Anonymous asked: CS + "Home" by Phillip Phillips
Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble—it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home
He still has trouble with it sometimes – being in a town in which he so clearly does not belong.
He can hear their whispers when he walks into the diner, can feel their eyes on him when he reaches for her hand and presses a kiss to the side of her head in greeting. He knows he is not enough for her and yet having the secret thought mirrored in the faces of the dwarves and the blue fairy (who he does not trust, and perhaps never will) and the rest of the townsmen is a bit too much to bear.
She smiles at him – timid and soft – over her cup of coffee, green eyes glinting in the bright morning sun and he finds it’s much easier to push everything away when she is looking at him like that. He puts himself back together with every brush her knee against his beneath the table, every chuckle that slips from her lips. He thinks back on the night previous and his soul finds peace in the way she reached for him in her sleep, his name murmured under her breath as she pressed her lips to his neck.
(She mumbles a constant stream of incoherent remarks while she slumbers – taking the boy to the store for new school supplies, instructions to not burn the pie. But it is always his name in the stillness of her bedroom - her leg thrown over his hip - that chases the fears away, eases the darkness and brings him back to the light.)
“Don’t listen to them.” She states casually as she cuts off a hearty size of pancake. He isn’t quite sure how she will manage it, but his Swan is full of surprises as she speaks to him around a mouthful of syrupy sweetness. “They’re just bored and gossiping.”
(It is moments like this when his love for her grows, when she lets him see her.)
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of assholes.” Henry slides into the booth next to his mother and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the crass language, gaze flicking back to Emma. She snorts and spears another piece of breakfast, slapping Henry’s hand away when he reaches for the bacon.
“If you’re going to curse at breakfast, you don’t get bacon.” She slides her plate over a couple of inches while Henry attempts to make a go of it regardless of her decree. “Even though I agree with your overall sentiment.”
He watches them in silence, mother and son as they laugh and joke and smile, his heart impossibly full when Emma reaches out and threads her fingers with his. His thumb runs a gentle circuit over her knuckles, cataloguing each ridge and bump, and when she beams at him over Henry’s head – he knows he’s found his home.