Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Storybrooke had gone still again—the kind of hush that follows a fight.

Salt from the harbor mingled with Granny’s fryer, and Henry sat in his usual booth, pencil parked above homework he wasn’t doing. From here he could watch the counter: Regina, spine straight, hand around a coffee she wasn’t drinking; three stools down, Emma, boots hooked on the rail, pretending her phone was fascinating. They’d managed “morning.” Nothing since.

If you didn’t know them, you might think they were strangers.

If you did, you could feel the invisible fence humming between them.

Henry wrote the same equation twice, erased it twice, and sighed loud enough for Ruby to notice.

“Homework beating you up?” she asked, coffee pot in hand.

“Just trying to solve for X,” he muttered—X being the variable that would make his family act like one.

Ruby followed his line of sight and smirked. “Your moms doing the polite-ignore dance again?”

“Yeah.” He stabbed at his pancakes. “They’re… peaceful.”

“Peaceful’s a start,” she said, refilling his juice. “After everything this town’s seen, I’ll take it.”

Henry twirled a blueberry through syrup. “Peaceful’s nice, but it feels weird when you’ve spent years waiting for the next disaster at every turn.”

Ruby paused. “You’re not wrong.”

Across the diner, Emma knocked over her coffee. Regina—reflexes sharper than pride—handed her a towel before realizing she’d moved. Emma muttered a thanks, and Regina sighed.

“Honestly, Miss Swan, must you turn caffeine consumption into a safety hazard?”

Their eyes met for a second too long—before turning away.

⸻

From the next booth, Belle’s voice carried.

“So this app—it’s called Bonded. It connects people through compatibility algorithms instead of photos. Supposed to foster friendships.”

Ruby leaned over. “Friendships? Sure. Or awkward coffee dates.”

“It can be both since there’s a romantic connection option,” Belle said. “You answer questions about values and habits. It connects people beyond appearances.”

Connect beyond appearances. That sounded exactly like what his family needed: connection without the history attached.

He glanced from Belle’s screen to the counter again. Emma texted one-handed, probably his grandparents. Regina reread an email, expression calm but too focused. Two parallel lines that only met when he forced them to.

A plan formed like a spark looking for tinder.

Maybe they’ll actually learn how to talk to each about more than just me, he thought.

He wolfed down the rest of his pancakes, tossed a few bills on the table, and slid out of the booth.

“Heading out already?” Ruby asked.

“Extra-credit project,” he said—and for once, it wasn’t a lie.

⸻

Regina’s house remained immaculate—gentler now. The walls listened instead of humming with menace. Henry dropped his backpack by the kitchen island and eyed her tablet charging beside the tea tray.

He could almost hear her voice: Henry Daniel Mills, you do not install unverified software on my devices.

He grinned. “Relax, Mom. It’s for science.”

He opened the app store. The honeycomb logo for Bonded gleamed like something blessed by Belle’s approval. Tagline: Find the people who fit—friends, mentors, or more.

“Friends!” he said firmly, tapping download.

The progress bar crept across the screen, each pixel daring him to change his mind. He didn’t.

⸻

Profile One: StructuredSoul

Three words: Disciplined. Loyal. Protective.

Comfort: Order.

Seeking: Friendship & Community.

Hobbies: Gardening, reading.

Bio: I like things that make sense and people who mean what they say.

He hesitated at the toggle: Open to All (mentorship, support, romance).

It defaulted to yes. He left it. No harm in being inclusive, right?

Tidy. Reserved. Unyieldingly sincere. Regina in five lines.

Save.

⸻

Profile Two: TrueNorth

Three words: Honest. Restless. Loyal.

Comfort: Late-night drives, A little coffee with my creamer.

Seeking: Friendship & Community.

Hobbies: Fixing things, bad TV, parenting without a manual.

Bio: Sometimes I trust my gut more than I should. Sometimes it’s right anyway.

He smiled. That was Emma—rough around the edges, honest to a fault.

Save.

The app pulsed once. Searching for local matches…

He waited, chewing his lip.

Friendship Match found:— StructuredSoul ↔ TrueNorth.

Henry blinked, then laughed under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He stared at the screen until the words blurred. If this were one of his storybooks, it’d be the last page of a prologue—the moment destiny put on a disguise.

He closed the tablet gently. “Please don’t hate me for this.”

⸻

He tried to do homework. Failed. Tried to watch TV. Gave up. His mind replayed every near-moment between his moms—the reluctant teamwork during Zelena’s curse, and later, the way Regina had brewed a memory potion herself once the curse broke, determined to bring Emma and him home again.

Henry had overheard enough to piece it together: a knock on a New York door, Emma’s cautious “Can I help you?” and a woman with dark eyes and a bottle of wine introducing herself as the new neighbor. They’d talked; Emma had laughed once, uncertain why this stranger felt so familiar. Then a toast, two glasses clinking, and the last of the potion slipped into Emma’s glass when she wasn’t looking. The memories had come like a tide breaking through a locked door—swift, merciless, unstoppable.

Whatever passed between them that night still lived in the quiet spaces—too raw to touch, too real to forget. Maybe it was time someone nudged fate.

⸻

The front door opened. “Henry?”

He flinched. “In here!”

Regina appeared in the doorway—elegant exhaustion in a blazer. “You finished your assignments?”

“Mostly.”

Her brow arched. “Which means not entirely.”

He grinned. “I’m pacing myself.”

“That’s not how pacing works.” She poured herself wine and gave him a look that said I know you’re up to something.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said after a moment. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“People,” he said honestly. “How they work.”

Regina’s lips curved. “Ah. An unsolvable mystery.”

“Maybe not. Maybe you just need better data.”

Her laugh was soft, surprised. “You sound like Belle.”

“Could be worse.”

“It could,” she agreed, amusement flickering before she turned toward her study. “Dinner at six. Wash your hands before you touch anything else.”

The door clicked shut.

Henry exhaled. She knows.

But when he peeked later, the tablet was untouched.

Maybe she wasn’t angry. Maybe she was curious.

That was enough.

⸻

At the loft, Emma kicked off her boots the moment she hit the door. The place smelled like baby powder and coffee—home, loosely. She hung her jacket on a chair, stretched, and checked her phone.

Bonded: Welcome, TrueNorth. You’ve been matched!

“What the hell is Bonded?” she muttered, opening it. Lines of text appeared—eerily accurate. Honest. Restless. Loyal. She searched for the settings tab and spotted her own email in the primary slot and [email protected] in the secondary.

“Henry,” she groaned. “You sneaky little genius.”

She almost deleted it—but curiosity ran in the family. She tapped View Friendship Match.

StructuredSoul.

Disciplined. Loyal. Protective.

I like things that make sense and people who mean what they say.

“Okay, mysterious neat-freak,” Emma murmured.

No picture. No name. Just steady words. She set the phone down but didn’t close the app.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll play along—for now.”

⸻

Regina found the same notification twenty minutes later.

Her first impulse was irritation—an unapproved app on her device. Then she saw the metadata: Created by H.Mills. Of course.

Still, something about the interface stopped her from deleting it. Clean. Orderly. Words instead of faces—the kind of honesty people stumbled into when anonymity gave them permission.

TrueNorth.

Honest. Restless. Loyal.

Sometimes I trust my gut more than I should. Sometimes it’s right anyway.

Regina read it twice. The phrasing was genuine, unguarded in a way most people never risked being. Familiar, somehow. Her pulse slowed. Her fingers stilled.

She closed the app before she could start imagining things.

“We’ll discuss boundaries,” she murmured, but her tone lacked conviction.

⸻

Henry lay in bed, ceiling fan turning lazy circles. Downstairs, Regina rinsed a teacup. Somewhere across town, Emma probably did something similar just busying herself to help pretend the calm didn’t itch.

He smiled to himself. Two signals, found in the same town grid. Maybe it wouldn’t fix anything, but it might remind them they could form connections outside of needing to work together just because of the next big bad.

A faint glow pulsed once:

StructuredSoul ↔ TrueNorth — Friendship Match found.

Henry sat up, grinning into the dark. He smiled at the reminder from earlier. The tablet’s soft blue light blinked twice, steady and calm—the digital equivalent of a handshake.

He leaned back against the headboard, satisfied. A friendship match was perfect. Exactly what he wanted: for them to talk again without all the emotional debris between them. Maybe they’d even joke, maybe Emma would make that weird snort-laugh sound again, and Regina wouldn’t roll her eyes quite so fast. Maybe.

The tablet dimmed. Henry exhaled, letting his eyes drift shut.

Then, as if the house itself changed its mind, the screen flickered to life again. A soft hum filled the air.

Reassessing connection… recalculating compatibility metrics…

Henry frowned, sitting up. The color shifted—from calm blue to warm gold.

StructuredSoul ↔ TrueNorth — Romantic Match found.

He blinked. “Wait—what?”

For a second, he just stared, trying to process how “friends” had somehow upgraded itself to “soulmates.”

“Okay,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s… probably not ideal.”

He thought about sneaking downstairs, deleting the app before it could do more damage—but his mom would surely catch him in the act.

Dread settled in and the house settled around him, unaware—or pretending not to be—fate had just rewritten its code,

⸻

The Mills house had long been fluent in silence; tonight it wore it like an old, elegant coat.

Regina wiped the counter with the precision of someone keeping her world in order. She straightened the fruit bowl, listened to the plumbing settle, and checked on Henry.

He slept the way he lived—open, trusting the house to hold him. That trust was the miracle she guarded.

“Guess we will talk in the morning,” she whispered to the dark.

In her study, the tablet waited face-down beside a neat stack of folders. She flipped it over—not because she needed the screen but because it felt dishonest to leave it watching.

The notification glowed: Bonded. She told herself she’d uninstall it in the morning. She told herself many reasonable things. None explained why she opened the app instead of her paperwork.

TrueNorth. Honest. Restless. Loyal.

She read the words again. Trusting one’s gut—she had spent a lifetime mistrusting hers.

She scrolled the starter prompts: An ordinary pleasure. A boundary you honor. What kind of quiet makes you feel less alone?

Too intimate for strangers; very Archie.

She set the tablet down, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and let her thoughts wander—back to New York. Going to find them hadn’t been heroism; it had simply been necessity. Now, in the hush of her own home, she wasn’t sure whether bringing them back had healed her loneliness or just made it harder to ignore.

She closed the app, but didn’t delete it.

“Tomorrow,” she told the dark. “I’ll be reasonable tomorrow.”

⸻

Across town, the loft murmured with the small noises of life: a toddler’s breath through the baby monitor, air conditioning creating a low constant hum, the rhythmic creak of an old beam settling. Emma toed a path through toys, washed the drool-stained shirt in the sink, wrung it out, and draped it over a chair.

Her phone buzzed again.

Bonded: Welcome, TrueNorth.

She reopened the app.

StructuredSoul. Disciplined. Loyal. Protective.

I like things that make sense and people who mean what they say.

No picture, no fluff. Just words.

She paced, hands in the pocket of the flannel she pretended wasn’t sentimental.

She stared at the blinking prompt: What kind of quiet makes you feel less alone?

The kind where someone else is breathing in it too, she thought.

Not loud, not crowded—just… shared.

She didn’t type it.

Emma set the phone down, then picked it up again, the glow catching in her tired eyes. A quiet laugh escaped her—half sigh, half surrender.

“Great,” she muttered. “Now I’m talking to dating apps.”

She leaned back into the couch, phone still in hand, the light fading as her eyes slipped shut. For once, she didn’t fight the stillness.

Two devices—one on a nightstand, one on a couch—woke briefly to the same soft chime.

StructuredSoul ↔ TrueNorth — Romantic Match confirmed.

⸻

Henry sat at the kitchen island, pretending his cereal was fascinating enough to distract him from the glowing tablet a few feet away. The house felt too quiet—the kind of quiet that pressed on his ears.

He’d barely slept, replaying all the ways this conversation could go. His mom hadn’t mentioned the app last night, which somehow made it worse. Regina Mills didn’t forget things. She waited. Strategically.

Her heels clicked softly down the hall before she appeared—poised, composed, a storm sealed neatly behind lipstick and silk.

“Good morning,” she said, smooth and unreadable.

Henry forced a smile. “Morning.”

She moved through the kitchen with the ease of someone reclaiming her space: coffee poured, cream added, stir exactly twice. Only then did she glance at him—and the tablet beside his elbow.

“Henry,” she said, voice deceptively calm, “would you care to explain why my tablet greeted me last night as though I’d joined a social experiment?”

He froze. “Oh. You saw that.”

“I did,” she replied, folding her arms. “Imagine my surprise when a notification on my tablet welcomed me to something called Bonded.”

He scrambled for words. “Okay, but in my defense—it’s not what it sounds like! It’s just this app Belle mentioned that connects people through personality traits. It’s about friendship, mostly.”

Her brow lifted, elegant and dangerous. “Mostly?”

“Like… ninety percent friendship,” he said quickly. “I thought it could be good for you. You’ve been working nonstop, and, well—maybe you could meet people who don’t think of you as, you know…”

She gave him a look sharp enough to finish the sentence for him.

He wilted. “…the Evil Queen.”

Regina sighed, setting her cup down with careful precision. “Henry, I appreciate your concern for my social life, but installing software on my device without permission is not how one fosters human connection.”

“I know,” he said. “But it worked, didn’t it? You got matched with someone!”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “So you did check.”

He winced. “I might’ve… monitored it. For science.”

She shook her head, exasperation softening into reluctant amusement.

Henry smiled despite himself. “You’re not mad, though?”

“Oh, I’m furious,” she said, but there was warmth under it. “Just not enough to ground you. Yet.”

He relaxed a little, and she took another sip of coffee. The smallest of smiles ghosted across her lips before fading again.

“Still,” she said, quieter now, “as you said, it’s not as if people are lining up to befriend the Evil Queen. Algorithms can only do so much.”

“You’re not her anymore,” he said instantly. “And maybe someone out there already knows that.”

Regina’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment. The words landed somewhere deep, unsettling something she’d kept perfectly still.

“Boundaries,” she reminded softly. “Next time.”

Henry nodded, trying not to grin. “Boundaries. Totally.”

As she moved toward her study, she paused—just for a heartbeat—and glanced back at him. “Thank you,” she said, so softly it almost didn’t reach him. “For thinking I still might belong somewhere.”

Then she was gone, the echo of her heels retreating.

⸻

Emma woke up startled. She’d fallen asleep in a bad position and stayed in it all night. Her neck ached, her flannel was twisted, and her phone was wedged under her pillow.

Henry’s text blinked on the screen:

pls tell grandpa to stop saying “widest part of the loaf” like it’s a strategy. see you after school?

Emma smirked, typing back:

bring a hazmat suit.

She tossed the phone onto the coffee table, face-up. Not opening Bonded still counted as restraint, she decided.

But the honeycomb icon caught the light—patient, waiting.

“Fine,” she muttered, snatching it back up.

The screen brightened. The prompts blinked:

An ordinary pleasure. A boundary you honor. What kind of quiet makes you feel less alone?

Her thumb hovered. She exhaled, a quiet sound between a sigh and a laugh.

“The kind where someone else is breathing in it too,” she murmured. “Not loud. Not empty. Just… shared.”

She typed it but didn’t press submit. She let the words sit there, unspoken, like breath fogging glass.

After a beat, she locked the screen and set the phone down again.

“Alright,” she said to the room, wryly. “That’s enough emotional growth for one day.”

She grabbed her keys and jacket, missing the soft pulse of light that came from the table—

StructuredSoul ↔ TrueNorth — Response received.

Chapter Text

Regina’s morning began as they all did now—steady, predictable, and just quiet enough to feel empty. Coffee. Paperwork. A stack of council proposals that never seemed to end. But even surrounded by order, her gaze kept slipping to the tablet on her desk, as if it were the only thing left capable of surprising her.

It hadn’t glowed since last night. That should have been reassuring.

It wasn’t.

She’d told herself she would uninstall the application, that it had served its purpose as a brief curiosity and nothing more. Instead, she’d opened it twice before nine a.m., only to close it again when the Bonded icon blinked back at her like a knowing secret.

By noon, the guilt gave way to logic — or something masquerading as it.

Testing the app’s follow-up questions, she reasoned, would provide valuable insight into its methodology.

It was simple research. Civic curiosity. Certainly not indulgence.

Regina unlocked the tablet.

Bonded: Welcome back, StructuredSoul.

A soft notification blinked across the screen:

Your connection has completed Step 1 — Initial Values Survey. Continue to unlock Compatibility Report?

She hesitated, thumb hovering, then pressed Yes.

The first question appeared:

Describe an ordinary pleasure that makes your day feel complete.

Regina exhaled. She could have written tea, or a well-organized schedule, or any of the other safe banalities that filled her mornings.

Instead, she typed:

When my son laughs like he used to — loudly, without worry.

She hit submit before she could change her mind.

