Henry was anxious to get out of school. Not that Mary Margaret's art class bored him, but because he was itching to read his book- the one she had given him with all the fairy tales. Impatiently, he started packing up his school books, homework papers crammed haphazardly into paper folders and plastic binders. The class was currently finishing up their birdhouses, a assignment that Mary Margaret had told them was special not only for the kids, but for the future inhabitants of said houses.
"Okay, see you tomorrow!" she said cheerfully, watching as they raced for the door once the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. She called to Henry just as he got in the doorframe, "And Henry! I'll se you at home!" He gave her a quick smile before running out, charging down the hallway like a bull in a china shop.
He really hoped his book was still there, since Regina had found out about it.
Ever since the curse broke, that is. He ginored his friend, Paige, who was waving to him from the bus stop and went straight to the playground. It was currently filled with hordes of screaming children, all of them playing pretend or fighting over the rules in checkers or chanting silly rhymes while skipping a frayed rope. Instead of joining them he went right for the wooden castle fixated on the farther side of the playground.
The paint had chipped off to reveal white wood underneath, black shingles faded to decorate the roof in the form of a triangle. The structure itself was sturdy, if not worn. Shrugging off his bag, Henry sifted his fingers through the soil until he unearthed the brown leather, the fancy gold writing winking up at him. Henry smiled, his teeth pearly white.
"Thank goodness," he muttered, cleaning off the dirt as he picked it up, carefully climbing onto the castle. The wood creaked under his weight as he settled himself onto the platform, carefully opening the book, flipping slowly through the pages. He wanted to take in every detail of the pictures, they were drawn so lavishly and detailed.
"Excuse me," came a voice, making Henry snap his head up. Looking to his left, he saw a teenager sitting cross-legged against the pillar of the roof. Henry used his thumb to mark the page he was on.
"Yeah?" the boy replied.
"Sorry, but you're sitting on my guitar case," the teen pointed underneath him. Henry looked down to find out that he was, indeed, sitting on a guitar case, the cloth giving way underneath him. Sheepishly, he pushed it out from underneath his legs, the bag scratching the wood as he slid it across. The teen took it gently sending him a polite smile.
"Sorry," Henry apologized, feeling his face going red as he returned to his book.
He was in the middle of reading about a man named Sweeney Todd, and he had gotten to the part in the story where Anthony sees Johanna in her window for the first time. He could vaguely remember Emma saying something about it being a musical in the modern world, when he had first shown her the pages. The entire story was dark, with Sweeney Todd wanting to exact revenge on Judge Turpin, who in turn wanted to prevent Anthony from eloping with Johanna while secretly wanting to do so himself. Along the way, Mrs. Lovett would turn Sweeney's customers into pies after the barber slit their throats and sent them down a chute to the kitchen.
Quite the gruesome tale. Henry could only help but not gag as he read of Beadle Bamford beating up the young Anthony with something called a 'billyclub.' Henry made a mental note to have Emma explain what that was later.
"What are you reading?" the teen piped up, and Henry could hear the soft hum of guitar strings.
"A fairy tale book," Henry replied immediately, happy someone was showing an interest. He nodded at the guitar, "You play guitar?"
"And piano," he said, his fingers light on the strings, "but mostly for my fiancé." Henry smiled- the kid looked a little young to be getting married, but he wasn't one to judge.
"My name's Henry," Henry finally introduced himself, holding out a hand. There was a pause, and Henry was all too aware of the confused look that crossed the teen's face. After a few seconds, the teen took it, clasping Henry's hand gently in his own as they shook.
"Anthony," he replied, brushing a strand of golden brown hair out of his face. Henry stared at him, then back at his book.
There was a picture of a young man and woman, staring at one another with lovestruck awe and joy. their hands were clasped, and it looked like the boy was kissing the girl's knuckles- some sort of polite custom or something was what Henry figured.
It was quite obvious the two were in love.
Henry stole a peek at Anthony as he began strumming his guitar, the sharp twang of the strings synchronize with the soft humming of his lips. The boy could see how gaunt his face was, with high cheekbones and full lips that were chapped. The two sat in silence as Henry went back to his reading, Anthony humming a song to himself while he played.
It's a possibility, Henry thought, his gaze sliding to Anthony once more, after all, he definitely looks like the one in the picture….
"Are you alright, Henry?" Anthony's polite question broke through his thoughts, and Henry felt his face burn. He had been caught staring, he knew. Quickly he turned away, slamming the book shut, shoving it in his backpack. By now, Anthony had stopped playing, his thin fingers looking about to bleed if the calluses broke.
"Y-yeah," he stammered, "I just uh, have to go home now." He gave Anthony an apologetic look as he added, "Emma wants me home for dinner and all."
"Emma?" Anthony asked, realization flooding his face, "is she the woman with the yellow hair?" Henry scrunched his nose- that was a weird way to describe being blond.
"Uh, yeah- she's my mom," Henry explained, "so I should probably go…." Trailing off, he hopped down to the ground, pain stemming up his ankles as he slammed down hard. He was about to run across the street when Anthony called for him, and he turned his head to look.
"Give her my thanks then?" he called. Henry nodded, grinning as he turned and ran.
What it was Anthony wanted to thank Emma for, though, he had no idea.