Taken from a prompt in @creativepromptsforwriting Fall AUs
Prompt: My dog yanked on its leash and now Iâm lying in a giant pile of leaves and you stand there and laugh and STOP TAKING PICTURES!
AU town in which there is no magic and Regina and Robin are neighbours
Robin Locksley doesnât embarrass easily.
There was a time, sureâback when he still wore his brotherâs hand-me-down trousers to school and hadnât figured out how to flirt without losing all control of his body and knocking something over. Once, heâd managed to spill an entire tray of cafeteria meatloaf down the front of the girl he fancied. Another time, he tried to impress a rugby scout with a dramatic dive that ended with him concussed and face-first in a mud puddle.
Heâd blushed. Hard. But those days were long gone.
These days, Robin knew who he was. Single father. Steady job. A man who could rebuild a fence, make a decent stew, and teach his kid how to tie a reef knot in under five seconds. He had no patience for pride or pretense. Certainly not enough to get flustered by a few stray leaves and a stubborn dog.
So no, Robin Locksley doesnât embarrass easily.
But now Henry Mills is laughing maniacally, bounding across the park like heâs just witnessed the greatest moment of his young life. And behind himâtrailing slowly, smugly, looking like the embodiment of fall in her thigh-high boots, burgundy coat and coffee in handâis his equally amused (and so very hot) mother.
Phone in hand. Camera pointed.
And Robinâwho has just been unceremoniously yanked off his feet by a rogue retriever, faceplanted into the leaf pile heâd so painstakingly raked for the town fair cleanupâis flat on his back, leaves in his hair, and dignity nowhere in sight.
âDelete it,â he groans, shielding his eyes from the midday sunâand from her smirk.
Regina lowers the phone but doesnât stop smiling. âOh, I will. Eventually. After Iâve shown Mary Margaret. And Emma. And possibly your son.â
âTraitor,â he mutters. He would sit up if the dog werenât now sitting on his chest.
âNext time,â she says sweetly, âtry letting go of the leash.â
He shakes his head with a grin, their eyes lock for a long moment and itâs times like these when he wonders if she feels what he feels. That spark. That ignition of feeling that blooms across his chest.
Theyâve been neighbours now for almost eighteen months.
They hadnât started off on the best foot. Heâd had his nephew, Will, to stay with him for the first few weeks.
Heâd left England - much to Robinâs sisterâs horror - to pursue music. His band of idiots no more reliable or responsible than Will himself. So sheâd begged Robin to look out for him and to help him get on his feet.
But heâd been a bit of a handful at the start.
Sitting on the porch and drinking beers with newfound friends, music a constant feature. Climbing onto the roof from his bedroom window to smoke pot in view of any who dared look up.
Robin had curbed that type of behaviour as quickly as he was able to but not before his eagle-eyed neighbour had bore witness to it.
âI have a twelve year-old son, I will not allow him to live next door to a glorified frat house.â
That had been her opening volleyâcurt, precise, and spoken through the tightest expression heâd ever seen. Sheâd crossed her arms like she was preparing to formally evict him from the zip code.
At the time, Robin had thought she was overreacting. A bit uptight. Prissy, even.
She thought he was careless, inconsiderate. Possibly feral.
It wasnât until much laterâwhen Will had finally found a job that didnât involve busking for weed money, and Henry had wandered over one Saturday morning to help Robin sand the new shedâthat theyâd begun to shift toward something else. Not quite friendship, but no longer enemies either. They shared tools now. Coffee, occasionally. Little nods of recognition when they passed each other in the mornings.
And over time, Regina had softened.
Not drastically, not all at once. But enough.
Sheâd knock on his door when Henry forgot his school project at Robinâs place. Robin would keep an eye out for her recycling bin on windy days. Sheâd even let Roland walk Pongo with Henry a few timesâthough not without a lecture about leash safety and a signed permission slip like it was a field trip to the Arctic.
So yes, things were better now.
Which made it all the more disarming that every now and then, like now, she looked at him with that glint in her eyeâthat spark that made Robin forget, briefly, where he was. That she wasnât his. That this little back-and-forth wasnât something more than it was.
Her phone lowers again, and she offers a hand.
He takes it without hesitation, her fingers warm in his. Sheâs stronger than she looks, and it takes him a second longer than necessary to stand.
Leaves fall from his jacket. The dog finally hops off his chest, tail wagging like he hasnât just publicly humiliated his owner.
Henryâs still laughing.
Reginaâs still smirking.
And Robinâembarrassed or notârealises he wouldnât change a single thing about this ridiculous afternoon.
Robin brushes a few stubborn leaves from his collar, shooting a glare at the dog, who pants up at him like this was all a brilliant game.
âYouâre no help at all,â he mutters.
Regina lets out a soft laughâan actual, genuine oneâand Robin nearly misses it. Itâs rare, that sound. Less polished than the one she uses at town council meetings. More real.
They start walking, the three of themâwell, four if you count the canine menaceâtoward the cluster of houses that line the far end of the park. Henry bounds ahead, expertly kicking through leaf piles like a kid on a mission, his laughter echoing between the trees.
Regina walks beside Robin, coffee in one hand, the leash in the other now that Pongoâs calmed down.
âHeâs got your sense of humour,â Robin says, nodding toward Henry. âWicked. Merciless.â
Regina sips her coffee. âIâll take that as a compliment.â
She glances at him then, sidelong, just briefly, but enough for him to see the flush of pink at her cheeksânot from the cold.
They fall into an easy silence for a few paces. Leaves crunch underfoot, the kind of sound that fills the quiet without needing to be filled.
âHe likes you,â Regina says eventually, eyes on Henry.
Robin hums. âHeâs a good kid.â
âHe is.â She hesitates. âI wasnât sure, at first. About you.â
He grins. âYou made that quite clear.â
âWell, in my defense, you did have an English hooligan smoking pot on your roof.â
Robin snorts. âThatâs fair.â
Another silence. Softer this time. Weighted differently.
Robin slips his hands into his coat pockets, resisting the urge to look at her again. He knows that if he doesâif she catches him watching her the way he always seems toâitâll shift something between them. Something that still feels too dangerous to name.
But she looks at him this time.
And says, almost quietly, âYouâre good for this place.â
Not youâre good with the kids or youâre less annoying nowâbut youâre good for this place.
It lodges somewhere in his chest.
Before he can find the right replyâbecause thereâs a lot he could sayâHenry loops back around, breathless and red-cheeked, and grins up at them both.
âCan we get hot chocolate on the way home? The place with the cinnamon sprinkles?â
âOnly if you stop weaponising my dignity in public,â Robin deadpans.
Henry flashes a cheeky grin. âNo promises.â
Regina hides a smile behind her coffee cup. Robin catches it anyway.
They turn the corner toward their street, the three of them falling into step again.
And as they walkâRobin with leaves still stuck to his jumper, Regina with that smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth, Henry bouncing between themâit feels, for the briefest moment, like something close to hopeful.
But he doesnât stop smiling, either.
