rating: K+, maybe T for language? idk
words: something like 1.5K
note: (a) i certainly didn't write all of that today, but since the date was appropriate it gave me the kick in the ass i needed to finish it. so here you go, fluffy angst or angsty fluff, whatever suits you. but mostly angst. (b) title from mumford and sons' hopeless wanderer. (c) not beta'ed and i'm pretty sure there are mistakes. sorry. if someone wants to correct me, they're very welcome to do so.
(i will learn) to love the skies i'm under
.
You're reading the newspaper in bed, she's just laying next to you and it's nothing out of the ordinary. Your glasses fall a bit forward on your nose and she says:
"I love you."
You look right into her eyes, wishing you didn't hear that, because it stings and crumples so many parts of you that you don't remember how to breathe for what feels like eternity. You try to snort – it's better than crying – but your throat is so tight you end up choking on your own saliva. You're a little bit pathetic for a moment, and so you bark back because that's what you do.
"It's not even remotely funny."
"Wha- Oh my god, fuck you!"
If you weren't so in love with her you'd probably laugh, she's way better at acting than you thought. She looks so upset when she throws the sheets off and leaves the room you almost fall for it, then your eyes lend on the date at the bottom of the page and you force an indulgent smile, waiting for her to reenter with a grin, asking if she got you.
You'll say she was obvious; you'll say Of course you don't love me and Come back to bed Emma, it's getting cold without you.
(You won't say It's been freezing for so long).
Emma doesn't come back.
.
You don't remember going to Snow's apartment but you're hitting the door as loudly as possible. You don't really care it's 9:00 am on a Sunday morning. You care a little bit more about the tears in your eyes, but it doesn't stop you anyway.
The door is suddenly open on the frowning face of Charming. Wearing only his pants – it reminds you so much of Emma you feel the need to punch him. Your eyes don't leave his face as you open your mouth.
"Where's Emma?"
"What did you do?"
This time again, if you weren't so damn mad at yourself you'd laugh, because this is such a typical conversation between you two. You lose something (most of the time because you are… well, you) and he makes sure you know everyone thinks it's your own entire fault. And most of the time it is, but hatred is tiring and sometimes you'd like something other than suspicion.
(You don't dare thinking about faith.)
But Emma once said The only guy I ever said I love you to sent me to jail, and you said Not funny, because she can be such an idiot sometimes, so you just talk even louder:
"Where the hell is she!?"
"Regina? Why- Oh god, what happened?"
Of course Snow would notice your wet cheeks first, with her annoying-as-fuck kindness and– oh, you're swearing now. You really are upset.
You look at her and can tell she's not being judgmental, because the fact that you love Emma is so obvious to everyone - except to Emma herself apparently - that things changed a lot in the last months, and now she's not always expecting the worst of you.
You want to tell them what happened, you want to let them know it wasn't completely your fault this time, and that it takes two of you to create such a mess; but Daniel is still dead and maybe you don't have the ability to forgive (that's a depressing thought), so you just try to lower your voice as you say:
"It's none of your business. I have to talk to her."
She sighs and David retreats back into the apartment, glaring at you.
"She's not here Regina, and she didn't call either. What ha-"
You're gone.
.
You check the new playground, because since their ruin of a castle was destroyed she likes to come here with Henry when it's empty. (It never is.)
She's not there. You don't let that dry sob come out of your mouth, though. You swallow it and lock it up firmly in your lungs where it lingers until every atom of your chest feels like a howl, and then they explode when you release your breath. It results in a faint ache. Pain is good; it sorts your ideas out.
Your force yourself into rational thinking, you tell yourself there's no reason to panic because if nothing else she won't ever leave Henry or her parents, she won't leave the life she built in Storybrook; suddenly what you think is shut up don't think shut up because this is your lack of faith that led you where you are.
You know it's completely irrational, you do. You don't know what's happening to you, why you feel your legs shaking and your hands shaking and your lips quivering.
(But maybe you do know, because when you're picturing people in your head you always see hair, shoulder blades and backs as they're walking away.)
Henry calls, wondering where you are and sounding disappointed he couldn't make his April fool's trick like he intended to, and you want to throw up, because she made you forget your son and that's the kind of destroying shit love makes– you really have to get a hold on your vocabulary.
.
Love with Daniel was easier, you think in the car as you drive back home, not for the first time and not for the last. Love with Daniel was sweet but passionate, pure but not naive, peaceful but never boring.
Emma's never boring either, but in the tiring way you know will kill you in the end, when you're too old to handle an umpteenth fight about whether she folded her clothes or not, whether you spend enough time at home or not.
You can't say you loved him more than Emma, though, because it's not true. It's not about quantity, and you can see it now.
You understand that True Love isn't loving someone more than anything, it's loving them the right way; not about loving them enough but loving them good enough to let them go if it ever becomes too hard.
You hope with all the remnants of your shattered-and-put-back-together heart that it will never become too much for Emma and you, because you just thought about living with her until "you're too old" and it didn't provoke any panic attack.
(That thought in itself is pretty terrifying.)
.
You enter the kitchen and Henry is here, mouth full of cereals. He looks at you with a face full of questions, and you hide your face in his hair for while so he cannot see that your eyes are getting teary again. You hate that it's become so hard not to let the sadness fall on your cheeks.
"Mom? Why is Emma in the garden? What happened?"
You jump.
"She's here? Where?"
"She's sitting under your tree, she's like that since I-"
You kiss him on the head – it still feels like a small miracle that you're allowed to do so – but you don't hear the rest of his sentence. You're already out there.
.
You sit next to her, both your back against the narrow trunk, but you're very careful that you're not touching. She doesn't flinch, doesn't even look up, but she's here and breathing and nowadays you're thankful for so little that it makes your head spin.
You stay silent for a moment, afraid that she will leave as soon as you open your mouth, but you have to explain anyway.
"You're such an idiot."
This is not what you were meant to say, but it's true. Because god, who says I love you to someone for the first time on April Fools'? Idiots.
She tenses brutally but doesn't move, and maybe you should pay more attention to such small gestures; it seems so ridiculous now that you thought she would leave town because you've been a jerk to her. If it were the case, she would have left right after she arrived.
"Do you have any idea what day it is?" you say in the end.
"What does it have anything to do with- oh. Oh!"
You see her opening her mouth once, twice and finally closing it and hiding her face in her knees.
"I guess I am really an idiot," she admits with a muffled voice full of shame. "But you should have known better, for fuck's sake!"
"Yes, I should have."
There is an extended silence before you feel her fingers against yours, on the grass. She finally looks at you, and you grab her hand, bring it to your lip and kiss it softly, repeatedly.
"I am sorry, Emma, I am so sorry. I wish we could go back and make it perfect."
"The first time doesn't have to be perfect for the following ones to be." she concludes before kissing you.
It's for small evidence of wisdom like this sentence that you first fell for her. So you say it back, because it's true and because there's nothing you'd rather say at this moment:
"I love you. I am sorry it took so long."
Her smile still makes you heart beat faster after an entire year of struggling with your relationship, and this is how you know that every time you've been broken has been worth it. There is not a single piece of you that would rather be elsewhere than with her and even if you don't really believe in the "happy ending" thing anymore, you are quite sure you can manage "happy".