The next prompt slid into place:

What boundary do you honor most?

Her fingers paused. Privacy felt defensive. Detachment dishonest. Finally she wrote:

Truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.

Question three followed almost immediately:

How do you respond when someone breaks your trust?

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She typed, I rebuild slowly. If at all.

A fourth question loaded.

Which do you value more — loyalty or understanding?

She frowned, weighing the two, then entered, Understanding earns loyalty. The reverse is rare.

And then a fifth:

What do you fear losing most?

Her hand stilled above the glass. The answer came unbidden. My purpose.

The screen pulsed softly, confirming her responses. Then a final message appeared:

10 of 15 questions remaining — results updating in real time.

She didn’t stop. The remaining prompts blurred into rhythm — moral hypotheticals, emotional preferences, choices between solitude and intimacy.

By the end, her reflection stared back at her from a softly glowing screen.

Processing…

The bar filled, gold bleeding into white until the words appeared:

Compatibility Update: Friendship — 89 %

Romantic — 99 %.

Regina blinked. “That’s absurd,” she muttered. The number lingered anyway, smug and unbothered.

Her lips curved despite herself. “An algorithm can’t possibly…”

Yet her pulse betrayed her, quick beneath composed stillness.

She set the tablet down. Did not uninstall the app. Did not look again.

Only hours later, she was still thinking about it.

⸻

The phone wouldn’t stop looking at her.

Bonded sat there in the corner of the screen, quiet but waiting—like it knew she’d cave eventually.

She wasn’t even supposed to have it. Henry had installed the app, probably thinking he was saving her from terminal loneliness. And maybe part of her had kept it just to prove she didn’t need it.

Now it was mocking her from the home screen.

She sighed and tapped it open.

Bonded: Connection pending deeper match analysis.

“Figures,” she muttered, thumb hitting Continue.

The interface flickered.

Question 1: Describe an ordinary pleasure that makes your day feel complete.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Easy.” She typed:

When my kid looks at me like I got something right.

Her chest ached in that irritating, honest way. She pressed Next before she could think about it too hard.

Question 2: What boundary do you honor most?

She stared at it, then typed:

Don’t lie. Not to people. Not to yourself.

Question 3: How do you respond when someone breaks your trust?

A short laugh escaped her. “Badly.” She wrote:

I stop giving second chances.

Question 4: Which do you value more—loyalty or understanding?

“Depends who’s asking,” she said under her breath, then typed:

Understanding. Loyalty fades without it.

Question 5: What do you fear losing most?

Her jaw tightened. Too close to home. She typed:

My kid. And maybe the part of me that still believes people change.

A progress bar crawled forward, pulsing gold.

10 of 15 questions remaining — results updating in real time.

She kept going—questions about forgiveness, risk, comfort, control—until the coffee beside her had gone cold and her nerves were awake in all the wrong ways.

Processing…

Then the result:

Compatibility Update: Friendship — 89 %

Romantic — 99 %.

Emma blinked. “Ninety-nine? That’s not even a real number.”

The gold percentages glowed like they were proud of themselves.

“Either fate’s got jokes,” she muttered, “or Henry broke science.”

Before she could overthink it, a message appeared.

StructuredSoul: Your response was beautifully direct. Most people dodge the truth.

Emma frowned. “Wait, we can message already?”

She typed back.

TrueNorth: I try. Doesn’t always go over well.

The typing dots danced. Vanished. Reappeared.

StructuredSoul: Truth is a dangerous hobby.

Emma smirked.

TrueNorth: Depends who you tell it to.

The next reply came quick, confident.

StructuredSoul: I suspect you tell it to everyone, consequences be damned.

Emma’s smile lingered as she read the words twice. There was no judgment in them—only observation, maybe even a touch of admiration.

She hesitated, thumb hovering, then typed before she could second-guess it.

TrueNorth: What’s one thing you wish people would stop assuming about you?

The dots blinked longer this time.

StructuredSoul: That I’m unshakable. The truth is, I’ve just learned to hide the tremors well.

Emma stared at that. It was the kind of answer that hit somewhere deeper than she expected.

TrueNorth: That’s… yeah. I get that.

A pause. Then—

StructuredSoul: And you?

Emma swallowed, thumb hesitating over the screen. She almost didn’t send it. Almost.

TrueNorth: That I don’t care as much as I do.

The dots blinked, stopped, blinked again.

TrueNorth: What’s one thing you wish people would stop assuming about you?

StructuredSoul: I’ve always found that admitting you care aloud gives it room to disappoint you—and lets others use it against you.

Emma stared at the line, thumb still over the keyboard, the words landing heavier than they should have.

TrueNorth: That sounds… lonely.

StructuredSoul: Practical.

TrueNorth: Maybe both.

The dots blinked once, vanished, then returned—hesitant, like a breath caught mid-thought.

A heartbeat later, the reply appeared.

StructuredSoul: You’re remarkably self-aware for someone who calls truth an occupational hazard.

Emma let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

TrueNorth: Guess it’s that whole “learn the hard way” thing.

She set the phone down, shaking her head at herself. “What the hell are you doing, Swan?”

And yet, when the screen dimmed, she didn’t close the app.

⸻

Emma caught herself rereading their thread for the third time — the quiet rhythm of it, the thoughtful give and take that didn’t feel like small talk. Whoever StructuredSoul was, their tone was steady, grounded — calm in a way that made honesty sound… safe.

That wasn’t normal.

Not for her.

She scrolled to the top again, tracing every message, feeling that tug in her chest she couldn’t quite name. It didn’t read like flirting — not exactly. Maybe it was just connection. Or maybe she didn’t care what it was.

Still, the phrasing was too precise, too deliberate — not how most guys texted.

She didn’t know if that meant anything, but she liked it more than she should.

By the time she realized how often she was checking for a reply, her phone was already in her hand.

⸻

Regina told herself she wouldn’t respond during office hours. Then again after her afternoon tea. Then again at four-thirty — after rereading their conversation once more.

The tablet chimed.

TrueNorth: Didn’t mean to overstep earlier. Guess I’m bad at keeping things light.

Regina smiled faintly, typing before she could stop herself.

StructuredSoul: Light can be overrated.

The dots blinked, then—

TrueNorth: You say that like you’re allergic to it.

Regina’s smile deepened despite herself. Allergic, no, but she had learned that light could burn if one stood too close.

StructuredSoul: Not allergic. Just cautious. It’s a habit that’s difficult to break.

A pause.

TrueNorth: Guess I’m the opposite. I go headfirst, burn myself, and then do it again.

Regina’s fingers hovered. She could picture it—this reckless optimism, bruised but intact. The kind that irritated her on sight and unsettled her in equal measure.

StructuredSoul: Then perhaps we balance each other’s extremes.

TrueNorth: Maybe. Or maybe we’d just drive each other insane.

Regina found herself laughing—quietly, incredulously. “Undoubtedly.”

The tablet chimed again.

TrueNorth: You ever think it’s easier to tell the truth to a stranger?

That stopped her. She hadn’t thought of them as strangers, not exactly. Yet the distance between them was precisely what made honesty feel… safe.

StructuredSoul: Anonymity breeds courage. Proximity breeds caution.

TrueNorth: Yeah, well, caution’s never been my strong suit.

Regina’s mouth curved. No, I imagine it hasn’t been.

⸻

Emma leaned against her desk, phone warm in her palm. Every time she thought the conversation was done, another message came, pulling her back in.

She wasn’t sure what it was about StructuredSoul—maybe the phrasing, maybe the patience—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever this person was, they understood things most people missed.

Her phone buzzed again.

StructuredSoul: What does safety feel like to you?

Emma blinked at the question. “You sound like my therapist,” she muttered, but her thumbs were already moving.

TrueNorth: Like knowing someone’s there even when I screw up.

The reply came slower this time, measured.

StructuredSoul: That sounds… rare.

TrueNorth: It is. Most of the time, safety just feels temporary. Like you’re waiting for the floor to give out again.

Emma didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the dots blinked once more.

StructuredSoul: Living in anticipation of the fall doesn’t stop it from hurting. It only steals the peace before it happens.

She stared at the words, feeling them settle under her skin — steady, matter-of-fact, and somehow gentler than they had any right to be.

TrueNorth: You talk like someone who’s already learned that lesson.

StructuredSoul: I have. Repeatedly.

Emma’s chest tightened. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Same.”

TrueNorth: You always talk like that? Like you’re narrating a novel?

StructuredSoul: Occupational hazard.

Emma grinned. “Touché.”

TrueNorth: So what do you do, exactly?

Regina hesitated. Revealing too much risked exposure—but vague answers raised more curiosity.

StructuredSoul: Let’s just say I work in management. A lot of problem-solving. Strategy. Keeping people from setting things on fire—metaphorically.

TrueNorth: So… crisis control? Sounds like you’re either a high school principal or a mob boss.

Regina laughed before she could stop herself, the sound startling in the quiet of her office.

StructuredSoul: Why not both?

TrueNorth: Now that’s a plot twist.

The rhythm between them was effortless now—quick, intuitive, like a dance neither had rehearsed but both somehow knew.

⸻

That evening, the office was long since empty, but Regina remained at her desk. The tablet rested beside her paperwork, its glow faint in the lamplight.

She told herself she was studying user engagement patterns.

She was, of course, lying.

TrueNorth: You ever feel like people only see the version of you that makes sense to them?

Regina’s breath caught mid-sip.

StructuredSoul: Constantly.

TrueNorth: And?

StructuredSoul: And I let them. It’s easier than convincing them otherwise.

TrueNorth: That sounds lonely.

StructuredSoul: It’s familiar. Familiar is manageable.

TrueNorth: You make manageable sound like a consolation prize.

Regina stared at the words for a long moment before responding.

StructuredSoul: Maybe it is.

She set the tablet down, fingers tapping against the desk as though to shake loose the pulse that had crept into her throat.

⸻

Emma reread the thread later that night, sprawled across her couch. She couldn’t remember the last time words—just words—had felt this electric.

She typed. Deleted. Typed again.

TrueNorth: You ever think about what you’d do differently if no one was watching?

The answer came quickly.

StructuredSoul: I’d stop hesitating.

TrueNorth: At what?

StructuredSoul: At wanting.

Emma blinked at that, pulse picking up in a way she didn’t like acknowledging.

TrueNorth: You say that like wanting’s a crime.

StructuredSoul: In some places, it is.

The phrasing made her frown—guarded, careful, but threaded with something vulnerable.

TrueNorth: Guess I’ve never been good at pretending I don’t want things.

StructuredSoul: Then I envy you.

Emma stared at the screen, heart thudding louder than the silence in the loft. She wasn’t sure why that line hit the way it did. Maybe because she could hear the truth in it. Maybe because it didn’t sound like envy at all.

⸻

Regina had stopped pretending she wasn’t invested.

She read every line twice, sometimes three times, letting the weight of each word settle in places she thought long sealed off.

When the next message came, her fingers moved before she could stop them.

StructuredSoul: What keeps you moving when everything feels stuck?

The typing dots appeared almost instantly.

TrueNorth: Knowing I’ve survived worse. And maybe… waiting to see if something finally feels worth staying for.

Regina read the message twice, something quiet settling beneath her usual restraint.

StructuredSoul: That’s an uncommon kind of resilience.

TrueNorth: Or just stubbornness dressed up nice.

Regina’s lips curved, the hint of a smile she didn’t bother to hide.

StructuredSoul: Either way—it suits you.

TrueNorth: I’ll take that as a compliment.

StructuredSoul: It was.

⸻

The night stretched thinner. Conversation slowed, but neither disconnected.

TrueNorth: You ever wonder how the app decides this stuff? Like, what makes two people 99% compatible?

Regina considered.

StructuredSoul: Perhaps it detects patterns in avoidance and honesty. Complementary fractures.

TrueNorth: So it turns our emotional baggage into a sales pitch for love and friendship? Tech at its finest.

StructuredSoul: At least it’s efficient. Sentiment tends to waste time.

TrueNorth: You’re definitely sentimental. You just hide it behind grammar.

Regina smiled despite herself.

StructuredSoul: And you hide yours behind humor.

TrueNorth: Yeah, well, we can’t all pull off mysterious.

StructuredSoul: Too late for that.

The next message took longer to appear.

TrueNorth: You really think I’m mysterious?

Regina’s lips curved, fingers pausing over the keys before she answered.

StructuredSoul: I think you like being understood just enough to pretend you’re not. Mystery isn’t what you hide—it’s what makes people want to look closer.

Emma read that twice, the truth of it pressing somewhere deep in her chest.

Her thumb hesitated over the keyboard before she typed.

TrueNorth: Then what makes you want to look closer?

Regina stared at the words, pulse flickering in her throat. It was bolder than the rest of their exchange—curious, yes, but edged with something that felt like challenge.

Her reply came slower this time, deliberate.

StructuredSoul: You seem like someone who feels deeply and hides it behind strength convincing enough to fool even yourself—but still hopes someone will see past it and understand without you having to explain.

Emma’s chest tightened at the phrasing. She wanted to joke it off, to deflect—but nothing came. Only quiet.

Finally, she typed:

TrueNorth: And you? What do your words say?

Regina’s reflection stared back from the darkened screen, softer than she expected.

StructuredSoul: That I’m still learning to use them for something other than defense.

The words sat between them, simple and unguarded.

⸻

It was late when the conversation finally faded. The glow of their devices was the only light left in either home.

Emma set her phone down on the arm of the couch, staring at it like it had become something alive.

Regina did the same, the tablet resting neatly beside a stack of untouched papers.

Two women—neither aware of the other—both feeling the same impossible pull.

The app pulsed once more, unseen by either.

Bonded — Compatibility Strengthened. Step 2: Mutual Interest Detected.

Chapter Text

Regina told herself it was habit — that the act of checking the tablet every few hours was simply discipline for work purposes. But the truth pressed at her like an unspoken confession: she was waiting for something completely non work related.
 
The app had updated overnight. A new banner pulsed across the top of her screen.
 
Bonded Update: Deeper Connection feature unlocked — choose prompts to deepen understanding.
 
She clicked it before she could rationalize why.
 
The interface now displayed a list of questions, each one brief and deceptively gentle.
 
Her eyes caught on the first.
What’s something small that makes you feel like yourself again?
 
A message appeared before she could decide whether to answer it.
 
TrueNorth: What’s something small that makes you feel like yourself again?
 
Regina blinked — as if he’d read her mind.
 
StructuredSoul: You’ve grown impatient with the app’s suggestions, I see.
 
TrueNorth: You didn’t answer the question.
 
Her lips curved despite herself.
 
StructuredSoul: Fresh tea, a steady hand, the mirror. I line my lips, fix my hair, and pretend the reflection is certainty. It’s not vanity — it’s survival. Sometimes it’s the only version of me I can manage to believe in.
 
TrueNorth: That’s… heavy for a morning question.
 
StructuredSoul: You asked what makes me feel like myself. I assumed honesty was allowed.
 
TrueNorth: Yeah, I just wasn’t ready for the kind that hits that hard before coffee.
 
StructuredSoul: You could always deflect. Most people do.
 
TrueNorth: You think I’m most people?
 
StructuredSoul: You strike me as someone who’d hide behind “most people” when you don’t want to be seen.
 
Emma stared at the screen, her thumb hovering. Who the hell are you, she thought, not with irritation but with that strange, prickling curiosity that came when someone saw through her without trying.
 
TrueNorth: You sound like you live in a museum.
 
StructuredSoul: And you sound like you’d knock something over just to see what happens.
 
TrueNorth: Fair. But at least I’d make it interesting.
 
Regina allowed herself the smallest laugh, the kind that slipped past the armor before she could catch it. Interesting, she thought, almost fondly.
 
StructuredSoul: You didn’t answer the question.
 
TrueNorth: My own question?
 
StructuredSoul: Yes. What’s something small that makes you feel like yourself again?
 
Emma blinked at the screen, caught off guard. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she typed.
 
TrueNorth: Singing in the car. Loud, bad, off-key enough to scare wildlife. It’s the only time I don’t care who hears. Probably sounds ridiculous.
 
The dots lingered, disappeared, then returned.
 
StructuredSoul: If it makes you feel like you, then it isn’t foolish. It’s freedom.
 
Emma blinked, her chest tightening unexpectedly. The words were simple, but they landed somewhere deeper — like permission she hadn’t realized she needed.
 
She smiled at that — small, involuntary.
 
⸻
 
Henry noticed first.
 
His mother had started humming again. Not songs with words, just low threads of melody under her breath as she moved through the house.
 
When he asked what it was, she blinked, startled, as if catching herself mid-secret.
“Nothing,” she’d said, far too quickly.
 
Now, he watched her pour tea and check her tablet like she was expecting something pleasant. Not work. Not crisis. Something softer.
 
He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to jinx it.
 
⸻
 
That evening, the conversation picked up again as if neither had paused.
 
