Prompt: Robin finds torn/taped page 23.
Robin’s shoulders are rigid as his fingers skim across the bedspread.
Regina steps closer, watching silently as he takes in the page that once appeared to him in the library, torn up and taped back together and newly returned to him. Her quiet reminder to them both that hope can be found again.
(They haven’t fought in these past months, not exactly, not with the jabbing words and scowls common in the first year of their acquaintance, but nor have they been as close as they once were, as open as she knows they could be, as intimate as she hopes they’ll learn how to be again.)
Robin glances over his shoulder, his eyes searching hers deeply, if only for a moment, before focusing back on the painting of their fairy tale selves. His thumb smoothes over young, unburdened Regina’s face, as he rasps softly, “You should have always been this happy.”
She closes the small distance between them, then, her hand covering his on the tattered page and lifting it to her lips for a kiss, all of their movements slow and deliberate as he turns to face her and their foreheads press together.
They must look much like the figures in the picture, Regina realizes, though in darker cottons, blue and tan and grey. They are older now, parents, leaders. Damaged and broken in a way those joyous, foolish, naive, wonderful figures in the painting could not have been, and, perhaps, stronger where they have healed.
And as Robin’s fingers thread through Regina’s hair and she rests her chin on his shoulder, their bodies moulding together, she believes none of it can stop them from being happy. Together.