#i reckon if anybody else has a prompt they're free to send it my way lol

[sssammich]

Platonic breakfast ritual (prompt)

oh what's up anon thanks for sending me this prompt

you didn't give me a ship so i just picked my own to write for so hope it's cool i wrote it for swan queen. if not, just come back and i'll do something else haha

thanks!

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It’s temporary, this thing. This current arrangement that they have while Emma finds a new place to live away from the loft—cramped and cacophonous; too full a house with a new baby. She doesn’t think too deeply about how she feels about it, pretends her heart doesn’t throb and ache at being displaced and replaced once again. It's a noxious thought to keep, so she does her best to clear it out of her.

So, yes. The arrangement to stay at the mansion until she sorts out her affairs. Yet Emma is not exactly rushing to end it. Not when the choreography of her waking hours brings about a certain comfort that she does not want to relinquish, happening in a place that devastatingly feels more like home than she has ever felt in all the decades of her life. In a place that isn’t hers to claim, but for now she’ll pretend because the walls are present and the sheets are soft. 

It is inconveniently pleasant to wake up rested at Regina’s house in one of her massive guest bedrooms. It is even more so when she languidly makes her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen where she first gets a whiff of food being made, and the lingering scent of coffee in the air. The rest of her senses catches up to her when she hears whatever Regina is cooking just as she inevitably sees Henry already sitting in front of his breakfast plate, fork in one hand and comic book in the other as if it’s the morning newspaper. 

“Good morning, Ma,” he offers, his eyes never once straying from the page. She shakes her head, but greets him in turn. 

“Morning.” Then, she casts her eyes up at Regina and offers her a smile. “Good morning, Regina.” 

“Good morning, dear.” Regina accompanies her gentle morning greeting with an offered plate brimming with food right in front of the seat that Emma has deemed as hers during her stay. Despite Regina’s frequent comments about Emma’s abhorrent appetite and etiquette, she’s there enabling Emma with a full plate. Emma notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything for fear that Regina will change and give her one less hash brown in the stack. 

Still, even as her mind slowly eases into the morning, she doesn’t immediately take her seat at the table. Instead, she heads towards the coffee bar—which is literally just the far end of the kitchen counters where there’s one of those fancy single-serve coffee machines. She sets to brewing herself a cup since that’s the only machine she’s allowed to touch; the Italian espresso machine beside it is off limits. For the best, Emma thinks. 

Once her coffee is done, Emma lets the mug sit to the side and plucks another mug out of the cupboard, repeating the steps, waiting quietly while the machine cranks and whirrs and gurgles before the dark sea of coffee fills the new mug. It is the first full cup that Regina has in the morning, the first dose of caffeine coming from the espresso machine that Regina handles herself upon rising. Emma only skirts the edges of her thoughts at what it means to have Regina trust her to make her first cup of coffee for the day. Yet on that first morning she'd received the request, Regina only arched a brow and exasperated teasingly, "surely, you can't completely flub up making coffee."

Emma doesn’t move in place, uncharacteristically settled on her feet, her arms folded across her chest as she waits. Not wanting to break the tranquil silence, she doesn’t say anything, and neither do the others in the kitchen. It’s a quiet morning, but comfortable and companionable. Normally when things are too quiet, she gets restless as if she must fill the space herself or excuse herself entirely. But the last week at Regina’s place has given her more peace than she’d gotten in months, and she hates that by the end of this upcoming week, it’ll be gone again. Still, she doesn’t think too hard on this. 

For now, she grasps both the filled mugs and places them on their respective placemats as she’s done almost everyday this week. She sits in her chair and she waits until Regina does the same. She offers the other woman a shy grin, perhaps more tender than she’d intended (she’ll simply blame the morning hours for it if pushed) and Regina returns it, the gentle smile across Regina’s face splitting her face so beautifully.

The three of them sit like a family that Emma has always wished for and eat breakfast together.