TrueNorth: Your turn. What’s one thing you miss about who you used to be?
 
Regina froze, her hand hovering midair. That wasn’t a question designed for casual curiosity — it was too deliberate, too invasive.
 
Still, she typed.
 
StructuredSoul: That’s quite a question for someone who claims to prefer “light conversation.”
 
TrueNorth: Blame the app. It’s the next prompt on the list.
 
StructuredSoul: Convenient excuse.
 
TrueNorth: Or fate. Depending on how dramatic you’re feeling today.
 
Regina stared at the blinking cursor, the ghost of an old piano waltz whispering at the edge of memory.
 
Her father’s voice came next — warm, patient. Again, mija. The first step is not a battle. It’s rhythm.
 
She hadn’t thought of that in years.
 
StructuredSoul: When I was younger, my father taught me to dance. He said rhythm was how you listen to life without words. I miss that — being allowed to move without thinking about appearances.
 
The response came a few moments later.
 
TrueNorth: That’s beautiful. Sounds like he really saw you.
 
Regina hesitated, her throat tightening unexpectedly.
 
StructuredSoul: He did. Until I learned how not to be seen.
 
TrueNorth: That’s a heavy talent to master.
 
StructuredSoul: It has its uses.
 
Emma set her phone down for a moment, exhaling through her nose. She didn’t know why that last line hurt — or why she could picture this stranger, whoever she was, sitting alone somewhere too still, too careful.
 
She typed slowly.
 
TrueNorth: For what it’s worth, you seem like someone worth seeing.
 
Regina stared at the message long enough that her tea went cold. She didn’t answer right away. The words didn’t require a reply — they simply landed. And that was new.
 
⸻
 
At the loft, Snow and David exchanged a glance over dinner. Emma was laughing at something on her phone — soft, genuine laughter, not the kind she used to hide behind sarcasm.
 
David raised a brow. “What’s that look for?”
 
“Nothing,” she said, still smiling.
 
“Who’s ‘nothing’?”
 
“No one,” she said, but the blush at her ears gave her away.
 
Snow bit back a grin. “It’s nice to see you smiling.”
 
Emma rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she excused herself, taking her phone to the couch and opening the app again.
 
⸻
 
StructuredSoul: You’re unusually quiet tonight.
TrueNorth: Got called out for smiling too much at my phone.
 
StructuredSoul: Then whoever called you out must be jealous.
 
TrueNorth: You think I’m flirting?
 
StructuredSoul: I think you’re avoiding my question.
 
TrueNorth: What was the question?
 
StructuredSoul: What’s got you smiling, if not me?
TrueNorth: Maybe it was you. Maybe I just like the conversation.
 
StructuredSoul: I’ll accept that ambiguity—for now.
 
TrueNorth: What can I say? Evasion’s part of my charm.
 
Regina’s lips curved despite herself. Charm, indeed. Dangerous, disarming charm.
She set the tablet down, meaning to step away, She told herself to focus, to let the conversation end where it was tidy and safe.
Instead, she reached for the tablet again, muttering under her breath, “So much for restraint.”
 
And she began to type.
 
TrueNorth: That’s the point, isn’t it?
 
StructuredSoul: What’s one habit you picked up out of necessity?
 
Emma stared at that. Her first instinct was to lie — to say something harmless about coffee or procrastination. But this stranger had a way of making surface answers feel dishonest.
 
Her fingers hovered, then moved.
 
TrueNorth: Learning how to leave before someone asks me to.
 
The dots vanished for a long time.
 
Then—
 
StructuredSoul: That sounds lonely.
 
TrueNorth: Sometimes it’s safer.
 
StructuredSoul: Safety can feel like comfort, until you realize it’s just another kind of cage — the place you resign yourself to when you don’t remember how to trust anyone anymore.
 
TrueNorth: True. But sometimes it’s the only thing left.
 
Regina’s heart ached in a way that startled her — not pity, not judgment. Recognition.
 
StructuredSoul: Then maybe you’ve spent too long surviving and not enough time living.
 
TrueNorth: Maybe. But you can’t live if you don’t survive first.
 
Regina exhaled, the sound closer to a sigh than she liked.
 
StructuredSoul: A fair point. Though I’d still choose living.
 
TrueNorth: You sound like someone who’s earned the right to say that.
 
StructuredSoul: More like someone still trying to believe I’ve earned it.
 
Emma didn’t reply right away. The screen stayed lit long enough for it to time out. She stared at her own reflection in the black glass — tired, softened, caught off guard.
 
It didn’t feel like texting anymore. It felt like confession.
 
⸻
 
Regina’s office, the next morning
 
The town reports blurred again. Her tablet glowed faintly beside them, humming like an open door.
 
Henry peeked in after breakfast. “You’ve been smiling at your screen a lot lately,” he said, too casually.
 
Regina lifted a brow. “Perhaps the council’s proposals have improved.”
 
He grinned. “Or maybe you’re just… happier.”
 
Regina froze. That word felt too dangerous in daylight. “Eat your breakfast, Henry.”
 
When he left, she reached for the tablet again.
 
StructuredSoul: Your turn. What does ‘home’ mean to you now?
 
The typing dots appeared almost instantly.
 
TrueNorth: That’s a tough one.
 
StructuredSoul: Then it’s probably the right one.
 
TrueNorth: Home used to be a place I wanted. Now it’s the people who don’t leave — the ones who see the mess, stay anyway, and somehow love me through it.
 
Regina reread the message twice, then a third time. It was too close to something she wanted for herself.
 
StructuredSoul: You’re fortunate to have that.
 
TrueNorth: Yeah. I didn’t always. Guess I’m still learning what to do with it.
 
StructuredSoul: Don’t overthink it. Just protect it.
 
TrueNorth: You sound like someone who’s lost theirs before.
 
Regina’s throat tightened. “More than once,” she whispered.
 
She didn’t send that. Instead, she wrote—
 
StructuredSoul: Sometimes home changes shape. The people, the places. But the ache stays the same until you fill it again.
 
TrueNorth: You’ve got a way with words, you know that?
 
StructuredSoul: So I’ve been told.
 
TrueNorth: By the app or by someone who actually matters?
 
Regina smiled faintly.
 
StructuredSoul: You assume those are mutually exclusive.
 
TrueNorth: Touché.
 
 
——
 
Emma set her phone down for a second and rubbed her temples. “Home,” she repeated softly. It wasn’t something she’d ever been good at defining.
 
She’d had places to sleep, people to protect, missions to finish—but home had always felt temporary. Still, somehow, this stranger’s questions made her want to try anyway.
 
Before she could overthink it, the screen lit again.
 
StructuredSoul: Do you ever think we become attached to people who remind us what we’ve lost instead of what we need?
 
Emma blinked. “Okay,” she murmured. “Now we’re getting philosophical.”
 
TrueNorth: Maybe. Or maybe those are the only people who feel familiar enough to trust.
 
The reply came quickly.
 
StructuredSoul: Familiarity can be deceptive.
 
TrueNorth: So can distance.
 
A pause.
 
StructuredSoul: You’re surprisingly good at this.
 
TrueNorth: At what?
 
StructuredSoul: Making honesty feel less like exposure and more like conversation.
 
Emma smiled. “You’re welcome, mystery man.. or woman I suppose.”
 
TrueNorth: Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.
 
StructuredSoul: It was meant as one.
 
She caught herself rereading the last line twice. It wasn’t flirty—it was steady. Like he meant it.
 
And God help her, that meant more than it should have.
 
⸻
 
Later that day, Henry hovered in Regina’s office doorway again. She didn’t notice him at first; she was typing, the faintest smile at the edge of her mouth.
 
“Mom?”
 
She jumped slightly. “Henry! You startled me.”
 
“Sorry,” he said, trying not to grin. “You, uh, seem busy.”
 
“Just correspondence,” she replied too quickly, straightening a folder that didn’t need straightening.
 
Henry tilted his head. “You’re humming again.”
 
Regina stilled. “Am I?”
 
“Yeah. It’s nice. You don’t usually do that.”
 
She blinked, the smallest crack in her composure showing. “I wasn’t aware.”
 
Henry shrugged, pretending not to notice her faint blush. “You should do it more.”
 
She smiled at him, gentle but distracted. “Go on, dear. Don’t be late for school.”
 
When he left, she leaned back in her chair, staring at the faint glow of the tablet.
 
“Hopeless,” she muttered—and opened the app again anyway.
 
⸻
 
StructuredSoul: Another question for you. What’s something you’ve had to outgrow?
 
Emma read it twice, then sighed.
 
TrueNorth: The idea that I always have to earn being loved.
 
The reply didn’t come for nearly a minute. She almost thought the connection had dropped before the dots appeared again.
 
StructuredSoul: That’s not something most people admit so easily.
 
TrueNorth: You didn’t ask for easy.
 
StructuredSoul: That is true. Still, that’s a brave answer.
 
TrueNorth: Feels less brave and more pathetic some days.
 
StructuredSoul: Then those are the days you need to remember it’s progress, not pity.
 
Emma stared at the line for a long time. She typed slowly.
 
TrueNorth: You really seem like someone who’s spent a long time rebuilding themselves.
 
StructuredSoul: I have.
 
TrueNorth: Did it work?
 
The dots blinked.
 
StructuredSoul: Mostly. The foundation’s sound. The rest depends on whether I stop expecting it to collapse.
 
Emma’s breath caught. She knew that kind of fear—waiting for the good to go bad just because it always had before.
 
TrueNorth: You ever think maybe that’s just what surviving does to people? Makes us skeptical of happy endings?
 
StructuredSoul: Perhaps. Though skepticism can be mistaken for wisdom.
 
TrueNorth: So you’re wise and skeptical. Great combo.
 
StructuredSoul: And you’re deflecting again.
 
Emma grinned. “You’re catching on.”
 
⸻
 
Across town, Snow was folding laundry when David leaned against the doorframe. “She’s smiling again.”
 
Snow didn’t look up. “Who?”
 
“Emma. She’s been on her phone all week. Less sarcasm, more… sparkle.”
 
Snow smiled. “Sparkle?”
 
“Okay, bad word choice.” He grinned. “But you’ve noticed too, right?”
 
Snow folded another towel. “I have. It’s good for her.”
 
David’s grin widened. “You think she met someone?”
 
Snow arched a brow. “Would it kill you to let her have a mystery?”
 
“Fine. But if it is someone—”
 
“—we stay out of it,” Snow finished for him. “Completely.”
 
David groaned. “You’re no fun.”
 
Snow smirked.
 
⸻
 
That evening, the app glowed again on both their screens.
 
TrueNorth: You ever notice the app seems to know when we’re avoiding it?
 
StructuredSoul: That’s a troubling implication.
 
TrueNorth: Yeah, it’s creepy. But also kinda accurate.
 
StructuredSoul: It simply responds to human inconsistency. Which, I suspect, is your specialty.
 
TrueNorth: Hey, I resent that remark.
 
Regina’s smile softened as she typed.
 
StructuredSoul: Inconsistency suggests motion. Perhaps that’s progress by another name.
 
TrueNorth: You’re really fond of progress metaphors, huh?
 
StructuredSoul: I’m fond of second chances.
 
That stopped Emma for a full minute. Second chances. God, if you only knew.
 
TrueNorth: Yeah. Me too.
 
⸻
 
The app’s next suggested prompt flashed faintly.
Next Connection Prompt: “What’s something small that gives you hope?”
 
Emma hesitated, then sent it.
 
TrueNorth: What’s something small that gives you hope?
 
Regina frowned, tapping the pen against her desk. Hope was not a language she spoke fluently.
 
She typed, deleted, typed again.
 
StructuredSoul: When people surprise me. When I see kindness where I didn’t expect it.
 
TrueNorth: You don’t expect kindness often?
 
StructuredSoul: Experience suggests it’s a luxury, not a guarantee.
 
TrueNorth: Maybe that’s why it hits harder when it shows up.
 
StructuredSoul: Perhaps. What about you?
 
TrueNorth: Seeing people keep trying. Even when everything keeps falling apart.
 
StructuredSoul: That sounds exhausting.
 
TrueNorth: It is. But it’s real. Guess I’ll take real over easy.
 
Regina found herself staring at that sentence longer than she intended. She typed before she could talk herself out of it.
 
StructuredSoul: Then perhaps we have that in common.
 
⸻
 
Regina didn’t realize how much she’d come to depend on the rhythm of their exchanges until it stopped.
 
One evening, the messages didn’t come.
 
She told herself it didn’t matter—checked the tablet only once before bed, then again before dawn, pretending it was for work.
 
When the reply finally arrived hours later, she felt the ridiculous rush of relief in her chest before she could tamp it down.
 
TrueNorth: Sorry, long day. Didn’t mean to ghost you.
 
StructuredSoul: Ghosting implies absence. I assume you’ve merely been living.
 
TrueNorth: Barely. But I’m here.
 
StructuredSoul: Then that’s enough for now.
 
Emma smiled faintly. “Enough for now,” she echoed aloud. It sounded like something she needed to hear more often.
 
⸻
 
Days began to fold into a new kind of normal.
Emma found herself reaching for her phone between shifts, halfway through dinner, sometimes mid-sentence when Snow was talking.
 
Regina began timing her tea breaks to coincide with when their chats tended to start.
Neither of them noticed the pattern forming until it was too late.
 
⸻
 
TrueNorth: You ever think about meeting people you talk to online?
 
StructuredSoul: Statistically, that rarely ends well.
 
TrueNorth: You’d make a great crime show narrator.
 
StructuredSoul: And you’d be the one making the questionable choices for plot advancement.
 
TrueNorth: You’re not wrong.
 
They both paused, staring at the same conversation from different sides of town.
Neither said what they were thinking: I want to know who you are.
 
⸻
 
By the end of the week, the connection had become muscle memory.
They answered the app’s questions, invented new ones, filling the silences the app didn’t prompt.
 
TrueNorth: You ever wonder why it’s easier to talk to strangers?
 
StructuredSoul: Because strangers can’t weaponize the truth.
 
TrueNorth: Sounds dangerous.
 
StructuredSoul: It often is. But necessary things usually are.
 
Emma laughed softly, eyes lingering on the screen. “You’re something else, you know that?”
 
The dots appeared one last time that night.
 
StructuredSoul: And you’re still here.
 
Emma’s thumb hovered before she replied.
 
TrueNorth: Yeah. I am.
 
⸻
 
That night, neither woman slept easily.
The quiet that usually soothed them both felt too still, too absent.
 
Regina reached for her tablet twice before forcing herself to stop.
Emma unlocked her phone three times, then laughed at her own ridiculousness.
 
Neither had realized it yet, but their days had started orbiting each other.
The app had become more than routine—it was rhythm.
 
And somewhere between the questions and the pauses, between honesty and restraint, both women realized the same quiet truth.
 
The day didn’t feel right without each other in it.

⸻

Chapter Text

Back-to-school night always smelled like copier toner and floor polish, the hallways dressed up in student artwork and A-frames pointing families toward room numbers they could have found in their sleep. Regina arrived early anyway. Habit. She signed the attendance sheet outside Room 212—“Ms. Porter: English 10”—and scanned the handouts at the door. Syllabus. Reading calendar. Expectations.

Henry would roll his eyes at the word “expectations.” She circled it with her gaze like a hawk choosing not to swoop.

Inside, parents clustered near the whiteboard while Ms. Porter taped a poster labeled Write What You Notice. The teacher was perhaps thirty, a tidy cardigan, a kind smile that could cut if needed. Regina respected that look. Authority that didn’t shout.

She picked a seat front and center. Others filtered in: a couple with a stroller, a man in a fleece vest, two women whispering about PSATs. The last arrival paused at the threshold like she might bolt, then slipped in with a crooked grin for the nearest empty chair in the second row. Boots. Flannel peeking from a jacket sleeve. The grin didn’t reach the eyes, but it tried.

“Evening,” Emma said, casual to the room more than to anyone in particular.

Regina didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She could map Emma’s presence in a space the way one learns a house in the dark.

Ms. Porter clapped her hands once. “Thank you for coming out tonight. I’ll keep it short—an overview and then individual questions.” She went through textbooks, late work policy, group projects. The cadence of a professional who liked her job and expected it to be taken seriously.

Regina nodded along until Ms. Porter said, “If you’re here for Henry Mills, I’d love to speak with you after. Nothing urgent—just a pattern I’ve noticed.”

Regina’s spine straightened. She didn’t turn to find Emma. She didn’t have to.

The general Q&A took five minutes. When people began to filter toward the door, Regina stepped forward. “You said you’d noticed something regarding my son.”

Emma arrived at the same time. “Our son,” she amended gently, then winced like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “I mean—yeah. Henry.”

