No one else was in the room where it happened

A/N: Yet again a teacher AU one-shot because I love them just a tad too much. This time only a fitting Hamilton quote for a title.

It was her mug. It had always been her mug. Ever since he'd stepped foot in this school, he'd almost never seen her without it; placing it against her lips to make the hot stream of fresh coffee slide inside, or just carrying it along with her from one meeting to the next. He'd always found it odd, the principal's choice of mug. But for a while, he'd just assumed it was one of those mugs that had lingered in the staff room's cupboard for too long, forgotten by someone one day, or left there deliberately because they wanted to forget about the one they got it from, he wasn't sure, couldn't be sure. He could tell it was an old mug though, the once bright red print having faded almost completely to a sad and vaguely recognizable outline of what it once was – or had it just become like that because it had been washed regularly, because the chemicals in the dishwasher were tired of the token of a love long lost? He wasn't sure.

So when it had lain in the sink, soaking in the hot water that was supposed to do the coffee stain-cleaning for her, he'd pulled it out and cleaned it himself, drying it after and placing it on the table. When he'd poured himself some coffee into the mug, doubting whether he should actually be using it in the first place, she'd come in, her heels having already announced her upcoming arrival seconds before. Her eyes had shot up in anger when she'd seen him lounging against the kitchen sink, her mug clearly clasped in his hand.

"What are you doing with that?"

He'd looked up at her before moving his gaze to the porcelain-encased coffee in his right hand. "I'm drinking coffee, milady. What does it look like to you?" he'd said with a smirk she didn't want, didn't need from him.

"That's my mug."

"I didn't know everyone had their own mugs around here. I thought we could just take one, whichever."

She'd moved forward, approaching him at a steady pace, and snatched the mug out of his hand, leaving him gasping and stumbling sideways.

"Mr Locksley, this is my mug, and I would very much appreciate if you would let it be only mine in the future," she'd said before turning around and walking out of the staff room.

Not so much an old or forgotten mug then, he'd thought to himself.

.-.-.-.

The following weeks had brought along the preparations for the juniors' Fall Dance, principal Mills strutting around the gym, holding on to her dear mug even tighter than before. Ms Mills and Mr Locksley had been in charge of the organisation of the dance and that included some late nights spent in her coffee-filled office, trying to get hold of what seemed to be the only DJ in town, who answered his phone only at night for some ridiculous reason, and finishing up the last couple of details when they'd neared the date of the actual dance.

As they'd grown friendly to each other over time, they'd secretly – or not so secretly – spiked their coffee with the whiskey he kept in his locker on the final night before the dance.

"Good thing it's the night; I don't daytime drink, you see?"

He'd chuckled at that, pouring another generous amount of the liquid gold into both of their mugs.

"It's almost empty. I might have some rum stocked in my locker somewhere."

She'd kicked his calf under the table and laughed, "Are you the school's secret booze seller? And besides, I don't do rum," she'd said, scrunching her nose while shaking her head in that way only she could.

"Then I guess it stops after this serving, milady."

She'd huffed, "That's fine, I've already had too much to drink anyway."

Now or never.

"What is it with you and your mug?"

She'd swallowed, looking down at the white porcelain mug in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the faded print.

Looking up at him, she'd said, "My fiancé gave it to me once on Valentine's Day. He died some months after. It's one of the last things he gave me."

She'd looked up again to find a pained expression on his face, "I'm sorry, Regina, I didn't know. I would never have taken your mug if–"

She'd waved her hand in the air, a bitter smile taking over her features, "It's fine, Robin, really. I shouldn't have just taken it out of your hand without any further explanation."

He'd moved forward at that, placing his hand over hers on her paper-filled desk, rubbing her soft skin. "No, I was out of line. I apologise."

She'd smiled, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on hers until he took his back and she couldn't anymore.

.-.-.-.

Now here he was, several months later, standing at the same kitchen sink in the staff room as he had that day, holding the same mug in his hand as he had that day. But now he was allowed to.

He looked down at the empty mug, fishing out the pink piece of paper curled up at the bottom. Folding it open, he read:

For my Valentine
Ever so sweet
If you were mine
My heart would be complete

He laughed at that, laughed fondly at her for trying her best at poetry.

"Not that good, is it?" he heard her say behind him.

He turned around swiftly, approaching her slowly while still holding the mug in his hand. He came to a still right in front of her, his free hand tentatively coasting over her arm.

"No, it really isn't, I'm afraid," he said while lightly shaking his head. "You know why?"

She shook her head while looking into his caring blue eyes.

"Because I'm already yours."

He leaned in, dropping a soft peck on her lips, Regina not being a big fan of the whole PDA thing, even in an empty room.

"Did you like your other gift?" she said after letting him go with a pop.

He frowned, further caressing her arm, "You're giving me Daniel's mug?"

She shook her head, smiling, "No, I'm not. I'm offering you half of it; a joint ownership of the mug."

He huffed, unsure of what she was saying.

"This mug represents a part of Daniel, and therefore a part of my life. But you're here now, too. And you're a part of my life as well, a part I never wish to lose. So now that we're sharing our lives, why not make it unofficially official through this mug?"

He looked at her with more appreciation in his eyes than he could muster on his tongue. Locking her in a tight embrace, she whispered into his ear, "Our mug."

And all he could do at that point was hug her tighter and reciprocate her words: "Our mug."

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