France Gall - Poupée De Cire

Kalomira - Secret Combination

Carl Espen - Silent Storm

Daði og Gagnamagnið - 10 Years

Citi Zēni - Eat your Salad

Years ago, she and Adam would spend each night of the festival holed up in the library– away from the noisy and drunken celebration happening in the streets outside. Away from his thoroughly imbibed father.

They’d talk about the future. Their hopes and dreams.

Her own had been lofty. Traveling the world. Studying at prestigious universities. Experiencing everything life had to offer. And she had done those things. Or most of them, at least. But Adam’s were never quite so simple. For his father to stop drinking. For his mother to get off the painkillers. For the comfort of knowing what to expect of both of them when he came home each night.

She’d offered to take him with her.

“I can’t.” he’d said, and she hadn’t pushed, and she regret it every day.

She held her breath as she drove by his father’s storefront, furrowing her brows when she noticed it had changed.

What if he was gone?

Moved to another town to get away?

Or worse?

A smile crept across her face however, once she got close enough to read the new signage. No longer Malcolm's Pawn and Loan, but rather Mr Gold - Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer.

Belle chuckled at the name. Mr Gold. It sounded so different, so unlike her Adam. The boy she left behind, now become a man. And as she continued toward the old Inn, Belle began to tremble with all the joy in her heart that it was surely far too quiet, far too late at night, to express out loud.

She was going to see him again.

Belle tugged her coat more tightly around herself, her eyes fixed on the door of the shop across the street. The falling snowflakes, being violently yet silently whipped through the air by the cold winds, gave her the strange feeling that she'd be blown away herself the moment she stepped off the curb and toward the pawnshop.

A horse-drawn carriage passed by, and her nose wrinkled at the smell. She’d ridden in one a few times as a girl with her father, and the sudden desire to ride in one again took her– but papa was gone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the curb and crossed the street.

She peered through the shop’s window hoping to get a glimpse of him, and as her eyes focused on the small man hunched over the counter, her heart began to race. His brows were creased with focus as he scribbled into a notebook. His hair still swept his shoulders, and Belle couldn’t help feeling a silly bit of relief for it. She’d always found him handsome in his way.

A smile bloomed across her face. The sort that had eluded her all those years no matter where she sought it– be it in Paris, Amsterdam, Madrid, Edinburgh, Tokyo. Before she could stop herself, Belle was trying for the door despite the CLOSED sign hanging in its window.

It opened.

Adam lifted his head out from his work and looked up at her, his features wrought with confusion. But then the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into one of his lopsided smiles, and Belle felt weightless.

“...Belle?” he asked. “Belle–” this time scoffed, in disbelief. “Is that–?”

She nodded and hurried toward the counter with outstretched arms, moving as quickly as her feet would carry her.

He rounded the counter to meet her halfway. “Belle,” he said it again, and he threw his arms around her.

She clutched onto him tightly and breathed in the scent of him. It was different– an unfamiliar cologne filling her senses– but it was him and may as well have been the same blend of a scared boy’s unwashed clothes, mother’s cigarettes, and father’s whiskey, that she remembered.

“You came back.” he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

A sniffle escaped her, and she squeezed him even tighter. “Adam.”

His hand rubbed her back, instantly soothing away the restlessness that had settled into her bones over the years. He pulled away slowly then, looking her over, and she could see him noticing all the ways she’d changed and all the ways she’d stayed the same.

“I… never thought I’d see you again.” he finally said, only now his voice rang more of hurt than it did surprise.

“I was always going to come back.” Belle mumbled in her defense, taking a step back and wrapping her arms around herself guiltily.

The shop fell silent, and she studied the shelves of trinkets, the framed paintings, the things that all belonged to this man in front of her. This Mr Gold.

“How…” she trailed off, not sure of whether or not she should ask.

But he'd always had a way of reading her mind.

“He died.” he said, and the emptiness in his voice made Belle’s heart ache for him. How alone he was. How alone he always had been. “Choked on his own vomit six years ago.”

It was tempting to say, “I’m sorry,” but it didn’t seem appropriate, given everything she knew of that relationship. “I… see.” she managed.

“And my mother– she ah…” he cut himself off and swallowed hard, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Overdosed.” he finished quietly.

The ache in Belle’s heart grew worse, sharpening into a fine point at the realization that his hopes and dreams had never come true.

“Adam…” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else. He made that face though– the one that told her he didn’t want her pity– and so she shook her head and took another step back.

He cleared his throat. “The… the festival’s on, you know. And I never did get to ride in one of those carriages.” he chuckled, gesturing out the window with a nod. "Perhaps we could–?”

Belle nodded and smiled. “I’d like that.”

Stories of all the places she'd been, things she'd seen, and people she'd met poured out of her as the carriage toted them down Main Street and through the town square. Each childhood landmark they passed cued another tale of “remember when,” and all the smiles, laughter, and warm feelings that came with it. There was Granny's diner, the ice cream parlor, the pharmacy, the mines beyond the town's outskirts.

Belle rest her head on his shoulder with a content sigh. She'd told Adam every story she had, and he'd listened eagerly to each and every one. Eventually his hand found hers, or perhaps it was hers that had found his– the details hardly seemed important because it felt so warm and so good and so right, as did the kiss that followed shortly thereafter.

The carriage dropped them off at the old house; His inheritance that he’d always been so loathe to call home, for it was haunted by so many ghosts. But the ghosts must have taken an evening carriage ride through the snow themselves– because Belle couldn't see nor hear any of them during the brief trip up the stairs, down the hall, and into the master bedroom.

Words became obsolete as everything fell into place then– replaced by caressing hands, brushing lips, and mounting, blissful gasps. Home wasn't Storybrooke, Belle decided as they finally nestled under the covers together. It was him.

Their bodies were dewy with sweat, and the moonlight coming through the window made their skin glow. Belle smiled inwardly; he used to joke that she'd grow tired of traveling the world one day and go to the Moon instead.

“Where will you go next?” Adam asked, breaking the silence. Reading her mind again.

“I don't know.” She swept the hair out of his face and smiled. “But you should come with me.”

“I can’t.” he said, and she couldn't help being hurt by the fact that he said it just as quickly and thoughtlessly as he had all those years ago.

Belle narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then rest her head on his chest. “Why not? There’s nothing here for you, Adam.”

He wet his lips and sighed. “Yes, there is.

”She knit her brows together. “Like what? ...The shop?

”He hesitated. Closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and let out another sigh. “I have a son, Belle.”