Ms. Porter’s smile held. “Right. Henry is smart, thoughtful, respectful. He’s doing the reading; the quizzes show that. But he drifts. He stares through the window like he’s listening to something I can’t hear. When I call on him, he’s always got an answer—good ones—but there’s a lag. Not typical daydreaming. Have there been any… changes at home?”

Regina’s posture straightened. “Our home is stable.”

It came out too fast, too precise.

Ms. Porter’s smile tightened. “Of course. I just mean sometimes when a parent has… a demanding job, it can spill over. Kids pick up on tension.”

Regina’s expression cooled. “My son is not suffering from neglect, Ms. Porter.”

The teacher gave a small, dismissive shrug. “No one said neglect. But teenagers need presence more than perfection. Maybe if you—”

Emma’s voice cut through, low but steady. “With all due respect, Ms. Porter, Henry’s got two parents who show up for him every day. If he’s daydreaming, maybe that’s just what creative kids do. And it’s not your place to tell either of his mothers how to raise their son.”

The room went still.

Ms. Porter blinked, visibly unsettled by the tone. “I was only making an observation.”

“Sure,” Emma said, still calm but with an edge that dared the woman to keep talking. “Just make sure you keep the judgment to yourself.”

Regina didn’t move, but something in her softened — the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face.

After a tense silence, Ms. Porter cleared her throat and shuffled her papers. “Well, Henry’s overall performance remains strong. I’ll… make a note of his continued progress.”

Ms. Porter looked from one to the other. “I’m not worried about grades. I’m curious about attention. He’s present, but pulled by something, and sometimes that means a kid needs a different kind of engagement. More challenge, less repetition. I can offer an independent reading contract if you’d approve it.”

Regina’s mouth, poised for defense, softened a fraction. “Independent work?”

“Supplemental. He chooses one long-form text each term—something dense—and writes response letters. It tends to help students whose heads outpace the room.”

Emma’s grin cracked wider. “Now that sounds exactly like him.”

Regina watched the teacher a heartbeat longer, weighing tone, posture, subtext. She heard no accusation there, only resource.

“Send it to me,” Regina said. “To us,” she corrected, surprising herself. “We’ll review it.”

Ms. Porter nodded. “I will. For what it’s worth, he’s one of my favorites.”

Regina swallowed around a knot that hadn’t asked permission to form.

They maneuvered into the hallway together. Parents drifted past with folded schedules; someone laughed too loudly near the trophy case. For a moment they were two planets in the same orbit, close enough to influence tide.

Emma shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “Thanks for not biting her head off.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Regina said, then amended, “Not entirely.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Emma’s mouth tilted. “You did the eyebrow, though.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did,” Emma said, grinning now. “But it was the… restrained version.”

Regina exhaled a sound that almost counted as a laugh. “Restraint is underrated.”

Emma glanced at her sideways, a warmth she didn’t quite expect settling in her chest. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s nice when someone doesn’t hold back.”

Regina looked at her then — really looked — and for a brief, disorienting second, something unspoken hummed in the air between them.

Then she straightened, smoothing her jacket. “Thank you, Miss Swan,” she said at last, quietly but with intent.

Emma shrugged, eyes lingering just a little too long. “Anytime.”

Regina blinked at her. For a beat, the hallway noise receded, and the look between them held—uneasy truce shading toward something kinder. Emma’s eyes flicked away first, like she’d almost stared too long.

“I should—” Emma gestured vaguely toward the exit.

“Yes,” Regina said, a hair too quickly. “I have an early morning.”

They moved in parallel until the doors sighed open and the cool night air met them. At the curb, their paths diverged: different cars, different routes, same town. They didn’t say goodnight. They didn’t have to.

—

The app waited on both their screens by the time they reached home, a quiet icon that felt less like software and more like a room with a door they had built between them.

Regina sat at her desk, lamp washed low, tablet centered. She didn’t pretend it was about work. Not tonight.

TrueNorth: Hey. You up?

Regina’s pulse tripped, ridiculous and real. She set down her pen.

StructuredSoul: I am. Long day?

TrueNorth: One of those days where everyone wanted something and no one had patience.

Regina smiled without meaning to. She thought of hallways and eyebrows and the way Emma—no, not Emma—how the woman at the school had stepped toward her rather than away.

StructuredSoul: And did you give everyone what they wanted?

TrueNorth: I tried. Not sure I pulled it off.

StructuredSoul: Trying counts.

There was a pause long enough for Regina to consider her next move. The Deeper Connection prompts had been visible earlier, but now the screen showed only their thread, as if the app had learned when to disappear.

TrueNorth: You ever have a person surprise you in a good way?

Regina’s fingertips hovered. She considered all the ways to answer without confessing anything she wasn’t ready to confess.

StructuredSoul: Yes. Today, in fact.

TrueNorth: Lucky.

StructuredSoul: Unexpected. But welcome.

TrueNorth: How so?

StructuredSoul: Someone chose to stand beside me when it would have been easier to remain uninvolved.

She typed, erased, retyped the last word. Involved felt dangerous. She sent it anyway.

TrueNorth: Sounds like you felt… seen.

Regina’s throat tightened.

StructuredSoul: For a moment, yes.

TrueNorth: Hope you get more moments like that.

StructuredSoul: I hope you do, too.

Regina sat back. Her hands were steady; her chest wasn’t. She gave herself a point for answering without revealing anything she couldn’t afford to.

Across town, Emma leaned against her kitchen counter, the phone warm in her palm. She typed, deleted, typed again.

TrueNorth: Can I say something slightly personal without making it weird?

Regina’s mouth tilted. As if we haven’t been doing that already.

StructuredSoul: You may try.

TrueNorth: You write like you’ve practiced not needing anyone. But you also write like maybe—sometimes—you want to let someone in and don’t know where to fit them in.

Regina went still. It took a full ten seconds to remember to breathe. She hated how accurate it felt. She hated more how gentle it sounded.

StructuredSoul: That’s… an astute observation.

TrueNorth: Not judgment. Just… noticing.

Regina considered retreat. She chose honesty, scaled for safety.

StructuredSoul: I have invested a great deal of effort in being self-sufficient. It complicates the math when someone tries to help.

TrueNorth: Math makes it sound clinical.

StructuredSoul: Numbers do not argue.

TrueNorth: People do. But sometimes it’s worth it.

Regina rubbed the bridge of her nose, startled at the tenderness that line could hold when sent through glass.

TrueNorth: Been one of those days where patience feels like a limited resource.

StructuredSoul: What tested it this time?

TrueNorth: Teenager stuff. Opinions louder than reason. Reminds me I’m not as patient as I thought I was.

StructuredSoul: Teenagers have a way of finding every limit you thought you’d outgrown—and tugging on your heart just when you’re ready to lose your temper.

TrueNorth: Yeah. Best part of my life most days… even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Regina paused, her fingers hovering over the screen. Something softened in her chest — a quiet recognition she didn’t name.

StructuredSoul: You sound like a very good parent.

Emma blinked, the words landing heavier than she expected. People had called her stubborn, brave, impulsive — but “good parent” still threw her off balance.

TrueNorth: I try. Doesn’t always look graceful.

StructuredSoul: Grace is overrated. What really matters is showing up, even when it’s hard.

TrueNorth: That’s what I keep trying to tell myself when I feel like there’s nothing left in the tank.

StructuredSoul: Then you’re doing better than you think. Some people quit long before empty.

Emma smiled — not her usual smirk, but something smaller. Realer. The kind that felt like exhale after holding your breath too long.

TrueNorth: Okay, your turn—something real. No app prompts. What did you actually do today?

StructuredSoul: I listened. I solved two problems and created half of one that I will fix tomorrow. I argued with a well-meaning person and then realized they weren’t my opponent. I signed a form I didn’t like because it was the correct thing to do. I… changed my mind about something.

TrueNorth: That last part sounds big.

StructuredSoul: It felt small in the moment. The full size may reveal itself later though.

Emma grinned. You talk like a fortune cookie. She didn’t send that. Instead—

TrueNorth: You make uncertainty sound almost… manageable.

StructuredSoul: Only because I’ve learned fighting it doesn’t stop it from coming.

—

The next afternoon, Emma bumped into Regina without meaning to—literally—at the copy center downtown. The universe had a sense of humor.

One register. Two stacks of paper. A clerk who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Regina stepped forward at the same time Emma did. Their shoulders grazed. Emma’s hand went out reflexively, steadying Regina’s elbow. Warm. Solid. Too many hours of thinking about a stranger’s sentences made the contact feel louder than it was.

“Sorry,” Emma said, dropping her hand as if it burned. “You first.”

Regina looked at the offered stack of flyers in Emma’s other hand. School logos. Announcements. She had her own envelope of forms; both of them doing errands that kept a town stitched together. Ordinary, intimate logistics.

“It’s fine,” Regina said, and meant it this time. “We can share.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder while the clerk waged war with the stapler. The rhythmic clack of metal filled the silence.

Emma tried to focus on it—really tried—but the tailored precision of Regina’s blouse made it impossible. Every line fit like it had been made just for her, every movement too composed to look accidental. She looked unfairly put-together for someone who’d spent half the night sparring with a teacher.

Regina, for her part, kept her eyes fixed on the papers, ignoring the ghost-warmth of Emma’s arm brushing hers.

“You were… kind last night,” she said after a moment. “With Ms. Porter.”

Emma snorted lightly. “Kind’s a stretch. She was out of line, and someone needed to say it.”

Regina glanced up, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “Even so. Thank you again.”

Emma shrugged, fingers raking through her hair. “Henry’s fine. Even when he zones out, he’s fine. You don’t have to let people make you second-guess that.”

“I know,” Regina said quietly. The edges of her voice softened. “Sometimes I just forget.”

Emma’s smile was small, crooked. “Then I’ll remind you.”

The clerk thudded the stapler triumphantly. “Next.” They moved together and then apart, emerging onto the sidewalk like people who’d chosen different exits after the same movie.

Emma caught herself glancing back. Regina didn’t see her do it.

—

That evening, the app lit again.

TrueNorth: Notice the app’s stopped suggesting prompts?

StructuredSoul: Perhaps it knows when to be silent.

TrueNorth: Smart app.

StructuredSoul: Or just lucky timing.

TrueNorth: Maybe it learned from us.

StructuredSoul: What has it learned?

TrueNorth: To wait. To pay attention. To ask better questions.

StructuredSoul: Then we’re teaching it well.

A few seconds passed.

TrueNorth: You ever want to ask something and stop yourself?

StructuredSoul: Regularly.

TrueNorth: Because you’re afraid of the answer, or afraid it’ll mean something you can’t take back?

Regina let her head tip back against the chair. She did not like being read this easily. She liked even less how safe it felt to admit it.

StructuredSoul: Both.

TrueNorth: Same.

They sat with that on opposite sides of town, devices glowing like kept secrets.

TrueNorth: I had a weird moment today. Someone I know did something… good. Simple, but good. It made me feel—

She stopped. She did not type warm.

TrueNorth: —seen, I guess.

Regina closed her eyes. “Yes,” she murmured to an empty room, and then sent:

StructuredSoul: I understand.

TrueNorth: You ever think we could talk like this if we actually knew each other?

Regina stared at the words until the screen dimmed and woke again under her touch.

StructuredSoul: I don’t know. I’d like to think so.

TrueNorth: Me too.

StructuredSoul: It’s possible that we already are.

Emma read that twice, then pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth to hide a smile she didn’t owe to anyone.

TrueNorth: Good night, then. To the stranger who doesn’t feel like one.

Regina’s fingers trembled once, then settled.

StructuredSoul: Good night.

She set the tablet down like a fragile thing and didn’t move for a long time.

Across town, Emma lay on her couch staring at the ceiling, phone balanced on her stomach, feeling foolish and young and something else she hadn’t let herself want in a long time.

—

Henry found Regina at the dining table later, papers spread like a fan, a pen resting still. He opened his mouth to ask something about the independent reading contract, then stopped.

“You look… different,” he said.

Regina arched a brow. “Define different.”

“Not mad. Like you have a secret you might actually be willing to share.”

She blinked at him. “Don‘t you have homework?”

He grinned and went. The grin lasted all the way upstairs.

—

That night neither woman slept quickly. Emma unlocked her phone three times just to reread the last three lines. Regina reached for her tablet twice and forced herself to let it stay dark. Both lay still and listened to the kind of quiet that doesn’t weigh a room down. The absence didn’t feel empty. It felt like waiting for morning.

Each wondered, privately and without admitting it. Could I talk like this to someone I actually know? And in the dark, where no one could see the honesty on their faces, both of them answered the same way.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

The messages had changed.

Not just in frequency, but in tone — softer, closer. Less like polite conversation and more like the rhythm of something that had begun to matter.

Regina noticed it in small things: the way she lingered on TrueNorth’s phrasing, the way she anticipated the notification sound before it arrived. The app’s “Deeper Connection” prompts had long since faded, replaced by questions they built themselves.

TrueNorth: You ever think we’re training this app to spy on us?

StructuredSoul: It wouldn’t need to. Humans volunteer their secrets eventually.

TrueNorth: You make that sound poetic and creepy at the same time.

StructuredSoul: I believe it’s called balance.

TrueNorth: Or avoidance.

StructuredSoul: You’re projecting again.

TrueNorth: You like calling me out, don’t you?

StructuredSoul: I enjoy accuracy.

Regina smiled — really smiled — at that last line. The sound of her own amusement startled her.

She’d always considered herself composed. Predictable. But lately, her mornings felt less mechanical, her evenings less silent. She could feel someone’s presence through pixels — disembodied, yes, but real in its own strange way.

⸻

That night, the conversation turned playful.

TrueNorth: Let’s make it interesting. Truth round. No app prompts.

StructuredSoul: You intend to make honesty into a game?

TrueNorth: Isn’t it already?

StructuredSoul: Then you start.

TrueNorth: Fine. Favorite love language?

StructuredSoul: Precision.

TrueNorth: That’s not one of the five.

StructuredSoul: It should be.

TrueNorth: Come on, for real. What’s your actual love language?

StructuredSoul: …Words. The kind that cost something to say.

TrueNorth: Words that cost something. I like that.

StructuredSoul: You sound surprised.

TrueNorth: More like impressed. Most people go for the easy ones — touch, gifts, whatever.

StructuredSoul: And yours?

TrueNorth: Touch. Probably. Not for the reason people think.

StructuredSoul: Elaborate.

TrueNorth: Because I used to forget what safe touch felt like. So now it matters.

Regina paused, reading that twice. Her pulse jumped, but not from discomfort — from understanding.

StructuredSoul: That’s… not an easy thing to admit.

TrueNorth: Neither’s yours. Guess we’re even.

StructuredSoul: Hardly. You’re far more transparent than I am.

TrueNorth: I’ll take that as a compliment.

StructuredSoul: It was one.

She sat back in her chair, a faint heat rising under her collar. This had gone beyond curiosity. It was connection, carefully built from trust neither of them had intended to offer.

⸻

The next evening, she found herself reaching for the tablet before she’d even changed out of her work clothes.

The message was already there.

TrueNorth: Long day?

StructuredSoul: Long enough to count. And you?

TrueNorth: The usual. People testing limits, patience on back-order.

StructuredSoul: What tested it this time?

TrueNorth: Teenager stuff. Opinions louder than reason. Reminds me I’m not as patient as I thought I was.

StructuredSoul: Teenagers have a way of finding every limit you thought you’d outgrown—and tugging on your heart just when you’re ready to lose your temper.

TrueNorth: Yeah. Best part of my life most days. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Regina’s hands slowed on the keyboard. The confession landed heavier than most. She typed slowly, choosing each word with care.

StructuredSoul: You sound like a very good parent.

TrueNorth: I try. Doesn’t always look graceful.

StructuredSoul: Grace is overrated. What matters is showing up, even when it’s hard.

TrueNorth: That’s what I keep telling myself when I feel like there’s nothing left in the tank.

StructuredSoul: Then you’re doing better than most. Many quit long before empty.

Emma stared at that line longer than she should have. It didn’t feel like reassurance — it felt like belief, the kind she rarely got from anyone.

She typed back, lighter this time.

TrueNorth: You talk like a therapist and a philosopher had a baby.

StructuredSoul: I’ll assume that’s a compliment.

TrueNorth: Depends on the baby.

Regina’s lips twitched.

⸻

Later, as rain traced the windowpanes of her office, Regina read back through their thread.

It was peculiar, how something so intangible could feel like proximity. The words had a gravity that drew her in — careful, deliberate, like peeling away the lacquer she’d built over the years.

She didn’t realize she’d whispered “enough” until the screen dimmed from inactivity.

But when it lit again, she didn’t hesitate to answer.

TrueNorth: Tell me something you haven’t told anyone lately.

StructuredSoul: I’m tired of being the steady one. Sometimes I just want to fall apart without an audience.

The dots appeared quickly this time.

TrueNorth: Yeah. I get that. Being the dependable one’s great—until no one thinks to ask if you need holding up.

