the brunette with her shoulder.
"I-" Regina sucks in a deep breath and shifts her gaze up toward the sky. She's excited and uncomfortable all at once, the curiosity of her youth slowly trumping the cool, composed nature of her adulthood. Shutting her eyes tight, she barely sticks out the tip of her tongue and waits for the snow to collect on it.
When the icy cold of a single flake touches her tongue, she yelps, followed by an uncharacteristic giggle. As if instinct, Regina grabs Emma's hand and squeezes it tight, the heat of the blonde's glove seeping into her own bare palm.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Emma turn her head and grin joyfully at her. "What?" she says, trying to pull her hand away, despite the way her skin tingles beneath the younger woman's touch.
Emma laces their fingers together – as best she can with gloves on – and holds Regina's hand tighter. She says nothing, merely smiles a little bit wider before looking back up at the sky.
They stand together awkwardly for awhile before Emma finally asks, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Regina turns her head, catching sight of the Emma once more. She's shocked how – dare she say – gorgeous the blonde looks despite her rosy red nose and windblown cheeks. There's an odd intimacy in the moment they're sharing, close to one another with hands clasped tight. Her cheeks flush and her chest and fingertips feel hot.
Smiling at a snow covered, chapped lipped, dry skinned Emma Swan, she wonders if it's the freezing weather that's going to her head, or if this is what love feels like.
Brown and emerald eyes meet in a soft gaze when Regina finally answers Emma's question. "Yes," she says, giving the younger woman's hand a squeeze, "it really is beautiful."