StructuredSoul: Exactly. It becomes expectation, not appreciation.

TrueNorth: And the moment you crack, people act like you broke a rule they wrote for you without telling you.

StructuredSoul: That’s painfully accurate.

TrueNorth: Personal experience. Comes with the territory of trying to pretend you’re fine long enough to make it feel true even to yourself.

Regina stared at the words longer than she meant to, feeling something sharp and familiar twist internally.

StructuredSoul: Maybe we both got too good at pretending we’re okay.

TrueNorth: I think you’re right.

StructuredSoul: Doesn’t make it any easier to stop, does it?

TrueNorth: No. But admitting it’s a start.

⸻

The following morning, Regina felt lighter.

She caught herself humming as she measured out tea leaves — an absent, tuneless thing she hadn’t done in years.

“Okay,” Henry said from the doorway, backpack hanging off one shoulder. “Who are you, and what did you do with my mom?”

Regina blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re smiling before coffee,” he said, pointing accusingly at her mug. “That’s not normal.”

“I assure you, I am perfectly normal.”

He squinted, pretending to think it over. “You remembered where your secret stash of dark chocolate is, didn’t you?”

Regina lifted an unimpressed brow. “Go to school, Henry.”

He grinned, unfazed. “I knew it. You’re hiding snacks and emotions again.”

“Henry.”

“I’m going!” he called, still laughing as he headed out the door. “Don’t lose the smile though — it’s kinda nice.”

When the house finally fell quiet again, Regina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Her eyes drifted toward the tablet on the counter. The little notification dot blinked, patient and waiting.

TrueNorth: You ever wonder what I look like in person?

StructuredSoul: Curiosity isn’t always wise.

TrueNorth: Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

StructuredSoul: Curiosity leads to assumption.

TrueNorth: So you’ve thought about it.

StructuredSoul: I didn’t say that.

TrueNorth: You didn’t have to.

Her pulse jumped again. She typed carefully.

StructuredSoul: If I said I had, would it change this?

TrueNorth: Not for me. Would it for you?

StructuredSoul: I don’t know.

Regina stared at the answer on the screen.

Honest. Unfiltered. Terrifying.

She pressed send before she could talk herself out of it.

For the first time in years, she didn’t tidy her own vulnerability. She let it breathe.

——

The thread waited for them both that night like a door left ajar.

TrueNorth: What does a good Saturday look like?

StructuredSoul: Quiet morning. A to-do list that actually gets shorter. Good conversation that makes the day feel… less like something to survive.

TrueNorth: I like that. Feels… intentional.

StructuredSoul: Intention helps. Otherwise the day runs you instead of the other way around.

A pause lingered — not heavy, just full.

TrueNorth: Hypothetical. If we ever met, would that ruin this?

Regina’s hands stilled over the keys. The question looked harmless enough, but it landed like a tremor — subtle, shifting the floor beneath her.

StructuredSoul: Depends on the outcome.

TrueNorth: I’m up for an adventure if you are. Haven’t taken a road trip in a while, but I’d make the drive. Assuming you’re at least in America, or this might get complicated.

Regina hesitated, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. The thought of this person — this voice in the dark — crossing a continent just to meet her was inconceivable. Yet strangely stirring.

StructuredSoul: Complicated indeed. Fortunately, I’m not that far away — I am in the U.S.

TrueNorth: Oh? East coast or West?

StructuredSoul: East. Small town. Quiet. People notice everything, but they pretend not to. Until it’s gossip-worthy.

TrueNorth: That’s… specific. You gonna make me guess?

StructuredSoul: Only if you enjoy losing.

TrueNorth: Try me.

She hesitated, the cursor blinking like a pulse she couldn’t quite steady. Then she typed—

StructuredSoul: Storybrooke.

The dots appeared, vanished, and returned again, as if disbelief had its own rhythm.

TrueNorth: You’re kidding.

Regina frowned at the screen.

StructuredSoul: I rarely kid. Why?

TrueNorth: Because I live in Storybrooke too.

Regina blinked, the room momentarily tilting. Her gaze flicked toward the window, out across the faintly lit street. The sheer improbability of it felt dizzying — as though the town itself had folded in on some secret she’d never noticed.

StructuredSoul: That seems… unlikely.

TrueNorth: Or maybe the app just knows long-distance rarely works.

Regina’s lips parted, the faintest huff of a laugh escaping before she caught it.

StructuredSoul: Practical reasoning. How refreshingly unromantic.

TrueNorth: Hey, I’m just saying—it’s got good instincts.

StructuredSoul: I suppose “neutral ground” might be hard to come by in a town this small.

TrueNorth: Well I’d say, in Storybrooke “neutral” basically means anywhere but Granny’s. Too many eyes.

StructuredSoul: Agreed.

TrueNorth: The bakery on Third? They pretend it’s a café. The espresso’s good when the machine isn’t sulking.

StructuredSoul: Saturday. Ten.

TrueNorth: Ten it is.

She stared at the message long after it sent. Saturday. The word looked ordinary but felt anything but. It sat on the screen like a promise she hadn’t meant to make.

And yet, beneath the nerves, something giddy began to flicker — something she hadn’t let herself feel in far too long. She caught herself glancing at the window again, thinking, I might see him before then. On Main Street, maybe. Or outside the bookstore. Or waiting in line behind her at the grocer, holding that same quiet confidence she’d come to know through text.

Her pulse skipped. She let herself imagine it for just a second longer before reason clawed its way back. Dignity, she told herself. Control.

The screen blinked again.

TrueNorth: Guess I’ll have to tell my mom I’m meeting someone for coffee. She’ll start picking out lipstick shades and wedding venues before I can hang up.

The word sat there, casual and devastating. Lipstick. Not hypothetical. Used the way only a woman would write it about herself.

She read the line twice, three times, a fourth for cruelty.

StructuredSoul: Your… mother will approve of lipstick?

TrueNorth: She always does. She thinks it’s her responsibility to make me “presentable.” Moms, you know?

Regina’s mouth went dry.

The room tipped, briefly, like a ship finding new water. She steadied herself with one hand on the desk and typed the sentence her upbringing had trained her never to say and her honesty refused to swallow.

StructuredSoul: You’re… a woman?

The pause was long enough for Regina’s pulse to climb into her throat. Then—

TrueNorth: I am.

Regina blinked at the screen, certain she’d misread it. A woman? The word hit like a jolt—too sharp, too intimate. Her thoughts tangled, tripping over years of conditioning and expectation.

Before she could stop herself, her fingers flew across the keyboard.

StructuredSoul: I’m a woman too!

The message sent before she could take it back. She stared at it in horror, heat rushing to her cheeks. Good God, Regina, she thought, pressing a hand over her mouth. It sounded defensive, almost indignant, as if she were trying to prove something—to whom, she wasn’t sure.

The reply came a beat later.

TrueNorth: At some point I guessed you might be.

Regina froze. “You—what?” she whispered aloud.

StructuredSoul: You guessed?

TrueNorth: Something in the way you write. The way you see people. I couldn’t explain it.

Regina’s heart thudded against her ribs. It was bizarre—terrifying, even—but somehow that answer didn’t sting. It disarmed her.

She typed, slower this time.

StructuredSoul: And this… doesn’t bother you?

TrueNorth: Should it?

Regina stared at the glow of the screen, her own reflection faint in the glass. “Yes!” she said under her breath.

Her fingers hovered, but honesty won again—hesitant, raw.

StructuredSoul: I thought you were a man.

TrueNorth: I’ve been told I have masculine energy.

Regina’s pulse skipped. Of all the answers she could have imagined—apology, explanation—that wasn’t one of them. It was too sure of itself.

A laugh escaped her before she could catch it—half nerves, half relief. “You’re impossible,” she murmured.

StructuredSoul: You’re… rather calm about all this.

TrueNorth: Should I panic?

StructuredSoul: Well, I should think so. The app matched us as highly romantically compatible.

A pause. Then—

TrueNorth: Okay… and?

Regina blinked at the screen. And?

StructuredSoul: And? You’re a woman.

TrueNorth: Right. And women can love women. Just like men can love men. Compatibility isn’t exactly gender-exclusive.

Regina stared at the words, feeling her breath stutter.

StructuredSoul: That’s… highly irregular.

TrueNorth: Only if you’re judging by the wrong century’s standards.

Regina felt heat rise into her face — disbelief, embarrassment, something else she didn’t dare name.

StructuredSoul: I don’t understand how you can be so casual about this revelation.

TrueNorth: What’s there to be in uproar about? We matched. The algorithm’s not judging us — why should we?

StructuredSoul: Because— because it’s impossible.

TrueNorth: You say that like two women liking each other is some kind of cosmic glitch — like the world didn’t already get the memo that we exist.

Regina’s pulse thundered. “This is absurd,” she muttered, half to herself.

She typed before she could stop her hands from shaking.

StructuredSoul: You’re serious about this.

TrueNorth: Completely.

Her jaw tightened. “Good heavens,” she whispered.

StructuredSoul: I… don’t know what to make of this.

TrueNorth: That’s fair. I didn’t expect it either. But it doesn’t change what we’ve said — or how it’s felt.

The words disarmed her. They shouldn’t have. And somehow still did.

StructuredSoul: You are the most maddening person I’ve ever met.

TrueNorth: You keep saying that. Still here, though.

Regina stared at the glow of the screen, her heartbeat a wild, traitorous thing.

TrueNorth: Do you want to cancel Saturday?

The question landed softly — an exit offered without pressure.

“Yes” hovered at the edge of her tongue, the kind of safe, practiced answer she’d lived by for years. But the truth pressed harder — all the late-night messages, the laughter, the small shocks of honesty that had felt… alive.

The easy answer felt hollow in her mind.

Her thumb trembled.

StructuredSoul: I don’t know what I want.

TrueNorth: Honest answer. Thank you.

The dots lingered.

TrueNorth: For what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere.

Regina closed the app abruptly. She didn’t delete it. She stood, crossed to the window, and let her hands shake where no one could see.

⸻

Chapter Text

It had been a stupid joke about lipstick — something about Snow being Snow. But the reaction that came back… yeah, that had been something else.

You’re… a woman?

Emma could still see the words glowing on her screen, could practically feel the shock stitched into every letter. Not judgment — just genuine disbelief, like she’d said something unspeakable instead of something obvious.

A soft, incredulous laugh slipped out before she could stop it. This woman clearly wasn’t living in the same world she was. Maybe, she thought, it really wasn’t normal — not where this woman came from. Storybrooke was full of people pulled from other realms, and God only knew what passed for acceptable in half of them. Maybe in hers, this kind of thing really didn’t happen. Or didn’t get talked about.

Still, it was strange to think about.

Mulan had practically glowed every time Aurora breathed near her — and yet she’d never said a word out loud. Everyone saw it. No one said it. Maybe that was what it was like where StructuredSoul came from: feelings like that existed, but hidden or carefully unacknowledged.

Emma rubbed a hand over her face and stared at the last message again. It wasn’t disgust she’d read in that pause — just confusion.

It was almost sad, realizing this woman didn’t seem to know that love could take more than one shape. That it wasn’t limited by who you were supposed to fall for.

And somehow, that made Emma want to stay even more. She left the phone facedown on the table, ran both hands through her hair, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

⸻

Regina avoided the topic the next day. Saturday stayed circled on her calendar, but she didn’t open the app. Instead, she filled the hours with paperwork, phone calls, and problems that didn’t really need solving.

Henry noticed. He watched her move through the morning with that particular stillness she used when something was on her mind.

“Everything okay, Mom?” he asked at dinner.

“Everything is fine,” she said, and it almost sounded true.

He watched her for a second longer than usual, then let it go.

⸻

By the next afternoon, it was beginning to feel like punishment.

Regina made it thirty-six hours without opening the app. That was supposed to be the sensible choice — the responsible thing. Cut it off before it unraveled whatever order she had left. But her discipline turned restless. She caught herself glancing at the tablet for excuses — a weather update, a memo, a meaningless notification — anything that might justify the way her pulse still jumped at the thought of him… well, her.

By evening, she gave up on holding out.

She opened the app.

No new message. Just the thread, waiting like an unfinished sentence.

Her thumb hovered, but pride was a fragile thing. She typed anyway.

StructuredSoul: You’re quiet today.

The reply came more quickly than she deserved.

TrueNorth: Figured you might need space.

Regina exhaled slowly. “Considerate,” she murmured.

StructuredSoul: I did. Then I realized turning it off didn’t quiet the part of me that kept wondering what you’d say next.

TrueNorth: So you missed me.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it.

StructuredSoul: I missed the conversation.

TrueNorth: Uh-huh. Just the conversation.

StructuredSoul: And perhaps the wit.

TrueNorth: I’ll take that. My charm’s been accused of worse.

Regina shook her head, half-laughing, half-sighing. There it was again — that pull she couldn’t seem to reason away. The urge to keep the conversation going, to feel the spark of connection she’d spent years convincing herself she didn’t need.

It was ridiculous — wanting to talk to her this badly. Wanting the exchange, the rhythm, the way their words seemed to meet in the middle and make the day feel a little less empty.

⸻

Later, she typed something riskier.

StructuredSoul: May I ask you something personal?

TrueNorth: That’s practically our brand. Shoot.

StructuredSoul: When did you know? That you were… open to this sort of thing?

There was a pause. Longer than most. She wondered if she’d gone too far.

Then—

TrueNorth: You mean being into women?

StructuredSoul: Among other things.

TrueNorth: Yeah, probably my early twenties. Not exactly a shocker — women are gorgeous. Took me a minute to admit I wasn’t just appreciating the view.

Regina blinked at the phrasing. There was no apology in it. No shame. Just clarity — enviable, almost infuriating clarity.

StructuredSoul: That sounds… simple.

TrueNorth: Not really. Simple in hindsight. Messy at the time. You?

Her pulse jumped.

StructuredSoul: Me? Certainly not. I— I’ve never had reason to… explore such things.

There. Polite. Dismissive. Controlled.

It also rang hollow the moment she reread it.

TrueNorth: Huh. Somehow, I don’t buy that.

StructuredSoul: Excuse me?

TrueNorth: Just saying — you seem like someone who’s thought about it. Even if only slightly.

Her breath caught. “Presumptuous woman,” she muttered, fingers hovering before she gave in and typed it.

StructuredSoul: Presumptuous.

TrueNorth: Observant.

Regina’s pulse betrayed her with its speed. Her next reply came slower, deliberate.

StructuredSoul: You’re impossible.

TrueNorth: You keep saying that. Still here, though.

Regina leaned back in her chair, shutting her eyes for a moment. It didn’t help. Her pulse was still too loud. God help her — this woman was impossible, yes, but also intoxicating.

⸻

By the next evening, the rhythm had returned. Lighter, even playful.

TrueNorth: Hypothetical. What’s the most reckless thing you’ve done this year?

StructuredSoul: Define reckless.

TrueNorth: Something that scared you — but you did it anyway.

StructuredSoul: Opening this app again.

TrueNorth: Touché.

StructuredSoul: And you?

TrueNorth: Saying yes to a woman who makes me think too much.

Regina blinked, caught between amusement and alarm. The phrasing was almost tender — almost.

StructuredSoul: You exaggerate.

TrueNorth: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Regina huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff.

StructuredSoul: Flattery implies motive.

TrueNorth: And maybe I have one.

StructuredSoul: Dangerous territory.

TrueNorth: I’ve been told I work best under risky circumstances.

Regina’s fingers stilled over the keys. The audacity of it—of her—was maddening. And yet… the corner of her mouth curved again before she could stop it.

StructuredSoul: You are entirely too bold.

TrueNorth: Bold tends to get better results.

Regina exhaled through what might have been a laugh if she weren’t trying so hard to smother it.

StructuredSoul: You don’t know when to stop, do you?

TrueNorth: Wouldn’t be much fun if I did.

Regina froze, startled by the heat that rose in her chest. “Infuriating woman,” she muttered, the words catching somewhere between exasperation and… something else.

⸻

The next morning, she was hopelessly behind on paperwork. Her signature blurred on the page; her attention wandered to the device half-hidden beneath a folder.

When the notification chimed, she startled. Reflex, not anticipation.

Except— perhaps both.

TrueNorth: I was thinking about Saturday.

Regina’s heart gave a small, treacherous leap.

StructuredSoul: That sounds ominous.

TrueNorth: Just wondering if you’re planning to show or not.

She hesitated.

StructuredSoul: I still haven’t decided.

TrueNorth: Then I’ll give you incentive. I’m told I’m better company in person — sharper wit, worse manners.

Regina’s lips twitched. “Of course you are,” she muttered under her breath before typing—

StructuredSoul: You do have a peculiar way of making your case. Almost convincing.

TrueNorth: Almost? I can work with that.

Regina shook her head, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the faintest curve. It was infuriating — how easily this woman could fluster her.

⸻

By Monday afternoon, Regina had exhausted every justification she could invent.

She told herself she’d moved past the impulse, that she had regained control. But the truth sat heavier than she wanted to admit.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not the name, not even the face she hadn’t seen — just the idea of her. The soundless echo of their conversations. The pull that felt… dangerous.

It was wrong.

That was the word her mind supplied every time the thought returned.

Wrong, unnatural, unbecoming.

She had spent a lifetime mastering propriety — learning which emotions to silence, which instincts to starve until they vanished. And yet this one refused to die quietly. It flickered in the quiet moments between tasks, in the pauses of her own breathing.

She told herself it was harmless curiosity. Then she even felt guilty about that thought, but beneath every argument was the same unsteady truth: she wanted to meet her.

And that, more than anything, frightened her.

So she compromised. She would simply… go to the bakery. See the place. Make sense of it.

A harmless errand.

A way to remind herself of reality — that whatever had sparked between them belonged to screens, not real life.

⸻

The bell over the bakery door gave a small, uncertain chime as Regina stepped inside.

The scent of espresso and sugar clung to the air, sweet enough to make her chest ache.

She told herself it was reconnaissance — nothing more.

She needed to see the place, to prove it was just a shop — ordinary, unremarkable — and not some… destined meeting point.

A few patrons lingered at small round tables. The hum of conversation mixed with the hiss of steam from behind the counter. Ordinary. Reassuringly ordinary.

“Machine sulking again today?”

The words slipped through the noise — light, amused, familiar in a way that snagged something deep in her mind.

Her heart stuttered, once. Then twice.

The espresso’s good when the machine isn’t sulking.

The memory struck like a spark to dry tinder. The same phrasing.

Her breath caught. Sharply, she turned toward the voice.

At the counter stood a woman clad in a familiar worn leather jacket, blonde hair falling in loose waves as she leaned casually against the counter. Her smile was effortless—entirely unaware that the ground had just fallen out from under someone ten feet away.

Regina’s pulse thundered. Her world tilted, the floor sliding out from beneath her feet. Every message, every line, every teasing word rearranged itself in her mind until the truth screamed back at her.

The realization hit like a physical blow. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything but that one, impossible truth.

She didn’t think — she moved.

The bell over the door gave a violent little cry as she shoved it open, its cheerful tone grotesque against the panic clawing up her throat.

Cold air knifed through her coat. She barely felt it. Her heels scraped the pavement, too fast, too loud. The world outside seemed tilted, unreal — like she’d stepped out of one life and straight into another she had no map for.

By the time she reached her car, her hands were trembling so badly she could hardly find the keys. Her reflection in the window looked wrong — pale, wide-eyed, exposed.

Emma Swan. TrueNorth. One and the same.

Her breath came shallow, uneven. Every line they’d written flashed through her mind, her own words mocking her now in Emma’s voice.

Chapter Text

The bell over the bakery door chimed behind the woman in the leather jacket, and Emma’s smile slipped without her permission.

Regina.

Emma had just made her usual joke to the barista—paid, waited—when she caught the flash of red wool and dark hair pivoting back out through the door. Another quick chime. A ribbon of cold air.

“Everything okay?” the barista asked.

“Yeah,” Emma said, eyes still on the door. “I hope so.”

She didn’t follow. She wanted to—something in the stiffness of Regina’s shoulders, the speed of the exit—but chasing her outside would turn worry into spectacle. Emma picked up the pastry box for Henry, added a coffee she didn’t need, and let the bell chime for other people while she finished what she’d come to do.

⸻

Regina came through her own front door like a storm that had learned to use a doorknob.

“Henry!”

She didn’t kick off her heels. She didn’t hang up her coat. She followed the sound of a video game up the stairs, turning too sharply at the landing and catching her shoulder on the wall hard enough to make her eyes water.

“Mom?” Henry’s door swung open. He took one look at her face and set the controller down. “What happened?”

“Downstairs,” she said, voice tighter than she intended. “Now.”

They met in the kitchen, the island between them like neutral territory. Regina braced her palms on the marble, steadying herself against a world that refused to be steady.

“You remember that app,” she began carefully, like the sentence might explode. “The one you put on my tablet.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Yeah. The friendship one. You—uh—still using it?”

“Answer the question I’m asking,” she said, and hated how sharp it came out. She softened, barely. “Do you know if Emma has it?”

Henry blinked. “Emma?”

“Your mother,” Regina clarified, then corrected herself. “Emma. Does she have the app?”

He hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “Okay, so… yeah. I made one for her too.”

Regina’s brows lifted, sharp as glass. “You made one for her?”

“I did! I just thought—well, you never use stuff like that unless someone drags you into it, and she never tries things unless someone sets it up for her, so I figured if I made both accounts, maybe the app could work like it’s supposed to.”

Her voice dropped an octave. “And by work like it’s supposed to, you mean match me with the Savior?”

Henry’s hands went up. “Not me! The app! I didn’t pair you. I didn’t even pick preferences. It did everything automatically once I uploaded the profiles. If you two ended up matched, that was totally the system.”

Regina stared at him, color rising high on her cheeks. “Are you telling me, Henry, that the person I’ve been corresponding with under a pseudonym—that StructuredSoul—has been conversing with Emmathis entire time?”

Henry winced. “Yeah… Mom. It’s her.”

Regina blinked, once, twice. Then turned away, pressing her hand against her forehead like she could keep the entire situation from spilling out of her skull. “Of course it is. Of course it’s her.”

Henry shifted his weight. “You’re mad.”

“I am mortified,” she corrected, tone clipped. “Possibly cursed. Definitely humiliated.”

He frowned, but his voice was soft. “You liked her. StructuredSoul liked TrueNorth. That was before you knew who she was.”

“That,” Regina said, drawing in a breath that did nothing to steady her, “is precisely the problem.” A brittle huff escaped her—half-laugh, half-defense.

“I went to the bakery—the one she suggested for Saturday. Only I decided to go today instead.” Her tone was measured, but the tremor beneath it betrayed her. “It was meant to be reconnaissance. Nothing more. I just needed to see the place, to make sense of it—to remind myself that whatever had sparked between us belonged to messages on a screen, not to real life.”

Her throat constricted, the last words slipping out quieter. “And then she was there.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Emma?”

“She said something,” Regina whispered. “A phrase TrueNorth had said before. And I knew. And then I didn’t want to know. So I left.”

Henry rubbed the back of his neck. “So now you’re sure.”

“Unfortunately.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You know the app didn’t trick you, right? It didn’t fake the match. You two really… clicked.”

Regina exhaled sharply through her nose. “Do not use that word.”

Henry tried a small smile anyway. “Okay. You two… corresponded exceptionally.”

“Henry.”

“Sorry.” He bit his lip, then added, “For what it’s worth, you’re like, top-tier compatible. I checked the metrics.”

“That does not make it better.”

He nodded quickly. “Didn’t think it would.”

They stood there for a beat too long, silence stretching across the marble island.

Regina finally sighed. “For now, you will not mention this app or any part of this conversation to Emma. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” Henry said softly. “But… can I say one thing?”

“If you must.”

“She looked lighter lately. You did too. I think that means something.”

Regina’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile that never made it to her eyes. “You’re very wise for someone who still cannot remember to hang up his towels.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Go do your homework.”

He started down the hall, then doubled back. “For what it’s worth… I didn’t set you up.”

“For what it’s worth,” Regina said, lowering her hand from her temple, “I know.”

He left. The house, traitorous as ever, settled around her like a verdict.

Regina stood in the kitchen a long time, staring at the door as if it might open onto a different version of her life—one where none of this felt dangerous. One where wanting didn’t immediately feel like failing.

When her phone buzzed, she didn’t look.

She went upstairs. She closed her office door. She placed the tablet face down and pretended wooden objects couldn’t hum in the dark.

She didn’t open the app again.

⸻

Emma noticed the silence on Tuesday.

On Wednesday, she tried not to notice. She left the app unopened until noon, then cracked it like a door and found only their last exchange, the cursor blinking in an empty reply field as if it had something to say about hope.

Wednesday night, she typed three drafts of Hey, you okay? and deleted all three. The fourth draft was worse—Did I do something?—so she deleted that, too.

Thursday, she told herself she was busy. She drove patrol. She bought groceries. She answered a complaint about a raccoon in somebody’s shed that turned out to be a raccoon in somebody’s garbage can. She went home and stood in front of her fridge for six full minutes and drank orange juice out of the carton like a college student.

Friday, she stared at the calendar and laughed without humor at the little circle around Saturday — 10 a.m. She could feel the shape of the plan in her body—walk, door, bell, the brief electric pause of looking up and finding a person you’d built out of sentences—and the not-knowing sat like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing.

By Saturday morning, the bakery smelled like vanilla and disappointment.

Emma took a table near the window. She ordered coffee, then another coffee, then a pastry she didn’t touch. She told herself she would wait twenty minutes, which became thirty, then forty-five because maybe punctuality meant different things to different people, and who was she to judge.

Ten turned into eleven.

The bell kept chiming and every time she looked up hopeful, not that she’d even know if structuredsoul was actually in the room or not.

Emma stared at the door hard enough to give it a complex.

At eleven-ten, she told herself it was fine. People change their minds. People get scared. People have reasons. She put cash on the table, stood up, and—because she knew how to do kindness even when she was mad—she left a tip big enough to feel foolish.

Outside, the winter sunlight made her squint. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and walked home slowly, like speed might make the emptiness louder.

It was ridiculous, she told herself, to miss someone who existed as a first name she’d never heard out loud. But grief didn’t care about ridiculous. It slid into the space where anticipation had been and sat there, heavy as wet wool.

Henry was on the couch when she came in, one knee tucked under him, a book tented on his chest.

He looked up. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Emma lied, too quickly. “Fine. Perfect.”

He studied her for a beat, brow creasing. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” She tried for a shrug, but it came out as more of a collapse. “Just… people.”

Henry’s mouth bent. “People’ll do that.” He closed his book and stood. “You want grilled cheese?”

Emma huffed something that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt. “I want a reality where I don’t feel this dumb about things I can’t fix.”

“That’s not on the menu,” Henry said, heading for the kitchen. “But grilled cheese is.”

She followed him, leaning against the counter while he buttered bread with calm, methodical care—steady where she wasn’t.

He didn’t pry. He didn’t ask. He talked about homework, about the toaster that was definitely plotting against them, and whether raccoons had passive-aggressive neighbors..

When he finally slid the plate across the counter, he added, voice soft but deliberate, “You know… sometimes people mess up because they’re scared. Not because they didn’t care.”

Emma stared at the sandwich, appetite gone but gratitude lingering. “If they’re scared,” she said quietly, “I hate that for them.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Emma took a bite and blinked hard, the silence between them warm in a way that almost hurt.

The app stayed closed on her phone that night. Not because she wanted it closed, but because she didn’t know how to open it without turning into a person who begged.

——

Regina kept her promise to herself for exactly six days: she did not open the app.

She answered every email. She signed every form. She approved three invoices that could have waited and rejected one that didn’t need rejecting, then spent an hour crafting an apology that made the rejection sound like an educational exercise for the recipient.

On Saturday morning, she was in her office at home pretending to care about a budget spreadsheet when the clock rolled mercilessly toward ten.

She did not think about a bakery. She did not think about the woman whose crooked smile carried enough power to make even her lose her footing

At ten-oh-four, she got up and refilled the tea she hadn’t drank

At ten-thirty, she sat down and stared at a single cell in the spreadsheet until the number looked like a foreign language.

At eleven-fifteen, she admitted that she wasn’t working; she was hiding.

At noon, Henry knocked once and came in without waiting.

“How was your morning?” he asked, too careful.

“Productive,” Regina said. Then, honesty winning a single inch: “No.”

Henry exhaled. “Emma’s been… quiet.”

Regina’s spine went taut. “Has she said anything to you?”

“No. That’s the point. She’s… not great at being quiet.” He rocked on his heels. “She looked like someone canceled her favorite holiday.”

Regina swallowed. The floor did an unpleasant ripple beneath her feet. “Henry…”

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” he said quickly. “I’m just… reporting.”

“I did not ask for a report.”

“I know.” He hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me why you didn’t go. But… does she know it wasn’t about her?”

Regina shut her eyes. She pictured the bakery—the morning she fled, the afternoon that didn’t happen. Does she know it wasn’t about her? The question scalded.

“She knows nothing,” Regina said, and forced steel into the words because if she didn’t they would collapse. “Because I said nothing.”

Henry nodded, biting back any more wisdom. “Okay.”

He left her to the spreadsheet and the small, dense ache that refused to metabolize.

⸻

By Wednesday, the ache had curdled into something meaner—guilt braided with panic braided with a grief she’d spent a lifetime refusing to name.

Regina woke with her jaw sore from clenching and went to bed with her palms aching from being fists. The world outside felt too bright; the world inside felt too loud.

She tried to reason with herself. She was not nineteen. She was not reckless. She was not a woman who upended her life because an algorithm suggested it.

She was, however, a woman who had found air in a conversation and then sealed the window shut.

In the mirror, the expression looking back at her had edges she didn’t like: brittle, complicated, dangerous to touch. She’d seen that face before—the week after Daniel, the months after the curse, a dozen smaller losses in between—and she hated it for being familiar.

She made it through a council meeting by speaking only when forced. She signed for a delivery from the florist and put the flowers in a vase and then forgot to add water. She snapped at Henry for leaving a cereal bowl in the sink and apologized five minutes later without being asked.

“Mom,” he said gently, “do you want me to—like—say anything? To anyone?”

“No,” Regina said, too quickly. “I want nothing said.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He went upstairs. She stood in the hallway and tried to remember how to breathe without counting.

⸻

Emma did not open the app on Sunday. Or Monday.

She meant to—she’d meant to every night since Saturday—but every time she picked up her phone, the words Do you hate me? lined up on the keyboard, impatient and humiliating.

By Wednesday afternoon, she was in the station sorting a file she’d already sorted twice when Henry pushed the door open and stuck his head in.

“Hey,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Emma looked up and tried to make her face do I’m fine. It probably did I haven’t slept instead. “Sure, kid.”

He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and took the chair across from her. “So… how are you?”

At any other time, she would have teased him for the therapist voice. Today, she stared at the stapler and said, “I’m good.”

Henry shot her a look that would have gotten him elected to a bench. “You’re not.”

Emma’s mouth twitched. “Since when did you become the town’s human lie detector?”

“Since always,” he said, then softened. “You looked… happy. For a minute. Like something was working.”

Emma’s ribcage hurt in the way it does when you laugh on a bruise. “Yeah.”

“And now you don’t.”

“Yeah.”

He took a breath like he was about to break a small law. “I think… she’s scared.”

Emma’s eyes snapped up. “She?”

Henry swallowed. “The person you were supposed to meet.”

Something in Emma’s throat went stubborn and hot. “You know about that?”

“I know enough.” He held her gaze. “I can’t explain it. But I know it wasn’t about you.”

Emma looked down at her hands. She flexed her fingers like that could convince her heart to do something useful. “I’m not mad at her.”

“I know.”

“I just—” She stopped. The truth was too blunt to sand down. “It sucks.”

Henry nodded, then hesitated like he’d reached the edge of a cliff. “I’m not supposed to say this. But I feel awful and you don’t deserve to be in the dark.”

She went very still. “Okay.”

“It was my mom,” he said in a rush. “StructuredSoul is my mom.”

The room seemed to click louder around them. Emma didn’t move.

Henry forged on, words tumbling. “I— I made both profiles the same day. Yours and hers. But I didn’t match you I just put in the information about you both and the app matched you on its own. I swear. It calculates compatibility and sends the prompts and… you two were just—” He caught himself. “You were both happier. I could see it.”

Emma’s breath snagged; the world narrowed to a pinpoint and then snapped back into focus.

Henry swallowed. “She went to the bakery to see if she even could meet TrueNorth. And I guess you were there that day and you said something she recognized— and that’s how she knew. And when she saw that it was you she panicked.”

Emma’s mind replayed that split second like a glitching reel—bell, cold air, a flash of red wool vanishing through the door. She hadn’t seen Regina’s face, only the shape of her leaving. And her own voice, light and unthinking, still echoed: “Machine sulking again today?”

“Oh,” Emma said, very softly.

Henry’s face creased. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse. I just… I thought maybe it would help to know it wasn’t about you. It was… a lot. For her.”

Emma set her palms flat on the desk to stop the slight tremor in her fingers. Regina. StructuredSoul. The late-night honesty. The careful wit. The way her days had started to feel less like something to survive. And then that door. That exit.

“It was Regina,” she repeated, like testing the weight of a truth and finding it heavier than expected, and also—strangely—exactly the right shape.

Henry nodded. “Yeah.”

Emma exhaled, the sound unsteady, like air leaving a cracked window. The ache didn’t disappear, but it changed weight—less burden, more breath.

Her hand hovered over the phone, over the small, glowing icon she’d tried so hard to ignore—not to open it, but to hold onto the fragile reminder that maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth reaching

Chapter Text

The facts should have made it simple.

Regina was StructuredSoul.

The voice Emma had been falling asleep to—the wit, the steadiness, that stubborn seam of tenderness that showed up whenever she least expected it—belonged to the woman who could make a room hold its breath by walking into it. The woman she’d spent years bristling against. The woman who had looked up for half a heartbeat in a bakery and then fled like the floor had given way.

Simple. Except her heart didn’t do simple.

For two days Emma moved like someone learning the choreography of a new gravity. She made coffee. She forgot to drink it. She went on patrol. She drove past the bakery and pretended it was a coincidence. At home, she sat on the edge of her bed with her phone turned face down and told herself she could wait.

She could wait—but she couldn’t sit still.

By the third morning, she found herself at City Hall with a stack of nonspecific paperwork and the kind of courage that made her palms sweat.

The hallway outside Regina’s office smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and the flowers Regina always kept alive without trying. The light under the door was on.

Emma knocked before she could rehearse it into cowardice.

“Come in,” Regina said, perfectly composed through wood.

Emma stepped inside. Regina didn’t look surprised. She did look tired, in the careful way people do when they’re holding themselves together with dignity and a staple gun.

“Sheriff Swan,” she said. “Is there a matter requiring my attention?”

For once, Emma didn’t reach for a joke to make it easy. “Yeah,” she said, closing the door softly behind her. “Us.”

A crack, thin as a hairline, ran through Regina’s composure. “I wasn’t aware there was an ‘us’ that needed to be discussed.”

“It’s the only place you’ll let me in,” Emma said, quieter. “You won’t open the app. You wouldn’t stay in the bakery. So I came to the one door you still answer.”

Regina stiffened in her seat. “I have work.”

“So do I.” Emma took one cautious step closer, then another. “But I can hold a thought and a badge at the same time.”

“What do you want?” Regina asked, and it sounded like a plea trying to wear a scowl.

“I want,” Emma said, choosing each word the way they had in the app—words that cost something—“to talk to you without a screen between us.”

That landed. Regina’s gaze flicked to Emma’s mouth, then away, like instinct betrayed her.

“Five minutes,” Regina said. “And then I have a meeting.”

“Deal.”

They stood with the desk between them like the world’s most formal moat. Emma didn’t lean. She didn’t crowd. She only let the quiet stretch until it hummed, and then she bridged it with a thread they both recognized.

“You said once,” Emma murmured, “that being dependable turns into expectation. That people stop asking if you need holding up.”

Regina’s eyes lifted, startled despite herself.

“I heard you,” Emma said. “And I’m not here to ask you to be steadier than you are. I’m here to say… I can hold, too.”

Something broke and re-knit in Regina’s face. It wasn’t soft, not yet. But it was no longer hard.

“I panicked,” she said, the admission emerging like a leaf through frost.

Regina’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “And how, pray tell, did you find out?”

“Henry told me,” Emma said, simple and steady.

Regina groaned, pressing her fingers briefly to her temple. “Of course he did. The inability to keep secrets must be genetic.”

Emma’s smile tilted, soft with understanding. “Yeah, well, he inherited the guilt reflex from you. Evens the scales.”

A quiet sound escaped Regina—half sigh, half reluctant amusement. “You’re impossible.”

Emma’s grin deepened. “One of my finer traits.”

Then softer, like the humor couldn’t quite hide the ache underneath: “That exit, though… pretty decisive.”

Regina winced, fingers brushing her temple. “I—I saw you, and it just… rearranged everything at once.”

“I know the feeling.” Emma let out a breath that trembled and didn’t apologize for it. “Finding out it was you put every line back in a different order. Still the same poem. Just… truer.”

Regina’s fingers tightened around her pen. “It didn’t feel like a poem.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Transgression,” Regina said, too quickly. And then, eyes darting to the door as if the hallway were listening, “Where I’m from, this wasn’t… allowed.”

There it was: the weight Emma couldn’t lift for her, but could stand under with her.

“Wanting a woman,” Emma said. Not a question. Not a dare. A fact given room.

Regina swallowed hard. “Wanting you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And not just because you’re a woman, but because I am me—and every story I’ve ever told myself about what’s proper, what’s allowed, says this should be impossible.”

Her breath caught; the next words scraped out quieter. “Because if I let myself want you, I don’t know what that makes me anymore.”

Emma didn’t move closer. She let her voice do the moving. “Storybrooke’s not there,” she said, steady. “And you’re not there anymore.”

Regina gave a small, brittle laugh. “You say that as if the past doesn’t find new ways to follow me.”

“It does,” Emma agreed. “But it doesn’t get to write the laws here. On the bright side, if we were dating—it’d simplify a lot of parent-teacher conferences.”

Regina huffed—half scandalized, half caught off guard by the sheer audacity of this woman. The corner of her mouth twitched before she managed to tame it. “You are insufferable.”

“Optimistic,” Emma countered lightly, grin widening. “It’s like insufferable, but with snacks.”

Regina’s composure wavered another inch, humor slipping through the cracks like sunlight she couldn’t quite shut out.

Emma lowered her voice. “Look… if it helps—where you came from isn’t the only place. Even there, people felt this. They just didn’t talk about it. Doesn’t make it unheard of. Just unspoken.”

Regina’s gaze flicked to her again, searching for judgment and finding none. “That sounds dangerously close to simple,” she said dryly. “Which means it can’t possibly be.”

“No,” Emma said. “Not simple. Worth it.”

A throat cleared in the hallway. Both women glanced toward the door.

“Your meeting,” Emma said softly.

“Yes,” Regina answered, voice carefully neutral. “My meeting.”

Emma started to step back, then paused. “I’ll walk you out.”

Regina arched a brow. “This is my office.”

“Right,” Emma said, grin tilting. “Then I’ll walk me out.”

She turned toward the door, then stopped with her hand on the handle. “I’m not asking for an answer today. I’m not even asking for a message. I just… wanted you to see I’m still here.”

Regina stared at her like the sight itself was unnerving. “I do see that,” she said finally.

Emma nodded. “Good,” she said softly. “Also thought you might wanna know—I’ve officially retired from running. I’d rather be here—for you and Henry.”

“Noted,” Regina replied, somewhat fondly, and Emma slipped out before the air could turn brittle again.

Regina stood very still for three full breaths, then sat and stared at the shape Emma had left in the room as if it would stop existing if she blinked.

It didn’t.

⸻

Henry didn’t do more than lean into the sheriff’s doorway that afternoon. “You look less haunted,” he offered, like a weather report.

Emma flicked a paperclip at him. “A ghost said that once.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He nodded. “Keep not giving up.”

“You’re very bossy for a teenager.”

“Genetic,” he said, and vanished.

Emma let the grin fade slowly. The ache was still there, but it had shifted—like a sore shoulder that had finally been set back in place.

She gave it two days. She gave Regina time to put her armor back on, or take it off more slowly. Then she tried again.

⸻

The first callback was small on purpose.

Thursday evening, she stopped by the grocery store after patrol and found herself two aisles over from Regina, who was glaring at a row of tea boxes as if they had wronged her.

Emma didn’t announce herself. She reached past, grabbed a familiar blend, and set it lightly in the empty space in Regina’s basket.

Regina startled. “Really?”

“You once told me precision was a love language,” Emma said, casually studying a display of licorice. “I considered that… precise.”

Color flared in Regina’s cheeks before she could catch it. “That wasn’t a love language,” she said stiffly. “It was a clarification.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma’s mouth tilted. “How’s your clarification supply?”

Regina stared at the box as if it might combust. “Adequate,” she said, but she didn’t put it back. She left the aisle with the tea still in her basket and her pulse too loud.

Emma didn’t follow. She didn’t text later either. She went home and cooked a dinner she mostly burned and laughed out loud in her kitchen like an idiot. Progress didn’t have to be graceful.

⸻

The second callback came on a walk.

Saturday afternoon, the town was pretending it was spring purely by unanimous declaration. Emma spotted Regina on the path by the water, hands tucked into her coat, hair pinned up with the kind of elegance that made the breeze look like it was trying to impress her.

Emma fell into step beside her without comment.

They walked four paces in silence.

“Teenager?” Emma asked, because some bridges should be familiar.

Regina’s mouth curved, reluctant. “Opinions louder than reason.”

“Best part of your life most days,” Emma said.

“Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

They glanced at each other at the same time and both looked away, an uncoordinated dance they’d never practiced but somehow knew.

A child on a scooter clipped past them. The moment jostled and reset.

Regina’s voice went low. “You don’t relent.”

“I’m not pushing,” Emma said. “I’m… showing up.”

“That’s worse.”

“It’s better,” Emma corrected softly. “Because you don’t have to do this alone.”

“This?” Regina asked, as if the word itself burned.

“This… wanting,” Emma said simply.

Regina’s steps faltered. The path narrowed and their sleeves brushed. It was nothing; it was everything. Heat flashed under Regina’s skin like a startled bird.

She recovered a beat later. “You’re infuriating.”

“I get that a lot,” Emma said. “Usually right before someone admits I’m also right.”

Regina snorted—an unguarded, reluctant sound. Emma’s grin deepened.

Regina shook her head, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Don’t push your luck, Sheriff.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Emma said, and somehow they both knew she

⸻

It took a week for the crack in Regina’s certainty to widen into a choice.

She was very busy not making that choice. Papers were initialed. Budgets balanced. A bouquet arrived from the florist; she trimmed the stems with ruthless care and did not notice she was humming until Henry leaned around the doorway and raised his eyebrows high enough to qualify as commentary.

“What,” she said, not a question.

“You’re… less grayscale,” he said.

She glared. He grinned. Nothing else required saying.

That evening, the doorbell rang.

She knew who it was by the pull in her chest before she reached the foyer.

Emma stood on the porch, hands in pockets, uncertainty written across a face that had learned not to show it. The porch light caught the strands of gold in her hair. She looked like a question Regina had been trying not to read.

“Hi,” Emma said, and it was ridiculous how much power the word had.

Regina’s hand tightened on the edge of the door. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Emma said. “That’s the point.”

She held up a small paper bag. “I brought something. Neutral offering.”

Regina eyed it like it might explode. “If it’s a raccoon, return it to the diner.”

“It’s not a raccoon.” Emma lifted the bag an inch. “It’s those lemon cookies you kept saying you weren’t buying because restraint builds character. I’m a character flaw enabler.”

Regina huffed. “Come in.”

They didn’t go far. The entry table, the lamp with the warm shade, the coat hooks where a red wool scarf still hung—these were the edges of a map Emma knew well enough to honor. She set the bag down and didn’t reach for anything else.

“I’m not here to fix this,” Emma said. “Just… to keep you company while it’s not fixed.”

Regina stared at the box. “You’re very bad at leaving people alone.”

“Only when they don’t want to be.”

A thin, raw silence opened; neither looked away.

Regina’s voice scraped a little when she found it. “You keep acting like it isn’t… wrong.”

Emma stayed where she was. “What part?”

Regina’s eyes flicked, counting sins. “That you’re a woman. That you’re—” She faltered. “Henry’s… other parent. That you’re Snow’s daughter. That I am who I am. That I have spent a lifetime learning the difference between wanting and deserving.”

Emma let out a breath she’d been holding since the bakery. “Okay,” she said, gentler than light. “Let’s sort that.”

She raised a finger, counting them off. “Woman? Not wrong. Complicated sometimes. Never wrong. Henry’s other parent? Again, that one’s a freebie—he’s basically had lesbian moms in his headcanon for a while now.”

A helpless, astonished sound escaped Regina. Laughter, tiny and unguarded.

Emma’s mouth curved. “Snow’s daughter?” She grimaced theatrically. “Yeah, that one’s rough. We can put it in the ‘requires snacks and patience’ column.”

Regina’s shoulders unknotted half an inch.

“And you being you,” Emma finished, the humor falling away so the truth could stand. “That’s the reason I’m here, not the obstacle.”

Regina’s throat worked. “It’s not that easy...”

“It is.”

“Where I’m from—”

“I heard you,” Emma said, soft but firm. “And I meant what I said: this isn’t the Enchanted Forest. And again, you’re not bound to its rules.“

Regina steadied a hand on the entry table. The lamp threw a gold circle of light over her wrist. She watched it like it might tell her how to be brave.

“What if I ruin it?” she whispered.

Emma didn’t flinch. “Then we address the situation and we try again. Or we stop, if stopping is kinder. But we don’t pre-grieve something we haven’t let live.”

Regina’s eyes closed as if the words were a bandage pressed over a wound she was pretending wasn’t there. “It feels wrong to allow myself to… want this,” she said, each syllable costly. “Or to want to see what could come of this.”

Emma stepped close enough that Regina could feel the heat of her without being touched. “It’s not wrong. It’s new. There’s a difference.”

Regina looked up. Emma was right there—steady, unafraid, a safe thing in reach.

“Try,” Emma said. Not an order. An invitation.

Regina’s hand lifted of its own accord and stopped in the small space between them, indecisive as a breath. Emma didn’t take it. She only offered her own, palm open, waiting.

“May I?” Emma asked.

The courtesy undid her. Regina nodded, once.

Emma closed her fingers around Regina’s hand, gentle as a promise. It was nothing—just skin and warmth and the human proof of being there. It was also everything. Regina’s pulse leapt as if startled, then steadied into a rhythm she hadn’t allowed herself to hear.

Heat bloomed under her collarbones, unchecked and mortifying and wonderful. Her breath snagged and then evened out on a new cadence that felt suspiciously like relief.

“Funny,” Emma murmured, “how something this small can say so much.”

Regina’s eyes dropped to the joined hands like she couldn’t trust the sensation without a visual. “Apparently,” she murmured, dry even now.

Emma’s laugh was a quiet, broken thing—joy, disbelief, a little pain around the edges where hope was still tender. She didn’t move away. Neither did Regina.

They stood like that, close enough for the world to grow particular—Emma’s soap, citrus and something warmer; Regina’s perfume, subtle and complex; the metronome of two breaths trying to keep time.

“Try,” Emma said again, softer. “Not forever. Not a vow. Just… the next moment.”

Regina swallowed. “And the one after that?”

“We’ll renegotiate as needed,” Emma said. “I’m an excellent haggler.”

A corner of Regina’s mouth lifted, then fell, then lifted again, like her face couldn’t quite decide whether to trust itself.

“You are intolerable.”

Emma’s grin tipped, voice low and playful.

“Are you sure you don’t mean irresistible?”

Regina’s eyes narrowed, but her pulse betrayed her. “I’m certain.”

Emma chuckled, soft and knowing. “We’ll revisit the definition later.”

Regina’s laugh was more sure this time. She didn’t let go.

Regina drew in a deep breath, “All right,” she said, voice low and formal and shaking. “We can… try.”

Emma swallowed, eyes bright with something she didn’t disguise. “Thank you.”

The words felt too small for the relief that followed them, but they were the right size to begin.

Regina shifted a half step closer without realizing she’d moved. The air between them tightened, charged with something unspoken and perilous. Emma hesitated only a heartbeat before closing the gap, her arms rising slowly—an offer, not a claim.

When she drew Regina in, the contact was soft but full, solid enough to melt the careful distance between them. Regina’s hands came up automatically, meaning to steady herself, but the warmth beneath her palms sent a ripple through her instead. The scent of leather and citrus filled her head; her pulse stumbled, quick and traitorous.

Her breath hitched—sharp, involuntary—and she hated how easily her body betrayed her. Emma’s voice came low, near her ear. “Okay?”

Regina’s eyes fluttered shut. She had to fight for breath before words. “I—I’m fine,” she managed, though her voice wasn’t. It came out thinner, unsteady, trembling with the effort to sound composed.

Emma didn’t call her on it. She only tightened the hold a fraction, steady as a heartbeat, and let the silence speak for them both.

Emma eased back first, hands steady on Regina’s arms as if to make sure she still had her footing. The air that rushed in between them felt too cool, too fast. Regina straightened, trying to disguise the tremor in her hands by smoothing her sleeve.

“No pressure,” Emma said. “No timelines. I’ll be around. We can… sit on a bench. Share a pastry. Complain about raccoons. Argue about the best line readings.”

Regina inhaled, steadier now. “I don’t share pastries.”

“We’ll order two.”

Regina’s eyes softened. “Compromise. Look at us, already negotiating the difficult matters.”

Emma lingered at the door, hand still on the knob. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, voice rougher than she meant it to be.

Regina’s reply came automatic. “Tomorrow.”

Emma gave a short nod, almost a breath of a smile, and left. The door shut.

⸻

The sound of the door closing echoed longer than it should have.

Her chest hurt. Her palms were still warm where they’d pressed against Emma. Every nerve seemed miswired—too awake, too aware. She tried to steady her breathing, but it came shallow, uneven.

She crossed the room without meaning to, then stopped, hands braced on the back of the couch. Her body still remembered the weight of Emma’s arms. The scent—leather, soap, warmth—had burned into her skin.

It shouldn’t have felt like that. It shouldn’t have felt good.

A sharp sound tore out of her—half laugh, half choke. She pressed her palms over her face. “Get it together,” she muttered.

Her hands were still shaking.

The old voices rushed in, cold and efficient. This is wrong. Love is weakness.You know better.

Her throat tightened. She tried to corral her thoughts—reach for logic, for rules, for anything that might anchor her—but guilt moved quicker than reason ever could, flooding every corner before she could catch her breath.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to get through this.”

The words cracked. She sat down hard, elbows on her knees, and pressed both hands against her mouth to keep them from trembling. For a moment she thought she could contain it. Then her shoulders jerked once, twice—and she broke.

No control. No mask. Just shaking breath, wet palms, and the ache of wanting to be seen—and loved—in a way she’d never allowed.

The sound that left her didn’t even sound human.

She stayed there, hunched and shaking, until the tears burned themselves out. The lamp still glowed, the cookies untouched.

When she finally lifted her head, the room looked the same. She didn’t.

Chapter Text

The morning after Emma left, Regina did not cry.

She woke with the parchment crackle of a headache and the feeling that she had dreamed in static. Her eyes were puffy, but they were dry. A small mercy. She showered too hot, brewed tea too strong, and answered three emails at seven a.m. solely to prove she still knew how to do ordinary things.

By nine, she checked the calendar and found nothing that could be made into an emergency besides herself. She told herself that if she kept moving, the ache would tire first.

At ten, Henry wandered in, hair in revolt and socks from two different decades. His eyes swept over the unnaturally spotless counters.

“You redecorating or spiraling?”

“Both can be true,” Regina said without looking up. “Bagels on the counter.”

He smirked and dropped one into the toaster. “You know, most people just journal.”

“I find bread more grounding,” she said.

He leaned against the island with the wise silence of a person who understood that some mornings required ceremonial carbohydrate and no commentary. After a minute he said carefully, “Emma texted to say she’ll stop by after lunch. Something about a loose latch on the porch door.”

Regina’s grip tightened on the dish towel. “The latch is fine.”

“Not according to the draft in the hallway.”

“It has character,” she said, and hated the wobble in her voice.

He studied her for a beat—then let it go. “Do you want me to be here when she comes by?”

The question landed heavy. She swallowed. “No. Thank you. Go—go be a teenager.”

“I am exceptionally good at that,” he said with dignity. “Also, Mom?”

“Yes.”

“You once told me people who are scared can still do brave things slowly.” He shrugged. “Today counts.”

She made a noncommittal sound that wanted to be affection and waved him out before the tenderness could tip her into tears she was determined not to repeat.

By noon, the house was too clean to fuss with. She stood in the entryway and stared at the door like it might blink first.

At twelve-thirty, it opened.

Emma slipped in with an apologetic half-smile and a toolbox that had seen better days. The winter light caught in her hair and made it look like something the sun had invented as a private joke. She closed the door, clicked the faulty latch with exaggerated care, and said, “Permission to attempt this highly technical repair?”

Regina’s mouth twitched. “I believe the proper phrase is ‘have at it.’”

“I like yours better,” Emma said, and set to work.

It was not a long repair. It was a screw that had lost its conviction. Emma tightened and tested, tightened and tested, the concentrated set to her mouth doing distracting things to Regina’s ability to focus. When she finished, she rocked the door to prove it. “Fixed.”

Regina tested the latch herself. It held. The small, satisfying click landed in her ribcage like relief pretending to be hardware.

“Thank you,” she said. She meant it larger than the latch.

“Anytime.” Emma hesitated, then added, “You look… less haunted.”

Regina lifted her chin. “I slept.”

“Good.” Emma shouldered the toolbox. “I didn’t bring cookies this time. Felt like bribery.”

“You brought a screwdriver,” Regina said before her better judgment could intervene. “That tends to work on me.” The words landed before her mind could catch them. Heat crawled up her throat.

Emma’s grin broke—quick, startled—then softened into something gentler, almost reverent. “Noted,” she said quietly. “But if it helps, I can pretend you didn’t say that.”

Regina made a sound that could’ve been acknowledgment—or embarrassment. “Coffee.”

They moved to the kitchen. The light was bright in that unforgiving winter way—clean, revealing, impossible to hide under. Emma reached for the kettle, then hesitated halfway through. “Right. This is your domain. I’ll just… not touch things that could get me vaporized.”

“That would be wise,” Regina murmured, retrieving the tin of tea she’d once claimed she didn’t like. “Stay put.”

Emma obeyed, leaning a hip against the counter. She didn’t fidget, didn’t fill the silence—just watched as Regina measured, poured, waited. It wasn’t teasing anymore. It was attention, unembarrassed and patient.

When the tea was ready, Regina poured two cups, then paused at the sight of the bottle of wine sitting unopened on the counter. “Or perhaps this instead.”

Emma arched an eyebrow. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“I’m the mayor,” Regina said dryly. “If I can declare emergencies, I can declare it evening.”

Emma laughed—low, surprised—and the sound spread through the room like heat. “Tea’s perfect,” she said, still smiling.

They drank like diplomats at first: polite, measured. Conversation stumbled in starts and pauses, the strange rhythm of two people relearning how to speak with faces after saying too much behind screens.

Emma broke first. She set her cup down, fingers tracing the rim like she was stalling for courage. “You know,” she said lightly, “this almost feels like a high-stakes meeting.”

Regina arched a brow. “Perhaps that’s because you approach every conversation as a negotiation.”

“Only when the stakes are this high.” Emma met her gaze, the teasing softening into something steadier.

Regina opened her mouth—probably to deflect, maybe to scold—but nothing came out.

They drifted into smaller talk to patch over the silence: the pothole Snow had turned into a metaphor, Henry’s latest “vibe-based” vinyl system that made alphabetical order obsolete.

It helped, until it didn’t.

Emma was still talking. Regina wasn’t listening. Her eyes caught on her mouth—how it shaped the words, how soft it looked when she wasn’t smirking. She tried to look away and didn’t.

The awareness hit a second later, sharp as a spark. She blinked hard, redirecting her gaze to the mug in her hands, the walls, anything solid. Too late. The damage was done. The image stayed in her head like a secret she couldn’t unsee.

Emma had been talking—something about budget meetings and their many crimes—when she noticed Regina’s attention slip. The words trailed off mid-sentence. She set her cup down with deliberate care, aiming for patience instead of pity.

“You okay?” she asked.

Regina lifted her own cup to buy time and discovered it was empty. “Yes,” she lied, and then, because lying was harder with Emma near enough to hear her pulse, added, “No. Possibly.”

“Specific,” Emma murmured.

“I’m re-learning,” Regina said. The words sounded like a confession. “How to want something and not punish myself for it.”

Emma’s throat worked. “I know.”

Regina looked at her. Not a glare. Not a challenge. Something rawer, as if the grief of wanting had scuffed away her weapons. “You keep treating my hesitations like they are facts to be honored rather than obstacles to be overcome.”

“They are facts,” Emma said. “And they’re yours.”

“It makes it worse,” Regina said quietly. “How gentle you are.”

Emma swallowed a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “I can be terrible if it helps.”

“Don’t you dare,” Regina said, and it was almost a plea.

The silence that followed thickened, alive with heat and restraint. Regina had backed up a step without meaning to, her lower back brushing the edge of the island. The cool stone anchored her there, an unconscious brace against motion. Across from her, Emma leaned against the counter near the sink, her forearms resting loosely on the edge. Nothing stood between them now—just open space and the soft hum of the refrigerator filling it.

The air felt close, intimate in its stillness.

Emma set her cup aside and straightened a little, voice lowering into something steadier.

“Regina,” she said. “May I say something responsible?”

Regina’s brow lifted. “By all means.”

“I’m not here to corner you. Not to force,” Emma said. “Not to talk you into a person you don’t want to be. I’m not a rule you have to break to prove something. I’m just… me. The same me you liked talking to on your tablet at midnight and over coffee you didn’t drink and in a bakery you escaped from like a very dignified cat.”

A reluctant huff escaped Regina. “Undignified,” she corrected. “Decisive.”

“Right,” Emma said, smiling. “Decisive.” Then she went quiet.

Emma moved in, slow but deliberate, until the space between them felt smaller than a breath. The movement sent a flutter through Regina’s stomach, quick and unwelcome. She tensed automatically, shoulders stiffening. With the island firm against her back, there was nowhere left to go.

Yet still, she found herself staring at Emma’s mouth again.

Emma noticed. She didn’t call attention to it, just closed the distance with quiet certainty. Her hands found Regina’s waist, slow as a tide, the movement careful but sure—an invitation more than a claim.

Regina’s breath quickened, shallow and uneven.

Emma waited.

“Miss—” Regina began, then faltered, the habit colliding with something far less formal. “Swan.” Her voice came out too breathy to sound like reprimand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Testing a theory,” she said, and the honesty in it made the air shift.

The nearness of Emma’s body sparked heat low in her belly. Her knees wavered, as though they were not fully convinced about this whole standing thing.

“Emma,” she managed, small and startled.

Emma’s hands slid lower, to the backs of Regina’s thighs—still clear of anything indecent, yet unbearably explicit to her traitorous nerves. The light fabric of Regina’s skirt shifted under Emma’s fingers as she lifted, guiding her onto the island. Her hips fit naturally between Regina’s knees, and the sudden closeness tore a sharp breath from Regina before her mind caught up with her body.

Her chest tightened. The press of her hips grounding Regina in place. Up close, Emma’s eyes were darker—green rimmed with heat—and Regina couldn’t tell if the shiver running through her was panic or want.

Emma’s voice dropped, steady but low enough to tremble between them. “If you want me to stop, say so.”

Regina made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sob. “I don’t know what I want,” she whispered. It felt like a terrible thing to admit.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s find out.”

She leaned in.

The first touch was not a collision; it was a meeting. Emma’s mouth brushed Regina’s like a question—barely pressure, hardly even weight—and then settled with the kind of patience that steals every exit route.

It wasn’t like kissing the men she’d kissed before. Where there was once stubble scratching against her chin, there was only softness. Emma’s lips moved with an almost silk smoothness, each slow drag melting the space between them. The absence of roughness was its own shock—every inch of contact clean, deliberate, devastatingly tender.

And the scent—God, she smelled divine. No cologne, no smoke, nothing that tried to own the air. Just warmth—intoxicating and clean. Something faintly floral, jasmine after rain, clinging close enough to blur the edges of thought. It filled Regina’s lungs, slid down her spine, turned coherence to static. All that was left was skin, heat, and the dizzy, forbidden relief of wanting.

Regina’s hands, uncertain at first, settled at Emma’s waist. The leather was hot from body heat, the muscle beneath shifting in slow, controlled tension. She meant to keep her distance, to steady herself—but her fingers flexed instead, pulling Emma closer.

The contact changed everything. Emma’s breath caught, a sound that hit somewhere low in Regina’s chest. Then their mouths met again—deeper, heavier—and the shift was instant. Her pulse stuttered. Her knees went weak. Every nerve fired at once.

There was no expected rhythm, no map her body already knew. Everything about it felt new—sharper, softer, more dangerous for how good it was. Emma’s mouth was warm, sure, patient and devastatingly gentle. The taste—citrus, coffee, and something purely her—slid through Regina’s senses until her mind lost its footing.

Emma’s hand found her jaw, thumb brushing once, steadying her like she might come apart otherwise. The kiss built in tiny increments—pressure, breath, the faint catch of teeth—until every inch of Regina’s restraint started to tremble.

She’d never been kissed like this. Never like it meant discovery instead of domination. Never like someone wanted to learn her.

By the time Emma eased back, it wasn’t retreat—it was mercy. The distance between them was a hair’s width… and Regina still felt every point of contact as if it burned there. Emma’s thumb traced her jaw again, slower this time, and the smallest sound escaped Regina’s throat—half gasp, half disbelief that she could feel this undone from a single kiss.

Regina’s eyes had closed because seeing seemed too dangerous. She opened them to find Emma there—flushed, eyes darker, mouth parted in an expression that would have looked smug on anyone else. On Emma it looked like awe she couldn’t quite hide.

Regina felt wrecked. Not ruined. Rearranged.

“This,” Regina said, and then stopped, because the next word had fled. Her pulse thundered where her voice should’ve been. “This is… I think I understand why there were rules against this sort of intimacy.”

Emma blinked, still close enough that her breath brushed Regina’s cheek. “What do you mean?”

Regina’s lips parted, but the answer came slow, hesitant, trembling between sense and surrender. “Because it feels almost… indecent,” she managed. “That a single kiss could make me feel this—” she searched for a word that didn’t scandalize her own mouth, “—undone.”

Emma’s chuckle was low, roughened by something more than humor. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Regina shot her a look that might have been reproach if her composure hadn’t already deserted her. “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

Emma’s smile curved, soft and certain. “Not a chance— and I likely won’t let you live it down.”

Emma’s eyes searched hers, voice low enough to be felt more than heard.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Regina’s answer barely made it past her lips. “Yes.”

Emma’s hand came up, slow but sure, and cupped her jaw before sliding to the back of her neck. The hold wasn’t gentle this time—it was firm, possessive in a way that made Regina’s pulse trip. Her head tilted without permission. The pressure wasn’t cruel—it was command, and God help her, it felt good.

The kiss hit harder. Not fast, not sloppy—just decisive. Emma kissed her like she’d made up her mind. The shift in control sent a jolt through Regina’s body, straight to the place that had always been locked behind discipline and years of performance.

She gasped against Emma’s mouth, half shock, half surrender. The sound made Emma tighten her grip on her neck—just enough to hold her there. Tingles shot through her arms and legs, into her wrists—everywhere.

Her hands moved without thought, gripping Emma’s waist, then flattening over her stomach. She could feel the hard line of abs under the thin cotton, the way muscle flexed under her palm. The contact burned. She wanted more.

Emma deepened the kiss and Regina answered it with a hunger she didn’t recognize in herself. Their mouths opened against each other, tongues sliding in a rhythm that built itself—wet, hot, and deliberate. The low sound Emma made when Regina tugged her closer vibrated through her whole body. Emma’s lips were soft and lush, silk moving over silk.

Emma’s hand tightened at her neck again—enough to make Regina’s breath catch, to pull another small, broken sound from her throat. Possession, but not punishment. It felt like being seen all the way through, and it hit like adrenaline.

The cold surface beneath grounded her while everything else spun. Emma stepped between her knees, close enough for heat to roll off her body, for Regina to feel every tremor of restraint in her.

For a terrifying, exhilarating moment, Regina realized she wasn’t the one dictating the pace—and she wanted that. She wanted to be held in place, to stop performing control long enough to simply feel.

The thought was as intoxicating as it was blasphemous. She’d spent years mastering power, and now here she was—Snow White’s daughter’s mouth on hers, tongue pressing deeper, hand keeping her right where she was. The wrongness of it made it hotter. The danger of it made her tremble.

Emma pulled back just enough to look at her, lips wet, eyes dark. “Okay?”

Regina nodded too fast. “Yes,” she breathed, and then, softer, “God, yes.”

The sound of her own voice startled her—it was too honest, too wanting. That flicker of awareness broke the spell. Shame and panic clawed at her chest, fast and practiced.

She turned her face away, catching her breath. “Wait,” she said, and it came out smaller than she meant it to. “This is—too much too soon.”

Her pulse was still climbing.

Immediately, Emma eased her hold, stepping back half a pace. “Okay,” she said, no hesitation, no frustration. “We stop.”

Regina’s palms pressed against the counter as she steadied herself, breath ragged. She slid down until her heels met the floor again, every movement deliberate, a negotiation with gravity. Her lips still tingled; her pulse refused to settle. She could taste want and fear—all tangled together on her tongue.

“I just need to think,” she managed, voice thin and frayed at the edges.

“Of course.” Emma’s tone was steady again, though the heat beneath it hadn’t cooled. There was reverence there, restraint. “No rush. But… maybe next time, we start with dinner?”

Regina’s head lifted, the question breaking through the haze. “Dinner?”

“A date,” Emma said. “Somewhere with actual chairs. A safer distance from household surfaces.”

Regina let out an unsteady laugh that almost hurt. “You’re infuriating.”

“So you keep saying,” Emma said, grinning now. “But I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Regina’s composure slipped again, though now it was anticipation, not panic. “Seven,” she said.

When Emma left, the air didn’t feel empty. It felt alive—still humming with the imprint of hands.

Regina touched her lips once, as if confirming they were real, and exhaled. For the first time in years, she didn’t dread the next moment or the unknown. She craved it.